self

I See You Wield the Knife

May I have your signature?
Carve it 'cross my counter-top.
Leave a name and home address;
a valid place to ring and rot.
And when you've done your carving up;
I'd ask you to dig toward the pink.
There I'd hope you'd find a knot -
and maybe you'd untangle it?
And maybe then we'd feel a breeze
as all capacities increase -
every major snag and block,
afflictions and all resignations;
in vibrant bursts they'd go from me,
like fireworks made out of nerves;
booms defused by gaping distance,
blood that's dotted by the sparks.
You'd be thrown back from your stool
as I'm lifted like a vapor,
the burden gone - its weight removed,
and all holds on me so severed through.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

It took me three tries to get this bastard to submit.

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What I am.

Porcelain.
Porcelain hands, legs, chest, face, and heart.
That is what I am.
Fragile, underestimated, overlooked.
Admired, but not loved.
Envied, and untouched.

Painted lips, dead eyes, no emotion, no voice.
That is not what I am.
Weak, empty, forgotten.
Looked at, yet seen right through.
Touched, without being felt.

I don't know what I am.
I am unseen, and unimportant.
Yet I am gazed upon, and held dear.
What am I?
A Doll?
A Trophy?
A Girl?
A Soul?
A Someone?
A Nothing?
Who knows.
Perhaps, I simply am, what I am.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

thoughts/comments appreciated.

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I Know her!

I feel her anger and understand
I feel her desire for a helping hand

i hear her call out in anguish
and know her hurt as no one answers her wish

i know her well, i know her pain
i know of the tears that fall as rain

i know of the sleepless nights
as anxiety wraps around her tight

i know of her endless days
as sleep begins to play

I know her....

she cant help being defensive
she knows no other way to live

she needs to be hard
so she stays on guard

she watches her back
always ready to attack

she cant help but trust no one, not even herself.
I understand her well and still i cant help myself.

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tags:

Giving Self

Folder: 
2012

Why do I give
Myself to you?

Maybe it’s that
Crooked smile of yours

Maybe it’s the way
Your eyes change colors

Or maybe it’s the way
You hold me so tightly

Mayhap its just your
Way of saying sweet nothings

So I am left to wonder
Upon all of this

So then why do I
Give myself to you?

I know there is one
Reason that I do,

Because I am yours

~Chrystal
Written on
March 17, 2012

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This poem has an interesting start. I was watching '2:13' and part of that movie they were talking about Shakespeare and part of his poem just hit me and made me write this. The line was this,

'Why do I give myself to you?
For I am yours',

so I took that line and ran with it.

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Waypoint in the Desert

Sandy jaws to swallow,
emphatic noise to follow.
The swivel of the molten air,
The link on third - try not to care;
and beg for turn in right direction
from the waypoint in the desert, there ...

Cast from drowning oceans,
I bottled self in sand.
My newest skin encased in grains,
I withstood and will withstand.

Winds came with their beating;
my blood just wouldn't clot.
The only sting that woke me up
was lost as I'd forgot

to keep my head on level
and know which way to merge.
The desert lay enraptured
upon the day its dirge

rang to scare the buzzards;
rang to stir the rocks.
I saw a waypoint standing far
with every angle locked.

I took a step to face it;
it threw away a glance.
Chances are at elsewhere,
somewhere left to chance.

It told me this way, that,
spat at both my shoes;
all along alluring by
all the paths to choose.

It took on filling curves;
turned from wood to bone.
Making flesh from drying leaves,
it offered me its throne.

And the harshness dropped to dollops,
with sun intensified -
as the post was human,
I swept the thought aside.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This was written as a song at first, which is why it has the random introduction, but it just works much better as a straight poem.

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Doors Won't Glow

V1:
I wouldn't wince
with a finger to chest.
A murmur of heart,
a horn around neck.

The take off and pull
had me down deadened,
threatened by mention
of hands on my head.

So I sought out the seeking,
and seeking sought too;
maddened by empty -------
that had become you.

But you wouldn't know,
and I couldn't know,
and doors wouldn't glow.
Doors wouldn't glow -------

Chorus:
Doors won't glow -------
She said to me that
doors won't glow -------
No matter your vision,
your center, your stay,
doors won't glow
for you, either way -------

Bridge:
And given to me, that they
haven't believed, nor would
they struggle to see the
beauty observed in these
worlds -------
I'd understand, and reach -------
I'd just pretend, and be -------
I would defend you
seeking all halls full of
doors -------
that glow --------------

V2:
Before all the settling
down that was needed,
you were the call
to which I had heeded.

You brought every storm
and formed every crack
that start in the cellar
and run down my back.

When I lay my arms
down at your side;
within you would dwell,
within you would hide.

And convince you I couldn't
that I was your realm,
made for belonging
with us at your helm -------

You wouldn't be buried
beneath all my love
encompassing grey
that flitters above.

You told me to leave,
you'd told me to go,
and neglected to say
That these doors wouldn't glow --------------

Chorus -

Instrumental Bridge -

Chorus -

Outro:
Doors won't glow, nor could they
show me the way to your
core --------------
I don't know they're here for --------------
For these doors --------------
Just wouldn't glow --------------
For me ...

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Platinum Palooka

I hope that when she'd kiss me,
she'd see her face in mine; her lips
broad and grinning wide,
would mark me with a smudge and leave
a tell-tale sign of something better.

And if my coat of shine and luster
couldn't bring the calm we seek, reprieve
could come and maybe find us,
if only when distracted by
the sun that's glinting off of me.

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tags:

Breath Breathing

I don't know what I'm doing.

I'm trying to stay honest,
or something unassuming.

When I spoke you only spoke
again
and when I froze
you'd only cock
your head.

I'm only able to be again
when I'm filled with ambient
and catatonic, cresting waves
that serve to carry
and to feed.

I'd bathe in static
and be sure
that my malign
could still be cured
with any hapless remedy
dealt to me by the pharmacy
upon the word of my physician
who's name is just escaping me.
He's kind enough, but
makes me late
with all his paper magistrate.

But to him I
owe debt of gratis,
for without these I'm sure to panic
and lose my wallet and my keys,
while every breath inside me breathes.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Weird.

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Navy Canopy

Weakest streaks of black and blue
adorn my chest to speak to you
that I had taken bruises, too,
and by your hand, by your surmise;
I was to be abused.

Soreness felt from clutch-ed heart
makes vibrance as you would depart.
Content yet with a sudden start,
you folded in and left me
outstretched beneath the dark.

I struggled to rebuild myself:
a construct drawn from deepened wells;
black by ash from flames of hell.
You knew to where I'd sunken,
though I could barely tell.

Eyes had hungered there for light,
a semblant aid made justified --
through ambient and stillest night,
I thought you would return.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I engage these feelings every day, hoping to one day grow numb to them and the things that they make me write. I'm so tired of spewing bile about my loneliness and how little I feel my life is worth. I don't know what or how to attain it, but I need something new; something that will jar me from my ambivalence and inspire me to, at the very fucking least, write about something that isn't myself, and how miserable I am.

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