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HAIKUWRIMOCOMPLETE 2013

February 28th, 2013

Dire desperation
A feeble whimper for help;
roar of these raw times.

February 27th, 2013

Gluttonous ash cloud
sucks the moon's blood
and swallows the night.

February 26th, 2013

Bark! An explosion!
Angry bodies escape the
network of lung cells.

February 25th, 2013

Silently cloning,
multiplying, honing in,
determined to kill.

February 24th, 2013

Tea and sympathy
readily available
for my dear sister.

February 23rd, 2013

I will hold my breath
as the north wind does the same
waiting for your love.

February 22nd, 2013

He hovers behind;
Hamletian apparition.
Always following.

February 21st, 2013

A lo

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.

United, We WriteHear me read it

0hgravity, if by some divine fortune you should decide that today is the day you will fail me, then let me soar through the ChemicalSkyline. Grant me a-lovely-anxiety that raises a storm InTheStarryNightSky for me to riseandbe above all else. Let me soar.

How I long to be the frail rider-on-the-storm and not a victim of the RoamingShadow, Rogue-Of-The-Night, that BlackVelvetNightmare of my nights and days. I long for awaytobefree, won't you grant it to me?

I desire to be great, to feel greatness, to be more than one of many Sad-Writers spinning Sacred-Literature into SanguineEpitaph after saturninesweetness. scarletwave of

Mother EarthMy body is the earth;
See how under this bruise
A seed of malcontent sleeps.
See what grows out of each pore
As the pain pours over again.
There is rust in my fingerbeds
That poisons the roots
Of all good that hopes to grow here.
I am the convulsing, revolution
of the convoluted Earth...
I am the tectonic blades that clash
and shout when I curl up and hide.
You will feel me when I tremble,
and fear me when I explode
for under the magmanimous skin
There burns a core of hate
That can't be marred by human hand.

In absence of a poem.I chewed my pen to the nib
and swallowed the ink thoughtlessly,
but no matter how long I thought,
I couldn't say what you mean to me.

I tried, I tried and I tested,
every word in my diminutive range,
but I screwed up more pieces of paper
and happened upon something strange;

I noticed words, which have served me,
for all of my formative years,
had no power to convey my gratitude
for the times that you dried my tears.

Whenever I doubt myself (often),
You're the one who tells me I'm wrong
You lift up my chin and remind me, wait
for the good things that will come along.

I can't find a way to express how
you are the saving grace in my head.
So

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

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 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.

ScarsSee the sharpness of my tongue-nib
As the metallic taste in my mouth draws out
A barking cough, forced out
By the dirty nicotine lining my lungs.

See the blade of stubbornness
That slices across my cheek bone;
An amalgamation of all the times you pushed me.

See the residue in my eyes,
The remnants of all those times you forced me
And I forced myself not to cry;
Those tears condensed into a thick blinding syrup
That colours all things red.

See the crinkle in my nose,
The wrinkles on my heart
As I remember how you didn't love me. (Don't love me).

See the burns on my psalms
And fingerprints singed off
By all the times you called me nothing

Of Nuisance LeavesHear me read it!

Leaves clutch their ropy fingers around the tree's limbs. The zesty leeches bloom, crack open overnight and slip silently up the nearest oak or maple. They pierce the crunch of bark and penetrate deep into the rubbery veins.

They feed. They pauperize plum and peach until they are heavy and brown; heavy laden with the stolen sap.

When at last they reach their fill the tree can finally shake them off emphatically, desperately, until at last it is clean again. The tree reaches its black bones to the sky in praise and as a new year begins vows never again to be the victim of leaves.

AfterIt follows me.
My silver skeined ghost.

An almost imperceptible thread;
only visible when you shine light
directly upon it.
It follows me.

It rides the underground.
It hides under bridges,
Under trains.
It is woven into the spools of tar
that form the roads between.

Inevitably if I walk too fast
it reminds me -
Like the tug of stitches in your cheek
that reminds you; you have lost your wisdom.
It reminds me.

It trips me in doorways,
when my mind is elsewhere.
If I look away from it -
- it slips round my neck.
Another knot to throw over the beams
it mauls me without a fair chance.

I tried to sever it. I can't.

with a whisperthis is how we rule the world,
the underclassed
the uncapitalist
(uncapitalised)
the forgotten, lobotom-ised,
relics
of a long lost dystopast.

not with a SHOUT,
we do not argue.
we do not even unsheath
our mightier-than-the's.
we whisper in your children's ears
the memories of what should have been.
the life we all crave.

the death we all crave.
WE do not discriminate
or obstigate
our opinions onto others
pressing the side of the blade
down onto the fles

A chance secondI lie awake, staring at the cornices.
3AM: my fingers worry at the corners of my sheet.
My anxiety worries at the corners of my rib.
I bite and tug and huff out my misery
As the silence keeps me awake.
I lay with pressure of your absence
Pressing down over my nose and mouth.
A soft asphixiation of the heart, of the sanity.
It is a hot grey night in London.

You are awake, startled by the sunlight.
7AM: you can't lift your weighty skull from the sheet.
The day sirens, but you stay, settled,
Under the weight of your shroud, your loss,
Only the silence keeps you awake.
Unknowingly, for the first time in weeks
We are unintentionally in sync;
Laid

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.

MatterIt is only a matter of time
until the stone lays down with the sheep
and sleeps.
Rested firmly above the holes
where our eyes used to be.

