[x]

The Man and the MoonHer mouth corners hung themselves
and I began to wonder if that was the death of them.
A simple, quiet death;
without broken fingernails lining the walls
with the stripes of a despairing end.
I began to ache with the questioning in my heart
with the echoes reverberating in my capillaries
of her face scorching sunshine in her smile
right before it crumpled
and nothing was left but a frowning moon
set firm in its resignation to an upcoming eclipse.

Dandelion QueenI dream of the ocean;
that paper-thin line where
the current swallows the stars
and the water churns violet

(you tell me to be
quiet,

dandelion queen, we've
heard all these words before)

tonight
I will sleep heavy
and wake a few hours before dawn,
only to forget my name

my wave-weathered heart will cry,
I will cry (my biggest fear
is drowning in too many
of my own weighted words

you tell me to be
quiet
so I can hear the world breathe)

I want to go home

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
leav

Overgrown ColorsRed like blood on a rose.
White like bone and stars.
Black like reclusiveness.
Green like dead air.
Orange like the savage instinct.
Purity like a god's heart.
Red like thawing hatred.
White like a frozen, severe cry.
Black like the night's deprived shadows.
Green like the wind in the grass.
Orange like the light in the shadows.
Purity like the sun rising.
So discharging through the moon in a wheeze is like luminous white, dispersed red.

He doesn't write poetry anymore.He doesn’t write poetry anymore,
even if he still collects it, reads it, saves it, treasures
faded verses from his wife the way connoisseurs
savor vinyl over metallic rainbows on disc.
I don’t mind not knowing, but I can’t stand not asking.

The record needle hits the groove wrong;
he stumbles over words that aren’t there,
rummaging for an answer he doesn’t really have.
He doesn’t write poetry anymore
and his confusion is strangely endearing.

But there’s a lyricism to his words that I love,
poetic lines inserted between the daily grind
of character names and who said what;
voiceless boys in white a

PocketLeftover religion in the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
A key that unlocks nothing
A penny, a scrap of paper
With half of your name
Written in black ink

A song that is usually in my head
In the shriveled carcass
Of a long-dead dream
In the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
With the lint

WindowsHere am I, repeated,
and beyond waits everything
but everything is more
than I can bear.

I am not built for altitude
nor looking far afield;
groves and granite-sided mountains
stop my gaze

like rest for every tired wing;
a cover in the coldest time
snugged up beneath my chin.

Windows nothing more,
but safe lies there behind them
as the chambered hours pass;

safe sleeps there behind them
on the soft side of the glass.

Dry Spell I am immobilized by time.
by the idea that it is somehow slipping,
fleeting,
evaporating
through the cracks of
my fingers and high

above my head.
I am terrified by the incessant notion
that no combination of thoughts,
words,
silences,
or actions
could possibly satiate it.

I realize only now that it can never be filled:
all which is tossed into it is swallowed in haste
or stretched
so far
that it dissolves into non-being.
I find that I am caught within its furrows
much like the words it devo

with thanks to frosttwo roads diverged in a soulless dawn
and you pull over,
idling on the shoulder of route 50.
it's a polaroid morning and
the world is as grainy
and sleep-heavy
as your eyes,
and one million miles
is not far enough.
it plays back, filmstrip,
blurred along the length of
optic nerves,
and here you are:
facing a choice between
on
and
out.
and this?
this loosejointed, hollowbodied
weightless ache--
this is what
gone
feels like.

Condemnedbeneath the beaten earth they lay,
their dreams condemned to ashes,
and our restless bodies stretch,
for forgiveness, for direction –

survivors of the abyss,
amidst wide-eye, silent soldiers –
so many dead, so many maimed,

how many graves are we standing on, today?

Pull Her Hair/Stare At The StarsThe ghosts have crashed their ship
on the other side of town,
you can see it from the second floor
all the way over here.
You can see the white clouds
rising from the wreck
and a nova of heat, a big bright
nova of warmth pulling the moths and wolves
out from the woods (with their noses up and searching).
You can smell the yearning like bees
leaving the hive, like the grizzly brown bears
on the jagged white mountains (concrete and imposing).
They call it fear,
but I see these ghosts
scrambling up into the sky
and I like to think it's
something different entirely.

