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StitchesStitches

Her name is Stitches and I love her.
She doesn't believe that - she says it is an improbability.
She doesn't say impossibility and that gives me hope.

No one but me knows why she's called Stitches.

I've run my hands over her soft white skin,
Flushed with the fevers of midnight.
I've touched it.

I've let my fingertips explore the hitches in her skin,
Where her body couldn't quite heal itself.

Old memories of gaping holes and vicious lies.

From her shoulder to her wrist,
From her knee to her ankle,
Any where she can negotiate a knife - she is Stitches.

It makes her cry sometimes.
She says she doesn't like being a rag doll any m
Hard.On days like this it is hard to move
It is hard to dress myself.
Blouse a chest plate; dress me in chain mail.
- with the helmet on it is hard to see
it is hard to open my eyes, or lift my chin.
On days like this, it is hard to be human.

It is hard to raise my hands, to button
or to brush my mangy hair.
It is hard to construct the image of a person
out of these destitute materials.
it is hard to pump clotted, crumbling blood.
On days like this, it is hard to be human.
Rock BottomThey say a rolling stone gathers no moss,
so when I shudder to a halt
The rocks in my feet continue to grind.
I feel the sand in my lungs
and the regretful mist silting in my heart
as the waves come back in
reaching eagerly for my legs, spooling, churning
over me. Rooted in my misery.
I know the rocks in my feet will help me drown.
ParchmentI speared you with a         black-ink pen.
I tried to balance           the weight
of our weare-worn         shoulders.
Tried to counter         it with beauty
and hopefulness        , with my hopes,
persistence &         with my dark love.
They came to        see it in hundreds,
Droves, of         similarly seeking
hope and         a reason to continue.
Reasons         to love, even when it
hurts.         Reasons to try when the
vast         weight of differences 'tween
us         can't be fixed by adding
a         single strike of strength
        through the middle. Our love
      wasn't strong enough for poetry
     to save. It crum
Sometimes, it's the little things.He always told me I was deep.
An unfiltered distillation of a humanitarian ocean.

He accepted me, gills and all -
  He knew that I needed my eccentricities to breathe
         under the seascrapers of pollution
               that hung over my head.
 Or he said he did.

At the end of it all,
he tugged the gills open to expose me;
    my innards trailed across the coral reef
       as I swam trustingly forward, hoping for the best.
 I tried to believe.

I believed him, gills and all -
But eventually, he left me, with holes in my sides
   Where he had spooned out my intestines
      To tether them to a boulder.
 I tried to breath
BlackI chew on the blubbery meat of my tongue,
But it revulses
So whenever I swallow I gag.

I try not to inhale the acrid hiss of discontent
That seeps out of the corners of my mouth
And runs a river down my chin;
It reminds me of peaches. I cry.

I have digested the venom
The black rotten root of my own plague;
Ingested it. Injected it. How quick I am to accept death to me.

As organs revolve, revolt, regurgitate
I caged butterflies in my abdomen
As if lushness couldn't catch them there.
I knew better.

I ple'd to the sewn-in stars and their makeshift tenants,
For salvation and for suicide.
They offered neither.

So I sit and stew in these bodil
A love letter to my devotedHear me read it!

A touch without invasion.
  That ever elusive exhale of love in the skies.

The quiet stateliness
of fingers searching palms
  He held my hand.

A kiss without allusion.
  The constant thrum of light specks chasing sun rise.

The tenderest smile
of knowing, to be known.
  She held my heart.

The patient sun without intrusion
  Lit the world aflame through devotion in their eyes.
Holding a Hostage - Draft One /I daren't close my eyes
The moment I do
You may dissapear.

I clutch at your body
Pressed between you
and the slate flooring we chose together
   You and I.

I stroke your hair and murmur
My tearful confessions
- You've heard them a thousand times before.
Not today.

There are sirens, love
and they come for me
   They come for us.

They seek to part us, my darling
and I cannot let them.

No battering ram or tear gas
Could bruise me more
       than seperation.
Nor make me cry more
       than departure.

