ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
Some nights aren't so bad.
Some nights I can barely feel a thing.
This night is different.
Maybe it's the way the moonlight is melting through the window, casting shadows on the bed that remind me of you?
Maybe it's the medication I took for the first time in a long time tonight, awakening the recessed knowledge that this carousel utopia cannot last?
Maybe it's knowing that each second I do not have you in my arms, is one second more you could be captured in hers.
Maybe it's just that I love you.
Mind.
Body.
Soul.
Some nights I can barely feel a thing.
This night is different.
Maybe it's the way the moonlight is melting through the window, casting shadows on the bed that remind me of you?
Maybe it's the medication I took for the first time in a long time tonight, awakening the recessed knowledge that this carousel utopia cannot last?
Maybe it's knowing that each second I do not have you in my arms, is one second more you could be captured in hers.
Maybe it's just that I love you.
Mind.
Body.
Soul.
Gratuity Treasure Chest
Joining this tier, you gain access to a reserved extra content that are carefully crafted just for you.
Your subscription doesn't just support my art; it fuels it, allowing me to dedicate more time and resources to producing even more of the content you love. It's a partnership that propels this project forward.
Join me in this exclusive tier, and together, let's take this artistic adventure to new heights. Your appreciation fuels my passion.
$2/month
Literature
Sundiver
i.
When I was six a phoenix
tried to drown me.
Underwater I grabbed for fire.
Like Icarus, I was reaching
towards the sun.
I hope he still has
bald spots. I hope he still
cradles searing scars.
He was death,
I was the bird.
ii.
My uncle knows plastic-
wrapped soaps as well
as he knows fine wines.
If he drinks enough,
he thinks it’s love-
carved names rubbing
the silver drain smooth. Diver: 28 days
sweating, ship black against
sea. Like it had been peeled
from amber tongues.
iii.
On my fifteenth birthday, the boy
with stars on his fists and Saturn’s
rings in his eyes told me I was pretty.
It was the first time
anyone had
Literature
Latreuophobia
I wash off sick-sweet orange lipstick in front of a mirror as dusty as gothic romances. It tastes like oblivion, that is to say, like nothing my tongue can detect.
The door opens with a creak no private restroom could emulate. Some chick with blue bobbed hair and smeared eyeliner. I looked like that once. Ten years ago.
Getting the beer out of my hair is harder. Some men just can't take it when I'd rather they not kiss my feet or call me an angel or-
“Dayum girl, you look like a goddess.”
I gulp, taste of acid.
Literature
They say the one who prays
They say the one who prays receives much more
than whom we pray for, shaping what we want
to what we get. We find a way to pour
the outcomes into candle molds we can't
have fashioned for ourselves. But then we light
the wax and sniff the scent and call us blessed
by blessings in disguise. For what is right
in contexts so complex we cannot test?
For those who say that praying contradicts
free will or undercuts the will to change
injustice, fine. You have no wax, no wicks,
no blessing and no curse, you are the sage.
I pray to sculpt the candle and the mold
and scent with pity earth and heaven's hold.
Suggested Collections
Some nights the poems practically write themselves, and my fingers can barely keep up as the words pour out.
© 2014 - 2024 kareeanne
Comments11
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
Really, really get what you're describing here. 
I love you, hon.
I love you, hon.