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God called in sick todayGod called in sick today,
and the sky is dancing.
People walked hand in hand
singing in tune with the damned.

Running without stories
‘this is what tragedy feels like’
dead is the new alive
but misery loves company.

Racing with the devil
one doesn't dare stop against
the lord of the damned
he laughs against the concrete.

Can one play with madness
as they dance on clouds of mind?
Heavens a lie when butterflies are flying in hurricanes
And God takes a day off.

Wasted time throwing rocks at stars
souls refuse their eternal rest
they drink a cup of galaxy for breakfast
hymn of the shameless.

Obsession is an ugly word.
When dGod called in sick today2 weeks ago in Free Verse

I once knew a girl with peculiar eyesthere once was a girl
who had peculiar eyes
they weren't bright, or playful
they were empty inside
they'd stare at you, emotionless
they were so blunt and so cold
it was very odd for a seven year old
she'd walk 'round with an untied shoe
with her teddy bear clenched in her elbow
and she'd waddle around the great big yard
just waiting, but for what? Who?
you'd always see her looking out the window at night
staring up at the twinkling little sky lights
and you'd get just a glimpse, a fraction of a second
where you'd see the light in her eyes; what should have been right
and as she got a little older, she'd glare up at you
then sometimes she'd yell, saying the compliments weren't true
she'd I once knew a girl with peculiar eyes2 weeks ago in Free Verse

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.Cinderella1 week ago in Free Verse

On the Typewriter, the Morning After

On the Typewriter, the Morning After2 weeks ago in Free Verse

Snow WhiteSeven more mouths to feed
(For this you left
your father's house?),
shoes piled by the door
and grimy rucksacks
full of coal.
(He promised you a diamond)
They keep you on your toes
with their uncombed hair
and their untrimmed beards
and appetites like young bulls.
That dress of yours
has seen better days
and your hands
are worn out -
bloodied starlings in your pockets.
So you cook and clean
and sew
and wait by the window
each morning for them to leave,
polishing your apples
and dream of what the huntsman

is hiding in his box.Snow White3 weeks ago in Free Verse

IcarusSun girl,

the whispering stars
& feathered clouds dance
for you tonight.

Do not let anyone
clip your wings;

you were made for the skies.Icarus5 days ago in Free Verse

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&rsquRed Dress2 days ago in Free Verse

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 everyoneDefinition of a Writer4 days ago in Free Verse

pretty little poet fingersfabricated gods rest between the
languid crevices of
her fingertips, scribbling profanities
all over her skin.

she's just mismatched bones
& blue bruises, telling of forbidden
love through archaic letters.

a tongue made for
wanderlust, & eyes made
for the stars,
even the devil fears her.pretty little poet fingers2 weeks ago in Free Verse

we are not a fairytalewe are not a fairytale.

I am not the strong lead with a heart of fire,
bones of steel, and eyes of vapid curiosity;
motivation seeping through
my every last intended action because
I was written this way

(the heroine falls only to rise again:
proverbial phoenix, burning out
because it is the cycle of my
life) and you, you are not

the beautiful travesty, perfectly composed
to strike me where I’m weak and
[almost]human, delicately woven
like the tapestry of my dismantling—
a subtle irony where somewhere, a writer
chuckles softly, understanding

we are blinder than church mice, born
in a makeshift world of darkness where
I&rsquowe are not a fairytale1 month ago in Free Verse

EmptinessI stopped cleaning my room
dust lays everywhere
but I'm confident the void inside me
will suck it all in
and leave my room
cleanEmptiness3 weeks ago in Free Verse

the scars on your shouldersthe scars on your shoulders
are braille to me, so that i
can read your skin, so that i
can know you better.

i like to listen to your heartbeat
and how it resounds differently
from mine, just so beautifully
like two songs played in tandem
to harmonise in rounds;

i like to hold your hands
and rub your back
so that maybe my love
can find its way through your pores
and seep into your blood
(never can i find the right words
to tell you just the way you feel to me)

and to think that and how i nearly missed you
makes me miss you more
every minute and mile we spend
elsewhere.
i can't sleep with another body
in my bed,
but sleeping without you
leavthe scars on your shoulders1 month ago in Free Verse

Perpetua: 1I.

Words, (or
Foot-

steps galloping, glazing over
oceans of glass according to them:
they leave a rather deep print
you see, a mist sweeping the hints
from this world. But invisible

below the glass ceiling, they’d all just see

in any mirror
a self-portrait of a white shadow
above hooves’
prints on blackened tidal roads.)

they withdraw, and howl
because words are just...

not enough for you.

