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Poetry (original.or.attributed)

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Female Performer Chat: Poetry (original.or.attributed)

Created by: your_butterfly

12/18/13 @ 4:24pm (EDT) | UTC - 4:00
Location: in a collection jar

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fifteen ways to stay alive

1.Offer the wolves your arm only from the
elbow down. Leave tourniquet space. Do
not offer them your calves. Do not offer
them your side. Do not let them near
your femoral artery, your jugular. Give
them only your arm.

2. Wear chapstick when kissing the bomb.

3. Pretend you don't know English.

4. Pretend you never met her.

5. Offer the bomb to the wolves. Offer the
wolves to the zombies.

6. Only insert a clean kn1fe into your chest.
Rusty ones will cause tetanus. Or
infection.

7. Don't inhale.

8. Realize that this love was not your
trainwreck, was not the truck that
flattened you, was not your Waterloo, did
not cause massive hemorrhaging from a
rusty kn1fe. That love is still to come.

9. Use a rusty kn1fe to cut through most of
the noose in a strategic lace so that it
breaks under your weight.

10. Practice desperate pleas for attention,
louder calls for help. Learn them in
English, French, Spanish: Mayday,
Aidez-Moi, Ayudeme.

11 Don't kiss trainwrecks. Don't kiss kn1ves.
Don't kiss.

12 Pretend you made up the zombies, and
only superheros exist.

13. Pretend there is no kryptonite.

14. Pretend there was no love so sweet that
you would have died for it, pretend that
it does not belong to someone else now,
pretend like your heart depends on it
because it does. Pretend there is no
wreck - you watched the train go by and
felt the air brush your face and that was
it. Another train passing. You do not
need trains. You can fly. You are a
superhero. And there is no kryptonite.

15. Forget her name.

� Daphne Gottlieb 1968-15

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Created by: betenoire

12/19/13 @ 10:56am (EDT) | UTC - 4:00
Location: deeply embedded in shadowed glimpse

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Deconstructing Hearts

Deconstructing hearts,
Hot hands stem the bleeding
That hot hands made.

Driven,
We clockmakers work,
Taking these mechanical,
Off beat,
Sick
Ticktick
Tick
Tickings;
Unmaking
With drunken precision
And muscle memory.

These are familiar grounds.

We reek of apathy
In the moment,
So we tell ourselves,
Or some similar [non]feelings.
It's the smell of winter winds,
And distance in the air.

But we are dog-eared,
And beneath it all
We smell of mothballs.

With winter winds we watch
As we take them apart,
Deconstructing hearts --

No Novocaine,

No,

We are purists.

Dissecting:
Searching through secrets;
Dark grains
Grinding against gears;
Acid eating away
At the pace of the lies.

Deconstructing hearts,
We wounded soldiers,
Pain for pain --

Bitterly we leave them in pieces.

� TheLunaLilly 2013 . http://thelunalily.deviantart.com/

. passionless .

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Created by: Leela Sweet

12/20/13 @ 6:02am (EDT) | UTC - 4:00

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A friend afar....

My creative juices are flowing
is my true nature showing
bask in the multiple personality
My own escape from normality
would never sell my soul for $
less now, really its funny
bruises, beatings, treated poorly
other jobs made a whore of me
you can have me naughty or nice
i have my cake lets share a slice
deviant, an angel, a quiet fairy
an odd combination indulge in my scary
your star so bright i was blinded
a supernova i was reminded
Your songs for me i felt so vain
I dont think you evil we had so much to gain
i adore the words you have my attention
felt selfish of me if i did mention
i havent given up so i to want more
but i am now careful what i wish for
daylight inprisons my dreams
but i know now nothings quite as it seams
i am inspired by your mystery
together we could make history
shakespere asks what to be
but no matter my mood im still me
I'd write a book of songs if you'd read each page
but please take a seat
arrive at my stage.

alone i can to be cleaver
image the songs wed write together

by: ME

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Created by: your_heart_is_heavy_and_red

12/20/13 @ 10:46am (EDT) | UTC - 4:00
Location: a different spot every moment
Posts: 178

