Twitter is a free social messaging utility for staying connected in real-time.
JavaScript is required for this module to display correctly.
Newest
All Of The Ways I Could Have+All Of The Ways I Could Have
Pulling you outside after my bath. Saying, "see that? It's not as good as us." Putting a leftover soap bubble on your nose for effect. Almost killing us from dehydration
in the canyon, your water bottle filled with love notes instead of water, and it's 7 miles to get back to the
car and it's 103 degrees. You go to eat your egg roll and
instead there's a plate filled with a million dollars. OK,
that one's impossible, but I thought you would like a
million dollars, and if I had it, I would give it to you,
by `queenhrosie
Advice+Advice
"I don't know how to tell you this", she said. "Just do the right thing." The right thing? The right thing always depends on whether the person speaking is an 11 year old kid or a priest or Pamela Anderson. Or, I could
figure this out for myself: through thirst,
hope, and enough sorrow to cover myself with like dirt. Marriage is funny, everyone thinks
they have the best advice, but none of it seems to make any sense. I'm sitting by
the window, trying to get enough light to place a band
by `queenhrosie
For The People Who Have Called+For The People Who Have Called
The morning rides into me, bareback, leaves me open-mouthed and hiccuping. I drink a cup of coffee. I do not change out of my hip cheetah-print leggings until noon. I feel like a failure. I do not want to admit this to anyone, so I write a poem in which I say,
"I feel like I failure, but I could not tell anyone because being a failure is a delicious and
beautiful secret." I drink another cup of coffee
and I stand outside. The lilac bends into me,
I add liquor to my coffee, I moon
silently over the
by `queenhrosie
The Only Person In The Poetry+The Only Person In The Poetry
isn't you. He actually has light hair, which moves across his throat like a scythe. I find myself a little
frightened of this. I begin to assume that the
reason that there is no one else in the poetry
section is not because poetry is out of fashion
or that it is no longer necessary, but because of
this man with his long arms wrapped around a
vague, sad book. It also makes me think of you,
who would never be caught dead in the poetry
section of a bookstore. You, more likely to be
hanging out b
by `queenhrosie
Out Of All The Reasons In The+Out Of All The Reasons In The
"it makes me feel like I am human," I say. I am just being honest. I spend most hours just watching 20/20: stolen children, Holocaust survivors, bank robbers
in Nancy Pelosi masks. It isn't as awful as
reading it back to yourself hours later in the form of ache and hunger. In the bag I carry, there is
old makeup, a murderer's selection of meat knives, Keats, and supermarket receipts. I hide my pens,
pencils, broad-tipped markers. I don't write personal
checks or sign greetings cards. &n
by `queenhrosie
Favourites
Critiques
by *megsmad
I'm not wild about the "I miss you," I think the above lines already told the reader that he/she is missed. It is interesting to ...
by *sunshinegypsy
I think, cut this line: "to laugh, I hold your hand, to laugh, I open your ribs, laugh, spread your intestines, read the signs," becaus...
Watchers
Webcam
deviantID
| "During the terrible years of the Yekhov terror I spent seventeen months in the prison queues in Leningrad. One day someone ‘identified’ me. Then a woman with lips blue with cold who was standing behind me, and of course had never heard of my name, came out of the numbness which affected us all and whispered in my ear—(we all spoke in whispers there): ‘Could you describe this?’ I said, ‘I can!’ Then something resembling a smile slipped over what had once been her face." — Anna Akhmatova |
The Religion Of Birds. 
Love
Gallery Devious Info
- Current Residence: Desert.
- Interests: Breathalyzer.
- Favourite movie: As if the heart were not enough.
- Favourite band or musician: Monsoon season.
- Favourite artist: Windshield wipers.
- Favourite photographer: Shutter snap and then goodbye.
- MP3 player of choice: Anne Carson.
- Skin of choice: Freckles behind your ears.
- Favourite game: Bursting into flames.
- Website: http://www.myspace.com/pages_to_eat
- Email: schimelhr@gmail.com
- AIM: queenhrosie
- MSN: sleepysmile3@hotmail.com
- Yahoo: thecatspajamas3
deviantART Community Board
Friends
Visitors
- Nov 20, 2009 @ 3:38 am~thee-to-me
- Nov 19, 2009 @ 5:00 pm~purple-panda418
- Nov 19, 2009 @ 12:37 pm~Self-Intoxication
- Nov 19, 2009 @ 6:17 am=datene
- Nov 18, 2009 @ 11:00 pm~isthison
Comments
Site Map
©2009 deviantART. All rights reserved
--
its not too late to become what you were meant to be
--
We have a mouth to say words...we have eyes to show whether or not we mean them.
Life is like walking on a tight rope...your friends are your safety net.
--
God, you say?
Now how strange.
In these circumstances, God's wrath still hasn't fallen upon me.
--
its not too late to become what you were meant to be
OK.
Here's the deal. I can be a real crazy full-of-myself jerk and I'm tired of poetry and I'm tired of art. I am caught in between gorgeousness that I couldn't even begin to communicate and I shouldn't base my life on regional music. I have ten fingers and I think about using them to swirl on soft cheeks at nighttime except if you try that with your fingers in the air right now it doesn't seem possible, it just seems like perversion...or something. AND BABY, I HATE ELLIPSES! I don't like that you are crunchy and I don't like sketchy bars. I don't like that I am a bragger sometimes but I can't help it when I feel like the ruler of the universe and I wear TLC shirts, not the television channel -- the Creeps, the Red Light Specialers. What's the word. What's the word. Have I told you I might move east? Have I told you I am caught between night and day and pinpoints and offs? Have I told you anything, have I told you I have been a philosopher, a one-day prayer to the gods, a goth, a journeyer to the center of the earth, a sex kitten, a hoverer above black holes, a black hole, a woman, a man, a child, an "adult," a bakery, an abandoned warehouse, a flowery forest nymph, a knife, a shriveled lung, a volcano, a three week mail-order half-Asian bride, and I still don't know. I am a champion of wrapping myself around shoulders into necks, being the person that everyone needs means overcoming vulnerabilities by embracing them and being them, I think. I can understand anything I choose to understand so I stopped reading and wear a lot of green and gold makeup and find myself in overly contrived situations instead. Come over, Mini Thanksgiving is on Friday. We're dressing up like Pilgrims and Native Americans and drinking champagne out of real glasses, not that plastic shit, and I think I will toast to that pregnant feeling inside the throat when almost touching a person for the first time. xxx
--
I suppose this is me slowly dying,
smearing myself against you, against the words I write,
leaving little bits like bright red Christmas presents,
moist and smelling like old iron artillery.
--
think about your troubles.
--
I suppose this is me slowly dying,
smearing myself against you, against the words I write,
leaving little bits like bright red Christmas presents,
moist and smelling like old iron artillery.
That is all I can say right now, for fear of spilling some insane nonsense-that-almost-makes-sense about how I swear you only need a pen to perfectly open the human heart.
Previous Page12345...Next Page