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Too soon you left me here,
in the debris of last Thursday.
Too soon you felt the guilt..
but maybe we're all meant to
bash ourselves every once in awhile,
make a mockery of love,
our affection for each other
because we're all just scared inside.

Oh summer moon, feel the burn
of the sunrise pierce through
your silvery silky flesh.
It's over now, you're going down.
Sweet mistress, oh what a night it was;
such pleasure, sugar cane and dying palms!

I can still imagine it;
my parents away on a trip
to the southern countryside
and that train from Chicago,
chugging along with a secret all its own;
You in storage space, your
photograph in a locket around my neck as
I waited at the November-chilled station.

Oh it's not fair; hiding our
dance shoes under our beds.
Oh it's such a shame,
to be a girl-half-woman
in a world of masculinity,
money and Kentucky horse races.

Sappho, I want to feel her near;
Darling Eos, why can't she be real?
“Silly girl,” you whisper against
my winter berry cheekbone.
“It's just a story, nothing more.”
Yet I know and I argue,
“But people need something
to believe in, don't they?”
My girlfriend says nothing, puts me to sleep.
Disappointingly, I drift
off into the captive evening.

it's so cold in my dreams.
I can't find you in a forest
of goat-heads, coyote skulls
hanging from leafless trees.
Oh is it a bad omen?
I hope not because I never wanted to believe
in such superstitious things
as old wives' tales and campfire stories.

How can I convince you that
I'm fast enough to keep up,
strong enough to carry the weight of
your crushed childhood on my shoulders?
Snap-dragon, you're not;
even with your mermaid eyes,
you're a four-leaf clover;
we'll bet on you every time.

How can I convince you that
I won't slow you down,
a tattoo orchid in the sunlight?
You can be whoever you want;
just be honest, just don't
shame the moon that made your skin so pure,
your eyes so fierce,
the night that embraced you,
held you tight when
other children were terrified;
lost without their parents or
animal spirit guides
in a Japanese suicide forest
of samurai souls.

Schoolgirl, don't think you're so smart..
You can fall in this fox-trap we call
horoscope love just like everyone else.
Wildfire, don't scoff, now.
You don't think I can feel
when I'm dozing off between nightmares
and you whisper a song
in my ear, caress my clammy cheek,
brush tendrils of copper
hair from my forehead,
but I do and I know you're capable
of both shooting an arrow
and missing, and giving somebody
the one thing they need
most in this world; comfort.

We're all lost; it doesn't
make us weird, set us apart.
You're not lonelier than
anyone else, remember that.
I can be your best friend;
I can drag you from the icy river currents
and breathe life back into your lungs,
touch my lips to yours with holly-oak.
It's that simple..
Unrequited, doesn't matter.
It doesn't make you weak.
It makes you brave enough
not to quit, not to drown
in a pond of dying swans,
bare ivory lily pads
lacking heaven's worth.

Remember that, girl;
I'm still betting on
your Carnelian passion.
“She's a runner,” they told me;
the other neighborhood kids at
the playground where I met you.
A girl with eerie ashtray grey eyes and
a smile like a torn postcard,
a ripped-open Christmas present; you
let me use the swing next to yours and
I was ever-grateful.
Later, I learned that
you never did that, allowed someone
to get so close, without asking for
anything in return.
It was sad but I stayed because
you intrigued me, Miss Unknown.

Lost time; swept away by the system,
girl in juvenile detention,
it never gets old; the stories I heard,
muttered behind your back.
They were all lies, I was sure..
Or maybe I didn't care because
I was bored and with the same
suburban Florida gossip,
spread around my backyard like
dandelion dust, between sips
of lemonade; my mother's Bridge
friends cackling and the niceties
that never sounded true; just shallow,
watered-down apologies
for missed calls, flamboyant excuses.

Oh I wanted something different
to shake up my world; a hurricane
that would hit the seahorse coast
and forever change my summer-land home.
I wanted you, a gothic Victorian fantasy;
all gunmetal irises and  milk-candy flesh,
a cutting-edge tongue sitting behind
mulberry lips, a clocktower throat
and a poetic heart hidden beneath
the serendipity threads of your Capetown chest.
I wanted a dream that wasn't there,
a twisted fairy tale where I got to
be strong enough, brave enough
to save a princess who had been
ignored all her life; who had
fallen down a rabbit hole of
mouse traps and dead lilac butterflies.

