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Cinderella
Waiting for a coach
and four
that never came,
she realized
a ball gown
won't bloom
out of sackloth;
glass slippers
are not dependable
and mice
are best left
to their own devices.
Midnight was never a friend,
and under that suit
he is the same as any other
man.
IcarusSun girl,

the whispering stars
& feathered clouds dance
for you tonight.

Do not let anyone
clip your wings;

you were made for the skies.
Definition of a Writerwrit•er

noun     /rītər/

A writer is a person
Who sees the world differently
From a high perspective of understanding
To an easily balanced imagery

They stand at the edge of the cliff
And run that extra mile
To gain what a normal person cannot see
And to obtain the hope that they wish to cherish

A writer is a person
Who buries their ego and places boulders upon it
They learn the rules, follow the rules, and will break the rules
And make writing their own

They lay upon the dusty old ground of a graveyard
And do an annual ritual to free the inspiration that has been pinned down
They want to show their abnormality to everyone
Red DressDon’t put on your red dress
for he doesn’t know the meaning
he doesn’t want the commitment
he doesn’t care for the color.

The red dress you love to wear
that’s stained from wine and beer
but still carries so much meaning
for who could find a second red dress

Don’t go out on your red dress
for the man who wants nothing more
to screw around and doesn’t understand
the meaning behind a simple red dress.

A red dress for when you dance.
A red dress for when you cry.
A red dress for when you need it.
A red dress for when you care too much.

Don’t put on your red dress for him darling
he doesn&rsqu
i got flowers oncei am lonely.
i received flowers once
and i placed them
in a vase til
the petals all browned
desiccated
and turned to dust
on the glass of my bureau.

i have never gotten flowers since.

i spend my days
with a boy
a man
whom i love far beyond reason
and he holds me in his arms
and holds me together.

i bite my nails
and pull my hair
over the moment when he
inevitably
feels the disenchantment
fall over his body,
all clean lines
and smooth shapes,
and realises that leaving
the worst thing
would be
the best thing.

i am lonely
and even with a hand to hold,
and even with a cloak of security
bunching around my shoulders
and hiding my thighs,
i feel
moonshines in georgiaman on the moon:

giddy with lumps of north georgia seas
greased on the crease of my lips
gravity drips from couch-cavities
when tides belch from below --

burst on the water's edge,
earth's bourbon sailors retch in moonshined ripples
trickled blue murder on their crinkled crimes;
raking water wrinkles like a wayward drunk
stuck on sunken bootleggin' dreams.

it's been a long, long time
since I've drowned your hemisphere
for fishing like a moonraker,
swishing my bait-lines like tobacco's
squished in your shallow gums
before you dare to down my air
breathing in this sincere georgia night.
L.E.S.B.I.A.N.Living on the
Edge of life
Saving myself
Being who
I truly am
As it is all i can be
Never forget that
Blame The ParentsI won't be able to keep a relationship in the future because I'm scared
I'm scared it'll turn out like theirs

I'm a pacifist because I hate watching it
I hate watching them fight

I have PTSD because of their fights
Their fights almost broke up this family

I self harm because they are pushing me over the edge
I was already close to jumping, but they gave me an extra push

I'm always in my room because that's how I run away
I guess that's called "Like father, like daughter"

I only eat one meal a day because he constantly puts me down
Even though he's joking, I can tell he means every bit of what he says

I can't trust anyone because they do
Missing piecesMissing pieces

There are wounds
that never heal; silences
so loud they  thunder - I stopped
breathing years ago, that night
the ice took my chest. Since then
I walk  in pieces, howling
around my heart.

-SophieCT, 2012, 2013
field notesi read some poetry
just for the sound--for the words lilting up and down
and the thick, honeysepia
polaroids unmisting in my head.
those are the poems i never understand
and the only conclusion i can draw is:
there is apparently
some supernova poetic awakening that comes
with the loss of virginity
and basically i need to get laid.
Asperger's SyndromeAsperger’s Syndrome

This is what makes me different.
It is what makes me both distant and compassionate.
It is what makes me both tired and creative.
It is what makes me both sassy and awkward.
It is what makes me both fairly normal and completely insane at the same time.

This is what makes me amazing.
It is what gives me my talents and achievements.
It is what gives me my intelligence and ideas.
It is what gives me my humor and individuality.
It is what gives me my passion and dedication.