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unenough

far from reach

exiled stronghold

only memories can breach

the veils of myriad shadows

haunt the winds

banished dreams

mine;

forgive me.

by halcyonshores all rights reserved � 2013

see her work here - http://halcyonshores.deviantart.com/

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Created by: your_heart_is_heavy_and_red

12/22/13 @ 10:34am (EDT) | UTC - 4:00
Location: a different spot every moment
Posts: 178

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L,

When we were ch1ldren, adults taught us that to love is to hurt. They showed us their broken china and sour tears masked by insults that lose lethality with repetition. They ripped their barely beating hearts out, laid them side-by-side and forc3d us to compare rhythms. And we learned that love is asynchronous, an antithesis to happiness.

So that's what we believed as we took those first brave, trembling steps toward maturity. Not to be outclassed by previous generations, we created surgical incisions in each other's chests, placed our hearts on examination tables. We investigated the valves as they sputtered and coagulated before furling into themselves at the end. We reorganized the atriums, reversed the ventricles, and drained the blood. Replaced it with blind assumptions awash in bitter words we dared not let loose because we meant to love, not to destroy. Surely, no two people loved so thoroughly as we. We broke each other like the china of our ch1ldhood.

And when it was done, when we had wasted each other, there was no glue strong enough to seal the cracks. So we limped away, confiscating what treasures we could afford to carry.

I kept so little.

Sunburnt grass along an airport fence on an April day: I remember watching people launch themselves from perfectly safe airplanes and thinking what do they love enough to risk such utter destruction? Then your hand was in mine, or mine was in yours, and the answer was obvious.

The best awful love song: I pretended to fall asleep. I knew it was the only way to hear it. And with your fingers tangled in my hair, you gave me every cliche. I realized that the adults could be wrong. Love felt amazing.

The last kiss: It tasted of salt and need and fire and idiocy, became the measuring stick for every kiss that followed.

I met other boys, learned other bodies, settled for smaller fires. I almost convinced myself contentment was enough, and it might have been. I could have been the woman who raises three ch1ldren, wins awards for her organic tomatoes, makes dinner every night for a man who loves her the way she should love that man. I could have lived a happy tragedy, but for the shape of you in every truth I knew.

I do not believe in fate, god, destiny, or kismet. Still, these are things I know:

The first words we exchanged in three years were apologies and histories edited by the knowledge of what damage we can do to each other - it was terrifying and miraculous; friendship was never going to be enough; the sidewalk we met on deserves a star on Hollywood Boulevard; my body needs yours like the ocean needs the sunrise to be beautiful; I have always, will always love you; and the adults were conclusively wrong.

Love is the antithesis of pain.

� LiliWrites 2013
read her here - http://liliwrites.deviantart.com/

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Created by: your_heart_is_heavy_and_red

12/23/13 @ 9:15am (EDT) | UTC - 4:00
Location: a different spot every moment
Posts: 178

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. DSM .

I'd avoided it for months; purposefully, turning my fingers away, not touching the resources on my MacAir�, not running the tools attached, looking and ignoring the icon. I'd taken the MiniMac� down in October, and it remains packed with its extensive libraries. I put it out of mind and simply lived as I do. This charnel house brain of mine, stuffed with others lives, pieces and entireties of those I've loved and learned; I the participant observer, shaping the path by my mere presence, but far more actively.

I've never subjected my own system of behaviors to the diagnostic tools. I've simply read the complete reports of those who have done their observations. Their conclusions, their confusions, their detailed notes taken of what I've said and done. I've written here of some; I've written me. I've told those who love in passing, and those I've loved in turns, of what the conclusions are and how they were earned; of what I have become.

Today, ah today, I brought the tool set out ... hope still proud and rampant that I might be very wrong ...

