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Not you, but me
Not you, but me
I've crossed every stone,
A trail through the bay to your heart.
Tossed among sunken ships,
Just a wreck in your deepest harbor.
You're the coral I cut my knee on
And the salt in its wound.
I swam over you at low tide,
Should have known not to.
Torn at the seam,
No comfort in the folds.
Just an old towel hanging out
On the porch to dry.
I'm a stagnant bay,
sand trapped under my tongue.
No words to undo.
You drew a line as you
walked away from me.
Further and further,
A distant island hidden by the clouds.
My heart is tethered
between wrought iron
and quick tempers
In the house, a man was waiting:
silver skin, sharp chin
eating the remains with his corbeau mouth
My cloaked heart slips through the gate,
and past March, April, June
my palms are stained with the smell of rust,
dust and rotting wood under my tongue,
unopened mail behind each rib
What's heavy will hurt.
I took a small boat away
Half way there
I lost my oars
Flung and tossed like a child
into the channel
"Are you afraid of what's below?"
you're just froth below the horizon.
you're just a speck in time
The dark whale should swallow me whole,
but instead I lay my head in the day's end,
like resting on warm thighs
My mother's own.
An owlWhen I was younger
We moved into the new house
my father built.
In the evening an owl flew in.
With heavy wings
it threatened us,
cutting through the dark
with hardly any room for flight.
My sister and I
held our breath
and played dead until my
father came home.
When he saw us he laughed
while we lay still
and then opened all the windows
to let it fly out.
the poisoned branch,
I pulled myself up on
to see another.
now an ant nest in my heart
you stepped in and
By myselfWhen I'm alone
I steal pieces of night.
Without another to share,
I eat by myself.
The meat is spoilt.
Only acid in my throat when I wake.
without a goodbyethis is the last time.
just empty space and time passing
I am at the other end of the room,
and you have opened all the windows
and doors to let yourself out.
the netI'm rot.
Was sliced at the gill,
thrown near the rocks
under sun and flies.
Flesh exposed, a little girl with no t shirt on.
Dead amongst scavengers.
lost my armor all scattered like
and soaked into the stone.
Swam into the net.
Thought it would get me there fast.
My life through the glass,
a million pieces scattered (splinters in my thumbs)
A spectrum (colours of fear)
Forced through me like knives.
Here, smoke and doubt intersects false light.
A journey queued. Where I had begun.
This time alone
What am I fighting for?
How to love a girl who can't love herself.one.
When she cries herself to sleep
six out of seven nights a week you must
say nothing. You must simply take
her in your arms and kiss her gaunt,
pale cheeks and wait for her to
slumber at the sound of your heart.
On the days where she wishes she
were part of the stars, tell her
no. Tell her that there are too many
lights in the sky and that just one
would be forgotten the moment you looked
away from it. Tell her that she is perfect
the way she is: completely human.
Don't let her think about the scars
that no one but her can see. If she
says "I think I'm broken" smile like you
know a secret and say, "No, you're mending."
But do not be the one to fix her - no, she
Skin.I love the way life leaves its mark on our bodies.
Every laugh and smile etched in the crinkles around your eyes and mouth;
Those tan-lines the time you forgot about sunscreen
Because you were so hell-bent on reaching that mountain peak
Or when you just became lost in the gentle lap of waves at the shore;
The scars you got skateboarding in the park at summer dusk
Or when life became pain and it was your only release.
Our bodies are a record of our memories and experiences
They are our travel journals and emotional diaries
Our delicate armour to the elements.
And no matter its colour, its stature, if it's not quite intact
If you sometimes think it takes up too much space, or if it has pointy corners
Your body is the vessel for your soul, and every wonderful facet of who you are
Sparkles from the surface of your skin.
Skin that may grow to be wrinkled, tanned, scarred, well lived-in
Although not always embraced by you the way that others embrace it.
Take the time to explore the s
The human condition of wanting to be everythingI feel as though I am exhausting
The excess skin around
in loose shadows
Across my cheekbones like
And whilst I find myself
To draw open the blinds
Because the light
is too bright
And I really can’t handle
The pane of the sky
With its obnoxious
glaring at me
With such a joyful expression
I know that lately
I am burning myself out
That I consume one too many
Cans of soda and energy drinks
At 2.45 AM
When the rest of the world
Is static in a hushed
Whilst I frantically try
To achieve something
Is too much
Or rather too
An existence for me
So I will continue
In order to
Try and destroy myself
Enough so that
I can be w h o l e
The scarsLife hurts us
It causes us to bleed
Time can heal the wounds
And stop the pain
But the scars remain
For the rest of our lives....
things i don't rememberi.
what you sounded like
as my ears were forming
what dreams or secrets
you confided in me
what pressures sunk
your proud shoulders
or the first time
i caused you
where i was when i decided
that your footsteps
should be followed
that your ideals
should be made my own
on my body
as i learned the world's ways
do not align
with our hopes
when i first
how my feet dangled
every time i wasn't strong enough and
how you made the world
how you were
figuring it all out
thought that life
To the BeautifulYou say we're beautiful,
Us who have been bullied...
But where were you while it was happening?
-I was watching-
You who say "This has to stop!",
There needs to be an end to this...
What are you doing to stop it?
-I did nothing-
It's too late now...
-I failed you-
of me and youthe day you stopped touching me was the day i
stopped speaking to myself. and the silence nearly killed me
LuckyYou talk like you always have a grain of salt,
to throw over your shoulder.
Every word is that hard cheese,
and they swing those whimsical wishbones much like carousels.
You're wasted on your self-image,
staggering down with rigorousness you don't own.
They're taking that steed and throwing horseshoes,
as if one of them might ring 'round your neck;
and save you from yourself.
You'll need a necropolis filled with pennies to barter,
and we won't lend a cent to save your sorry soul.
Your demons count clovers to kiss you,
gluing that fourth leaf to camouflage the truth.
They'd promise you an elephant to watch you die,
sucking sevens to keep you from entering Heaven.
And you can sing your superstitions into space,
but it's dead and empty.
Somewhat like the hollow shell you lounge in,
as the charms make you see spirits.
You say somewhere there's a rabbit dying to give its foot in your favor...
...but don't bet on it unless you can see that whites of its eyes.
Keep in Touch!
Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More