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Cinderella
Waiting for a coach
and four
that never came,
she realized
a ball gown
won't bloom
out of sackloth;
glass slippers
are not dependable
and mice
are best left
to their own devices.
Midnight was never a friend,
and under that suit
he is the same as any other
man.
IcarusSun girl,

the whispering stars
& feathered clouds dance
for you tonight.

Do not let anyone
clip your wings;

you were made for the skies.
Red DressDon’t put on your red dress
for he doesn’t know the meaning
he doesn’t want the commitment
he doesn’t care for the color.

The red dress you love to wear
that’s stained from wine and beer
but still carries so much meaning
for who could find a second red dress

Don’t go out on your red dress
for the man who wants nothing more
to screw around and doesn’t understand
the meaning behind a simple red dress.

A red dress for when you dance.
A red dress for when you cry.
A red dress for when you need it.
A red dress for when you care too much.

Don’t put on your red dress for him darling
he doesn&rsqu
Definition of a Writerwrit•er

noun     /rītər/

A writer is a person
Who sees the world differently
From a high perspective of understanding
To an easily balanced imagery

They stand at the edge of the cliff
And run that extra mile
To gain what a normal person cannot see
And to obtain the hope that they wish to cherish

A writer is a person
Who buries their ego and places boulders upon it
They learn the rules, follow the rules, and will break the rules
And make writing their own

They lay upon the dusty old ground of a graveyard
And do an annual ritual to free the inspiration that has been pinned down
They want to show their abnormality to everyone
i got flowers oncei am lonely.
i received flowers once
and i placed them
in a vase til
the petals all browned
desiccated
and turned to dust
on the glass of my bureau.

i have never gotten flowers since.

i spend my days
with a boy
a man
whom i love far beyond reason
and he holds me in his arms
and holds me together.

i bite my nails
and pull my hair
over the moment when he
inevitably
feels the disenchantment
fall over his body,
all clean lines
and smooth shapes,
and realises that leaving
the worst thing
would be
the best thing.

i am lonely
and even with a hand to hold,
and even with a cloak of security
bunching around my shoulders
and hiding my thighs,
i feel
moonshines in georgiaman on the moon:

giddy with lumps of north georgia seas
greased on the crease of my lips
gravity drips from couch-cavities
when tides belch from below --

burst on the water's edge,
earth's bourbon sailors retch in moonshined ripples
trickled blue murder on their crinkled crimes;
raking water wrinkles like a wayward drunk
stuck on sunken bootleggin' dreams.

it's been a long, long time
since I've drowned your hemisphere
for fishing like a moonraker,
swishing my bait-lines like tobacco's
squished in your shallow gums
before you dare to down my air
breathing in this sincere georgia night.
insomnia to keep you closefalling asleep with the windows
open, with morning curling
around you like a drop of blue
ink in a glass of water,
turquoise and unwritten;

remembering when early dawn
was a secret you kept
in a soft, aortic pocket—

your dead lighter spinning
to the floor of Lake Ontario,
a halo of its bygone, synergetic flame.
Blame The ParentsI won't be able to keep a relationship in the future because I'm scared
I'm scared it'll turn out like theirs

I'm a pacifist because I hate watching it
I hate watching them fight

I have PTSD because of their fights
Their fights almost broke up this family

I self harm because they are pushing me over the edge
I was already close to jumping, but they gave me an extra push

I'm always in my room because that's how I run away
I guess that's called "Like father, like daughter"

I only eat one meal a day because he constantly puts me down
Even though he's joking, I can tell he means every bit of what he says

I can't trust anyone because they do
Asperger's SyndromeAsperger’s Syndrome

This is what makes me different.
It is what makes me both distant and compassionate.
It is what makes me both tired and creative.
It is what makes me both sassy and awkward.
It is what makes me both fairly normal and completely insane at the same time.

This is what makes me amazing.
It is what gives me my talents and achievements.
It is what gives me my intelligence and ideas.
It is what gives me my humor and individuality.
It is what gives me my passion and dedication.