But it's dangerous to believe that
anyone, no matter how pretty,
is more than just human.
It's dangerous to be an adult
who still believes that
straw can turn into threads
of vintage gold overnight;
that Icarus never died
when he fell in the sea
and that it doesn't matter
where you come from,
how much money is in
your knapsack, darling.
Like Aladin, we're all
meant to discover caves
filled with purple magic,
genie-made tiaras.

Oh it's too dangerous
and yet, I fell for you;
I did, I created a girl in my head
who talked to me like
I was special, like I was different
from the smoking cliché generation
train-wreck kids that
surrounded you every dreary
Monday at school.

I wanted something different
to call my own; a shipwreck
star on a coral chain.
I believed in the mysterious
picture I found in a storybook
one day when I was eight.
And oh man, when I saw
her in the flesh, I thought,
“Jesus, this is my chance!
My only hope of survival
in this miserable wasteland.”

But that's not love;
it's infatuation,
it's cheap wine
and red-painted barns at night.
It's a teenager's heart ticking
like a time bomb,
making him think
he's running out of time when
nothing could be
further from the truth;
his life has just begun.
ticking time bomb
for scarlettletters.deviantart.com… for his support :) sorry I messed up my dedication the first time.

“What a treacherous thing to believe that a person is more than a person.” 
― John GreenPaper Towns
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Sandstone, heart of gold I wish I had,
but instead, Dracula and
the angels of death decided
to rule my spiderweb chest.
But still, I have you to fill
in the emptiness with genuine
courage and a fighting spirit
like no other; fire poppy.

I'm a kind captain's daughter,
born under Canadian silver clouds.
I was meant for life at sea,
spotting islands from daddy's telescope
as he steered the wheel;
later, we'd be in the mess hall, eating
crab cakes and playing board games.
Yet one night, the good
captain steered the ship the wrong way,
got distracted by a siren,
popping out from under waves and
climbing atop a wall of seashells.
She had waist-length carnelian hair
and her voice was unlike anything
I had ever heard, impossible
to describe; a Greek lilt, an enticing
sorrow-filled vocalization
of chimes and Indian coins clacking
against the Taj Mahal palace floors.

That's how she manipulated him,
stole his heart and splintered it
with sharp Atlantis sea-glass.
I almost died, myself; but
I wasn't as close to the rocks
so he told me to jump at the last minute,
he remembered I could swim.
My father; he saved me, and
now the North starlight has
faded from his Peter Pan eyes.

I met you in a small town in British Columbia;
I wanted to get as faraway from the place
where I lost my father and so there,
I enrolled in private school.
All I wanted was a new life;
with my daddy's quirky sister, my Aunt Meg
and her rich chrysanthemum garden,
always smelling of new beginnings.
I met you when we were both wearing long skirts;
me feeling ridiculous, you a rebel with an angry
skull painted on your ankle, surrounded by roses.
“It's the symbol of Baron Samendi,
a voodoo deity who protects me
from grudges and jealousy.”

Oh and at the time I thought,
“If that's true then she really needs him.”
You were so exotic and strong; most of
the girls in our gym class hated you.
Sometimes it was funny but other times,
I was seriously worried that one day
a prank they played on you would be too dirty,
too dangerous for any spirit
to rescue your garnet soul.

And who am I, compared to you?
You can leap over chain link fences
without getting scratched up, cut open
like a rose and a brandy knife used
in some love-hate ceremony..
How can I protect you, darling?
You're a ticking time bomb heart,
a cyanide bottle on a sterling chain
around my dainty throat.
You're the one, coming
to rescue me from all the gossip,
all the things I can't escape from.

Lovers' tongues; pierced and swollen,
you had your share of ruby-studded
passion and you lost it..
I don't want to know if
he or she were winter or fall.
I don't care to know if I'm good enough
to serenade you at night;
“Crazy in Love”, The Great
Gatsby rendition, classical
notes I'm no longer in touch with.

I just want to know if
I'm worthwhile, deserving of
your voodoo doll smile;
threaded and horrifying
in bed, but that's just the way
you are and if I'm going
to be your partner in crime,
I'll just have to accept that.

