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You.You are the colors in my dreams. You're the golden, cold beer I gulp and the dope I smoke. You're the words I invent when I sleep. You're my skin and every cell that moves in my body. You're the mysterious, profound sunset and the drugs on the street. You're the burning asphalt and the yellow paint. You're the feathers that flit in the breeze. You're the air I draw into my lungs, invisible yet tangible and so pure.You.
You're the poet and I'm the poems you scribble in the throes of night lust and throw away in the morning. You're the illusionist and I'm the cards you manipulate. You're the king and I'm the jester you're ha
by ~StellaMarie
Beauty.I like the feel of your hand in mine as we walk to the separate songs in our head and spew out lines from Bukowski poems. I love the stories and original lyrics you whisper to me as we lay by the fire, the sparks the closest thing to fireflies there is in these dry forests. I love your words and how they're like daisies that stay alive in the winter. My heart pounds as you wink, as your blue eyes hide behind their lids for barely a second, as you tease me. My head whirls as you promise me salvation, as you swear you will retrieve the star I gaze at every night. My world spins out of control as you recall tBeauty.
by ~StellaMarie
Letter.Dear daylight,Letter.
I would love to string fragile daisy chains and play in sprinklers that sparkle with you. Really I would. But frankly, I am too depressed. I'd rather lay under the hotel blanket I stole from the Days Inn down the street and wallow inside...well, I don't really know what. I'd rather ignore you and worship the night because my heart is the fossil of a fish that once sped through salty water. It has sunken to the bottom now. It's buried in sand. The blood that once pumped rapidly through my body is now dormant and thick like pudding, only not as sweet. Honestly, you wouldn't want to be around someone like me. I would
by ~StellaMarie
Dyke.She is gay and not proud. She meets her own blue eyes in the mirror and prays for them to become dark matter. Invisible, undetectable, unreadable. She looks at her hair and wills it to turn into a forest of cobras. It never does. She stares at her skin and tells it to be less like a lily and more like oak. Her hair is dry against her neck. Her feet are proudly calloused. Her fingernails are brittle.Dyke.
She longs to be a mannequin with plastic breasts and no hair. She wants to be a beat poet with jazz ringing in her ears and the smell of weed clinging to her clothes. The d
by ~StellaMarie
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- 143 F R E E D O M - Jun 15, 2007
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Devious Info
- Current Residence: The tower tumbling through the trees.
- Interests: Music, singing, writing, theology, socialism, cats, history, language...
- Favourite movie: Almost Famous, The Pianist, V for Vendetta...
- Favourite band or musician: Nirvana, Fiona Apple, Norah Jones, Regina Spektor, Melissa Etheridge, The White Stripes...
- Favourite genre of music: I love rock. All of it. Punk, acid, classic, indie, alternative...I also love jazz and good pop.
- Favourite artist: Michaelangelo, Monet, Van Gogh, Picasso...
- Favourite poet or writer: Jacqueline Carey, Elizabeth Wurtzel, Jack Kerouac, Charles Bukowski, Gregory Corso, Leonard Cohen...
- Favourite photographer: chimy-rainbow, gilad, girltripped, gooutinstyle, JadeInCatacomb, saligia, SeaFairy, siyahtapot...
- Favourite style of art: Surrealism, pop art, impressionism.
- MP3 player of choice: Musicmatch Jukebox, actually.
- Favourite game: Hide and Go Seek.
- Favourite cartoon character: Betty Boop.
- Personal Quote: You can't live in this world, but there's nowhere else to go.
- Tools of the Trade: Pen and paper.
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