[x]

Therapists, I don't like their taste.i.
in 7th grade
i didn’t know depression
until she told me her name,
carving forever scratches
along my limbs like
little love notes on the bark
of a tree.

she stole my rings
and left me hollow.

ii.
i had only ever met anxiety
in passing, until one day
he handed me power and told me
to hurt someone else with it.

iii.
inexperienced,
with an uncontrollable
quivering in my fingers,
he whispered, “ to survive,
you must learn quickly.”
as i shoved the bevel of a needle
into a strangers arm.

iv.
so, if a therapist
could talk away my scars
like iodine disinfects,
guide the ships
through

Please,don’t make me
fall in love with you,
again.

I don’t want to remember you,
those Sunday morning
wake-me-up kisses,
or the way your
lost boy eyes always,
always found a way
to find mine.

There are only so many times
I can allow you to slice
through my scar tissue
before I finally

fall
ap art.

lion boyi knew a boy with
eyes of gold & fire
in his footsteps.

he would roar to the
stars, declaring himself
as fearless as a king
& as regal as a lion.

"ad lucem,"
he would announce
every night when leo
would coax the virgin
from her radiant
castle.

five times around the
sun & loyal fangs bared
to shield his kingdom,
my lion boy
dances with flames.

ExposureThe wind invites itself
from underneath my door,
it reaches under
it pulls open-
the leaves come in.
A bird hops over the
threshold and tilts its
head in quick, informative
motions.

The rains follow in
after the wind and
now I have to reason with
both the animals and the storm.

Those abandoned wooden barns
with one wall collapsed,
overgrown with vines and ferns.
The epitome of giving in.

I close the door
and all the windows,
leave it to the glass
to challenge the rain.

That little bird,
somewhere in here,
is searching for where
the wind has gone.

Thunder knocks
once, then
twice.

I imagine lying
on the hood of a car
beneath the desert su

i shouldn't write when i'm stonedpeople say you're
an asshole. but that's
okay because people say
i'm an asshole, too. maybe
that's one of the reasons
you love me and i love you.

but i think more than that,
i think the biggest reason
we're drawn to each other is
that neither of us fit anywhere.
we are both lonely. and we are sad.
but we don't care, and we love it.

we are good at being
alone. we are good at
being together. if i could,
i would paint a picture
of two souls tethered close
but sitting in separate rooms
and i would point to it. then you
would understand why we will
never come apart.

String TheoryThis is determination,
existential numbness in which
I drown from the paranoid spittle
of that dreary-eyed girl
lost in the mirror.

Jesus,
what would you do

if you saw me now, all grown in
to my predetermined curves and
the nihilistic fabrications knotted in my skin.

Maybe you still want to be
a brain surgeon. Maybe you still
weep when you’re happy and stop
when you’re lonely, drooping over like
the puppet no one remembered. Maybe
you still smoke like it’s a defiance, and love
like it’s a war; maybe time preserved you
like a corpse in formaldehyde, and maybe

you still think of me,
too.

ExperimentalistShe always said she was
An experimentalist.
I knew otherwise.
This girl was raised to
Believe that the ability of
Counting the bones in your
Rib cage is beautiful.
Sixteen years old
With sand in her blood
And shoulder blades
As sharp as knives
As long as wings.
That day I knew
Her smiles were painful
And her laughs were just
Recorded in her throat
From so much practice
In a life that was once
So happy.

A little punk rocker with a gift for singing songsGirl with the rock and roll smirk curled behind her teeth
Burning her insides for fun because there wasn’t much else to do
Aside from skipping stones across car parks
And sipping the last dregs of forbidden liquor
Behind broken trees to keep up the act of normality

Late at night when the moon is asleep
She lies on dismantled bed frames
Counting stars because lambs are too often sent to the slaughter
Lucky star heartbeats and posy veins
Hides broken windows behind her pupils

Ceiling lights tracing patterns on her cheekbones
As late night contemplation's lead back to Rome
Atlas limbs curled into her ribs
With a sense of obligation she

Pack rats I want to be
that
stale as bread,
peeling
picture of her
that you
stow(ed) away
in the beating
of your breast
pocket

this habiti have this habit of thinking without thinking.

my mind will be walking down a road
between cities

while i am plugging away at the factory,
while i am putting groceries away.

if someone were to ask me what i was thinking,
i wouldn’t know what to say.

i would have to wait hours,
long after they’ve gone,

until my mind comes through the door,
tracking all manner of shit onto the floor,

and explains himself.