I kiss your face
and try not to remember
How you looked when I fell in love with you.
You're not so different angel,
Not
a Novella of LoveShe wrote a novel on the back of my left hand,
It washed away when she left me.
MutantHear me read it

I am a mutant.
                   | My skin does not sallow in the sun
                     and I do not blush jaundice through my cheeks.
                   | I do not have extra fingers, or toes -
                     although my spine;
                                                 it boasts an ironic vertebrae,
                                                 it is a long tally of the hearts I have broken
                                                 and when I straighten my spine the bones Pop out of place.
                                                                                                     
I will remember for youDo you remember;
It was September and I was seventeen.
I was gnarled into the corner of a bus
Mithering away at my gloomy mood;
Trying to shake the oppressive landscape in my mind.

It was unexpected.
A blow,
A shock.
It was unexpected to see you there.

You were folded primly onto a bus shelters seat
With her hand enveloped in yours
You both lifted your other hands, synchronised,
And waved to me with your familiar smiles.

I was surprised.
Was stunned.
Was overjoyed,
I was surprised to see you there.

Your grey hat tipped so rain slipped off
And her glasses whitening with the steam of her laugh
I just looked at you, gluttonous,
I absorbed ev
The EditorMakeshift by the lake,
I watched you finish my sentence
- Hastily retracting the bitterness
and editing out
     my overstated meaning.

A fly serenaded you,
As you derooted the root,
- Deflowered the bud
and edited out
    every semblance of a meaning.

I allowed it, in the summer haze.
For you to slather me
- In someone elses
typewriter ribbons
     soaked in someone elses feeling.

But when you slept at last
I arose, painted bleach by your tongue
- Shook off your petty rules
and crossing outs
    and ran away, free - and feeling.
Never The Gold.I want my silver back,
I need to melt it down and forge a new connection
With someone else.
I want all the precious bits of myself
that I so willingly quarried for you.
I want my silver back.
The White ThingsNothing is as far away as a minute ago.
No matter how hard you row against the tide
we can never reach it, never return there.

It's hard to sleep in the light of my regrets
that creeps through curtain and barriers
to rot away and bleach all things white.

It's hard to sleep knowing that no distance
is as far away as sixty small seconds ago.
Immalleable, we rot, and things turn white.
Sleeping soundlyHe's talking in his sleep again
And I can't help wondering
If he's saying all the things he feels he can't say
When I'm (not) listening in the day.
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More from `KathrynODriscoll

Skin - Draft One /Skin

My skin is angry
rubbed red red raw
in that tiny landing strip
of forgiveness

and my skin is burning
just swallowed down words
and broken rememberances
of memorials and desire

sickness of twisting things
twisting 'til they break
and are no longer usable
for anything but grief

I'm falling through it again
every moment in quick step
and as my heart stops and starts
and the fingers forget

I don't want to forget you
I'd rather cut right down to the bones
of the problem
and hide away
in tears
and solitude
that I deserve
solitude of utter madness
and fucking nothingness
of what I deserve
and I feel sick
right down t
Silence - Draft One /Silence

No sleep.

She lies in the heat
Gazing at the ceiling
With tear-filled eyes
And tear filled heart
With a swollen tongue
That cannot speak for her
She lays next to him
Alone.

She is broken
And incurably hated
And he is lost
And worried every day
With a swollen heart
That aches for her
He lays next to her
Silently.

They are talking
And not saying much at all
Gazing hesitantly left
She is uncontrolable
And he is inconsolable
And they seek comfort
But barriers leave them
Alone.
She, Song Version - Draft One / She

She is violin.
A graceful flourish of her fingers,
One hypnotising movement,
And I sing for her.
The mournful, aching sound,
Of hearts in love.

She is flute,
A cool breeze across my neck,
One mesmerising whisper,
And I long for her.
The whimpering, broken sound,
Of men in love.

Touch my soul with symphony
And together we will sing
With love notes and with lyrics
We'll survive anything
Kiss me with your chorus
Converse me with your rhymes
Drums take over heart beats
As we whisper stolen lines

She is guitar,
Fumbling with notes and chords,
One revitalising gesture,
And I play for her,
The quickened heartbeat sound,
She /She is violin.
A graceful flourish of fingers,
One hypnotising movement,
And I sing, for her.
The mournful, aching, sound,
Of hearts in love.

She is flute.
A cool breeze across my neck,
One mesmerising whisper,
And I long for her.
The whimpering, broken, sound,
Of men in love.

She is guitar.
Fumbling with notes and chords,
One revitalising gesture,
And I play, for her.
The quickened, heartbeat, sound,
Of fools in love.

