[x]

red leaves and Robert Frost.When I was young, my virginity was sacred. Entire religions pray over it and my father bought a gun so long as it meant protecting it.

We throw away half of our refrigerator each week – meanwhile, 24,000 people die of starvation every day.

Hardest part is, sometimes wasting things can't be helped.

At the bus stop, before I could drive, boys would ask for my phone number while I tugged up the neck of my shirt. Asked me how old I was while I crossed my legs under my skirt.

I told them I had a boyfriend even when it wasn't true, because they'll always respect another man more than my disinterest.

Hearing "I love you" for the first time

Hubris.today
we're younger
than we're ever gonna
be.

i. and we finally did it,
drove to the mountains
watched meteors
and let the mattress
grow damp
under our love
under the stars

ii. there are things to
be reconciled

iii. my eyes sting like
chlorine, but from
crying,

I finally disappointed
them;
the highest order of shame

iv. but you cannot put
people into pockets;
good, bad
don't mix
with them

v. and I cannot choose
who I love

vi. your lenses are straight,
elite and proud
mine, open and accumulating
filth

vii. maybe
I should run away more often,
we never talk like this

viii. and you have to realise
that I live in

if only, if only.i.
we drove nowhere
and we spoke a language
that nobody understood
underneath a foreign sky
blanketed in the scent of pine.

ii.
you told me
my eyes were like envelopes—
because they were always
opening
closing
fluttering to the sound
of breaking seals
and ink stained fingertips.

iii.
i told you
we should run away
to a new land
with new faces
because
i was enamored
with people i had never encountered
and places i had never gone.

iv.
you laughed at me
and said that
if i didn't spend
so much time with my head
buried in world maps
i would realize
that i was living on one.

v.
i remember
it rained that day
and the tea went cold
but the

SolsticeOnce upon a time, when you were still sunlighthouses and shimmering existence wherever you were needed most, you found him. He was November, shaky on his first last legs, and you saw through the mind-twistings he feigned to the mind-twistings that were really there, knotted up in his dreams.

You were still birdsong then, and thunderstorms, and your bodyheat melted the frost claws that held him tight. You held onto him as his November deepened. When he howled, you howled with him, and the wind played with your voices and pressed the softness of your lungs against your cageribs—and then against each other's.

November became solstice, and

Down By The SchoolyardThere is a rather cliched phrase that states that some people live double lives. I have always found that to be an intensely misleading statement and I guess you can call it a bit of a pet peeve of mine. No one leads "double lives", they just lead fucking lives. That those lives are more complex that the singular one-track existence of lesser creatures shouldn't be a matter of duplicity, but of common sense. No one is exactly who they seem to be.

Julio is one of those who they would later say lived a double life, but it is no more true for him than anyone else. The difference in this case is that there are two of him, rather than one.

Perha

SomedayJane and Ellis floated parallel to one another across the vast canvas of space, eyeing the marble-like planets that slowly crept past them. Their skin reflected the starlight with a dull orange sheen. Ellis had called it 'planet gazing,' an activity he apparently thought suitable for a date.

"Do you see that one below us?" Ellis said, pointing to a round blue mass.

Jane shrugged.

"Isn't it beautiful?" he asked. "I'll bet it's beautiful on the surface, too. Like the way the dust begins to spiral when a star is forming."

"Something like that," Jane said. She didn't understand his excitement. Planets were nothing interesting. They were just

Russian RouletteThey take her on her honeymoon.

The wedding was lovely, or as lovely as it could have been with a couple that were more polite acquaintances than anything else and two sets of in-laws as stuffy as a dusty pile of money. They grab her when she sneaks out for a walk one night, two men, beefy, not even bothered to arm themselves. Her last thought before the bag is shoved over her eyes is to wonder how much this would ruin her parents' plans.

She comes to in a small brick room on a sallow mattress, windowless and lit by a cool yellow lamp. There's a man there, standing just outside the barred door.

"Kelly Shale," he says, voice nasally, greasy

Harvest MoonThree a.m. moonlight
across lazy dust motes; a
tree scrapes the window.
Your arm weighs on my hip like
whispered promises of love.

the Chandler's Around the WayThe hose slipped out again. Chan cursed, and shoved it back into the incision he'd made, adjusted his mask, and bent over the pump. He yanked the cord, and the pump started to life with a cough of biodiesel. It bounced on the sand as it grumbled away. Chan kept one hand on it and held the hose in place with the other.
If fucking Fathers would spend the bone on a new one, I wouldn't be all night at this, Chan grumbled. He ached for a smoke, but didn't have the hands to spare. Plenty of hands here, he thought as he glanced at the riverbank. Some of them even had a pulse.
"Hey," he said to whoever was closest.
It was a sunbather. A walker who drew enough bone to slot time on the beach without having to fight for it. She had each arm draped around a man, both of them tattooed in the same place with the same sigil. Chan was jealous. Someday he'd have his own numbers, but they'd be women. All of them. He was old-fashioned like that.
The walker answered without raising her sungl

IfWe can
draw lines and give them names
like elements
as they are discovered

Or etch into our skins
this soloecal desire
until it is impossible to tell
where words stop
and life begins.

