[x]

Honeythief.straw-stitched and hanging
off every word--

violated:

pressing my ears
against your brittle
hives

and smoking you out

BrokenThe lace of my skirt was only as perfect
as the flesh that it covered

my childhood stretched until the woman inside
could be seen, raw and bleeding

He left behind calloused fingerprints
on every seam that he tore

The lace of my skirt is only as perfect
as the attitude I put into every pleat

my fingers burnt flat with blistered scars that left me
negative, flawed and reviled

She left her signature on the stitches, scribbled
with needles and veins

The lace of my skirt will only be as perfect
as the stranger looking in the mirror

my addictions have left me broken i

half-priced whoremaybe in fifty years,
she thinks,
she will stop feeling his finger-shaped bruises
on her hips and arms.
stop hearing his words—you think you can stop me, little girl?—
in every passing "are you okay?".
stop feeling the wind like a ghost of his acid breath
on the back of her neck
beautiful, beautiful, beautiful little girl.

maybe fifty thousand dove soap bars later
and too many scalding showers
and dusty baby blankets and days spent lying in bed,
looking up at the water stained ceiling,
will be enough to leave the man
on the corner of anderson street and rosa parks avenue
right where she never wanted to find him.

just ask her,

Angles of SeparationI was born at right angles to the earth
your houses are inscrutable
I stand on the shores of my heart
perched like aliens in a spaceship
who think mirrors are photographs of someone else.

My lips are bitter-tainted
from eating discarded fruits
I need someone to see my hands
waiting like constellations
and grab them through the clouds
to see that this universe is made of stories
so I can finally stand up
and live parallel.

A Look At The ProcessI wish I could tangle up my words like you do;
create paradoxical, beautiful, undefinable nonsense
with that gleaming hint of meaning,
that contextual truth, the pearl hooded by
words upon words upon words and
wrapped around with soft whispers of nothing
harsh bites of ironic irrelevance
and carefully misleading references no one will ever understand

Alas, my heart dribbles off my sleeve
and lands exactly where it falls;
it beetles across the page,
being what it is

I wish I could look at my poetry -
smile, and go:
"Yes - that is a mystery"

LossKneel. Lick the salt. Pray.

There is a hole here, I say,
pressing to my breastbone.
No doctor can diagnose it.
There is no test to check
how deep you've been ingrained
in my woodwork, pumping muscles
and spitting valves.

And no scalpel can erase this.
The emptiness of unfriendship.
Cold eyes glinting black
where once they glimmered.

This is a flimsy half-light
coming from my cigarette.
Nothing good will come for years.

Kneel. Lick the salt. Pray.
You're gone.

so here's the thing:i feel like a tired little
skeleton wearing the
same shirt 1, 2,
3 days in a row, knuckles
drumming along the knobs
of my spine and fingers
digging in
   be twe  en the      rib         bones
that flash in the sun and create
shadows on my skin

and listen, everybody wants to be
skinny but i want to sleep and it's funny
, i don't want my bones to
skick out at
                   odd
      angles
but my stomach

on watching the night close its eyes on you1. I will not tell you
you are pretty.

How can the halls and angles of such honest humanity
be so pinched between sounds as elementary as these?

2. You need not be two stringent boughs of syllables
nor weave your viney bones abreast these five petty letters,
whirling in the fire of the river
Styx.
Do not attempt to peel yourself layer for layer,
leaving all the disgust behind.
Do not tally your body six &

Forest FireWe're proper lovers with miles in-between
Like the devil floating down the river valley
That baptizes in its water
I am not where I would like to be

Like a pagan dance, you tend to inspire
The flirt in your lips, the kiss in your smile
You've got the earth eyes and I've got the sky
This passion: a forest, the anxiety: a fire

About the River Inside My HeadThere's a river in my head and I know you haven't seen it.
You haven't heard it bubble and you haven't felt it touch your bare ankles,
because, like I said, it's inside my head.

I am, almost literally speaking, a fish out of water with you,
with my foggy eyes and gaze that always
avoids yours.

It has never bothered me like it always bothered you
but you smelled of human skin and your palms were sweaty -
I could not hold your hand for the life of mine.

You had anger and something else, pity, sadness, all the like,
in your eyes as I took my sleeping pills
I can't remember how you looked like back then

prosopagnosia (greek: "pros

White noiseI forget now,
what it was I came here to say.
It felt incredibly important
in that moment –
that flash of inspiration –
when I reached for the pen.
But my mind wouldn't wait,
my thoughts refused to pause on
the image I sought to preserve
and, instead, they kept turning
and stumbled over
and ever onwards until,
starved of oxygen,
my memory drew a blank
and I'm left with an empty space
staring back at me
which seems, somehow,
exactly as it should be.

note to self [narcissist].please dear
don't find yourself so fascinating
you're tripping up on your own inadequacies
as if the world's
never seen them before

please dear
you've really got to stop
this dog-and-pony show
this "welcome-to-my-personal-tragedy"
exhibition

really dear
you've done nothing but make
a damned fool
of yourself.

The GivingToday I think I will ask God
why it hurts so much to give birth
to a poem. And does it feel the same for men,
because it was women he cursed with this agony.
Is it the nature of a woman, or the nature of a poem?
I want it to slip out of me, slick with the mess of emotional
afterbirth, but it strains within me, words pushing up against
the patina of my skin, trapped inside, pelting my heart with language
like a storm inside. Sometimes I do not think this feeling belongs to anyone
but me, and sometimes I think everyone shares it, but they hide it better than me.
Are they all shuddering inside with pain, with hormones running haywire,

Haiku Ika-Unom

the morning mist fades
a golden sun revealed
her eyes kept westward

leavingleaving is a can that you
kick around in the street
because it's been a long day
& it makes you feel better.

some days you kick it
harder, longer than others,
& some days there just
aren't enough cans or streets.

but the thing about leaving
is that when the
street lights come on,
you always end up going home.

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you're lucky if they kill you

by ~izha, Jan 17, 2013, 3:00:01 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

she screams

deafening conversations of millions
footsteps and wine glasses of the smart and the dull,
clinking. clinking. laughter.

life
goes
on

she screams

blankets pulled up to comforting warmth
smiles and dreams of the abandoned and the blessed,
whisper. whisper. peace.

life
goes
on

she screams

a hand covers the delicate slopes of her lips
cries and pleasure of the chosen and the thief,
echoes. echoes. silence.

life
goes
on

you're lucky if they kill youby ~izha

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

©2013 ~izha

everyday,
life goes on.

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~blubbityblub Feb 3, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

It's beautiful. Congrats on your DLD, i got featured too, it's what brought me to you

Well done, haunting and achingly sad.

Reply

~izha Feb 3, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

thank you.

Reply

*Mishi5 Feb 1, 2013

Beautiful poetry!

Reply

Mood: Affection

~izha Feb 2, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

thank you very much.

Reply

*lycan-rising Jan 31, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

interesting.

Reply

~izha Jan 31, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

Reply

*bloodawni Jan 30, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

Congratulations on your DLD!

Reply

~izha Jan 31, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

lol. thank you!

Reply

~izha Jan 31, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

thank you for suggesting this.

Reply

=DailyLitDeviations Jan 30, 2013

Your wonderful literary work has been chosen to be featured by =DailyLitDeviations and has been selected as our "Pick of the Day". It is featured in a news article here: [link] and on our main page.

Be sure to check out the other artists featured and show your support by

ing the News Article. Keep writing and keep creating.

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