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FLICKERING A blanket drapes oFLICKERING
A blanket drapes over the room, casting a vacant shadow. It is uncomfortable, the way the air is a criminal that victimizes me. It flows indiscriminating and I can’t sit long with the gravity pushing up at me like a mob of pointing fingers. So, I light the tips of my toes like a box of matches that flared at once and burn my way to the flint. While the flames flicker, I see your silhouette shuttering back and forth then my breath is returned to me like an overdue book I never read. my eyes soak in the overexposure of you. I try to stabilize your image. But, when I approach, you are dissonant somehow not loosing your beat. And I began to strum the ratio of you to me. Trying to calm your image. However, it doesn’t respond. I play with broken promises and my instrument becomes a torch between my desires that is burning for you. I drop it to the floor. My dreams are becoming as unrecognizable as the fleeing rapist, whose face you’ll never forget. You are steadi
Shadow PuppetsThis is the light,
in which we meet,
onto the wall.
to imperfect things.
on a candlelit stage,
with slight of hand and shadow,
finding something real in
the things we made.
with suggestions of
a child's art once lost.
Disguising reflections of love
in the shadows that we tossed.
.357 MagnumIn our backyard, my boy cousins kill
each other from behind palmetto
bushes with Daisy BB guns.
In our frontyard, my girl cousins slap
their baby-dolls across the face
and shout at them to shut-up!
Inside my house, I'm standing on my tip-toes
palming the top of Daddy's closet,
my tiny fingers courting the Smith & Wesson.
Dancing with DaddyHe grabbed me by the forearm
pulled up the front steps
slung into our trailer
held steady to be hit
with his belt.
I ran in circles around him
missed the brown carpet
dangled by my armpit
his empty belt loops.
I Should Be Dead by NowApril 20, 2005
I wake up. My hands shake. My skin is numb. My vision is dim and blurry. I take a Prozac, Adderall, and Xanex. I can't say I'm happy or that I've ever been. I go to work. I drink a cup of coffee. I know that eventually my phone will ring and I'll have a tiny heart attack, so I take another Xanex. I go out of my way to the bathroom so that I don't have to talk to anyone. I sit on the toilet and bury my face in my hands, wondering if I should kill myself. Back at my desk, I take another amphetamine, and work a little, enough to prove I was there. At five, I drive home. I don't eat, answer the phone, or open my mail. I sit in the dark. I drink. I smoke. Finally feeling better, I stay up too late again. I fall asleep, or I don't. My hands shake. My skin is numb. I take a Prozac, Adderall, and Xanex. I was supposed to be dead by now.
Where Where You When the Princess Died?I was nearing the possibility
of approaching a reinvented Madonna
to slip a dollar between her man-breasts
when a crowd of gay men outsmarted me,
engulfing the stage.
It's just as well, I thought, as
the bouncy bare-breasted boy
returned with my drink.
Miss P (three-hundred-pounds of
hot pink) shuffles back on stage,
seems her legs were too heavy,
the shiny stuff too tight, or,
she's tossed back too many.
During an earlier performance,
she'd asked a girl in the front row
how long she's been a lesbian:
Since I was born, the girl said.
Then Miss P flapped her tongue
between her smeared red lips, and said,
oh, so you came out of
your momma's pussy—licking!
That was when I decided—
never make eye contact
with Miss P,
who returns to the stage,
props her left wrist on her
pillowed breast, and pants
into the microphone as if
back stage is miles away.
Miss P blots sweat from her forehead,
then she says,
Princess Di was
The tough gets growingI'm knee-deep in mud,
grumbling and mumbling
about what I did
to deserve this mess
And my mother glares,
"When I planted you,
I put you deep in the dirt,
not to bury you alive,
but to teach you that
when the growing gets tough,
the tough gets growing."
Useless effortI try to change the world
But I can't even change
My own life
And so I'm sentenced
pick up the slack and
pick up that slack-jawed shadow of yours
dragging on wet pavement under your soles
and hurry it along, we ain't got all day here
flex your white-boned fingers and
taut knuckles and pluck the soul from
its coffin in your slick throat
the sun has better places to be than in your sky.
Falling Back into Placei wait for wisdom
the sludge tells me
to come in
awaits, just beneath the tack
of its sticky skin
and i know
that what waits there
is more patient
eternal and hungry
but the peace
is only a skin
To a Curbside Womanstretching her legs over
the sidewalk beneath the
overpass, ankles crossed
feet wearing dirt like socks
but her dress feels like silk
and her hands hold each
other like puzzle pieces
This is enough for her
This is enough
for her. This is
enough for her
a girl at the airportwhen she eats cake
she presses a napkin
to her lips with each bite--
frosting smears are impolite
murderers of good,
faraway first impressions.
when she sees someone
beautiful, she hides her face
behind a book, book shelf, closed door
like a pious man hides his eyes
when she has something
important to say among a crowd
she utters it like the bah
of a vulnerable lamb--
a fragile thing, a hesitant mantra
to be drowned and consumed
without thought or care by the sound
of louder others.
when she falls in love
she looks around
to make sure no one saw
and when someone sees
she refuses to believe
their eyes tried to catch
placebo effectthey stuck some needles in his
skin and made him think that he was
plucked the feathers from her
wings and tried to make her
they changed the names of all his pills
and labeled him
tied some string around her neck
and hung her from the
(i only know what they tell me)
MICROSCOPIC THINGSAs a child my science class intrigued me.
I still remember the day we learned about germs,
organisms and other microscopic things.
I was fascinated until I realized
that I might smooch some
of these tiny creatures
each time I touched something,
maybe even entire communities.
I looked at down at the pencil in my hand,
then at my palm pressed on the desk.
I kept very still.
Even thinking about it now,
I don't want to move.
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Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More