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Waiting for a coach
and four
that never came,
she realized
a ball gown
won't bloom
out of sackloth;
glass slippers
are not dependable
and mice
are best left
to their own devices.
Midnight was never a friend,
and under that suit
he is the same as any other
man.

IcarusSun girl,

the whispering stars
& feathered clouds dance
for you tonight.

Do not let anyone
clip your wings;

you were made for the skies.

Definition of a Writerwrit•er

noun /rītər/

A writer is a person
Who sees the world differently
From a high perspective of understanding
To an easily balanced imagery

They stand at the edge of the cliff
And run that extra mile
To gain what a normal person cannot see
And to obtain the hope that they wish to cherish

A writer is a person
Who buries their ego and places boulders upon it
They learn the rules, follow the rules, and will break the rules
And make writing their own

They lay upon the dusty old ground of a graveyard
And do an annual ritual to free the inspiration that has been pinned down
They want to show their abnormality to everyone

Red DressDon’t put on your red dress
for he doesn’t know the meaning
he doesn’t want the commitment
he doesn’t care for the color.

The red dress you love to wear
that’s stained from wine and beer
but still carries so much meaning
for who could find a second red dress

Don’t go out on your red dress
for the man who wants nothing more
to screw around and doesn’t understand
the meaning behind a simple red dress.

A red dress for when you dance.
A red dress for when you cry.
A red dress for when you need it.
A red dress for when you care too much.

Don’t put on your red dress for him darling
he doesn&rsqu

i got flowers oncei am lonely.
i received flowers once
and i placed them
in a vase til
the petals all browned
desiccated
and turned to dust
on the glass of my bureau.

i have never gotten flowers since.

i spend my days
with a boy
a man
whom i love far beyond reason
and he holds me in his arms
and holds me together.

i bite my nails
and pull my hair
over the moment when he
inevitably
feels the disenchantment
fall over his body,
all clean lines
and smooth shapes,
and realises that leaving
the worst thing
would be
the best thing.

i am lonely
and even with a hand to hold,
and even with a cloak of security
bunching around my shoulders
and hiding my thighs,
i feel

moonshines in georgiaman on the moon:

giddy with lumps of north georgia seas
greased on the crease of my lips
gravity drips from couch-cavities
when tides belch from below --

burst on the water's edge,
earth's bourbon sailors retch in moonshined ripples
trickled blue murder on their crinkled crimes;
raking water wrinkles like a wayward drunk
stuck on sunken bootleggin' dreams.

it's been a long, long time
since I've drowned your hemisphere
for fishing like a moonraker,
swishing my bait-lines like tobacco's
squished in your shallow gums
before you dare to down my air
breathing in this sincere georgia night.

L.E.S.B.I.A.N.Living on the
Edge of life
Saving myself
Being who
I truly am
As it is all i can be
Never forget that

Blame The ParentsI won't be able to keep a relationship in the future because I'm scared
I'm scared it'll turn out like theirs

I'm a pacifist because I hate watching it
I hate watching them fight

I have PTSD because of their fights
Their fights almost broke up this family

I self harm because they are pushing me over the edge
I was already close to jumping, but they gave me an extra push

I'm always in my room because that's how I run away
I guess that's called "Like father, like daughter"

I only eat one meal a day because he constantly puts me down
Even though he's joking, I can tell he means every bit of what he says

I can't trust anyone because they do

Missing piecesMissing pieces

There are wounds
that never heal; silences
so loud they thunder - I stopped
breathing years ago, that night
the ice took my chest. Since then
I walk in pieces, howling
around my heart.

-SophieCT, 2012, 2013

field notesi read some poetry
just for the sound--for the words lilting up and down
and the thick, honeysepia
polaroids unmisting in my head.
those are the poems i never understand
and the only conclusion i can draw is:
there is apparently
some supernova poetic awakening that comes
with the loss of virginity
and basically i need to get laid.

MorningA black cat sleeps in a ray of sun
My coffee is lousy
Another cardboard morning
The day isn't a blank canvas
Waiting to be painted
Its already scrawled with
Yesterday's mad crayon drawings

