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Cinderella
Waiting for a coach
and four
that never came,
she realized
a ball gown
won't bloom
out of sackloth;
glass slippers
are not dependable
and mice
are best left
to their own devices.
Midnight was never a friend,
and under that suit
he is the same as any other
man.
IcarusSun girl,

the whispering stars
& feathered clouds dance
for you tonight.

Do not let anyone
clip your wings;

you were made for the skies.
Definition of a Writerwrit•er

noun     /rītər/

A writer is a person
Who sees the world differently
From a high perspective of understanding
To an easily balanced imagery

They stand at the edge of the cliff
And run that extra mile
To gain what a normal person cannot see
And to obtain the hope that they wish to cherish

A writer is a person
Who buries their ego and places boulders upon it
They learn the rules, follow the rules, and will break the rules
And make writing their own

They lay upon the dusty old ground of a graveyard
And do an annual ritual to free the inspiration that has been pinned down
They want to show their abnormality to everyone
Red DressDon’t put on your red dress
for he doesn’t know the meaning
he doesn’t want the commitment
he doesn’t care for the color.

The red dress you love to wear
that’s stained from wine and beer
but still carries so much meaning
for who could find a second red dress

Don’t go out on your red dress
for the man who wants nothing more
to screw around and doesn’t understand
the meaning behind a simple red dress.

A red dress for when you dance.
A red dress for when you cry.
A red dress for when you need it.
A red dress for when you care too much.

Don’t put on your red dress for him darling
he doesn&rsqu
i got flowers oncei am lonely.
i received flowers once
and i placed them
in a vase til
the petals all browned
desiccated
and turned to dust
on the glass of my bureau.

i have never gotten flowers since.

i spend my days
with a boy
a man
whom i love far beyond reason
and he holds me in his arms
and holds me together.

i bite my nails
and pull my hair
over the moment when he
inevitably
feels the disenchantment
fall over his body,
all clean lines
and smooth shapes,
and realises that leaving
the worst thing
would be
the best thing.

i am lonely
and even with a hand to hold,
and even with a cloak of security
bunching around my shoulders
and hiding my thighs,
i feel
moonshines in georgiaman on the moon:

giddy with lumps of north georgia seas
greased on the crease of my lips
gravity drips from couch-cavities
when tides belch from below --

burst on the water's edge,
earth's bourbon sailors retch in moonshined ripples
trickled blue murder on their crinkled crimes;
raking water wrinkles like a wayward drunk
stuck on sunken bootleggin' dreams.

it's been a long, long time
since I've drowned your hemisphere
for fishing like a moonraker,
swishing my bait-lines like tobacco's
squished in your shallow gums
before you dare to down my air
breathing in this sincere georgia night.
L.E.S.B.I.A.N.Living on the
Edge of life
Saving myself
Being who
I truly am
As it is all i can be
Never forget that
Blame The ParentsI won't be able to keep a relationship in the future because I'm scared
I'm scared it'll turn out like theirs

I'm a pacifist because I hate watching it
I hate watching them fight

I have PTSD because of their fights
Their fights almost broke up this family

I self harm because they are pushing me over the edge
I was already close to jumping, but they gave me an extra push

I'm always in my room because that's how I run away
I guess that's called "Like father, like daughter"

I only eat one meal a day because he constantly puts me down
Even though he's joking, I can tell he means every bit of what he says

I can't trust anyone because they do
Missing piecesMissing pieces

There are wounds
that never heal; silences
so loud they  thunder - I stopped
breathing years ago, that night
the ice took my chest. Since then
I walk  in pieces, howling
around my heart.

-SophieCT, 2012, 2013
field notesi read some poetry
just for the sound--for the words lilting up and down
and the thick, honeysepia
polaroids unmisting in my head.
those are the poems i never understand
and the only conclusion i can draw is:
there is apparently
some supernova poetic awakening that comes
with the loss of virginity
and basically i need to get laid.
Broken Birds and Stark PhrasesWe slip and slide and fall
down curves and carrow places.
We cursive at the wall
in our undefinéd spaces.

Disjointed limbs extend
to strumpet our arrival,
to warn who are not friends
we will kill to survive all.

Hung upside-down haunters
hug branches in the Forrest.
Merry nightmare monsters,
Cheery snarling chorus,

Arachnic children know;
you can run but you can't hide
from this disparic truth,
darkness waits for you inside.

