~novemberblue

November Blue

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About Me Member General Poet novemberblueUnknown

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Deviant for 2 Years

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Fake it 'till you break it. Fake it 'till you break it.

I am an alcoholic.

I don't have bottles of booze hidden in the water compartment of my toilet or in the backs of closets or under my bed. I never binge-drink or spend a lot of time at bars. I hardly drink at all, but I am an alcoholic. I have one more drink to go, that one last drink that leaves me spiraling out of control, at which point I expect to be lost for the rest of my life. I'm saving that last drink for when the shit really hits the fan. It has, many times, but I'm waiting until my brain stops thinking and my body just begins to do. Until my body walks me to the next bar and spends all my money on gFake it 'till you break it. by ~novemberblue

16Mar10 I scrambled uphill for years.
Reaching hilltops,
only to roll down the other side
and find yet another rotting valley
in the arms of ashes & dust.

I found the Hanging Gardens
yesterday
and have been sitting here
watching myself
feeling myself
fall to pieces
in Paradise.

Falling
like the Niagara falls
as steadily
as the earth keeps turning.
Unstoppably,
I fall to reach you.16Mar10 by ~novemberblue

24Jan10 It's in the way I drown myself in coffee
until my body is just one big twitch
and that I live between paper and laundry mountains
where I'll forget to eat all day
and make up for it with cake and chocolate
and think that it's okay because I quit smoking.24Jan10 by ~novemberblue

They don't write how-to books They don't write how-to books

on asking people not to break you in public
or stopping racing hearts from beating their way out of our chests because they want so much to be together and our brains are too stupid to let it or make it happen.

They don't write do-it-yourself articles

on filling your home with love to fight off isolation
or making the gap, you fell into when the cancer ate your mother, shrink just a little bit.

They don't write scientific essays

about what happens when you stumble across the entire animal kingdom in your chest and your heart is Noah's new ark
or how you can feel your particles pullinThey don't write how-to books by ~novemberblue

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Have You Ever Wanted Something Have you ever wanted something
so much
it consumed you,
filled every fiber of your being
with fluttering dreams
and fleeting glimpses
of a not-yet-materialized
you. That love-laced feeling;
woven dreams of golden thread
within a black and white frame.

Have you ever wanted
to take a hammer to that frame
until black and white confinement
becomes fine gray dust,
and that golden thread
weaves itself
through your eyes and breath and skin
until you shine within
the darkest of rooms.

Have you ever loved something
so much,
that no someone
or somehow or someday
could fill you up
in quite the same way.
No him or her or it
Have You Ever Wanted Something by *RawPoetry

stop ruining autumn. listen:

fall makes me think of leaving and of apple cider, though i never liked apple cider.
but i liked the idea of it.

listen:

two years ago i met a boy as fragile as dead leaves, who called me his little spring girl. (i'd always liked autumn the best.) he kissed the two soft dimples on the small of my back and told me helikedme helovedme hewantedme.

and oh, by the way, "everything good must come to an end."

listen:

on our one year anniversary we picked out two pumpkins and i drew elephants on them for us to carve. he cut his out so aggressively that it lost its shape.
lopped off tusks and broken trunks became juststop ruining autumn. by ~estallidos

paper cranes and picket fences i am folding you one thousand paper cranes because it is all we have left.

legend says that if i fold one thousand paper cranes, i will get a wish. i could wish for a pair of iridescent wings or an ocean in a teacup or just to finally be happy again, but i don't want any of that--with every crane i fold i am imagining you. one crane for the circles under your eyes, one crane for your jutting ribs, one crane for every seizure.

i love you and you're dying and i will run out of paper trying to fold your broken pieces into birds.

-

you drew me a picture of us in the future.
our houses were next door to each other and a white picket fpaper cranes and picket fences by ~estallidos

trilobite. look:
don't ask me to prove to you that evolution is real,
because i lost the notebook with the proof written
out in pen. i could try to sum it up for you anyway,
about how i didn't used to love you and then one day
i did and how whales used to have legs.

also i was once a flower or a seven year old
and my hands didn't know how to hold yours
or how to draw sunsets and make sandcastles.

evolution was you one year ago saying i was perfect,
that i should never change myself for anyone.
now you say that you are trying to fix me,
which means that perfect things could always
be trying harder. and that's evolution.

i'm tired of mtrilobite. by ~estallidos

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I moved here.

Dec 22, 2009, 4:15:27 AM by ~novemberblue
Journals / Personal

_{I've been on deviantart for years.
Each year was a different me, wrapped up in one account. I've deleted big parts of me from that account, deep, deep in the deviantart universe. But that wasn't enough. I wanted my writing to keep going. I've become pretty bad at it, I used to be quite good with words. And I hope to be quite good with them again sometime. So I moved some pieces to this, their new home. And separated my words from my photographs.

And because they were separated, I'm keeping them apart as far as possible without tearing myself into two, so that they stay separated and don't find each other and grow back together again.

I hope more people will find their way to this new place and care a bit more than those who have eyes happy to look at photos but lazy and careless with words.}

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