SisterSister

A sister is like a soul mate;
Someone who is always there
to guide me through fate.

A sister is,
a part of childhood that I cannot erase;
A sister like you,
is one that I would never replace
because you always know how to
put a smile on my face.

I know I can depend on you
to always be there for me;
This is one hundred percent guaranteed!

I've had great memories with you
in the past;
and I hope there are many more
to come,
in the future.

Life, Death And A Pork Chop SandwichAll tangled up, hard to breathe
This steel cloud day that swirls
With heat and pounding hammers
I shake in my boots and cough up
Blood, rust and damaged flesh
Waiting for the second coming
Maybe next time around there'll be
Some chance for more than this

A twisted barbed wire halo
Wrapped tight around my skull
Blinding white light aura
Swarming with flies I'm flying
To pieces, thousands of shards
Cannot be brought back together
But I will remember the summer
Of my first Chevrolet in each bit

Gleaming bits of glass in the desert
Each reflecting a different moment
Still, now, enduring until the waves
Of a new ocean sweep them away
No pain

A Night By the FireNo light,
The light sired by the night
All above whilst the day's delights
Now disappears from mortal sight.

Faded away is the sun's power,
Taking the stage now is night's sallow flower;
Now mortals may behold the stars and falling shower.

Set in a pit Nature's skyscraper ablaze
And revel in the emanating heat as you gaze,
Looking down on occasion when you hear a crack from the fire
And witness "fireflies" flying away from mother's blaze;
Dying shortly after but not lacking burning beauty do they desire!

I look out towards the teasing shore
And meditate as we sit upon her door,
Thinking on what my future has in store;
Who I am now and even

Pretty little things called words and dustif you weren't a hypocrite,
you'd be wrapped in the sweetest
perfumes
(learning
how to engulf the ocean
with your lungs
and think of how to cup it
in your hands
despite
your broken prayers and
still be beautiful)

dance with the gypsies
'till noon
(a quake in
your hips like the thrust
of continents
and the faultlines
emanating from
your spine,
but still
so, so graceful)

sing with the nymphs
in tune
(your voice,
it's growing old,
raspy even.
your throat's burning dry
like a monsoon
faltering in a desert,

and tones
still octaves
powerful)

be nestled in a king's arms
soon
(oh, you precious
little thing.
how

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More from ~Tokyogirl122

Seme and Uke debateThe seme and uke.

There will be a switch between,

but it is alright.

Who is to say who is manly, and who is girly?

Is it the tale one with the bright blue eyes;

like a pure turquoise or an undecided storm.

Or maybe it is the small, vibrant one;

with hair like golden rays of sun.

None can say who is the one who leads the love;

of who is the prince, and who's the princess.

But does it really matter who does?

Their love is pure and fresh;

like new fallen snow, virgin and untouched.

Why does it matter so who is who;

love is openess, and opening up to each other.

When it comes to love...

When it comes to true, undying, everlasting

Love is beautyLove is beauty.

Beauty is love.

I live for these words and know them to be true.

Our romance is a torrid affair;

full of adventure and passion.

Until now, I thought we alone could love so much.

But my sister revealed her adoration of a girl;

a princess in her eyes.

With a hand from which flows pictures of endless beauty,

her feelings spill onto the page.

My sister adores her so, though fear and jealousy may stab her.

Yet with this, they feel the passion I feel for my love.

My island princess,

my precious blue rose,

my angel.

My angel, who fell to earth on broken wings.

But despite her abrupt descent from Heaven, her angelic na

Micki's POVI lean over her, brushing my long fingers over her cheeks.

Normally, I find it hard to focus on things:

School work bores me, like a tedious tune.

Even drawing is hard; with my fan club around.

But I find it easy to pay attention to her;

my dear little princess.