DSM IV

A. There is a pervasive pattern of disregard for and violation of the rights of others occurring since age 15 years, as indicated by three (or more) of the following:

(1) failure to conform to social norms with respect to lawful behaviors as indicated by repeatedly performing acts that are grounds for arrest
(2) deceitfulness, as indicated by repeated lying, use of aliases, or conning others for personal profit or pleasure
(3) impulsivity or failure to plan ahead
(4) irritability and aggressiveness, as indicated by repeated physical fights or assaults
(5) reckless disregard for safety of self or others
(6) consistent irresponsibility, as indicated by repeated failure to sustain consistent work behavior or honor financial obligations
(7) lack of remorse, as indicated by being indifferent to or rationalizing having hurt, mistreated, or stolen from another

B. The individual is at least age 18 years.

C. There is evidence of Conduct Disorder with onset before age 15 years.

D. The occurrence of antisocial behavior is not exclusively during the course of Schizophrenia or a Manic Episode.

Diagnostic score: 9.5 of a possible 10.

Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fourth Edition. Copyright 1994 American Psychiatric Association

'... my perfect lover ... the one adored ... my score only 2 ... perhaps a marginal 3 ... my hard won tilt toward the mimetic ...'

I am a different creature; weighted with understanding, empathy and this eternal desire to please; my sword of Graced Guilt and imagery ... The Loom� only, remains ...

I wait, entertained by your prized possession of weaponry proven dull and hobbled lame, in my sardonic laughter.

� Amanda 2013

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Created by: your_heart_is_heavy_and_red

12/23/13 @ 7:41pm (EDT) | UTC - 4:00
Location: a different spot every moment
Posts: 178

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. power of a name .

I lay here quietly at this late hour; outside is the sound of the rain, in the trash bins, on the pavements, coursing through the channel pipes from the rooftops of all the buildings. It is a lovely restful sound that reaches my ears so clearly as my window is wide with the warmed temperatures. I lay at this late hour, interrupting my reading, to listen, think, consider �

�� Then let me say that,� she said. But I remembered then that she had said it once to me already�and I still cannot think of that, without shuddering. I shook my head. She murmured at last, �Give me any name but �Miss Prior�-which might be the name of a matron, or of any common visitor; which might as well be nothing to me. Give me a name that will be something�give me a secret name, a name that has, not the worst of you, but the best ��

She went on like this-until at last, in the same quick, queer spirit in which I had handed her the book, and then the pen, I said: �Aurora! You may say then, Aurora! For that is a name-it is a name that�' I did not of course say it was a name that Helen gave me, before she married my brother. I said it was a name I used to like to call myself, �when I was young�. And then I blushed, to hear the foolish thing spoken aloud.

She, however, only looked solemn. She gripped the pen again, wrote a line through Margaret, and put Aurora in its stead.

And then she said, �Selina, and Aurora. How well they look! They look like angels� names�don�t they?�

�

�How will a person know, Selina, when the soul that has the affinity with hers is near it?� She answered, �She will know. Does she look for air, before she breathes it? This love will be guided to her; and when it comes, she will know. And she will do anything to keep that love about her, then. Because to lose it will be like a death to her.�

She still kept her eyes upon me-now, however, I saw her gaze grow strange. She looked at me, as if she did not know me. Then she turned from me, as if she had shown me too much of herself, and was ashamed."

�Affinity� � 2000 Sarah Waters

Shared secrets, endearments of address, all those quiet moments of excitement and entwining, kept so precious to the end. These once graceful, once tender, at times gripping with excitement dangers, now � become moments of remembrance ashen; once angelic, now seeming so sleeted with absent caution.

All of the power, which an utterance of air supports, as granted carelessly and in trust, floated away with dreams undone.

� Amanda 2013

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Created by: amanda_fucking_palmer

12/28/13 @ 10:38am (EDT) | UTC - 4:00
Location: yeah baby ... i'm faking it again
Posts: 1,793

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Cleveland is damn cold, morning's been wet and the fog'd cut like rusted steel. 'Damn them Chinese n' their li'le coal burning fuck'n fires in ever' damn corner. Shit, leas' they warm.' The Bay is like that from time to time; sucks hard on a human's bones while shining like a party favor in the eyes.

Cleveland squints and rolls to his side on the smooth polished surface of the packing box cardboard. He rustles as he rolls, the newsprint filling that is most of him compressing and keeping him company.

'... member what that big woman said to ya' at th' food dole ... ' his face squirrels up '"hoping? fine... wanting? fine...expecting? ugh, when it doesn't get met... anger, coz if I expect it, I also believe I deserve it as a right ... that took a bit of constant chipping at the massive chip on my shoulder to acheive... and the gravel still remains to a degree."'