Love LettersWith their condescending ink
They wrote patterns of gold
Upon parchment leather paper
Within letters of words foretold

Perhaps with this envelope
And its rose tainted scent
I can find peace in myself
In the summer days spent

Where I took in the musky smell
Of your heart.
As I held it against my chest
I picked up a pen and began to start

Dear love, oh love
How I wish to see your lovely face
These days, these mornings are
What keep me hoping in sovereign grace...

AdultsI envy those people
who leave home
at eighteen
and live like twenty-five year olds,
looking out for themselves
like folks did in the good ol’ days,
drinking whiskey straight,
driving all night with no limits,
loving and fucking without apology,
never having to remind someone
that they’re old enough—
Goddamnit, they’re old enough
and if they’re not cut loose
they’ll suffocate to death

without ever having breathed
on their own.

Sea sonnet for the girl with ocean eyesShe was southern Californian storms
On a good day
When the skies nursed the shoreline like a wound
And the rain tasted like two scoops of mint chip ice cream

She held the nebula in her palms
And poured it out onto the sidewalk
So that the gutters would have something
To talk about at night

She swallowed the ocean
And held it in her eyes
deep pools
Of mountain rock blue straining against the sky
The bluest eyes I’d ever seen
Sparrow girl with the breathless wings

Embellished in vinyl’s and cassette tapes
Gramophone gilded lashes and half-moon wrists made up
Paper tapestries taped together with Shakespeare and Green

Sunday mor

Alaska is hiding behind her eyesA girl caught up in the same game
Where circus tricks and trapeze artists
Are nothing compared to the burning of lungs
Where insomnia stains the people’s smiles
In a pale wash of sea foam angst bottled up and thrown
Into the horizon where the sky meets the earth
In a disjointed seam

She had hurricane rage eyes
And wishbone sleeves pulled tightly across her chest
To suppress her Medusa heart from cracking
The stars open and drinking their flames

Ocean funeral where Chaconne
Is played to sirens and sea urchins
Coiled beneath the oily depths of seascapes
Where her kite string spines push against the thin membrane
Of split grin skie

On the road again searching for lost thingsLake bones carved into words
The slow baked Texas heat seeping into
Galaxy veins and Saturn ring irises
Like cross hatched road maps
Leading to lost cities gilded in gold
The skies nursing oil spills like a wound

Your cat eye palpitations lingering
Behind drowsy eyelids
Where childhood adventures of never growing up
Spark between neurons and sneakers pounding
On old dirt tracks
Boyish dreams of Milky Way heroes
Make up the constellations of your breathing

Browse More Like This

Download File
HTML, 719 bytes more ▶

More from *Medoriko

Ordinary PeopleWe are who we are
One in All
Ordinary people.

Human
But not always humane
Not always understanding
But nevertheless
breathing
needy
fearful
People.

Reaching for the top.
Wherever it might lay
Searching for the riches
Glitz, glamor and gold
In money and appeal.
Even though it lies
In the love of another
In matters of the heart
We are still
Ordinary People.

We are dominating creatures
Insufferable.
Cruel and callous
Hearts of glass
Hard as stone
Brittle down
To our hollowed bones.
But yet we live
And breathe
As people do.
As we pretend to do.
Who we pretend we are
Who we'd like to think we are.
Who we might

Pardon the PunPeople can coexist for a short time
But it is destined that one should destroy the other.
His expertise at prestidigitation
Making her disappear.
Like a prayer
A secret untold.
Playing Poker in Worcester
Under a starless sky
Gambling for esteemed trust.
He knows that she is fragile
Just as surely as he knows the moon
rises at night.
So easily abused
And tossed away
Like violets in a lily valley.
In a place where she doesn't belong
A place she couldn't begin to exist in.
Unable to learn invaluable lessons
Unable to see that everything crumbles
Crashes and burns.
As it should.
Such is the nature of existence.
You pick yo

Profile for RawEm0tion

Name: Nadia (otherwise known as Medoriko)
Age: 21
Gender: I'm a lady ;D

Not much to say really. I'm a extremely sarcastic biology major student at Western Illinois University. I've been writing poetry since I was a freshmen in High school and it has evolved/improved since then. I originally started off writing mostly horror poetry, but over the years it has shifted into a more intuitive type. It's become less obvious and more angst/retrospective/just plain depressing :P I can say that just about anything inspires me to write. Music seems to inspire me the most, but I generally get ideas in the most bizarre situations. I hope to someday be

Addicted: A Six Word Story

She Cried Tears of Crystal Meth .