She is harp,
I caress tense heart strings,
One tantalising murmur,
And I love for her,
The silent, beautiful, sound,
Of falling in love.
Seven - Draft One /I am drunk on misconceptions,
And drowning in false perceptions,
Tearing violently through raw meat,
To get to the heart of you.

My body's ready and willing,
I am yours so make the killing,
You can take my flesh, heart and soul,
And make me a part of you.

Our hearts outrace us drunkenly,
Running down roads to apathy,
But all that is ahead of us,
Tonight, it's just me and you.

I hunger for your daily touch,
Not thinking I could want too much,
Why won't you just give in to me?
Possession of you complete.

The soul darkness embraces you,
In the manner I would love to,
Touched by its deathly caress and,
You give yourself to the
Pushing Up Daisies - Draft One /Clumsy thumbs
Collect fragile flowers
Bitten down nails
Bite shallow grooves through countless stems
Hitting your head against a brick wall
Pushing the head through
It resurfaces the other side
Of its - green
Grave
Slip - gasping for air
Grasping for another flower.

He loves me - He loves me not.

Weaving tokens of affection
From the soil around us
You always
Make something of nothing.
Two best friends equally dirty and grass-stained
Our friendship pushing up daisies
Dirt in my ears and mud in your eyes
As we - think back
Wish back
Reminisce - backwards
Grasping for a lost innocence.

But he loves her - He loves me not.

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:iconkathrynodriscoll:

I tapped yellow and rouge onto his high cheekbones.
I wanted to dull their sharpness. Dull his shine.
I swiped royal and tiffany across his forehead,
An impermanent reminder of how precious he was to me.

A fuschia flush down the bridge of his nose
dipped into the corner of his eye - he went cross eyed
and I laughed, dropping pink glitter on his collarbone,
he became serious as I pondered. He wanted to be Art.

The sun rose on his temple, I wanted to give him life.
I wanted every day to be a riotous sensation for him.
I left his eyes as they were so he could look at me,
I guess that, deep inside, I wanted to be Art too.
:iconkathrynodriscoll:
I wrote this piece completely and utterly inspired by this gorgeous photograph by *Eman333 and I hope he doesn't mind me doing so... I mean no offensive to him or the model, I took the idea and I ran with it.

For me, this (poem) is about the boys I've loved who have enjoyed me immortalising them in my poetry. They always seem to love being written about, becoming heroic eternal statues to love... and I think that part of me does it because I'm hoping that if I say enough beautiful things about enough beautiful people that someone might think that I'm beautiful too. That one day my own words might come back to me.

For anyone curious "Tiffany" as in the colour of Tiffany's jewelry boxes. It's my poetic way of saying a light teal.
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:iconpuzzledheartbox:
*PuzzledHeartBox Jan 13, 2013
A remarkable poem about a very interesting picture, Not often do I read something that is inspired by such kind of photography.
I deeply enjoyed the way you captured the colours and emotions.
Reply
:iconkathrynodriscoll:
`KathrynODriscoll Jan 14, 2013  Student Writer
Gosh thank you HeartBox, (I'm trying out nicknames for you. :giggle:) It was a wonderful photo!
Reply
:iconpuzzledheartbox:
*PuzzledHeartBox Jan 14, 2013
Bwah, just call me Puzzled or PHB like all the others XD.
Or in a very odd case Mr.Box.

Indeed it was :nod:
Reply
:iconkathrynodriscoll:
`KathrynODriscoll Jan 16, 2013  Student Writer
:giggle: I quite like Mr.Box. It amuses me.
Reply
:iconpuzzledheartbox:
*PuzzledHeartBox Jan 16, 2013
Oh my :D
Reply
:iconbeyondjen:
*BeyondJen Jan 13, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
This is mesmerizing with the way you managed to evoke emotion with the colors. I love the way you used tiffany as a color. :)
Reply
:iconkathrynodriscoll:
`KathrynODriscoll Jan 14, 2013  Student Writer
Tiffany is THE colour. I might just keep mentioning it in poetry until it materializes in my life. Do you think they would send me gifts if I just wrote poem after poem about them? haahha
Reply
:iconbeyondjen:
*BeyondJen Jan 14, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Free advertising — I think they owe it to you! :giggle:
Reply
:iconkathrynodriscoll:
`KathrynODriscoll Jan 16, 2013  Student Writer
:giggle:
Reply
:iconfoxofebony:
Mood: Love ~FoxofEbony Jan 13, 2013
This is enchanting :)
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