neonsquiggle

always dreaming

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how to write better poetry.

i. drink down the words of the greats in a wine glass. hell, drink down the words of teenagers struggling to straighten out the gas and brake pedals of their pens. drink it all, carefully structured stanzas and sloppy melting words alike. become blind drunk. ii. make time for it even if it's midnight and all the world is humming its sleep song. dig up your soul and shake down the dirt over and over until it becomes habit. (and I know that might sound like a pretty metaphor, but it's easier said than done.) iii. do it when it hurts. do it when that one person you never thought you'd lose leaves you nightcrawling. do it when you're so ti

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2896 deviations

Literature

how to write better poetry.

Featured

2838 deviations

Literature

tempest

you are a natural disaster- soft spoken in theory, and savage unbound ceranoscopy lying in wait, definitions changing with the wind- fluid, vigilant, forgiving. you leave me cerated, nights shot in words, reading too much without the return- placed on paper, ebrious and uncertain. (i build my castle, paper brick by brick, and await the next storm, the next light show, to lead the way.)

hurricanes.

12 deviations

Literature

When you feel you have lost everything

there are still books you haven’t read and clothes you’ve never worn hanging lonely in your closet. When you feel you have lost everything, there are flowers sleeping under the frost. When you feel you have lost everything, there is a place around the corner you’ve never seen from the other side of the door and a stranger waiting to welcome you in. When you feel you have lost everything, there is a corner of your house filled with dust. When you feel you have lost everything, there are stamps you haven’t used and windows that have never seen pure sunlight. When you feel you have lost everything, there are pennies wast

brilliant.

12 deviations

lovely.

19 deviations

Literature

belmont graveyards

i am not a woman who sleeps in belmont graveyards smelling nicotine and smoke on my finger tips to be scrubbed off hastily in my lover's bathroom remembering the haze in my father's kitchen remembering how it makes my lungs hurt to think of him i will not live among lost lighters and matches to be found in couch cushions or backpacks adding to the pile of fire i feel inside my belly at the thought of you sometimes i taste my childhood between your teeth biting down on my memories of ashtrays and soot driving with the windows down so that we don't suffocate

words.

25 deviations

how to write better poetry. by littleblueraccoon, literature

Literature

how to write better poetry.

teeth by littleblueraccoon, literature

Literature

teeth

my mother used to say, "never fall in love with something that can leave you behind." now I understand, now I know that humans were given legs for a reason, that moving on is a state of mind on migration. tell me, if I told you I loved you, would you cut out my tongue? I can still hear your voice when you said you could never love anyone else, and now all I can think is liar liar liar.

bon appetit by littleblueraccoon, literature

we're all a little stardust by Nullibicity, literature

Literature

we're all a little stardust

You are the reason I am consumed in astronomy, but the star-promises that shot across our youth will shatter in some other universe, with the rising of some other moon to greet your sun. After that, it's science. I'll bleed every 1.00794 unit from my blood, but we both know I'm a pincushion mess; it won't all make it down the drain, and I can only scrub the ache so hard. I can only try so hard to live without you before my ribs unzip to chasms, every memory so large I must expand my lungs to fit them all. Sometimes they claw their way from my throat, with the hatred housed in little bird nests, because you could always hide where

droplets to drop by Nullibicity, literature

Literature

droplets to drop

I think I imagined my life. One prayer spent, an angel held my mind and supported its weight... offered to steal me away in the 8th grade despite the fact I'd let him down in ridicule and silence. In that moment, I believed in God. but God existed in everything and nothing, and it became hard deciphering the holy from the chosen. So I dined with sin one night when her lips were too sweet and I was too caged; she'd put her nails inside my poet lines, with a sadness too familiar I could only choke on disappointment. A white-out later--lips left only a little less swollen than the eyes--I was hoping I was simply malnourished in weak-spirit...

after him by Nullibicity, literature

Literature

after him

clutch tight to Gandhi and Plath— and maybe the sicker works of Poe, his Annabel Lee— and open cotton ears to the streetlamps covering shadow streets, shadow people, and tell me why we breathe. there’s space in your sheets, and I’m glad I didn’t crawl in and nest like blue jays in the spring...though one time I did fall in, and it was far from graceful— dirt and mud on your quilt and just hand grenades in my right breast, waiting for your fingers to pull out all the pins.

sheepskin by Nullibicity, literature

Literature

sheepskin

Your love smells like snow in the deep of August, sucking me like mosquitoes and you. damn, you always had a talented tongue, knowing just what to say to roll me between your teeth and keep me there; and I was hoping— no, trusting— I’d not be crushed. I should have known when you raised your bones against me, when you clattered your molars together but never bothered hiding the truth below your belt. And a part of me says I was in love with you.

kairos by MisfitableGrae, literature

Literature

kairos

on the day we are supposed to meet, i will be too sad to get out of bed. destiny will knock insistently on my door, will stick its head through the opening and call my name, softly and then louder when i do not respond. it will pick its way through the chaos of my bedroom, over shoes and socks and sweaters i haven’t worn in a week and shake my shoulder. i will close my eyes and roll over. i will have eaten too much the day before. i will have not eaten at all the day before. i will feel like my hands are only good for dropping second chances on the floor next to dirty underwear and last week’s failed midterm and half full cups

orange crush, feverfire, a girl beneath the wave by nawkaman, literature

Literature

orange crush, feverfire, a girl beneath the wave

there are only six people in the world, you know but I am hurtling around like spacerock, splashing down into a genetic whirlpool of pixie dust: here, diamond; here, flumes forming, inch by inch erotic and contorted into contours we can fathom, deep ravines of ravenous need, all flesh and marrow mixing in our minds like oxygen and wine, bringing out the flavors but you aren't contained, you aren't contained more like an idea of where two concepts interconnect, the joining of skin and skin and purpose, still raw and unknown but my god when you look at me like that when you stare into the abyss and reach in with greedy fingers pull out th

to wake the dead. by littleblueraccoon, literature

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