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Perfect MomentMy cat, Emo, lounges in the summer grass,
stark black and fluffy white, the pink
of his nose against the dusty green
and piss yellow of the farm worn weeds
in the crowded yard, bursting with old cars,
chicken eggs, splintered wood,
goats that won’t shut up and the children
bustling in and out of the house.
Duncan and I are ignoring them,
sitting on the cracked porch steps,
and Emo, once he’s sprawled
his thin body into a comfortable line,
is relaxed, closing his eyes into slits
while he softly purrs in the sunshine.
We don’t have to hold him or pick him up
because he’s already content to be near us.
We three are together and he is happy,
and is the most beautiful thing
I have witnessed all summer long
in that moment.
The FallYou took what I thought was
the crisp, ripe peach of our friendship
and tore it apart with savage teeth.
I wonder what it tasted like
at the time, if you rejoiced
in ripping me to pieces
as I stood at a complete loss
for how to help you, how to get
through to you, and what I did
to deserve such hostility.
I hear you tried to apologize.
Tearfully, in fact, trying to get me
to answer the phone, all day.
That doesn’t sound like you at all
but if it’s true, I didn’t receive the calls or texts
because I blocked your number.
After much thought for a course
of action, I found my heart
was too tired of that particular strain,
the one where I give you my all
as a friend and you just look at me
as something to put up with, even if
you say you love me.
I guess this past spring
wasn’t the season for peaches,
because they all grew hard and stiff
and before I knew it I found myself
biting into stone.
Summer Night SongHalf past midnight I draw up the blinds
and open the window to a playful wind,
cool and inviting.
The sound of it crashing through the trees
like ocean waves on the tide
is the lullaby that lulls me to sleep.
The busy rustling of rabbits
and calm burn of jasmine incense
lets me know that all will heal
and give way to morning.
Southern UtahAs a child I was sewn from sparse trickles
of dry riverbeds, sandstone sediments, and deep
soul searing heat.
And I find to this day I’m a product of rust red sand
that burns my blood, skin, and the soles
of my feet.
My native land, ravaged with desert thunder
and flash floods, is a fragrant valley of memories
old and fresh.
If one has never felt the heart-skittered feeling
of love, they need to spend some time
in southern Utah.
Lightthrough your lighthearted humor
and rich, charismatic laugh
I am drawn to laugh with you
and made happy.
because of your damn good taste
in music, I have songs that pulse
with power and make me dance
away my pain.
through your deep, magnetic voice
with a flow like liquid steel
negativity flees away
and I listen.
because your light comforts me
on restless days and chilling nights
I can say, with love,
you’re my hero.
Flower BedsIn the field of my mind
plump waxen roses
reflect Caribbean reefs
while swaying with the winds
of my passions.
I like to think someday
there will be marigolds
something more practical,
but for now my garden overflows
with roses, and all the thorns
how to stay sane in the real world1.
you don’t know who you are
not yet, or not well,
so keep a small book around,
for clues and for notes.
write when you’re frustrated,
sad, upset and uncertain
even when your words seem
in someone else’s voice,
and one day, when you read it
it will all blend together
and be yours.
remember your family DOES love you
forever, and true,
even if sometimes they hurt you
senseless with words
and you swear that they hate
the fact that you breathe.
real love makes you bleed
as it does make you fly,
and you must learn
to love right, in this way
all the time.
don’t panic, not ever,
even when anxieties
pump your blood to your mouth.
let your family
your lovers support you
but learn to trust yourself.
because while they give you strength,
you are your savior.
stay calm and your answers
will find you.
know that happiness
dusts the palms
of your hands.
I Love You So MuchI love you most in the late softness of the afternoon
when we feel like warriors breathing freely
after battle, working steadily
but relaxing, because we won the day
and we’re finally safe.
I love you most when we’re alone in a room
at a table, across from each other, when you’re working
and I’m working, and no words
I love you most when you smirk at me, when
I watch it gently curve into a smile,
one that ignites your intense dark eyes
with the warmth of colliding stars
before swallowing them into your skin.
I love you most when you show me your heart
when its nervous, passionate rhythm
beats under the palms of my hands,
like a jeweled light linking your lifeline to mine
I love you when you’re reserved, ridiculous
for your funny faces, your voice
and every power
I love you for all this
and infinitely more
I love you so much.
I Am Not a Winter FlowerMy status as any kind of winter blossom
was threatened when I soaked too long
in a molten, early spring sun.
As a child I had thought to ask someone,
“if blossoms take in too much sun
do they burn?”
Yes. Yes they do.
One warm, snowy night my roommate said,
“You are the bravest person I know.”
“You are also the strongest.”
Love and confusion warred in me
at the truth staring simply from her shadowed eyes.
How could that be? I’m crumbling here.
My ashen petals are littering the ground you walk on.