This is what makes me flawed.
It is what makes me confused and anxious.
It is what makes me exhausted and frustrated.
It is what makes me uncertai
MorningA black cat sleeps in a ray of sun
My coffee is lousy
Another cardboard morning
The day isn't a blank canvas
Waiting to be painted
Its already scrawled with
Yesterday's mad crayon drawings

Smoke drifts up and out of the window
I drink the coffee
van houten must be godi. you know how in embroidered cloth,
from the bottom under the design,
all you see are knots? her honey-like,
crying
voice lulls me to sleep,
that's what we see of God's plan.
just the knots. when in reality,
it's the design on top;
beautiful and flawless that He
has in store for us.
bullshit.
i learnt that word
when i was three
but every time i said it,
my face hurt and mom's hand fell.
God will put you
in hell.
do you want that?
i knew better than to say it again.
ii. you're an estimated
fallacy, the perfect
misconception.
you don't need to exist
for people to believe.
they make you real with
dancing tongues behind
a crowd
of murmuring lips of
god's will.
iii. of the rain,
i sang songs, whispering
prayers only you
could hear.
if you truly are
what they say for you to be,
then there are no secrets
between you and me.
mother still sings
the same songs
in the rain, hoping
you'll hear her the way
i thought you would.
but she doesn't know you died long ago
with chiv
blood-red wine and skeleton jazz i.
the day you left,
your cobweb dress clung to you in ways
that i would dream about for years,
in hot, fevered nights
when the moon thought it might burst
in the sky,
and even the wind wailed your name.

ii.
i remember how you called make-up war paint,
and you drew it across your face like a message
i could never decipher;
i remember how i got goosebumps when i heard
your heels clicking across the floor at 3am
when you finally got home and slipped into bed;
i remember longing for you with every fiber of my being,
feeling separate from you even when our clothes lay on the floor
and your fingernails dug into my shoulders
and your toes curled
Anatomic and foreign inside of youAt times, I thought that roadmap
in your chest was the reason why I gathered
dust at night.

But one day,
on the coldest afternoon,
I dwelled in your body
through your eyelids

and travelled through these streets
long enough to know that your unexplained hunger
wasn't going to cease-
I was barefoot in the days
where the sun scorched its rage
on every drop of sweat hiding in my nape
that they gave up and ran away,

like little gypsies looking for an oasis
to build their tents in,
standing on bare sand dunes-
relieved that the prejudice of their pagan artistry
was replaced with acres
and acres of dry, barren landscape.

This was how I striv
Browse More Like This

More from =chainofthorns

Pot Of InkYou told yourself you wouldn't fall
And right now you can barely crawl.
You knew that it couldn't last
Even though it was a blast.
All you can do is sit and rhyme
Your only way to pass the time.
It was to good to be true
But this of course you already knew.
You sit and see with disgust
The one you thought that you could trust.

But as you're broken down again
The tears keep flooding from your pen.

And so you ask yourself again
Why are you stuck in this dead-end.
And as the tears are freely streaming
You almost can't stop yourself from screaming.
When you were soaring up so high
So close you could touch the sky.
The paper wing

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Apparently People Care

:iconchainofthorns:

Why do people care for me?
They say that I'm
Amazing
Awesome
And pretty
They say
I'm smart and multitalented
I feel like I've
Let everyone down
Especially Okasan

I've started to feel
Now my head just reels
I'm confused so much now
I'm not used to feeling
Anything at all
I never thouht that anyone
Cared. But I guess that
I was wrong
I know that something
Isn't right, but
I can't put my finger on it
I need someone to help me

I suppose i I talk
'Stead of watching the clock
That might help a little
If I was allowed to express
Myself
Whoever that is now

I actually shed a tear today
And caught it before it fell
It's weird to me
I just cannot see
How anyone could care
About a girl
Who's lost her soul
And feels it's lost for good

Maybe that tear
It signifies something
Like memories
I wish to forget
They bite
Like the sharpest
Of knives
Peircing my heart
In every
Single
Direction
They hurt so much
Yet feel so good

They let me know
That I have feelings

73

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:iconchainofthorns:

Apparently People Careby =chainofthorns

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Hmmmm....
©2010-2013 =chainofthorns
Category: Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

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Submitted on
May 19, 2010
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:iconakaryuuaki:
~AkaRyuuAki Jun 15, 2010  Hobbyist General Artist
This is a beautiful poem...
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