Welcome to PoeticalCondition's Journal!
Two weeks have passed and you guys have quite clearly been busy Have fun reading all of these everyone!
First up: DLD’s
knees and toeshere is a short list of things i know:by MisfitableGrae
Cody says he hates David, but he really doesn’t,
i will never wear a coat until the first of November,
i hate myself in the spring,
the sun is 92, 960, 000 miles from earth and i’m pretty sure
that number is rounded to look pretty
or god must be ocd.
it’s a miracle, i’m learning to look you in the eye.
make a wish, make a wish, any wish
i’m plucking out my eyelashes, i’m learning
to give up beauty for a shot at happiness.
i say too much too quickly without getting out
all of the consonants and my speech is craggy
and rocky like an abandoned trail in the Appalachians,
overgrown and the road not taken.
my fingernails are ragged and bitten to the shortest
stub i could stand. i don’t want to hurt you,
i don’t want to hurt myself, my fingernails cannot
hurt you but i can still hurt myself. one day i’ll
be brave enough to leave scratch marks on your skin
in angry red lines, one day i’ll be some
when you write a poemwrite a thousand you mean and oneby smallsincerities
keep the ones you do
locked firmly behind the skeletons
crammed into your cupboard,
because when you felt
your heart in freefall, no one warned you
that it would crash
and burn, when it finally fell
all the way down.
October Full MoonYour blood-red fruit in the sky let my soul flow,by Malintra-Shadowmoon
You draw me slowly to yearning distances,
And while the crows’ croaks echo on foggy fields,
I travel to the stars, full of nostalgia.
The wind in the willows whistles with sorrowful flute tune,
And while I follow you to the destinations of our dreams,
I cast a glance at the scenery full of fruits.
From the depth of the earth, song and whisper raise.
Our love was already gone before it began.
I could only search but I never found you.
The sand of the hourglass vanished between our hands,
I had to get over the unavoidable farewell.
The gossamers of past dreams
Cover my thoughts like a web.
They make the brown-colored leafless trees shake
As well as my walk.
October full moon, take me with you on the journey.
Help me to fly to the other side of summer.
In a magical, eternal way
You and I will walk together under the fresh green leaves.
Your Non-Existent CompetitionMy fingers hover over numbers I have not needed to think about for years, and I urge myself to make the call. Still hesitant, I pick out the digits that still translate to "home" in my mobile, though for years it has been only a house; sometimes mine, sometimes not. It rings once and I hang up, then try again and again and again. Third time might be the charm, but today it takes five of these hang ups before I stay on the line.by camelopardalisinblue
"Sorry," I say, knowing I don't sound very convincing but banking on the notoriously bad reception we get here to tick it over into believeable. "Sorry. I bet you got about a billion missed calls. My 'phone kept cutting out, you know what it's like." I laugh, an awkward bark that explodes from my mouth like our terrier chasing a cat, and she seems to accept it at face value. "Anyway, happy birthday, hey!"
She thanks me and we meander through the pleasantries she initiates, an elaborate dance of lies we move through every so often. We talk of cheap shops and craf
All Seasons PromenadeAll outside is dreary and greyby Blacksand459
Jack Frost is preparing his speech
In his sharp baritone
Of icy points and dusty stars of white
From the northlands comes a hollow roar
Old Man Winter is striding about
Preparing to descend in a week or two
In all his glorious, furious might
In another year
You'll see Autumn at his dapper best
Arrayed in top hat, tails and spats
Till then he's in the Old Dominion
Sipping a mint julep with young Summertime
They discuss the Farmer's Almanac
While playing croquet or pinochle for laughs
Yet none of these compare
To that effervescent princess known as
Adorned in lilacs and cherry blossoms
Eyes that sparkle with morning dew
The forest glades now rendered in
To them she'll bring
Tender buds of kelly green
And the seasons will promenade
In their wondrous, ancient ways
Set in motion by almighty God
To Whom they render praise and laud.
.here is a love storyby brokenfragilethings
in quiet words:
she pressed her hands to my heart
and her palms came away
i keep teetering between fuck you and fuck mefuck,by stuff7
i started writing in pencil again because the mistakes i'm making are bad enough where i actually feel the need to correct them. i started writing in pencil because it's sickening to think i still think i know what i'm doing.
i'm making important decisions under the influence because i'm above sober choices. my head is a much friendlier place after drowning my demons. i'd drown myself in an ocean of vodka or whisky rivers, give me a rum and coke and leave me be. i know how to swim, that doesn't mean i want to.
i don't walk on sidewalks anymore. i tip toe the yellow lines that might lead me away from here, i might end up closer to you. i don't know where i want to be. my feet are weary from the miles and interstates that i have carved into my fragile spirit. the body is willing but mine is too weak to even drag myself out of bed.
after a week away from my bed, my sheets looked like the day you left. i'm beginning to realize it may have been the last time they will see you. i don't
swallowI had beat the sprinkled sugar,by your-methamphetamine
clouding my breakfast's better judgement this morning
off its crunched, French toast wings, took a
sip from a mug that was yearning for more
coffee and I broke both their hearts because
mine was feeling lonely
so I ran to the bus stop to find
my old company waiting, snow-clad
like my coat but still hollow
like the rusty copper sky above them. top
of the morning to you too
I broke a few more on my way
to the mayday parade at work
only to find that tonight my
words were going to threaten me till
I bled some more,
I hadn't read these before but you
could shut up and stay in
the back of my head till
the rest of me is biologically ready
to have you back
in an incomplete circulatory
system; please stop making your
monumental alabaster feel
so much like home, stop
being home for me right now.
yes, breathe a little slower, I can feel
my breakfast return to my mouth but it's
better than having your words at my
cracked winter-dry lips.
don't ask me what you can do
love, and other natural disastersacres of barely concealed tragedyby forestmeetwildfire
are sprawled along the vacant beach,
spreadeagled like a group of starfish or
a colony of dead Vitruvian men.
hair becomes whip-like in wind
as shorelines burst onto squeals of water,
each one a hideous screech
from gaping jaws, a cry that echoes
for hours while stars tick-tock overhead.
i could swallow entire mouthfuls
of the pale sun, feel them explode
like lightning strokes in my aching belly
and still think like a deserted seashore -
the only signs of life
ruffled seagulls picking at dry oyster shells.
the earth is a sphere and the coast
is a box of empty prayers
held together by a couple loose ends
of fishing wire
sharp enough to slit throats.
