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jackiewelles

Literature

A Moment Together

There's a romantic song in the way you speak, A scent of cranberry in the touch of your skin. And when I stir the love in your eyes, I could feel your lips on my skin. I could never feel enough of your hands on my chest, The scent of your fingers on my lips, The sound of your whispers in my dreams, The sweetness of your love in my ears. I wish the days with you could last forever, The taste of you could linger like summer. The days of our love coming together, Like the sweetness of you I will always remember.

Literature

Your Promiscuous Ways

When you suddenly took my hand and told me that you love me, I've never been more touched by the need in your voice and the love in your eyes. And when you look at me in that promiscuous way, I can think of nothing else but being gazed upon by you every day. You don't do this often most of the days, But when you do, My heart burns of an unmistakable need in return, And I can feel this love in your ever simple words. It's the kind of love I've always wanted, The kind of voice that makes everything just fine. It's one of the most beautiful feelings I've ever had, And something I don't ever want to forget.

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Together

I can see peace in your eyes, Feel the love in the back of my mind. It's all I can do to will it to last forever, The fleeting moments when I feel there's only one heart of us together. And as we held each other skin to skin, Touching your delicate hand over my heart, I wonder just how close you can feel, Of the millions of little reasons I love you.

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Want

This is the time of night when I want you the most. It's after you've gone to sleep, and I'm sitting here alone again. I want to not have to worry about anyone other than you seeing my scars when I get up in the middle of the night. I want you grinning playfully at me, as I sit on the counter, feet dangling off the edge. I want you to pick me up, wrap my legs around you and carry me to our bed. I want to be able to press my lips to yours, or just lay my head on your bare chest. We wouldn't need to talk, nothing more than whispered "I love you"s. I wa

Literature

Like Tomorrow Will Never Come

We're still young, with s i n g s o n g children's voices in our throats, and beautiful muddy footprints in our hearts. We're still beautiful, with lopsided smiles, and laughs that make the sun's heart ache. So grab my hand, and I'll show you the sunshine, hidden under bluebell wings, and butterfly petals. We'll run in circles, just to make my dress twirl, and our lungs burn (in the good kind of way.) We'll jump in the rain, with laughter pealing like thunderclaps, trying to outscream the storm. We'll camp under the stars, with only the velvet black canopy as our tent, counting the stars, and naming each one after

Literature

No One Needs To Know

There's a thousand and one things I do that concern you. No one needs to know, or care, but here are just a few. How I'll wear just my jersey, the one with your name on the back, to bed with me. Just so that I can have a little piece of you holding me as I fall asleep. The way I'll smile when no one's looking because your face is on my mind, and your name on my lips. The way I'll reread our conversations of a hundred "I love you"s. The way I'll whisper "Goodnight, my love" to no one but my bedroom walls. How there's always more room and an extra pillow in my bed, just for you. The way I'll look at pictures of women, stoma

oneofthose-rachels

Literature

i'll tell you a secret:

someday this world is going to end and when we die we'll only be left with fragile memories of what could have been.

Literature

You and I,

we're a stunted little paragraph blowing in the wind, full of maybes and we could have beens. We're winter nights dancing through the sky, dreaming of warmth and summer, burntskin sunscreen. We're fruits hanging from a tree, ripe with promise and fearing bitter seeds. We're dripping photographs in darkrooms waiting to become something beautiful. You and I, we're not fancy like fireworks. Sparks are the little lights that dance between us when we smile. Sparks are private things and they shine more prettily when no one else can see them except you and me. So when I write poetry about us, it won't be about mountains and kisses and

Literature

Just kiss me in the rain

While I still believe in love.