Sensual smoke; vanilla candles
make me dizzy, girl.
You take me by surprise every time,
tell me I'm protected
by some angel I've never even heard of,
some saint from Haiti
who loved both women and men.

Ribs alight; your feathery touch
on my pale cream stomach, those
fingers help take the pain away.
I didn't kill my father..
I didn't lose him to the waves,
that siren did, the one
who had to steal something
to breathe in salty air.
“It's not your fault,” you say.
“So stop blaming yourself.
It's not your fault, so
open your eyes. Girl.”

No brick dust at the door;
you can let me in
any time you want, darling.
roses and skulls
girl/girl voodoo, just cuz it's sexy ;)
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And in the end, you can't save me, luckless angel.
In the end, you're just an innocent high school
boy who wanted his first time to happen
on a Saturday night with cream soda lips
and hands frantic, shoulder blades contracted.
And I was a girl who thought she had
everything figured out, would never
die young in a river like Ophelia.

And yet, we weren't meant for
the harsh winter nights of
a lost confederate, Virginia darling.
And yet, we couldn't understand
the horoscopes enough to know that
compatibility doesn't always mean
forever in a white dress, a bow-tie.

Wailing in Vermont;
you hear me all the way from here,
tossing and turning in my mother's bed
in my grandmother's room.
The phone rings; my heart skips a beat.
You ask, “What's wrong?”
I say, “Nothing.. I'm damaged, honey.”

After winter break, at school;
the flowers are blooming and
everything looks normal in the parking lot;
kids driving their parents' cars,
bells ringing, signaling History and Math,
girls in maroon dresses,
showing their legs, boys wearing
backwards baseball caps.
Oh it's the 90s again
but we're never happy.
That's just how it is
when you're living in a storybook;
that's just how it feels when
you're stuck on some TV show;
supernatural with realistic pain.
Boy, you can't save me..
Boy, don't you even try.
I'm going to break you on the stairs,
I'm going to miss you when you die..

Storm clouds; I can't control it,
I break the ice around me like a swimming pool;
all the humans I cherished like
pearl beads on an antique chain
drowning innocently, without any
famous last words, without any licorice farewells.
Banshee bride; who wants her?
Boy, don't try to save me..
Just leave this town behind.

Be smart, you've already lost so much.
Be real; this isn't a fantasy;
Aladin's ring, a box of glass eternity.
Oh don't say you love me when
I'm alone in a forest, trying
to make sense of this curse.
Don't say it will be fine,
normal again when I'm naked
and shivering by the side of the road.

Amnesia, not; I remember
I couldn't stop the blood
from pouring down, the people
from burning in that house.
Banshee bride; who wants to marry death?
You deserve a better tomorrow,
a real tiger lily gemstone sunset.
Boy, you deserve a movie playing
in the skies, burgers and fries.
You deserve something that a freak like me
would never understand because
it doesn't come
as easily a damned Celtic legend with bronze
hair,  pine tree
irises and a half smile so sad, it's rare and
practically nonexistent.

No, boy; you deserve a real girl,
stepping out of some sleek Chevrolet
with flowers in her hands,
a promise ring on her finger;
to always be your first date;
never die in the snow with
a frozen scream in her throat.
Boy, who wants a banshee bride?
Don't you want to feel alive?
Banshee
inspired by the characters Stiles and Lydia from Teen Wolf. I think the idea of a banshee is interesting and uncommon in teen shows.
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If I tried to save you, would you let me?
If I told you there was an enchanted
forest somewhere where we could
taste Christmas glitter-berries,
would you say that I was just
high off Coke and rum, watching
re-runs of Daria on television?

Oh say it's true that you want me back..
Say it's true that I'm not just
hallucinating because this is
the best way I can express myself,
querida; mi mujer, this is the best
free-verse I can write down
on cheap Walgreens paper
that doesn't sound too desperate
or controversial like Francisco
Lorca, Salvador Dali.

And I'm sorry I stood up
in front of the whole class and
proclaimed my affection
for a girl from East L.A.
I'm sorry I ripped my poinsettia
heart out and scattered
its bloody fake petals
all over the cement in the playground.
Darling, I thought
you would have appreciated that..