I pull her tiny frame into my arms and hold her close,

my arms vice like around her... yet at the same time light as a feather.

My own blue eyes stare intensely into hers...

like two gems looking at me with innocence and love.

She sees me as perfect; her beautiful knight in shining armor.

I am not perfect... I know that.

Yet still, with my flaws, she adores me.

Like a pup

Sister's FamilySo, dear sister?

I hear your wife wants kids.

Congratulations!

Remember when you protested children?

Ha! Now all you talk of is having a family with her.

That blue eyed vixen, as you call her, and your precious.

My wife and I too long for a baby...

To start a family together and bring a new star into the world.

We will all accomplish it, happy parents, we four.

Only one question remains:

Who will bear the child?!

For my love and friendsI love my dear wife,

with a heart so white and pure.

My little angel..

I am not that pure,

with a soul tainted by lust.

I am no angel.

I long for her kiss,

for her to ask me to wed,

her to be my wife.

I want to leave;

to go to California,

with my friends and love.

My sister in love;

what a cute little sight.

My love is better.

A tender blue rose,

growing next to a daisy,

but I love the rose.

I am such a sap;

romance fills my heart and soul.

Oh, how I love it.

The Knight and Pixie Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a gallant knight. She was a

true beauty; with skin as pale as a fresh piece of a new novel, eyes grey yet blue,

like the undecided stormy sky, and hair a mix of brown yet yellow, like gold. She

stood tall in her armor, ready to defend her kingdom. she defended it along side her

sister, who looked similar to her in most respects, yet also differed. Her sister, a

valorful, passionate poet, was also a knight of the kingdom. She was also the

consort of the kingdom's ruler: the fair, just Queen.

She was a beauty in herself; with hair luxuriously brown that fell down her

slender body

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Finding Love Takes Time

by ~Tokyogirl122, Apr 29, 2012, 2:10:12 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

There are those who will think they'll never find love.

That they will not find that person who they can spoil,

treat like they are the only person who matters to them,

and who they need as much as the other needs them in turn.

The truth it, a lot of people give up.

They settle for loneliness.

Being alone is not a punishment;

in fact, it can help a person discover who they are inside.

Like a beautiful butterfly coming out of it's cocoon.

It doesn't need help;

it can become a butterfly on its own.

But that doesn't mean that people have to be alone in life.

On the contrary, even the person who likes to be alone at one point

wants someone else to be with.

To depend on, to an extent.

To care about as much as they care for themselves.

To love as they have never loved before.

Time can make cynics of people who want this from life.

Why?

Because finding love takes time.

Patience.

Work.

Determination to never give in to the loneliness life brings.

Everybody wants to find their love,

and to become that beautiful butterfly,

able to be beautiful by their own merit and to be themselves.

Never lose faith in love,

because as cliche as it sounds if you don't give up on finding love,

love won't give up on finding you.

Just give it some time.

Finding Love Takes Timeby ~Tokyogirl122

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

©2012-2013 ~Tokyogirl122

This is just a poem I wanted to write. Enjoy

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=saza11 May 14, 2012

very beautiful and deep words

Reply

~Tokyogirl122 May 14, 2012

thanks you ^^

Reply

=saza11 May 15, 2012

it is my pleasure sweetie

Reply

~Tokyogirl122 May 15, 2012

<3

Reply

~TSubame-Arba-Del Apr 29, 2012 Digital Artist

my....
this is SO damm True...
Every word....it's just true....
Good job dear : )

Reply

~Tokyogirl122 Apr 29, 2012

aw thanks ^//^' sometimes these poems are really true to life

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!CShepard122 Apr 29, 2012 Hobbyist Artist

WONDERFUL!!!!!!!!!! brava

Reply

~Tokyogirl122 Apr 29, 2012

thank you ^^

Reply

Mood: Love

~MissWinterWolfess Apr 29, 2012 Hobbyist Digital Artist

beautiful :3

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~Tokyogirl122 Apr 29, 2012

Thank you very much ^^

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