Although you seek the sun,
as all creaky spinsters might,
the night can't be out done
and it has you in its sight.
MorningA black cat sleeps in a ray of sun
My coffee is lousy
Another cardboard morning
The day isn't a blank canvas
Waiting to be painted
Its already scrawled with
Yesterday's mad crayon drawings

Smoke drifts up and out of the window
I drink the coffee
blood-red wine and skeleton jazz i.
the day you left,
your cobweb dress clung to you in ways
that i would dream about for years,
in hot, fevered nights
when the moon thought it might burst
in the sky,
and even the wind wailed your name.

ii.
i remember how you called make-up war paint,
and you drew it across your face like a message
i could never decipher;
i remember how i got goosebumps when i heard
your heels clicking across the floor at 3am
when you finally got home and slipped into bed;
i remember longing for you with every fiber of my being,
feeling separate from you even when our clothes lay on the floor
and your fingernails dug into my shoulders
and your toes curled
van houten must be godi. you know how in embroidered cloth,
from the bottom under the design,
all you see are knots? her honey-like,
crying
voice lulls me to sleep,
that's what we see of God's plan.
just the knots. when in reality,
it's the design on top;
beautiful and flawless that He
has in store for us.
bullshit.
i learnt that word
when i was three
but every time i said it,
my face hurt and mom's hand fell.
God will put you
in hell.
do you want that?
i knew better than to say it again.
ii. you're an estimated
fallacy, the perfect
misconception.
you don't need to exist
for people to believe.
they make you real with
dancing tongues behind
a crowd
of murmuring lips of
god's will.
iii. of the rain,
i sang songs, whispering
prayers only you
could hear.
if you truly are
what they say for you to be,
then there are no secrets
between you and me.
mother still sings
the same songs
in the rain, hoping
you'll hear her the way
i thought you would.
but she doesn't know you died long ago
with chiv
thieves of nocturne skiesPaper lanterns                                                                                            are midnight requiems
            That tell me                                                                            to look beyond the
                   light and have    &
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More from ~Cato-chan

WiltThe flowers that I never saw,
I never smelled or touched at all,
they wilted while I was away.
I lost my chance- I should have stayed.
The raindrops fell where I was, too.
My days were filled with thoughts of you.
The roses and tulips I longed to see,
throughout the day they haunted me.

The petals, scattered on the ground,
when I came back they're what I found.
I cried into nectar of red
realizing that my love was dead.
Your stem is gone, but your roots are free,
still planted in my memory.
Although you've wilted and you're gone
inside my heart you will live on.
Death WishIlluminating through the night,
with sacred blood and face of white,
take me to the forbidden land
where I may shake the devil's hand,
sealing a fate for which I've prayed,
a fate that's been too long delayed,
granting me the sweet kiss of death-
adding relief to my last breath.
BloomYou're always leaning towards the light
on a sunny bright day
but when the rain is pouring down,
I see you slant the other way,
seeking shade and seeking shelter,
only hoping to be safe,
but on those darker dimmer days
you always seem to hide your face.

On those dark days when I see you
and you say that you are fine,
both of us slowly start to wilt,
depraved of our precious sunshine.
We feel empty without the joy
that keeps us happy and alive,
but when the sunlight reappears
and you are near me, I can thrive.
TwoThe feeling was once festering but now it fades away,
replaced in seconds by depression as I look the other way.
You still gaze longingly at me like an old friend you still desire,
but since I'm so confused right now it's not enough to fuel my fire.

When you're not eyeing me, I'm worried that your love is a delusion,
and your previous interactions with me were mere illusions,
but I've realized that my eyes also purposely avoid you
because my sheepishness takes over when you come into my view.

I seem to repress all the signs you've given that your heart is mine,
only relying on the present for the evidence I find,
and my educated guesses can
LongingThere are no words that I can write,

but if I could, then I would kiss you

because that's the only way

I can convey how much I miss you.

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Love Bug

:iconcato-chan:

Get out of my body!
Get out of my brain!
I don't understand this pulse
that's shooting through my veins.

I shudder and I shake
when I look into your eyes.
I know this can't be love,
for I have played that game of lies.

You've planted some bug
inside of my soul.
It burns when I see you,
ablaze like hot coal.

It links us together;
we're never apart.
You dug into my skin
and live deep in my heart.
:iconcato-chan:
I originally did not like this poem at all, but with a bit of revision, I've warmed up to it a little bit... however I am deeply disgusted by veins, so the third sentence hurts me a little bit. I'm not disgusted by blood at all, just veins... eaugh.
:iconredplatinum:
!RedPlatinum Feb 12, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Yeah, blood is cool, but veins and arteries are just urrg.
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