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LMW-The-Poet on DeviantArthttp://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/https://www.deviantart.com/lmw-the-poet/art/Images-Aren-t-Definitions-472379897LMW-The-Poet

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Poetry

Literature

A Robot Love Poem

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Literature

stormchaser

dear sarah, yesterday I tried to swallow the sun. it burned me up on the inside until even my skin was hot to the touch, and I thought of you. I hope you have found better ways than me to feel lighter. heaven knows there are days where I still trade my feet for concrete blocks and try to sprint to the finish line, but at least I have stopped straying towards the riverbanks. at least I get out of bed. most days, that’s enough. but if you tell me that most days life still feels like a choice you’re making every minute, I will tell you that I understand. I have spent years trying to outrun my sadness, sipping sunlight until my vision blurs and looking up only to realize I’ve been going in circles and calling it progress. every escape I ever made is a town I can never go back to and I’m not better for it. I carry so many graveyards around inside of me, and I’ve lost count of how many bridges I’ve burned because I confused loving with leaving. take my sadness away, I don’t

Literature

girls on a roof.

aphrodite passes the blunt to persephone, says you have to tell me how you did that, how you seduced hades and they sit there on the roof, the stars twinkling. persephone looks youthful in a way that’s untouched, as if she’s somehow eternally seventeen or made of sunshine. i didn’t have to do much, she says. and aphrodite who’s spent years reading gossip mags & articles about “ true love ” thinks about how she saw hades take off his leather jacket & wrap it around persephone’s shoulders, easy as breathing. kissed the side of her head. gave

Literature

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Literature

Uninvited

The storm that raged outside brought droplets of water that dashed against the glass of an apartment window like liquid bullets. Even as the city outside his apartment bathed under the rain that tumbled from the blackened clouds, a tired young man lay asleep on his sitting room sofa, his stomach rising and falling in an uninterrupted rhythm. His only company, a young woman about his age, lay prone on a large cushion with her head craned over a book. The hour would have passed in silence were it not for his gentle breaths, the distant thunder, and the rustle of the pages she turned as she feasted on the strings of words that gave way t

Literature

Integrity

I’ve never turned down a job. Professional integrity, and all that. But even so, when I saw the name in the file, I cringed. At some point in every man’s career, he gets that job he knows is going to make or break his name. I’d been using this name for a while now, and it had started to get a decent rep behind it. People knew me. Not my face, obviously. I was smart enough to use wigs and contacts; prosthetics, if I had to. A face was too damn valuable, and not so easy to change. Especially if you didn’t go in for all that cosmetic surgery stuff. But names? Names were easy. Names were shoes that you could slip on and

Literature and Poetry

Literature

14. Metal Mettle

I was born with a silver tongue, Copper eyes and a gold heart. A grain of salt in my head and skin of obsidian. The silver has tarnished, But it stays slick with lies told , And untold. And retold. My lips seem bruised and discolored, poisoned by the silver within. The copper has oxidized, Turning blues and greens under the force of the salt water of my tears. And all the strife they have seen. The golden heart starts soft and pure Shining in the sunlight. But it is soft. Malleable All too soon it is dented. And pieces taken. It is better known as Fool's Gold, When it glints in the light to attract another. The grain of salt becomes a pearl that is my brain. Over time it shall mold Rolled within my cavity, an irritant until it is beholden as some fantastic beauty of nature. My skin is obsidian. Beautiful and Smooth Shattering off with any amount of force, Sharply cutting to those that try to touch me wrong. I am a treasure trove, Of precious metals and beautiful things. I may

Literature

Making Jam

Poetry is word jam. Boil down the natural sweetness of words And add the sugar of imagery, alliteration, assonance, allusion, figure of speech, meter, and rhyme to taste.

Literature

All's quiet in the deep

Fanged tendrils of forbidden thoughts Twisting with a purpose Squirming to be said, to be made flesh Calling from beyond the veil Moving slowly in the black still water They whisper Fears and doubts, Clouding the edges my eyes in red haze Tempting me with truths And lies. I cannot speak them The words that fester beneath the blade of my tongue Itch for a voice through which to manifest They pester to be named A venom coursing through my veined and slouching heart Daring my lips to part Stop now, cease. You are in violation. There is nothing to see here, Nothing to say. My jaw must stay still And silent Smiling and clenched Do not say the words Do not hint It is betrayal The thoughts have been waiting there forever Wearing me down, Berating patiently Do not speak of them. Their existence is anathema. I have desires I dare not say, Effervescent dreams I could throw it all away I could jump I could fly That was a metaphor That was a lie Never mind, I take it back, Watch my

Images Aren't Definitions

LMW-The-Poet

Published: Aug 1, 2014

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Description

A friend of mine has been pestering me to do this meme thing, "post five pictures that make you feel beautiful". I ended up arguing with her that people don't need pictures to make them feel beautiful when they should they are. She argued about low self-esteems. I told her it didn't matter, pretty pictures aren't normal faces and people shouldn't feel that they need to live up to these "pictures that make them feel beautiful". To prove my point, I took a selfie right in the middle of the argument and told her it made me feel pretty damn beautiful to just be myself in a picture.

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1200x1600px 3.94 MB

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