[x]

blue and gold are not just colorsshe had been blue-sighted
since
dawn cracked her forehead.
it was the dress she wore on his funeral
the color of her school flag
the shine in her father's eyes;
she waited in blue and gold.

no, she refused to set a bar
because
life didn't just come to her.
she earned her place
in her mother's womb
when each blood vessel questioned her
each nerve ending, if she could live
and each antibody, if she was worth it.

see, she doesn't need new dresses.
she has a memory
for each of hers in her locked closet.
she may not wear all of them
(and most she cringes at the sight of)
but her heart
jumps enough
every time bits of her old

A Little White LieI saw her there on a day
On a blue and sunny day
On a day with clouds up high
On a day where the birds would fly
She was outside on that sunny day
When the kids went out to play
Out of the doors to the school
Along the rocks outside the pool
Of rain on the ground
Where the lost shoe was found
On that day the earth stood still
Because I saw her on the hill
I walked towards her with a smile
And proceeded to pile
Words
On words
On words
On words
About the sun
And the fun
That we could have
On that sunny day
And so we proceeded to play
On that warm and sunny day
With a smile in our eyes
And as the days passed us by
We

MoonlightWhen I look at the moon
I think of beauty
And the last few nights
While I've watched it's light
Reflect off the rippling water
I've thought of you
I'm unsure of what this means
Other than I am close
Close to finding you
But even when I do
You will not know
For I can't bring myself to tell you
And maybe this means
We're not meant to be
Because most certainly
You will never be
The one looking for me

Anagapesis.Early morning;
white china flies by my head
and I roll my tongue around the hairpin
bend for

'I love you'
over
'I wish you were dead.'

fragment 1for natalie -

sorry you had to
see that.

chronolgical orderfor the life of me I
could never keep a journal for
more than a month, but
I don't mind much
because you could read everything
I've written, the fiction and
truth and the
in between,
and see the slow and
steady deterioration
of a girl
jaded

remindersand,
hey,
it's okay
to run sometimes
too:
even when it's
in your nature
to fight,
and no -
running is not always
cowardice,
know
it's often
brave.

well i'm here and now whati've got all this alcohol and nothing
to light on fire,
so i suppose
i'll just have to
drink it.
and i've got
all this gasoline and
nowhere to go,
so i suppose
i'll just have to
drink that,
too.

the seconds moved slower than the hourssitting on my windowsill
with the glass pushed all the way
up, screen off,
there is enough wind
that if you close your eyes
it will take you to
the ocean for
just a moment.

Her Name Was ChastityHer name was Chastity, which was funny because she was anything but chaste. She loved to fuck, and by the time I met her she'd done it plenty of times. Far more than I had, and that's saying something.

I suppose most guys would have been worried getting involved with a girl like her, but I wasn't. Just the opposite. I loved that she wasn't ashamed to admit she enjoyed sex, that she had it as often as she wanted and didn't let petty words like "slut" define her.

And I loved her name—the irony of it, the way it sounded, the way it tasted in my mouth. Despite its meaning, "chastity" has got to be one of the most erotic words ever invente

As Insubstantial As Cigarette Smokei.
they wrapped me through with police tape
before i was born;
yellow silk fetters entwined among
the arches of my ribs
and along the hollow bumps of my spine
like a warning

binding back what leviathan lay
indistinct
and waiting
in the dusk

i've searchedandsearched and never found it,
but they promise me,
(oh promise me it's there).

ii.
i've tried to call down the sun from up high
because i didn't like the way it made everything
light.
i prefer the darkness.
(they've told me that's
where i belong,
hidden away for what
better purpose i have yet to
understand.)

iii.
i'm drowning in shadows vague and empty,
and all th

things i wish i knew why you follow me like a ghost
though i let you go hoping,
praying,
that you'd find your way out of this
godforsaken place

but you linger in shadows
you fucking haunt me
and it hurts
[more than leaving you
did]

snippets 222-01-2013
(on paper with 'Other prescription details ONLY' printed on the back)

spasms in my stomach
are a familiar state:
staring hopeless
at a stop-start future
with a stricken panic
of standing on
judgemental scales.
i won't gain -- only lose
slice by slice,
kilogram by kilogram,
until i'm striking tomorrow
with a skin full of scars
and a hospital bed.

