ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
There comes a time
when the fire under your hand
doesn't hurt anymore,
when you smell the pain
instead of feeling it,
but I am not quite there.
There are far too many questions
and far too much wasted faith;
it's honestly exhausting
and I don't know what to think.
I believed in me
because of who you saw
and now I simply don't know
who you're seeing.
But she's something less
than you used to see
and I don't know what she
might have
dropped along the way.
when the fire under your hand
doesn't hurt anymore,
when you smell the pain
instead of feeling it,
but I am not quite there.
There are far too many questions
and far too much wasted faith;
it's honestly exhausting
and I don't know what to think.
I believed in me
because of who you saw
and now I simply don't know
who you're seeing.
But she's something less
than you used to see
and I don't know what she
might have
dropped along the way.
Literature
notesleep
playing my emphases like harp strings
your voice smokes thru the oaken bramble
pour a carbonated apology, a sun-stained
mile marked envelope, two ill-fitted birds,
hands small holes right before a rush of river
what it feels like being swallowed from the outside
crushing rings into truth serum, pretend
to be out of tune with that deception
I have been unable to parse my own persona
a pink cotton voice I remember thru the phone
I remember because it formed me into a granary
one crop after another of patriarchal idioms
whisper my secrets so softly into a glint of red hair
a saucer-eyed lace pattern cut into pine paper
I practice radical self lo
Literature
Real Estate
The cost of intellectual property has gone up.
I can already feel the ideas curdling like milk,
Strings of silver silk lining
Tangling it up so neatly--
A package for the loan-shark in my bed in the morning.
A message to my lover, to whom I owe such a debt:
All you ever do anymore is take.
My poems crumble at the touch,
Fading into the clusters of Sunday brunch and Family Guy reruns.
What's the price of the two seconds of quiet
Without a pile of unfilled lines awaiting my autograph
Ruffling through the papers you'll have me sign-
What wouldn't I give to sign with the devil, over you...
Teetering on the corner of thought,
My pen limp and b
Literature
chill 2.0
friday night vibes are
a dialogue
between streetlamp
and sidewalk.
i am the strobe and
i spin again,
bullet-mouthed,
and so you tell me
to bite down.
you,
you reason,
are a good enough explanation,
expectations entrenched
insinuations undressed
on earth that feels too much like paper.
you,
you reason,
are good enough for a lulling conversation,
consolations congregating
up there for your consideration
up there with your condescension
condescension, condescension—
this is your slipping confession?
no.
this is the slip into heavy summer
when bitter winds still bite you
softer than i ever could.
this is the saturdays and sundays
eating i
Suggested Collections
In writing this, I feel a bit better.
The struggle and the pain and the frustration are just...gah.
But I won't let them win.
Enjoy!
The struggle and the pain and the frustration are just...gah.
But I won't let them win.
Enjoy!
Comments24
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
"when you smell the pain
instead of feeling it"
Oh yes, I know how that feels.
This is heartbreaking, but amazingly written just the same.
instead of feeling it"
Oh yes, I know how that feels.
This is heartbreaking, but amazingly written just the same.