I would

Find a common rhythm that includes
you in my arms, my hands
and lungs and thoughts
tracing the outline of you
entangled with me
colliding like two lost particles
locked in a shared gravity
drifting through the vacuum
of space.

I could.

Exhale, and
remember
sentence structure.

Justifications and Salted Smiles"I don't think I'm holding on any longer
I'm diving in.
I wish that you would see,
there's a magical land at the bottom of the ocean
where waterproof lungs let you be
everything you've dreamed.
You can bury underneath the sand
and not be found-
it's the land that's been promised to me
in late night whispers
and burnt tears
wasted on things that don't matter.

I know it's real,
broken minds can't lie
and I can feel it in my bones-
there's something more.
What other reasons would we live for?

They say you inhale saltwater
and exhale enlightenment.
The waves pour over you
and finally make you clean (pure)
No one knows where y

Whiskey Laden DreamsBitter eyes and tears might taint a drink, but sitting in this bar alone with your stool pulled out next to me, and the Martini poured regardless of your presence still brings a smile to my face; despite the taste. I'm having a whiskey myself; dry. Yes, I know I don't drink, but every once in a while you need whiskey to solve an intricate problem, and mine is the distinct lack of alcohol in my life.

There are people everywhere and it amazes me how none of them are you, from the woman in the black dress coming down the stairs to the signing couple in the corner, laughing silently. They're not you at all, and that's what's amazing – in an

Like petals and leavesWhen she thinks of him, she thinks of tree branches:
spindly fingers spread out, stretching
in angles wide for handfuls of sky.

And she thinks of him.

She thinks of him digging his toes
into soft, damp sand,
wading in shallow depths before
being carried by crescents of the sea.

She thinks of him in a blur of curls, in the
warmth on her waist and the coolness on her lips,

pressing the memories and the maybes
like petals and leaves
to paper.

And she thinks of him.

I Mean to Get You AloneYou have sharp
pulse-elevating teeth
the stuff I imagine heart attacks
are made of

I'm bent on selling you a handful of smiles
specifically crafted
to distract you from the fact that
I have almost nothing to say

and now you're steering this conversation
in a direction that suggests you've

forgotten that I
don't watch movies or do much of
anything but work which maybe

explains why one glass of wine gets me
wrapped around you
car to streetlight
crash style
mangled limbs
breeding curious onlookers and my insurance has
expired

you're leaning in and all I can think is
I don't have insurance

Sforzando Magnificent, imposing shadows towered over the winking lights of the city; even in the late twilight hours, the noises of the bustling metro exploded into the colourful night. Patches of light from streetlamps and back-lighted signs broke up the shadows haunting the streets. Amid the luminous message boards advertising new brands of deodorant, Diamond Shreddies, and fast food chains, a woman with a mask of cold beauty gazed impassively across the city, her long dark hair seeming to sway in the wind. Her unmoving gaze fixed itself upon the silhouettes moving below, small nothings in an immense world.
Down in the heart of the city, people se

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DivisionSeeking Translator:

Math, a foreign language.

To My HeroDarling,

I don't have to tell you a thousand reasons why I love you. I could write for hours about your ever-changing hair color, the way your eyes light up when you smile even though they're the darkest shade of brown I've seen, the way my stomach does somersaults whenever your lips brush against mine or you say "I love you" and my name in the same sentence.

But this is not a love letter.

You know all the pieces of stories about him that I've told you as I remember. Memory repression is a funny thing, and there are some things I don't particularly want to remember (like any of the times he made me smile instead of cry, laugh instead of

Girlsare cliche little rhymes
in lacy sun dresses,
who grow up to be

uninteresting song lyrics
packed with secrets
that run down their cheeks.

They go best-friend-hopping
with every Facebook status
change. They never learn

to say what they mean,
but blot out names
with smoldering cigarettes.

Girls are always dancing,
usually vertically,
behind a waterfall of hair

that they hide behind
as we teach them
to call it, "sisterhood."

Irony (C)Irony is a school sign misspelling "excellense"
In pink crayoned colors with butterfly wings.

Karma is the second grader pointing it out
As he pulls his wet thumb from his mouth.

The delightful charm of seven-year-olds
tugging aged old gum from school benches.
It's almost sad that teachers never studied
the speckled dots of children's brains.

Kids running past the sign during recess
always miss its golden rule.

And nobody questions it; they are innocent
innocent like lollipops and ice-cream cones.
Why should they be expected to know?
When colored rainbows call their names?
Leave them to their hop-scotch and freeze tag.

Irony is

Pensee (C)All I want for you is to be free
to chase the sunset with bare feet
without worrying about waking up
to the reality of shattered dreams.

To surrender to the ebb of tides
that always bring you back to me,
your heart filled with a summer rain
and mind as calm as the foggy mornings
spent limb to limb.
I envy the way you can be so still and collected,
straight-spined, and barely nudged
by motivation--I wish passion on you
to counter your natural state of simplicity.