This is what makes me flawed.
It is what makes me confused and anxious.
It is what makes me exhausted and frustrated.
It is what makes me uncertai
Missing piecesMissing pieces

There are wounds
that never heal; silences
so loud they  thunder - I stopped
breathing years ago, that night
the ice took my chest. Since then
I walk  in pieces, howling
around my heart.

-SophieCT, 2012, 2013
L.E.S.B.I.A.N.Living on the
Edge of life
Saving myself
Being who
I truly am
As it is all i can be
Never forget that
field notesi read some poetry
just for the sound--for the words lilting up and down
and the thick, honeysepia
polaroids unmisting in my head.
those are the poems i never understand
and the only conclusion i can draw is:
there is apparently
some supernova poetic awakening that comes
with the loss of virginity
and basically i need to get laid.
MorningA black cat sleeps in a ray of sun
My coffee is lousy
Another cardboard morning
The day isn't a blank canvas
Waiting to be painted
Its already scrawled with
Yesterday's mad crayon drawings

Smoke drifts up and out of the window
I drink the coffee
blood-red wine and skeleton jazz i.
the day you left,
your cobweb dress clung to you in ways
that i would dream about for years,
in hot, fevered nights
when the moon thought it might burst
in the sky,
and even the wind wailed your name.

ii.
i remember how you called make-up war paint,
and you drew it across your face like a message
i could never decipher;
i remember how i got goosebumps when i heard
your heels clicking across the floor at 3am
when you finally got home and slipped into bed;
i remember longing for you with every fiber of my being,
feeling separate from you even when our clothes lay on the floor
and your fingernails dug into my shoulders
and your toes curled
van houten must be godi. you know how in embroidered cloth,
from the bottom under the design,
all you see are knots? her honey-like,
crying
voice lulls me to sleep,
that's what we see of God's plan.
just the knots. when in reality,
it's the design on top;
beautiful and flawless that He
has in store for us.
bullshit.
i learnt that word
when i was three
but every time i said it,
my face hurt and mom's hand fell.
God will put you
in hell.
do you want that?
i knew better than to say it again.
ii. you're an estimated
fallacy, the perfect
misconception.
you don't need to exist
for people to believe.
they make you real with
dancing tongues behind
a crowd
of murmuring lips of
god's will.
iii. of the rain,
i sang songs, whispering
prayers only you
could hear.
if you truly are
what they say for you to be,
then there are no secrets
between you and me.
mother still sings
the same songs
in the rain, hoping
you'll hear her the way
i thought you would.
but she doesn't know you died long ago
with chiv
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More from ~UltimateOutlaw

Fate of FlamesI remember the fate of our fire:

Ours was the first flicker of blue flame
The synapses shot through a brittle wire
The bitter burnt rubber the scream of spent tires
The collapsing carcass of the molten steel frame:

Yes, I remember the fate of our fire.
So now when I call you, I call you a liar

Because the sting begins with its source: your name,
Like synapses shot through a brittle wire:
That burning sensation once dull now dire,
The shut-down switch won't stop the shame.

Because I remember the fate of our fire:

Ours was a blue flame until it leapt higher,
And spread its inertial reference frame
Like synapses shot through a brit
Your Aura is Not Orange1.

You will be raised on an
Ever-lengthening list   
Of
     "Do Not"s

Do not climb that tree.
Do not pet that strange dog.
Do not stare at that handicapped child.
Do not talk to that nice stranger in the park.

Most importantly: do not run around naked in public!

 no matter how much you hate
 that frilly fuchsia dress your mother   
will make you wear to fall formal...
   

2.

Let me tell you about your libido--

Your libido will be made of:

Steel wool and Egyptian cotton
Woven on the same sort of spinning wheel

Upon which--

Sleeping Beauty wi
I Know My FlawsLet's just say:
I write like I'm a child.

I cannot linger and labor long hours

Over a line here
Or a word choice there.

And by virtue of my impatience I am prolific…
But perilously close to the precipice of trite;

Intermittently pointless
And profound,

More often than not
Clichés abound.

I am resoundingly resentful

Of those more emotionally guarded,
And those who have been rewarded

By the Gods with a sense of
Syllable symmetry

I am jealous of plot geniuses
I am disdainful of diction dynamos
I am envious of every effective

Rhyme I read.