Suggested Collections

poetry

Literature

The Bus Stop Dialogues

I. A young man at the bus stop turns to me and softly asks "Why aren't you wearing shoes?" He taps the faded leather of his suedo-skin and his eyes smile in a gentle lilt before his mouth does. I tell him that I like to feel the earth breathe. That textures keep my mind alive and ticking like a clock. I tell him that I'm trying to grow roots so my pale limbs can twist into a tree (the way L and I talked about it in therapy). I tell him that my soul is lonely and the ground is the only thing that's always there. I tell him that bare skin is sensitive and stroking it with every (twelfth) step is a soothing form of self-care

Literature

Schizophrenia

Voices whisper in your ear; Sweetest nothings, greatest fears. All your life your friend is there, Waiting with a tale to share. Threats are blown into the air, Ever present, meant to scare. Someone tails your every move; A hidden fiend, free to rove. Disembodied voices say: Never dare to disobey. Your friend arrives with a grin, A plan in mind, a great sin. Trembling grips your paling hand. Someone whispers their command. Terrified, you call to me, Hoping I can set you free. But as you point out your friend, Wishing that this all would end, My answer renews your fear: I see no one standing there.

Literature

Schizophrenia

Holding on to a thought has always been... difficult for me. They're so rarely interesting enough to hold my attention for more than a few seconds. Quite often, I'll tune out what someone is saying because something they said sparks a thought which leads to another thought which leads to another thought... No, I don't get distracted by shiny objects. I'm a human, not a magpie. I never really cared that I wasn't listening to what people were saying. My thoughts, as cascading as they are, were always more interesting than they were. Eventually, I did away with people entirely, living in my own stream of consciousness. Even now, it is difficul

poetry

Literature

Seer

Sweet poison, Trickles down- I suck it out And convulse Electrifying I’m a seer Able to see Magical lands Balance Between dark and light The poison seeps out Perspiration Words course through My mind Thoughts Disturb me Remind me of something In the tangible world I’ve tried to forget My body cold now I rise I’d cry if I could But I laugh Hysterically My angel was right Life’s a joke

Literature

Lesbian

God loved the two girls at the end of my street. Everywhere they went, they went together, hand-in-hand so they didn't get lost, laughing at everything and nothing all at once. He was so proud of them. They never stole, they never swore, they brushed their teeth twice a day and always said their prayers. It was a gift, said the townspeople, that two girls as perfect as they were were born in the same place. an even greater gift, said they, that those two were the best of friends. Long nights spent giggling in rooms with closed doors was a good thing, back then. One day, halfway between their houses and in the middle of th

Literature

Blood Stained Glass

Pools of blood are on the floor Painting shards of broken glass. Yet we step upon them still As we talk about the past. Each time we put our foot down, The stained mosaic cracks. Can’t you see it doesn’t change Who broke it in the past? The glass opaqued with gore Will reflect iconoclasts As will the scarlet sheen. They will not reflect the past. The bones and glass inside your feet Squeal and click and crack. Your wince is louder than your voice So why talk about the past? Sweet merlot drips from our toes. Our soles are skinned and slashed. How much letting must we do To heal from the past? One day perhaps we’ll drown.

Poetry

Literature

Ich bin

Ich bin, der kommt, ich bin, der geht, ich bin, der immer schon hier war. Ich bin, der wacht, ich bin, der spricht. Ich bin der Hauch vom letzten Jahr. Ich bin die Nacht und bin die Früh. Ich bin der Mond (die Sonne nie). Ich bin das Wort, ich bin das Buch, ich bin, der all die Worte sucht, bin der Fürimmer, bin der Moment und der die Zeit manchmal verpennt. Aber ich bin. Ich bin der, alles, der nirgendwo zu Tod betrübt und liebesfroh. Ich bin, der kommt, ich bin, der geht, ich bin, der immer bei dir war: Ich bin der Wind in deinem Haar.

Literature

A Sudden Flight

Ink-black birds scatter, Writing lines of free verse Across a paper sky.

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All4Makeup

'tis just a little rash...

dokuneko

Published: Dec 29, 2013

171 Views

Description

practicing severe skin infections. Not too shabby for a first attempt, if I dare say so myself!

Image size

2592x1944px 1011.33 KB

Make

QCOM-AA

Model

QCAM-AA

Focal Length

4 mm

Date Taken

Mar 22, 2012, 12:46:14 PM

Comments3

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Tomamatofairy

Dec 29, 2013

that actually scared me! XD

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