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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.
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
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
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
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.
thieves of nocturne skiesPaper lanterns                                                                                            are midnight requiems
            That tell me                                                                            to look beyond the
                   light and have    &
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More from ~MyOwnFormOfTherapy

Normal He was normal. Normal didn’t happen on accident. Normal was perfectly planned and laid out in specific patterns. Normal was the map he drew with crayons on the walls of his apartment. He created normal out of abnormal, out of chaos. He built it up like a sand castle, grain by tiny grain. Normal was his obsession, his whole existence.
Every morning he woke to the normal sound of his normal alarm clock screaming electronic obscenities. He pushed back the normal blankets and slid himself out of bed. The normal chill of the normal air tempted him to climb back into his normal bed, but going back to bed wouldn’t be normal. He walked
Half of SomethingI always imagined I would grow up
To be something special
That I would travel my path
And collect pieces of magnificence
Like butterfly wings and pebbles
They would lift me up and hold me down
And I would be happy
I imagined it would be simple
I would awake one morning to find
My pockets brimming with treasures
And my mind full of brilliant thoughts
I imagined I would learn the secrets
That hide beneath a lover's eyes
I never imagined I'd find my hands empty
And the truth laid bare beneath me
TrustI loved you
             once
I held you close to my heart
  Protected beneath my ribs
     and listening to the gentle beat
I loved you the way
      I love the sun
    I trusted you
         To always come home
TimeI've never been the patient kind
I've never been the one to sit
   Legs crossed
   Hands folded
   Eyes closed
   Head down
   Mind blank
No, I'm the greedy child
I'm the one who feeds
  on instant gratification
Whose mind is always moving
  always curious
I've never been the patient one
I've never taken kindly to hinted surprises
I'm the one who checks the clock
   (It's eight)
 Swears not to look again but..
Checks the clock
   (Still eight)
I'm the one who sits
    Legs twitching
    Hands moving
    Eyes open
    Mind crowded
And sneaks another glance at the clock
    (Still eight)
I've always been
The EndingIt took thought
 Years
   Of contemplation
  Cramped into
 Weeks
   Of confusion
It took questions
 Answered
And answers
 Questioned
It took a war
of thoughts
of ideas
of frustration
And when the smoke
 And the headaches
Finally
   Cleared
And lonely
   Wounded
    Thoughts
Wandered across
 An empty battlefield
It took courage
And a mask of defiance
  To unravel
 The weaving
   Of so many days
It took stupidity
And stubbornness
  To blame
 The faults
   On just one actor
It took a strong voice
 And an inability to speak

It took
     Only a moment
CrackingLover, lover
Make me grin
Say you love me
Pull me in
Liar, liar
Break me down
Pull me deeper
Make me drown
Cheater, cheater
Break us all
Pull us, push us
Make us fall

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January 4, 2009
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The Way it Once Was

:iconmyownformoftherapy:

I don’t remember
I can’t remember
But I do know things
I know that I’m right sometimes
And I know how often I’m wrong
If I had a freckle for each mistake I could be beautiful
I don’t remember
I’ve forgotten it all, honestly
But I could learn
I could learn it all again
I could be perfect
I know I could
I don’t remember what it feels like to be whole
I’ve never known what perfect feels like
But I know that I could learn again
I could apply heat and molten metal
I could fuse these pieces together
Like stained glass
I don’t remember what it used to feel like
But I could reassemble the puzzle
As best as I can
Some of the pieces are missing
I can’t remember
I’ve wracked my mind
But my memory is full of self protecting holes
I’m sorry I can’t be as whole as I was before
But I can learn
If only you’d believe me
I could put the pieces back together
I could rearrange myself for you
:iconmyownformoftherapy:
This isn\'t so relevant now, I suppose
I\'m not sure where it came from but it sounds like me last year
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:iconmistress-phoenix:
!Mistress-Phoenix Jan 6, 2009   Writer
I do like this poem, if only because we've all been there before. <3

The freckles line is brilliant.
Reply
:iconmyownformoftherapy:
~MyOwnFormOfTherapy Mar 26, 2009
thank you ^^
Reply
:iconkiltul:
~Kiltul Jan 5, 2009  Student Photographer
wow...that's amazing
I, too, like the freckles line.

though...if you were "perfect" you'd be boring, and as it is, I think you're the un-boring kind of perfect. Especially the part about being beautiful :heart:
Reply
:iconmyownformoftherapy:
~MyOwnFormOfTherapy Mar 26, 2009
xD *laughs* i spose it wouldn't feel right if i were perfect
Reply
:iconbrowneyedgirl07:
~browneyedgirl07 Jan 5, 2009  Hobbyist Writer
It's sad, but I like it! I think it really captures the feelings of someone who was 'broken' and wants to piece themselves together but doesn't know how. Very well done!
Reply
:iconmyownformoftherapy:
~MyOwnFormOfTherapy Mar 26, 2009
:) thank you
Reply
:icondarkicekitsune:
~DarkIceKitsune Jan 4, 2009  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
aww, that's pretty and sad...
as for the not knowing where it came from...maybe it was some thought that had been floating around in the back of your mind for a while and just recently resurfaced?
Reply
:iconmyownformoftherapy:
~MyOwnFormOfTherapy Mar 26, 2009
:) must be
things do that occasionally
thanks ^^
Reply
:icondarkicekitsune:
~DarkIceKitsune Mar 26, 2009  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
O.o holy crap, dev-dev...XD that's a lot of messages from you...
Reply
:iconmyownformoftherapy:
~MyOwnFormOfTherapy Mar 26, 2009
xD well.. i just got through 80 comments and 60 some replies
Reply
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