He smiles and then quickly grimaces; the fissures in the corners of his mouth are tender. He rolls away to his other side with the accompanying chorus of yesterday's or the day before's stories and we hear his voice in a quiet little song ...

. watch song .

it is Russian made, rides on my wrist
it is what I do, when I'm not kissed.
it comes unsettled, chafes my skin
it loses time, I could not win.

� Amanda 2013
"Wound Poetry" for Megan

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Created by: scarlet-pimpernel

12/31/13 @ 10:09am (EDT) | UTC - 4:00

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We stand in the dusk of a pine-tree limb,
As if to give ear to the muffled peal,
Brought or withheld at the breeze's whim;
But our truest heed is to words that steal
From the mantled ghost that looms in the gray,
And seems, so far as our sense can see,
To feature bereaved Humanity,
As it sighs to the imminent year its say:�

"O stay without, O stay without,
Calm comely Youth, untasked, untired;
Though stars irradiate thee about
Thy entrance here is undesired.
Open the gate not, mystic one;
Must we avow what we would close confine?
With thee, good friend, we would have converse none,
Albeit the fault may not be thine."

Thomas Hardy

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Created by: rogerwilco

12/31/13 @ 1:36pm (EDT) | UTC - 4:00
Location: 238,900 miles from Earth

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The Road Less Traveled
by Kit McCallum

How often we must bear the challenges of life;
The endless roller coaster between happiness and sorrow;
The constant ups and downs of daily strife.
And always the question remains .... why?

Life is not an easy road for most;
It twists and turns with many forks in the road,
Although always, and inevitably, we are given a choice ...

Do we turn to the right ... or the left?
Do we take the high road ... or the low road?
Do we take the easy path ... or the difficult one?

Decisions are not easy for those struggling for direction ...
And sometimes the many choices and signs become overwhelming.

While standing at a crossroads in life,
The urge is to take the most comfortable path;
The road with least resistance ...
The shortest or most traveled route.

And yet, if we've been down that comfortable road before;
Have gleaned its lessons in life, and learned from our experiences;

Do we yet again follow the known?
Or does our destiny lie in another direction?

The fear of the road less traveled is tangible and all too real;
It manifests itself in many ways,
And tends to cloud the issues that might otherwise be clear.

It is in these times of confusion,
That we must seek peace and solitude;

Time to contemplate on our life,
Our experiences and our choices past;
Time to look back, and reflect on what we have learned
Without fear or confusion.

For only each of us knows our own personal thoughts;
Our unique past and personal history;
The experiences that brought us to the crossroads we now face.

We can always learn a small degree from others experiences,
And yet ... no one person can walk in our shoes,
Others know not, the trials and tribulations faced in private ...

For each is individual ... unique ... and personal.

And that is why ... while standing at a crossroads,
Only "we" can formulate the decision for ourselves;
The true direction that lies within;
The choices we must deliberate on with clarity and wisdom.

For it is only through personal reflection,
That we can now choose our destiny;
... Our next adventure;
... And the future we will embrace.

:drinkup

HAPPY NEW YEAR TO EVERYONE :thumbsup

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Created by: betenoire

12/31/13 @ 5:22pm (EDT) | UTC - 4:00
Location: deeply embedded in shadowed glimpse

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Whomever.

I hate you,
Whomever you are,
For not being
Who you were
Suppose to be
When I needed
You the most
Where were you,
Whomever you are,
Where were you?

Pruss-Chan � 2013
read her here - http://pruss-chan.deviantart.com/

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Created by: betenoire

1/4/14 @ 7:34am (EDT) | UTC - 4:00
Location: deeply embedded in shadowed glimpse

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Silence, . . .

when words should be spoken,
is to a relationship like, . . .
dark skies to a flower garden,
drought to a rain forest,
and breathless lungs
to
a bloodless
heart.