Ab InitioThe cold irony of false words and true meaning
Brings about irreversible consequences.
Things you can't take back, rewrite
Or Burn.
A constant reminder of everything you've done
Everywhere you've went
Every chance you've forgot to take
And every emotion you've neglected to feel
Since the beginning.
But of what?
Let's take this from the top.

Details in the fabric speak of words I can't express.
Tells lies I can't form my lips to say.
But don't put words in my mouth instead
They cut too deeply, Slice too neatly.
Sort me into place
Put me in a whirl
Of infinite possibilities.

But I don't dare look back
Turn my back on mysel

AudacityA single call reigns through the night
But it isn't mine
Nor has it ever been.
Not with so many heads turned
Reasons barely audible.

Running down crooked corridors
A voice to claim my innocence
Beyond open ears.
I wonder if it matters even now
My mirror image debunked
Among hushed whispers
Of Untold sins and borrowed tragedies.
I wonder if You'd fight for me even still
Somewhere deep within
Lies all my hesitant ways.
Spasms and jerks from mangled flesh
Borrowed and kept hidden
From preying eyes
With Some kind of petulant view.

The truth can seldom be heard
When the volume is turned down low
Or nobody is ever l

View Gallery

Featured in Groups:

Not currently featured in any groups.

Details

Submitted: February 14, 2008
File Size: 719 bytes

Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 11
Favourites: 2 [who?]
Views: 68 (0 today)
Downloads: 1 (0 today)

[x]

Creep

by *Medoriko, Feb 14, 2008, 10:51:34 PM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

How beautiful it has become
Only to shrivel up
Stone Cold Hands
Sour Acronyms
Of Destructions
Wake me up
Save me
From such meaningless
Pleasantries
The faint crimson regret
I have come to deserve
Born into shame
No backbone of hope
Salvation ripped away
Clutching hands
Desperate
Dripping with urgent needs
The bile in my throat
Coming up
Leaking onto
The cracks on the floor
Of my Home
An inferno
It and I are one
In the same
I was the resurrected
The embodiment of hell
G
U
I
L
T

Creepby *Medoriko

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

Based on "Mother Superior" by Coheed and Cambria.

~LeafVNinja Feb 15, 2008

ooo real nice! Big words

*Medoriko Feb 15, 2008 Student Writer

lol thanks

~Kasucia Feb 15, 2008

This poem sound awesome, Medo. ^^

*Medoriko Feb 15, 2008 Student Writer

;D thanks

~DivinityArcane Feb 14, 2008 Professional

I like it,

its not sounding like something someone just 'thought' up but more as an experience.

nice

*Medoriko Feb 15, 2008 Student Writer

Thank you luff

Yes it is more of experience. More along the lines of me feeling guilty over things that aren't my fault. Its probably just resurfacing in a poem :3 glad you liked <3

~usedlotofhell Feb 14, 2008

It is a very good poem, slightly reminds me of my nightmare poem, in the fact that it both deals with something we do not like nor want.

Part of it makes me wonder who made you feel guilty, the other part wants to make sure it doesn't happen again, to keep you happy.

*Medoriko Feb 15, 2008 Student Writer

Yes this is true. As i said to Kyogo, its me feeling guilty or responsible for things that aren't my fault. Its a habit after being "sorry" for everything over the years. But I am better of course :3

~usedlotofhell Feb 15, 2008

so long as we get better, the world can be our clam... although, I'll leave it for you, since I'm allergic

~Big-K14 Feb 14, 2008

oddly enough this poem really does show I'm feeling right now that and alittle bit of depression with it

More from *Medoriko

Featured in Groups:

Details

Statistics

Creep

Creepby *Medoriko

The Journal Portal

Polls

What is your preferred drawing software?

deviantART [dee·vee·un'nt·ART]

Keep in Touch!

Deviousness

Add Media

Style