It is only a matter of matter
until epitaph and eulogy diminish to dust
and sleep
becomes the eternal home,
not where our souls used to be.

It is only a matter of fact
that our words will become reductionist, redundant,
and sleepily
the world will forget
where our words used to be.

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Submitted: January 17
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Mutant

by `KathrynODriscoll, Jan 17, 2013, 10:04:56 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

_{Hear 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 am out of place.
| I do not have a super power,
   I lack exceptionality in all but my ordinariness.
   | there is a vengeful bacteria feasting -
   on my shoulder places;
      between the weight of the world,
      the rock and the hard place
      a monster chews the fat and fetrid flesh, it laughs at me.
      they laugh at me.

   | Deep in the equilibrium of my thoughts,
   hides a parasitic truth, grinding its teeth on mine;
   | it tugs at the tendons behind my eyeballs -
   the puppeteer, it controls me.
      It deceives and divides me
      and floods my eyes and mind with doubt.
     I am blinded by it, and my cloudy eyes see normality.
         I seek normality.

I am a mutant.}

Mutantby `KathrynODriscoll

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

_{Edit: 11/2/13: Sorted out the punctuation on this before I submitted it someplace so just put those edits into place here. No content edits.

Well. I hope this poem came out as intended. I wanted to make it dark and unpleasant.... I think I was too soft in the writing of it because it is more a misery poem than an anger poem and misery is so a(pathetic).

This poem is about me. My mutation. My disability. It's not physical. It's not an actual bacteria / parasite / mass / monster. It's a warping in my personality, in my mind and thoughts.

Strictly speaking I have mixed personality disorders (not the same as multiple personality disorders). Basically, I don't think the way that 'normal' people do.. and its really easy to forget. Especially when you are happy.

You ever say to someone "I can't stop worrying about it" or "I can't stop checking facebook to see if my ex has said something bad about me"... well imagine that you really CAN'T. You CAN'T stop worrying. It's an actual impossibility. Your brain doesn't know how to not think about things, or worry, or be overly analytical and anxious.... and right now you might be thinking 'that totally sounds like me'... that's because there isn't enough words to show the difference between how our brains work, not because my 'issues' are common.

Then, one day, someone behaves in a way that I can't comprehend. Someone will be mean to me unexpectedly. Someone will give up on me, or not be able to fight for me... and I know that (because of my issues) I would fight for them until it killed me because I love them... so if they don't, they must not love me. and despite knowing that I only believe that because my issues mean that *I* give too much not that they aren't giving enough... I still feel... broken, and unlovable, and disgusting and mutated...

and everytime it happens its like a kick in the throat and I suddenly remember that I am not normal. and I don't get to be loved and be happy, because I give an unhealth amount of love that no one will ever be able to match, because the amount of love I give is literally a mental illness. No one will ever love me as much as I love them, no one will ever fight for me as much as I fight for them. No one will ever care for me or go the extra mile for me. No one will ever suprise me. and if someone did I would know it was because they were sick and I would try to fix them and everytime they did something nice for me Id feel terrible.

So logic suggests, I am unlovable. and like I said in 'Black'.. who could ever love a beast.

or a mutant.

Random true fact: I have an extra vertebrae. I called it ironic because people say 'get some backbone'. I have an extra bone but don't feel like it.

New word: fetrid. Mix of fetid and putrid.

I am happy to answer questions about anything but please be respectful and understand that theres a difference between behaviours and thoughts and disorders.

The layout is purposeful. Don't like it? Sorry but this is my soul on display.}

love 7 7

~~joy 0 0~~

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~donutmonk Feb 11, 2013

The layout is still so creative and thoughtful. >.<

*Koppo Feb 11, 2013

very well put, and truthful. i personally could connect with this on some levels.to love a beast is to face what we fear about ourselves put on display for all to see. laugh and poke and prod. embarrassing or just painfully true. love yourself kate, no matter who else choose to do the same. i don't know how the disorder works or is treated. but i hope you push through. you're a strong woman. as for the poem, i like it. far from fetrid <3

~Zevais Feb 11, 2013 Hobbyist

I was trying to find my twisted reflection in the comments, and I realized I sent you a note reguarding this one instead of reflecting it. I getting somewhat tempted to record myself reading the reflection since you recorded yourself reading this one... I guess I'll have to hold onto that idea for a short while longer.

~ithaswhatitisnt Feb 11, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

I am like that too...I cannot stop worrying about things, even though I want to, and I always give and give and give, even though no one cares to do the same for me. I always run myself into the ground for people, and they never care. I know exactly how you feel.

I would fight for you.

I am a mutant also. I know your feelings.

~NekoNekoGirl997 Feb 11, 2013 Hobbyist Traditional Artist

This I'd enticing and sad, but just horrible enough to leave me gasping.

~fantasylover103 Feb 11, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Wow....that's beautiful......but in a sad, melancholy way.

Think of yourself as unique, not mutated. You're amazing, just remember that.

`LadyLincoln Feb 1, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Never alone, honey. And even if you believe yourself to be a 'mutant' of sorts - you are one of the most beautiful people I am blessed to know, inside and out.

With love,

`KathrynODriscoll Feb 1, 2013 Student Writer

It's good to have you back

You are a guiding light

`LadyLincoln Feb 1, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

*bloodawni Jan 31, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

I just wanted to let you know I can relate... and to applaud your calm and well thought out response to some of the less sensitively phrased comments you've received!

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