� RainySkyz 2012
read her here http://rainyskyz.deviantart.com/

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Created by: co_do_certa

1/4/14 @ 3:51pm (EDT) | UTC - 4:00
Location: Do what thou wilt, shall be the whole of the law.
Posts: 237

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But when memory embraces the night
I see those days, long since gone,
Like the ancient light of extinguished stars
traveling still, and shining on.

Ian Mortimer - "Ghosts", Acumen 24

(Meg Myers - Monster)

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Created by: betenoire

1/5/14 @ 10:38am (EDT) | UTC - 4:00
Location: deeply embedded in shadowed glimpse

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. Zen drive .

Freedom opens one
At speed, flight through all of Sun
Flash of light and done

� Amanda 2014

woven - http://fav.me/d70y1cx

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Created by: betenoire

1/6/14 @ 2:26pm (EDT) | UTC - 4:00
Location: deeply embedded in shadowed glimpse

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. mnemonic trick .

associated small bits to link to wholes
ease of recollection
for facts and histories
for tests and mechanical operations

a bit of ash on a table top
pulls single smiles and shape of mouth
a snap of a lighter
draws me up, and out, and all the good
and small bits of the bad
take flight within my heart

tailor this studied and brain graced trick
to keep the best parts of it
balanced with careful clips
of what went wrong with it

� Amanda 2014

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Created by: amanda_fucking_palmer

1/14/14 @ 12:22pm (EDT) | UTC - 4:00
Location: yeah baby ... i'm faking it again
Posts: 1,793

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Fever

I can't be your daddy
You've already had me
I will not be your backbone
You see I'm riding my style on my own

It's about love
It's about soft
Give me whores who never sleep
Give me fever running deep

You see I'm looking for less cohesion
I will not see your reason
Romance doesn't suit me
But you dance to amuse me

It's about love
It's about soft
Give me whores who never sleep
Give me fever running deep

You try to approach me
But crawling doesn't please me
I cannot feel elation
I got to feel a love sensation

It's about love, love and strange times
It's about soft, soft and chilling rhymes
Give me whores who never sleep
Give me fever running deep

Give me love
Give me soft babe
Come on give me whores
Come give me fever

� Syntax 2004

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Created by: betenoire

1/15/14 @ 8:31am (EDT) | UTC - 4:00
Location: deeply embedded in shadowed glimpse

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Talking in Braille

it's the strength and weakness
of our nature, to look for meaning
during difficult and confusing moments,
and to manufacture meaning when
none can be found.

but, try as i might to understand you
i don't know what you are doing or why;
and that's based on everything
you've ever told me.

i can see that it serves and benefits you
but not how it benefits me
or what i should have learned
when you broke my heart.

there is a dagger in my back.

by KissTheSunrise � 2014
read her here - http://kissthesunrise.deviantart.com/

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Created by: amanda_fucking_palmer

1/15/14 @ 10:48am (EDT) | UTC - 4:00
Location: yeah baby ... i'm faking it again
Posts: 1,793

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there's this old trick, pre-cinema, of drawing a sequence on the corners of pages of a book and then thumbing them so you get a little 'movie' ... i always forget the formal proper name for it ...

. agenda .

fluttered corners
reach the same ending
over and over

agenda is the cold steel edge
of a guillotined wedge

your eyes and brain
understand the planned for
heart loosens as love drains.

� Amanda 2014
for my friend
read us here - http://amanda-graham.deviantart.com/

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Created by: amanda_fucking_palmer

1/20/14 @ 3:30pm (EDT) | UTC - 4:00
Location: yeah baby ... i'm faking it again
Posts: 1,793

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Henna

You trace the lines that circle my fingers.

They skim over the heart,
past the butterfly,
between the dots,
and over the sun.

The pads of your fingers rest on my palm,
move down my arm,
and go over the lines
I didn't draw.

by SirRantsALot � 2014
read her here - http://sirrantsalot.deviantart.com/

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Created by: betenoire

1/21/14 @ 3:43pm (EDT) | UTC - 4:00
Location: deeply embedded in shadowed glimpse

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. there is .

this place we stand,
unknowing in defense
strewn ground of our own bone
we, bled senseless.

dazed in series drops
exhaustion's laid its claim;
potentials lost, dismayed,
propped upright still, each others pain.

� Amanda 2014

. contexts .

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