When you lose a best friendWhen we said friends forever and
crossed pinkies like grade-schoolers,
I could only believe those words
lodged in your heart
like they did mine
because every time I think back
I can't help but remember the
under star lit constellations,
and study sessions where we
learned more about each other
than we did Biology
but now it's clear
that each beat of your heart
has made those words fade,
and you could care less
about crossed pinkies
but I'll still see you,
and hear your voice
and I'll still wish
the meaning hadn't changed-
At peace within this tranquil garden,
I picture the moments where I've made you smile.
Those times are endlessly precious to me,
I think they're worth the while.
They're worth the time I've spent with you,
Even if it wasn't long.
I only wish I'd spent a little more,
Before our love was gone.
Forgiveness takes twoThe words are struggling
to tumble off my tongue,
and despite having
a fleshy cushion
to rest on,
they stain my teeth
and sting like acid
"I'm sorry," I stutter,
but the bitter taste
doesn't leave my tongue-
not because the words weren't true,
but because I know
I won't hear,
She's an artistShe's an artist.
Always seems to be daydreaming,
She draws to escape her pain.
Cause for a single moment,
When her work is done.
It seems like there is no more rain.
And she could finally touch the sun.
The one that shines so brightly in her paintings.
But then it's gone,
So she keeps drawing,
She's become good at escaping.
Running from reality.
Because dreams are the only things she wants,
Her imagination is the only thing she's ever known.
And it's sad really...
Because she tries so hard to be happy.
But the most beautiful thing she could ever create.
Was that smile upon her face,
And that is the one thing that remains blank.
Waiting to someday be something more than,
Mommy Is A Super HeroMommy Is A Super Hero
Standing before his class, he held his tiny report,
“Who is your super hero?” Was written in yellow chalk on the green board.
Exhaling his breath, the curly haired boy closed his little eyes,
“Don't be ashamed of yourself” His mother's words rung in his ears, “And don't ever cry.”
He began to read aloud, with a shaky voice.
to his class, he told his mother's story.
At age fifteen, she was a beauty queen,
the most beautiful girl in all of the world.
She flaunted her silky hair, bore her bare legs,
prided her breast. The boys treated her like she was a treasure chest.
They respected her rules, they “looked, but didn't touch”,
but there was one older man, who from her, wanted too much.
All alone he met her, he approached her in the alley,
and all his mother told him, was that this man had treated her badly.
But what the boy didn't know was that she was taken against her will,
and that two months later, she turned up ext
Still HereSuicide is a
Thought that frequently lurks
In my mind, wich
Lets it overcome the
Laughter and happiness
Here I still fight, however
Enduring this sad life
Reviving my hopes
Embracing the gift of life
cenotaph of stormsthe first thunderstorm
was triggered by a blunt pair
of scissors, sparking violently
against the lightning,
shaking in the wind.
the downpour pierced,
tattooed with no ink but
the dark bleakness
of an overcast morning,
infiltrating uniformed wrists.
hid behind the music block,
shaky raindrops rioting
fears, she fractured.
the second storm
wept a two year downpour
outline that dripped from wrist
to hip, sidelong silhouette glances
obscured by the rain.
stalictidal waves shuddered
frozen, until icy glass
fell in stained shards from
the stillness inside.
thinner, brittler, growing
in flurries of sleet and hail,
her outline was never filled,
though the floods threatened
the third thunderstorm
was a mist-ridden melancholia,
a dream for permanence
smeared in ink through
fueled by the hope
that just this once,
the rain would spark a
rebirth beneath the ground.
instead, a tsunami
washed away the ink
as tides so often do.
smotherher spine was dusk
and unmade nests,
but he tried to live there
he was neither nocturnal
nor a dawn-believer,
so he suffocated
in the birdhouse of her ribs.
between my vertebrae, you are (cemeterial)oh, these writers never speak; they
claw words out of bird carcasses,
poets pecking viscera like necropolitans.
they count their ribs to remind you
of a corpse or of a matchstick. dry bones
between fissured wrists & funeral pyres,
these have been dying days &
they're all mortuaries.
For KelseyMy dearest friend:
you’ve made me smile when I’ve never wanted to again
with full grins of your own that burst with glow like small planets
or Japanese lanterns, lit with incense for luck.
You know, I’ve overheated
to supernova at times, like when you sweetly took my hands
in yours and kissed me quick after a soft, slow dance
that you wrapped me into, eyes sparkling.
You’re always warm as the richest of local honey, blushing
and dripping off the ends of our tea spoons.
Thank you, darling,
for taking me into your soothing love so completely,
complementing me like lavender to hot water, even when
I’m difficult. Every woman should be so lucky
to come upon such a bright, bouncing star
in her ever open expanse of deep night sky.
Keep in Touch!
scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More