So when he says I am sophisticated,
I say he is stupid.

And I'm sure now he
Red Lights in CalcuttaThey trace their fingers along
The cage of my captivity:

Sharp prison-bar ribcage,
Protruding through papery skin;
Jutting thrust of starved hipbones...

Their callous hands even upon
The chiseled laugh-lines…

Erasing the crease
Of a time before

I forgot how to smile.

Daily, they watch the dying light
Ember out of empty eyes

And force the brunt of their power
Between once virgin thighs:

Ugly, the beauty that money can buy;
Brutal, how I have been objectified.

Once I was a girl, a daughter,
And meant to be a wife.

Our fields my family tilled,
While standing side by side;

Green fields of ginger, turmeric, and peppe
Jacks and SpadesWhere have you been?

The streets are cold without you
And the city beats a war-drum

A timpani, a death-rattle;

The tune beckoning
Jacks and spades

To come out and play…

Long is the night, short is day.

Where have you been?
MemorizationIn the moments before the dawn
I memorize your smile lines;

I engrave them
On my mind.

In the moments before nightfall
I recognize the thrill of it all;

I engrave it
On my soul.

And when I tell you that
I love you

Don't give me that look....

Because, saddly,
It's the truth.

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March 5, 2009
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Single 20-Somethings

:iconultimateoutlaw:

You walk through the world
With your eyes wide open
And your lips
Slightly parted—

Scenting the air
For someone who understands
Your own particular breed –

Of fragility
And damage.

We can see every detail
Of your suffering
At a glance—

Your eyes give you away.
You are a terrible liar.

Your far prettier now
Than you were at seventeen

But much more afraid
And alot more careful.

You walk through the world
With your hands on your hips
And your tongue
Tied in knots—

Waiting for
Someone to  kiss you
And finally untangle—

The ribbons of your hopes
From the snarl of your fears.

You walk through the world
And we recognize you—

Because we are you.

You walk through the world
And we know your name—

Because it is our own.
:iconultimateoutlaw:
In summary.... Pushing 30 is kind of lame.
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:iconsynthwrr:
~synthwrr Jun 9, 2009
Bummerland indeed. You express what I have always really hated about what America does to women. We should all ban together and understand each other, says the last couple stanzas, and before we do we'll still be missing some piece to finish us up.
Reply
:iconmoon-and-ash:
!Moon-and-Ash Mar 23, 2009
Absolutely slain by: "You're far prettier now/Than you were at seventeen/But much more afraid/And alot more careful."

*Toast*, because this poem conveys it exactly right.

...now what?
Reply
:iconultimateoutlaw:
~UltimateOutlaw Mar 24, 2009
I wish i could tell you lol
Reply
:iconmistakenmagic:
!MistakenMagic Mar 21, 2009
This is breath-taking! Strangely haunting as I'm a single seventeen year old - is this my fate? Love, love, LOVED te last lines!

One query 'Your far prettier now' - should this be 'You're' as in you are far prettier now?

Erin xxx

(sorry I signed my last one 'Magic' - that's my sig from a different webite!)
Reply
:iconultimateoutlaw:
~UltimateOutlaw Mar 21, 2009
whats funny is that when i'm writing for school or work i don't make those kind of mistakes. Its a poetry exclusive thing. I think i just get so emotionally absorbed i forget to follow the rules. And yes, it should be.

I'm glad you liked it, and don't worry your not doomed to that fate.... I'm 28... so you have a good 11 years to meet someone who doesn't fail at life. Besides its not all that terrible a plight, some of the time ;)
Reply
:iconsmall-hope:
~small-hope Mar 13, 2009  Student Writer
This is very insightful...makes me think of Puck in a modern context, watching the world.

- S.H.
Reply
:iconultimateoutlaw:
~UltimateOutlaw Mar 14, 2009
glad you enjoyed it :)
Reply
:iconhigreta:
~higreta Mar 12, 2009
amazing.
Reply
:iconultimateoutlaw:
~UltimateOutlaw Mar 12, 2009
:hear: thank you!
Reply
:iconhigreta:
~higreta Mar 12, 2009
you're welcome!!
Reply
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