You once said maybe I'm the only
one who knows you, truly.
You once brushed your feathery
cardinal lips against my cheek
in the white trash morning
when you woke up and
found yourself in my bed.
Sleepovers are for little kids,
I know; but we never outgrew them.
It's special; cafe con leche,
it's forbidden; my grandmother's
prayer beads and crucifixes,
a framed picture of Jesus on the wall
as you walk inside my house.
But I don't care, darling.
You came into my life,
stirred it up like cake batter;
tres leches con morango frosting.
You gave me just a taste of
real half-Disney love when
we were twelve and since then,
I've been addicted to your
apple blossom scent, your
shiny auburn curls and
Puerto Rican curves.

But when I stood in front
of that crowd at that proud
lesbian coffee-house on
San Marcos Street, and
proclaimed all my feelings;
ripped out all the Maleficent
thorns stuck in my throat for years,
you kept your cognac eyes hidden,
wouldn't lift your head,
look around as others clapped.
Querida, you were embarrassed
and that was the worst
humiliation I ever felt.

Truly, what did you expect?
That we mess around?
You know I'm not that shallow.
You're my best friend.
I thought you knew me.
“Protecting your privacy”;
that's a lie, you're just ashamed.

And I want out, if this is all there is
because it's hard to dance with
a siren clinging to your shoulders.
Girl, it's hard to let go of everything
we've been through since communion;
snowy gowns, pink roses in our hair
and spicy Mexican chocolate bites
between telenovelas and J-Lo
speed rides down Anderson Lane.

“I still want to be your amiga,”
you whisper between classes
at an integrated high school.
But I'm not down with being
your door mat, querida,
not even a flower-print one.
I deserve better than
an indecisive one-night stand;
midnight burlesque
bustiers and cut-off shorts.
I deserve a woman
who can lace her brown sugar
fingers through mine
and tell every crude car driver
that passes by that,
“She's my girlfriend, bastard.
You lost your chance.”

I'm going to fight for this.
I might lose but at least,
I won't hide because
when you're lost in a crystal cave,
under zombie water; there's nowhere
you can drown your secrets, darling.
And when you have nothing inside;
you need an angel to tell you
you're still good enough to survive,
you need  someone to look at you
like you're the same person
with the same coral heart beating
inside your water-logged chest.

Oh I hope you understand
I'm the same best friend
you allowed to hold your hand
at your 10th birthday party, that
I let straighten my unruly hair
while telling me I was beautiful
enough to be on TV; a reporter
for the lost causes of San Marcos.
Querida, I hope you see me now
as the same teenager with
the almond-shaped eyes that
you said were mysterious,
sexy, lovely; but maybe
I'm just wishing on Navajo
shooting stars tonight,
because your phone is off the hook
and your room is empty.
East Side Story
inspired by the web series East Los High lesbian Jocelyn and her unrequited love for her best friend, Camila.
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deviantID

autumn-spirit
sharon
United States
Current Residence: Texas
Favourite genre of music: rock
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:icontirasunil:
tirasunil Featured By Owner 15 hours ago  Student Writer
Thanks. :)
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:iconscarlettletters:
Scarlettletters Featured By Owner 17 hours ago  Professional Writer
A big thank-you for the fave!
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:iconautisticchick:
AutisticChick Featured By Owner 1 day ago  Hobbyist Writer
You are fucking amazing and I'm watching you so I can read all of your poems ever.
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:iconscarlettletters:
Scarlettletters Featured By Owner 2 days ago  Professional Writer
Thanks very much for the fave!
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:iconranthar:
ranthar Featured By Owner 3 days ago  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thank you for the favourite =)
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:iconbailthesociety:
BailTheSociety Featured By Owner 3 days ago  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you! :]
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:iconscarlettletters:
Scarlettletters Featured By Owner Jan 19, 2015  Professional Writer
A big thank-you for faving my work.
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:icontirasunil:
tirasunil Featured By Owner Jan 14, 2015  Student Writer
Thanks for the fav. :)
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L-Inque Featured By Owner Jan 7, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks for the +fav  on 'All In A Moment'  Hug 
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:iconscarlettletters:
Scarlettletters Featured By Owner Jan 6, 2015  Professional Writer
I appreciate the fave - thanks!
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