Written WordChildren of the written wordby NathanielFlyingOwl
You wield in your minds, voices and fingers
The weaponry you need to fight for truth
In your minds, the ideas
In your voices, the ways to speak your minds
In your fingers, the tools to record them
Stand up and shout out for truth
Fight against the tyranny of evil
Don't sit back while darkness spreads its filth
Address the night as it is
And hand out forgiveness where it is due
For words of passion and love will endure
Rise, oh warriors of truth
Narrate all you can, oh storytellers
Be observant and watchful, oh poets
Let your diction be your sword
As children of the written word, be strong
And spread your words like a raging wildfire
And now: DD’s
fathersi never again want to wake up and findby flummo by Wordeea
that someone else has gone in the night.
when i was 8, my father’s body decided
it was no longer vital, so it stopped
giving him signs, instead, a fistfight
he didn’t survive. i only ever succeeded
in burying him at the back of my mind.
at 16, when my brother drives home
at midnight, i fear a car crash,
i fear him closing his eyes, so i never do.
i don’t want him to be awake late alone,
so i sit up in bed until he gets home.
i can sleep when i’m dead, but neither of us
is ready for that yet.
are my architect, for when it felt like
our world had ended, it was you who stood
to save us from the wreckage,
from all the nothing that came of everything
our father built. it was you who stirred the dust,
who laid the floor on which we found our footing,
you who built the bridge from his life
and what came after.
faded from our days like a distant figure
through a window in the rain;
i am your bad weather daughter
Victory in defeatAmid the horror and the bloodshed, weeping,by Hyalma
I dared to look at my loathed foe.
He smirked and then he promised:
“If you bow down to me,
upon my word, it
ends. Bow to me,
and go home.”
Anxieties of a Conflicted IntrovertI.by Pencil-Wolf
[i don’t want to
have to tell you i’m
lately it’s been tough.
And i’m stricken with this feeling that
maybe i’m not good enough.]
you see, somewhere out there
birds are looking for nests and birds
are finding them in the ribcages of souls but i
am tired of picking straw from my heart
and strings and hair that wrap around my fingers i’m—
[well sometimes i’m
but i never wanted to tell you that]
--tired of seeing the ball i wind from
those leftover nests grow and grow—
[and i want more, want more, but
sometimes there’s only so much my heart can hold]
my life is a tree c
Strawberry (An ice-cream in December)by LadyOfSilver by oracle-of-nonsense
I disassemble –
heart after limp,
brain before muscle.
You hear the pieces fall.
Sometimes, all I can ask for is an itchy blanket over me, and a cup of steaming tea between my calloused fingers, bringing the smell of hot strawberry to my nostrils, until the smile of content overwhelmingly fills my chest. Sometimes, all I can ask for is death.
I don’t like mornings. I never liked mornings. The sun is mocking – glaring from his heaven to a place grey and heavy with nothing but vanity, and shoving his hard light to all the ugliness around. Night is not like that. Night is beautiful. Night smells of wet leaves and falling stars and wishes forgotten in the sigh of two lips touching. Night brings the twittering song of a hidden cricket, a lullaby lost in the fading dreams of two bodies nesting one in another. Night is not like mornings.
The breeze is cool tonight – comforting, dancing around the baby blue curtains of the kitchen. The TV plays in
.i dream of drowning inby oaklungs
lakes, belly up, a petal
shaped bruise of your thumb
on either wrist
i dream that what lays
in my bed is so much
more terrifying than what
lurks underneath it
An Open LetterAn Open Letter to the Wasp Trapped on the 71vby witwitch
You may not have noticed me, but when I stepped up in to the bus, I noticed you. I made my way to the nearest seat, careful not to disturb you. The other passengers and I watched you crawling on the window. Our eyes filled with worry, and we sat still, staring, each of us hoping we would not be the one you stung.
I felt your frustration, as you banged your head on the glass and crawled about it, watching the trees blur by. All of the exits were clearly marked, but you could not understand them. You could not know when the doors would open, which pane of glass would slide. Perhaps you would never be free, I wondered. Perhaps you would die there. I wanted to tell you that I have been where you are. I wanted to tell you that I knew how you felt. But I didn't.
For thirty minutes I watched you. I imagined myself sliding my hand under your six legs, cupping my fingers around your frail body, and carrying you outside with me. But when the b
Carving ConstellationsDoctors carve out constellations,by LadyofGaerdon
stitch star maps into my skin,
a web of scars, a path to take
to find myself again.
My scars are sewn of haunted stars,
constellations but half-drawn;
ghosts of star-fire whispering words
that fade out with the dawn.
They took my rib from me,
ground it up, reformed it,
turned it into Eve;
made a girl with my own name:
a girl they say is me.
My fragile face now hers,
our spirit splintered,
she stands for nothing
I once stood for.
Deep scars fade
before their meanings are deciphered;
yet more maps unfold
A special congratulations to :devoracleofnonsense: for receiving a DLD and DD on the same piece!
As always, if I’ve missed anybody, I do apologise; we are a big group with people constantly joining or changing their username, so feel free to point it out to me via comment/note.