Sta.sh
ing this article and
this is a weekly feature of amazing literature that i come by during my travels across deviantart. this is only a small sample of a vast amount of wonderful pieces of literature written by absolutely fantastic writers. each deviation was carefully selected from a writer's gallery based on structure, impact and word usage. i try (try!) to feature deviants who get less spotlight than others and i will never feature the same person twice.
The Fourth Annual Poetry Screams Prompt Contest is Coming Soon
Drive by ~DodgingTheBeatBreathe by ~FerociousFruitThe Siren by =QuiEstInLiteris4.27: Sophia by *LaBruyereThe Silo Complex by *Laura-LieLion Heart by *Concora:thumb279641022:
One Year Anniverary 
don't fall asleep,or they'll eat your ankles until you can see flesh and bone,:thumb302956660:
the tangy scent of blood heavy in the air, like salt and desire:
.
she barrelled through another day, screeching on tires that never had
any breaks, screaming obscenities while everyone's ears were bandaged up,
their eyes glued shut with obliviousness;
.
oh, she had lovely hands, she did, but they were covered in scars of pink and
brown and white, bristled with protection to hide the secrets
moonlight burns away at. someone tell her to hide –
there's a monster on her heels, her ankles already bleeding with teeth marks,
circular and indented with
.
they shriek back
reincarnate newbornthe raw thumbs of married men
rub scentless pillowcases
with practised stares, eyes unfocusing
cold fingers pressing
young women
into them, against them;
the soil of anguish
becoming
their spindly, underfed bodies.
when the night is over,
they have all spent and have all
been spent,
exhalations
sorry and grieving
in the wallows of my
blue hair.
going home barefoot,
i crunch and whisper,
breath coming out in huffs
of purple smoke and dust,
the cold air swallowing my
lungs piecemeal
crawling through my nose and mouth,
making ice palaces for my
stomach and heart.
see, sometimes
i am fuschia,
sometimes
blushing ceru
daedalusi. we are like birds,
birds without the wings
but with the song.
(icarus did not want for wings)
We did not want for chains we did not
want to flee
We did
(he did not want to fall
he did)
we did.
I am without fear, and you are without blood,
and we could never hope to scratch the sun,
but perhaps we might endeaver to suspend it.
it's the hollow beat of bones on drums
it's a steady throb of pins on thumbs
it's a simple truth that
nobody wants to fly
ii. but they do.
Clavicle, and it feels like your handsI sleep
bare-backed and
unbuttoned, wintry thighs
kissed by the chill
of May, sheets coiled in
tea-leaf shapes. Pictures
flutter on the walls, an expenditure
of light, open
windows breathing thumbs
across the bed frame,
my right-sided clavicle.
Somewhere inside
the womb, my hips begin and
ankles end, an obtuse
slant of knees
knocking
on your bedroom
door.
I shift and
sigh.
My socks are what touch
the ground
first, legs over the
edge, shadows in the
leech-light. There comes
a transition
- shower hiss and
silent sway - in
which the wh-wh-whiring
of the ceiling fan
is the closest I come
to the sun.
sunday, may 13th, 2012.today it was begged of me
to come back home and i got lost
in pondering what home really is.
so i banged my head like a gong
to drain it of all wrong, to empty it
of all the words, entire, that lost
their meaning. i asked myself
what home is, and i have a few thoughts:
home is the Stellar rotation of your hips
your lack of any hydrostatic equilibrium at all
the dark matter unseen but felt in all of its
gravity and the metallicity of your blood and tissue.
it is the cosmic rays emerging from your mouth
down to the auroras entwined in the gaps
between your fingers, and the Class O stars
on your tongue bursting 1,400,000 times
br
Postcardyou are the swing and
pop in buttercup; thick as
butter sunbeam sliding through
the ceiling (bent like a gutter).
sleep-smiles, don't give me
away; screw the lid on my
laughter and shelf it for
a rainy day. skyward curving
butterfly kisses warm my
skin—colored like swirls of
bubblegum letters in between
graphing lines. leaning against
a summer window pane, your
curls copper and skipping
stones and eyelashes and
heartbeats over sunrise. i'm
tiptoeing through a ballet
entrenched in quiet. come
away back stage and watch me
pluck petals off buttercups;
let each answer fall to the
floor and smash to smithereens
under hi
pretty please favorite this so that it will get more exposure
yay, i would be so happy if you read them! they're seriously some of the best literature i've come across, so i think you'll enjoy them (:
& I definitely will read them since they're featured by you