27-01-2013
(on lined paper with a printed flower to the side)

the wind lashes my face.
i walk with my
feet slapping against the
gutter. people drive right
on past the stumbling girl
to the side of the road.
i'm only looking for something,
i think sadly: someone
who is not there,
even a

not want, need.i'm clinging to his translucent fingertips and trying to see if i can warm them up enough
to bring some life into them. and i'm pushing away those who are solid and trying to shove
advice and tea and chocolate down my throat thinking that if i can bring you back
everything inside me will stop aching
truth me told, bringing you back will probably make the ache worse.
but i was told once that everyone has a feeling in their chest they can't explain
that defies logic and reason it moves and shrinks and grows its an internal tide
and its controlled my things like the amount of sleep and the way that song sounds
at 3am with shaking fingers and blurry watery eyes.
i was never told how to stop it though
and school seems fucking useless to me now, because i was never taught anything
of any real life use. they dump you in a yard with 300 people, some of which you're
guarenteed to fall in love with and they dont tell you how to stop when they decide
you're not as good as some other girl or how t

in your absencedecember.

so they asked me, what the hell are you doing?
and i said, i'm cleansing my life of her. and by her, i mean you, jessica, not that you ever asked. it's nearly the beginning of a new year, and i'm still in love with you. i crammed things into cardboard boxes: old sweaters, cds, the novels i had once loved but couldn't read any more without my mind wandering astray between the lines. dvds, teddybears, make up, the lot. it all went. liberation, i thought, closure, as i deposited all the parts of my life that were permanently stained by you at the local charity shop.
i came home and sat in my empty flat with just my bed (no

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Looking for NeverlandSometimes on rainy afternoons
I drive for no reason at all with
the windows down and breathe in
the scent of wet pavement,
reminded of the times you and I
strolled and laughed under umbrellas
and sped through rinky-dink towns,
not wanting to grow up.

Backseat BabeShe rides in the backseat of his car because the front passenger's seat gives her motion sickness. Not wearing her seatbelt, she leans forward and hands him a half-smoked cigarette. "To Vegas, baby," she says.

He scowls at her—"Fuck you"—but heads towards Vegas anyway.

He steals glances at her in the rear view mirror as she tests various shades of lipstick and puckers at her own reflection. When he rolls his eyes and shakes his head, she says "What?" and then tries another shade without even bothering to wipe the old one off.

She's only fifteen, he reminds himself. But that doesn't soothe the headache.

She likes to read the map

CherishedI want you to worship this love
I write poems about—
I tore it out of a virgin womb
just for you,
and I bear to you now, naked,
shivering in the nervousness of flesh
exposed to a cold world.

It will suck on the breasts
of prostitutes
and kiss the lips of small-town drunks
with their whiskey-tipped breath
and hollow eyes,
and I will touch my fingers
to its precious little mouth
and feel the warm saliva
bathe my skin.

I want you to put your ear
to its unguarded chest and listen
to the murmur
of its shriveled heart,
pulsating—the warm, lively core.
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The fall of the tower

Fuck BeautyMy eyes are sore and bloodshot
and for some reason I can't stop
thinking about why it's so crucial
to be a beautiful person.

Beauty is short-lived, and even if
it wasn't it would only be fun
for a little while. Because it's
not about truth or love, it's about
trying to forget all those years you
felt like an ugly duckling.

I wanted to be some Barbie doll
or Cosmo cover girl, untouchable
and unattainable. I wanted him
to see me that way so I wouldn't
have to face myself in the mirror
every fucking morning.

I knew he was in love with me,
and I used it like a succubus.
He saw me as an angel or
a godsend, when I was just some
broken toy that n

Dead Bodies Don't Cryi.

You are born with twisted feet
and a pockmark on your chest.
Your poor mother is drenched in sweat,
straining to breathe,
thanking God it's over.

She cradles you in her arms
and kisses your forehead with curved lips.
Your father reaches out to hold you
but has to pause because
your mother will not release you yet.

The family pays a visit,
hovering in awe, praising, laughing.
You look around for someone to blame.

ii.

When you learn to write
you use all the wrong letters
because you feel sorry for the ones
that get left out, like X and Z.
And you wear mismatched clothes
because you don't like the idea that
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Rebecca

by ~TheEmptyChest, Nov 17, 2012, 8:04:03 PM
Literature / Poetry / Narrative / Free Verse

_{Rebecca—
this is my name with the shades
rolled up, body exposed to the sun,
a simple word that I carry
like a badge or a cross or a scar.

It is my name
dripping from my lips like poetry,
hiding inside colors and pictures,
stories and music.

It's my name with the lights off,
me sitting in the middle of the room
with no one to say it,
arms crossed over my ribcage,
forehead on my knees,
shapes twisting behind my eyelids.

Rebecca—
this is my name burrowed in
the obscurity of language,
building bridges and raising walls.

It's my name spoken
through cigarette smoke and slurred voices,
caught up in an embrace,
wandering aimlessly
until it is lifted off the ground and held,

or until some kind soul
nurtures it and then gives it back,
whispering in my ear—
Rebecca}

Rebeccaby ~TheEmptyChest

Literature / Poetry / Narrative / Free Verse

Lots of metaphor and imagery here.

And my name really is Rebecca. (Finally decided to let that be known.

)

~NotenSMSK Dec 7, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Ah a wonderful work

I hope I remember your name since it is hard for me to remember a name but when I DO... I don't forget it

The work was well written. I liked the form of the stanza's and how it spoke to the reader. Yes, there is lot of imagery cleverly integrated there and there was consistency in the work in terms of language and quality. The ending was really soft and beautiful and I am glad that it didn't end in a morbid way