I place my intentions on your earlobes,
and daydream of your fingers finding mine,
observing that even the stars fade
in comparison to the glow of your eyes,
the prom

Heirloom (C)'She shown in many colors,
these stripes of golden freedom.
We fought beneath her glory,
bleeding on this 'ld battlefield for her cause.
With young spirits we fight on through the night.
She waves above us all, forever standing proud.
With her blues, her reds and snow colored whites.'

It feels like holding America in my hands
as I gaze upon this decades-old treasure:
brilliantly colored threads held together
by the courage of those who fight.
Freedom is a family treasure, passed
from one generation of soldiers to
the children and grandchildren they defended.

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Submitted: October 31, 2012
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Lingerie

by *SurrealCachinnation, Oct 31, 2012, 4:12:48 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Every woman owns one garment
that remains tucked away,
saved for special occasions
when it will be seen.

It is almost always midnight
black, or blood red, and
covered in lace, or made
of mesh, soft and delicate
as the skin it covers.

Such things should be hidden,
lest the owner be labeled
as something other than "lady."

It has a power we can't
control, one that transforms
denim and cotton clad
ragdolls into Barbies,

perfectly proportioned plastic,
smooth and flawless hourglasses
that turn on command.

We groan and flinch
as satin strings pull us
apart and together,
and heartstrings are plucked
as we scrutinize our reflection;

we are not diamonds
with perfect exteriors--
we are fractured, as we
realize hourglasses can be exchanged
for quartz watches that are
faster, more convenient,
incapable of failure
made by the obsolete.

Lingerieby *SurrealCachinnation

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

An assignment, inspired by The White Dress by Lynn Emanuel.

Edited 11/28/12
~~(Hopefully)~~ Final Edit 12/2/12

Original version read aloud by the talented =SilverInkblot : [link]

Featured by DailyLitDeviations: [link]
Thank you to =SilverInkblot for suggesting my piece, and to =DrippingWords for featuring it!

Daily Deviation?!
OH. MY. GOD. Was this ever a pleasant surprise. I'm speechless.

Thank you so, so, so much to =AzizrianDaoXrak for suggesting and ^NicSwaner for featuring!

Daily Deviation

Given 2012-11-29

Lingerie by ~SurrealCachinnation ( Suggested by =AzizrianDaoXrak and Featured by ^NicSwaner )

love 3 3

joy 4 4

wow 3 3

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~Kinglorshi Feb 10, 2013 Student Writer

Wow. Beautiful writing and prose. Every passage seemed to stand it's own, each and every one had it's own power. One of my favourites.

This has... actually given me renewed hope in myself for some reason... I am very excited to read something this good! Genuine excitement as I read!

D

Like, damn.... This may not be a "happy" poem, but it sure is written well. I don't know if I can relate though, which is my fault, to an extent.

My only gripe is at the very end with the epiphany... I don't know if I personally am a fan of "by the way, this is how it is". I am unsure. The line "We are not diamonds with perfect exteriors -- we are fractured" just seems like a statement of "how it is", which I don't know... I need to re-read this on my account to probably get the whole thing.

But, despite my nitpicking, one of my favourite poems I have ever read on DA. That's actually not too much, but I cannot just say it...

*SurrealCachinnation Feb 12, 2013 Student Writer

Thank you so much!

I appreciate the feedback, and I'm really, really glad you found it exciting! I'm pretty much done revising this because I originally wrote it for an assignment, and then it wound up getting a DLD and then a DD, and suddenly I had like a dozen short critiques written on it.

~Kinglorshi Feb 13, 2013 Student Writer

No problem.

I was troubled with the thought reading prose could never excite me, which is why, when I became excited here, that made me even happier. So this is quite a big piece for me.

Congratulations on the DD. I look forward to reading your other works.

*SurrealCachinnation Feb 13, 2013 Student Writer

Thanks so much!

=SilverInkblot Dec 28, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Hi there! Just a note to let you know I've featured this piece in my 2012 showcase of literature: [link]

*SurrealCachinnation Jan 24, 2013 Student Writer

Thank you so much!

I'll check it out right now.

Sorry I was so late to respond.

But really, I can't tell you how much I appreciate it.

*MistressofQuills Dec 25, 2012 Student Writer

I'm impressed with how you did this. In the first couple of stanzas, you almost convince the reader that this poem is going to be sexy and maybe even dirty, but then you completely turn it around and tell us that lingerie is not exactly a good thing. You make a statement about beauty and being a woman: that beautiful things do not make beautiful women....At least, that's what I got out of it and I loved it

=CassieCros13 Dec 24, 2012 Student Writer

I haven't done many critiques before this, but this is amazing.

Beautiful and descriptive...I think you should keep the last two lines in as they make the last verse stronger unless you did want to replace them with something else, I don't know how you could replace them though.

I don't see much of a difference of the word choice of lady instead of woman, if you feel it enhances that line better you can add it, though reading it I don't feel or see much of a difference as a reader.

I really enjoyed this, a well deserved DD

*SereneCyrene Dec 19, 2012 Student General Artist

Hello, your poetry has been featured here: [link]

*SurrealCachinnation Jan 24, 2013 Student Writer

Many thanks!

I'll check it out right now.

Sorry I've taken so long to respond.

I really, really appreciate it!

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