II.

You and I had a bike,
and we used to spin it round the industrial site

that your white breath laid siege to, where a blank flag
cauterized from the breeze now
slumps: defeated and still. Wheels go round,

and it pushed the beatiPerpetua: 12 weeks ago in Free Verse

curiouser and curiouserseventeen years &
still chasing white rabbits,
it's no wonder i've never
been in love.

we're all mad here;
no one can find the road to
yesterday.

(i don't know
where to go)

let's fall down a hole.

(i'm just a chrysalis
with no butterfly wings)

off with my head when it
can only imagine nonsense
& clockwork hearts.

give me a cheshire's smile-
i want to know
what it feels like
to be in wonderland.curiouser and curiouser3 weeks ago in Free Verse

christmas is not only in decemberyou sleep through so much sun
that it is the moon
who rises for you.

starchild,
born in the russian springtime
with cyrillic letters on your tongue,
you are endless.
you are a ring,
curved to infinity
around me.

your hands belong in mine,
or else on my hips.
curve me into the shape
of an s,
narrow me in the centre
to give room to your arms-
they belong around me.

dearest dear,
lovest love,
you are a gift;
when i fall asleep
on the opposite edge of the bed from you
and wake curled to your chest,
it is christmas every time.christmas is not only in december2 weeks ago in Free Verse

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 feeli got flowers once1 week ago in Free Verse

Prelude       Nocturne;
I conjure the moon
as dusk crests,
       a wave across the sky

       I am lovely and lonely in
       the night, shadow-
       shackled to the mountainside

and the moths
unfurl their hamsa-wings as
mama calls me in.Prelude1 month ago in Free Verse

honeythief.straw-stitched and hanging
off every word--

violated:

pressing my ears
against your brittle
hives

and

smoking

you

outhoneythief.1 month ago in Free Verse

Unheard of and undefinedSometimes,
I have this sudden impulse to
bite off my tongue.
It wasn't made for
pretty words and kept promises
in the first place.

Back to back and
straight on til daybreak,
our soliloquy seems never ending.
You laugh,
I wince;
I whisper,
you interrogate.

When was the last time
you remembered to cry for all the broken hearts
that were not your own?Unheard of and undefined3 weeks ago in Free Verse

Wrong shade of blueWrong shade of blue

For a moment, it felt as brine
in your hair; a flood of sky
carrying a weightless flock
with no care for feathers.

It seemed as the hues
had collapsed into a sea
of droplets smudging body parts.

(lollipops, butterflies and
bubblegum)

Still
the silence of my steps
should have remained
tracing paths back
and forth, between the
shades of our shadows.

- SophieCT, May 2013Wrong shade of blue3 weeks ago in Free Verse

Onceyour beauty lies restless behind those
hills, where you fought valiantly. and
the man you once were was brave and kind,
but now you are possessed by a passenger
of darkness, whispering words of your
loneliness.

the man you once were is forgotten, and
the man you are today, is only a ghost, a
shadow, of what you were before.Once1 month ago in Free Verse

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.moonshines in georgia3 days ago in Free Verse

Sophisticated WriterI'm not exactly the type of writer
you see regularly at the local cafe,
or the kind of artist who centers
all of her work around the studio.
Sometimes, I'm just the girl
who sits at home with the TV on,
brainstorming ideas for future poems,
and blowing bubbles in my chocolate milk.
Yep, I'm sophisticated for sure.Sophisticated Writer2 weeks ago in Free Verse

The WitchesThe witches speak a language
clearer than my mother's, the edge
of a blade, crack of broken glass,
silky slide of sin, come in, come in, in
my ear, a soft patting drum, the
spell bound lullaby
they croak and coo, all manner of
tone and it is sweet as the summer
tongue growing fat on hand cart ice cream
pops, brisk as the Boston cabbies,
neither here nor there, they are
ever here evermore. They are
inside me, flapper dancing
the pelvis bones, acutely out of
style and carefree, they have me,
the potion's daughter, their invitation
sheer formality. I am in, I am
in, I am deep
at the bottom of the cauldron.
Do you dare consume me? The woman
who gives cancer out freely and lives
to die yet never dies, the sick
anomaly. Can you hear them?
Press your ear
to the flat of my skin. I am
the cast-off shell of the sea,
hollow and rustling – that, there,
that is them – their greedy hands
are chanting, come in, come in,The Witches3 weeks ago in Free Verse

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