To The Men Who Loved Smoking + Me SimultaneouslyOne.To The Men Who Loved Smoking + Me Simultaneously by ~otherwiseunbroken
You were the first one who said, Try it. Just see how it feels. And it felt like my insides were burning, like my heart was on fire, like I could feel myself rotting from my very core. And I liked it. I wanted for a long time to claim you broke my heart. Somewhere in a hot July, you’re still claiming I broke yours. Saying, Try it. Just see how it feels.
He and I on a mission: laughing, drunk, and fingers intertwined. It took an entire summer of midnight runs to the closest convince stores to make him fall for me. It lasted only one night before I left for blonde-haired black eyes and bruises. We stargazed alone, isolated by our twin obsessions: his for cigarettes and mine for him. I did not want for nicotine. I went only for the smell of smoke in my hair when I was trying to fall asleep.
You were always quitting everything. Of your two habits, I was the easier one to shake.
His professions of love on the phone at three a.m. were asthmatic and brief as he st
Left For TexasThe first one couldn’t be helped.Left For Texas by ~otherwiseunbroken
You were five years old and you’d been married a week before, over by the slide. He kissed your cheek and gave you the black crayon after snack because it was the best one.
His mom tells the class that they’ll be moving in two weeks and you suddenly understand why he crawled under the arts and crafts table yesterday and wouldn’t come out, even when Mrs. Rametta demanded it, even when you offered him the sharp black crayon.
He makes you swear you’ll still be his wife and, together, you find Texas on a map; it’s unfathomably huge, and three states away.
How am I going to still be your wife? you ask.
Simple, he says, come with me.
But he moves with his family and you never once see him again.
You knew the second he put his application in what the answer would be. He worried for weeks but you knew and it created a kind of calmness inside of you that he would later call stagnation. He would call it quicksand.
He tells you
Only On Days That End With YI love you most on Sunday afternoons, ten minutes after you leave, when I am still trying to carve every word you said into my ribcage, when I’m letting the way you whispered I will love you still run up and down my spine.Only On Days That End With Y by ~otherwiseunbroken
I love you most on Mondays around noon, when my coworker asks what I’m smiling about. You were always a secret I kept tucked behind my tongue. You were always a sharp light that shone through my very skin, making me dangerous.
I love you most on Tuesdays at any hour when you’re breaking promises, whether early in the day or two seconds too late. You can’t see me tonight, you will not kiss my collarbones, you will not touch the tiny scrapes on my fingertips and ask where I got them. You won’t, you won’t, and even when I think that maybe you never will again, I know what the ache between my unkissed bones means.
I love you most on Wednesdays when I first wake up, when everything still seems possible. When today could still be the day
Lake MichiganFor CourtneyLake Michigan by ~otherwiseunbroken
The first thing I fell in love with in that city was Lake Michigan. Crying maybe twenty thousand tears on a plane, crying maybe enough to make a whole new lake, to drown my new city. But even in the rain, Lake Michigan looked serene, like all of this was meant to happen.
Lake Michigan is fathoms deeper than it looks. Lake Michigan is warm and reassuring and when you go to it, it comes to meet you. Lake Michigan has eyes like October storms and she lives down the hall.
There is something comforting in the uncommon ocean. You never expected to find it here in the middle of nowhere, but your landlocked blues were quickly cured the night she knocked softly on your door and asked if maybe she could come in. You never would have had the guts to do the same but all of the sudden she had flooded into your life and you never want her to leave again, never want to see the low-tide barrenness your own body became.
Riding the train, you catch glimpses of her like flicker
Undiscovered Gems--Special FeatureYes, I've gone and done it again! As if I'm not busy enough with A Call to Conversation and dA Roadtrip articles, I'm bringing you ANOTHER one! With the launch of the "Undiscovered" browsing option, there are a TON of awesome artworks I've been finding and admiring, and I just have to share them with you guys.Undiscovered Gems--Special Feature by `TwilightPoetess
I WILL be taking suggestions for this series, as well, so if you discover something while browsing the bowels of dA that you think needs to be shared, please send me ( `TwilightPoetess ) a note titled Undiscovered Gems.
Undiscovered Gems--Special Feature
Gula by *ENZZOK
suicide risk by *bloodawni
My Tears Are Becoming a Sea by =CAMartin
in floodlit rooms by ~throughangelseyes7
we're all drunk and always have beennowe're all drunk and always have been by =your-methamphetamine
i haven't felt smaller than this before
and it could be
because i don't breathe poetry in
and out -
and out -
i write it under my eyebrows
with the precision
of a drunk sniper
toasted into admission
with irony s-st-tutter-er-ing
down his throat.
you wouldn't take a damned bullet for me.
beautiful is a word kept
for the rise
of her tidal chest,
not my shallow breath,
not my sunset, heartfelt,
i would have disappeared
between your accusing index and
neglected thumb -
don't you feel calmer?
i haven't felt smaller
than this before.
i haven't felt smaller than this before
and it could be
because you found a home between
her stroking index and
comforting thumb -
i haven't forgotten,
no i still remember
now twenty two penumbrae in the past
didn't stop you
in one of several crevasses
at the pinpoint of your mind;
you may have forgotten,
and slept in
on the details,
but i haven't,
I want nothing but deathAfter the three hundred and sixty fifth setting sun since everything became undone, maybe now I have gathered enough pieces of my ether and stationary paper to write you a true goodbye letter.I want nothing but death by =Sammur-amat
I would write you starting with the weather today, where the skies are caliginous and the clouds are heavy basins ready to tip over in tears, much like my eyelids. I dig my toes deeply in the damp terra firma as I remember you.
I would write you in snapshot sentences. I would go about how you've converted my vision into a chiaroscuro religion; shifting all light and attention around me to focus in on only you.
I would write you in portrait paragraphs that resemble childhood finger paintings. These portraits pour recollections of the times my fingers traced the light on your face and memorized its every curve and angle, all the while wishing upon your locked, heart-shaped lips for the keys.
Your cupid's bow flung a flaming arrow
past my bone,
snagging at my marrow,
To Fry a MoonfishI. Selene vomerTo Fry a Moonfish by ~samshadeslayer
Insert knife beneath the tail.
“We need to talk.”
Draw knife toward head.
a flicker of the eyes
a dash of hope.
“It’s not what you think.”
Open abdomen with fingers.
he draws her away
to a brick wall
and delivers the blow
“We can’t be together.”
Pull out entrails.
he twists her guts
confuses her instincts
before ripping out her heart.
“This isn’t working out.”
Rinse the inside of fish.
“Oh, god, please don’t cry.”
Remove head if preferable.
II. doofus fish
if you leave her right,
she’ll fillet herself—
every beautiful you ever kissed
—into her neck, her skin, her heart—
she’ll try to separate herself,
her from the skeleton self you built
until she’s mere sheets of meat,
lying limp in her own arms
let her te
Reason for EarthquakesThe fear of him & his boisterous form has left us, her children unfeeling of her woes.
Can you hear that?
Can you see that? Feel that?
We, her clumsy fearful children, scamper to hide under table tops & sturdy study desks.
Her veins are popping;
It can clearly be seen on the outlines of her face
In her wrath, she engulfs the city in its entirety.
We, her children, plead with her for mercy but her anger has already taken her over the edge &
She only comes to after irreparable damage is done.
Only then will her anger be appeased & then
followed by absolute distress,
She wells up in tears & her children are drenched in her sorrow.
She is but a shell of the woman she used to be-
Her garden of roses & spirit of lilies
Have long been paved over by concrete men of steel minds.
She is a battered wife & an unappreciated mother.
She is our tend