Smoke drifts up and out of the window
I drink the coffee

van houten must be godi. you know how in embroidered cloth,
from the bottom under the design,
all you see are knots? her honey-like,
crying
voice lulls me to sleep,
that's what we see of God's plan.
just the knots. when in reality,
it's the design on top;
beautiful and flawless that He
has in store for us.
bullshit.
i learnt that word
when i was three
but every time i said it,
my face hurt and mom's hand fell.
God will put you
in hell.
do you want that?
i knew better than to say it again.
ii. you're an estimated
fallacy, the perfect
misconception.
you don't need to exist
for people to believe.
they make you real with
dancing tongues behind
a crowd
of murmuring lips of
god's will.
iii. of the rain,
i sang songs, whispering
prayers only you
could hear.
if you truly are
what they say for you to be,
then there are no secrets
between you and me.
mother still sings
the same songs
in the rain, hoping
you'll hear her the way
i thought you would.
but she doesn't know you died long ago
with chiv

blood-red wine and skeleton jazz i.
the day you left,
your cobweb dress clung to you in ways
that i would dream about for years,
in hot, fevered nights
when the moon thought it might burst
in the sky,
and even the wind wailed your name.

ii.
i remember how you called make-up war paint,
and you drew it across your face like a message
i could never decipher;
i remember how i got goosebumps when i heard
your heels clicking across the floor at 3am
when you finally got home and slipped into bed;
i remember longing for you with every fiber of my being,
feeling separate from you even when our clothes lay on the floor
and your fingernails dug into my shoulders
and your toes curled

thieves of nocturne skiesPaper lanterns are midnight requiems
That tell me to look beyond the
light and have &

The PoetFor the work of a Poet to be truly appreciated
he must write it with his own blood and tears for ink
his soul the sharpened quill to nail the words
like so many specimen of unwilling insects upon the paper.

And once he has bled out
becoming the cause of his own demise
the reader is left behind to digest his soul
so plainly trapped within a cage of words
his requiem written as a love song to his Muse.

Browse More Like This

More from *Medoriko

SupermanShe could feel his labored breath.
Eyes sunken in all that grief...
But there she remained.
A touch to kiss him clean
but his mistakes she could not erase.
Some things really were
too broken to fix.

The King's CastleIn the age of fallout, memory will persist.
Her face contorted under every blow.
Chest blushed crimson,
fallen in heavy sighs.
And she will remember.
His hands on her, like a hammer.
Pounding the nail; her body bends at will.
And she told herself this would be the last time.

But time after time, he would rip her out of context.
Savor the way, in which
she caved
How well her body was molded by
leaky hand prints.
Beautiful under the mercy of long nights
and mornings, glazed over
Mesmerized by his cigarette ash
and clinking of beer bottles
He convinced himself that she
liked this. Surely she did.
And maybe someday,
she'll convince herself
th

When in DoubtFeather soft and quiet as a whisper,
she tip toes around the sleeping beast.
They would lay together in the bed they made.
Rolling around in twisted sheets.
White walls and picket fences.
Surely they had it all?

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Psychosis

by *Medoriko, Jan 6, 2007, 9:46:47 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

In a world that is solely mine
There exists a frame of mind
Where I can see everything
That does and does not subsist
No one can be trusted
Deceit is expected
I walk among liars
Some scarred, some victims
Of their own pretense
What is morally incorrect
Seems perfectly doable to me
Don’t judge what you think you know
Mind games can change the most subtle
Of People
Meshing dreams with reality
Giving a false sense of euphoria
What bubbles beneath the surface
Seems to only affect me
Killing me from the inside, out
But I pick at it, wanting it to scab
To hurt
Feverish, spastic
Am I myself yet?
Puncture the wound, let it bleed
Lesson learned?
Everybody lies
Or maybe
It’s just all in my head

147

4 33 1

Psychosisby *Medoriko

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Not sure where this came from. I have been feeling rather odd lately. Well...odder than i normally am. So perhaps that is it. lol

Not my best work by far, but i never let a peice of inspiration go. ^^

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Submitted on: January 6, 2007
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~theboneshack Jan 10, 2009

I love stuff like this, great work!! I definitely can relate.

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~youcancallmecrash Jan 9, 2007 Hobbyist Writer

LOVE IT!

Reply

Mood: Joy

=Budukai Jan 8, 2007 Student Traditional Artist

Yep, good to keep all the stuff you make, so you can reflect on it later and think about why you made it

Reply

*Medoriko Jan 8, 2007 Student Writer

yeah i keep readin some of my older stuff

its really fun actually ^_^. Btw...I MISS U!!

XD

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=Budukai Jan 9, 2007 Student Traditional Artist

yep long time no see

Reply

*Medoriko Jan 9, 2007 Student Writer

^_^

Reply

Mood: Wow!

!soaring-remi Jan 7, 2007

How strange... in a good way.

XD

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*Medoriko Jan 7, 2007 Student Writer

thanks XD

Reply

~usedlotofhell Jan 6, 2007

"doable" I think is spelt as "do-able". I'm not sure, so don't quote me on it.

Other then that, a great poem.

Reply

*Medoriko Jan 7, 2007 Student Writer

thanks :3

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