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About Deviant Artist michele24/Female/Canada Recent Activity
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I have been thinking about
your hands, how they touched me-
fingers that were shadows
that were rivers, each a stream
of subtle, each a petal
landing on my skin.

On my shoulder they were
curtains and in my hair
they were wind chimes.
In the dark, on the bus,
your hands-
This is the story
so far: I got off the bus
and into your car.

So far, so far, this
is what

we are: barefoot and stillness,

unmade bed,
dreams delaying

unused cabin
forest decaying

On the ferry, on the greyhound,
my seat on the plane
a cold cup of tea
a hot summer rain.

This is my kind of drowning,
into the cup on the table
falling in your arms, into
pretending that I’m stable.

(She is searching for a
scent to bring back 4AM)

To hear the train in the distance
is to know the thought is gone,
it is the exhale of admitting
that I couldn’t be more wrong.

(There is a train in her head
and I watched it go all the way
to the end of its tracks)

This is my kind of drowning,
a song from the south
movie credit sleepiness
your kiss on my mouth.

(In the night, she
wrote a note, over the
years, a memoir)

This is my kind of drowning,
in the library of our story
in the ocean on the map
in the murky sounds of sorry.
Tiny hands knocking softly
on wood, how long until
I see your face, until
you press your fingers
onto my skin. How long
until I need you becomes
the sound of the rain.
anyone part of a writing community they're really enjoying? wanting to try something new that is more targeted towards writers.
A plate, a shatter, a white forest, she is smooth, cold, and fragile.  

Sunrise barista, she gets embarrassed when she talks. She is used to living in her head. As she hands out a latte, she is out of touch. Songs whispering into her ears, smells drifting into her nose, she is haunted by a lover from long ago. I can feel every burn from each spill whenever I get close to her, leaving on me a tea ring that doesn’t quite burn, a soft rain stain from a storm of hot tears many years ago.  

Sunset writer, I notice ink stains on the sides of her hands from the night before. When she wakes up, she finds the pen that she lost in her covers. Her customers are characters. She watches the shake in someone’s winter-dry hands as they count dimes on the counter for a double espresso.   Between two hands about to touch: a mutual shake, the invisible tension wire of human frailty.

The smell of coffee lingers in her hair. And to fall into the river was to say that I fell in love with her. Tripping over the strands of hair that strayed from her ponytail after a long work day meant I was tripping over my words every time I spoke to her. Ice thinned on the water, and I fell right in.


Awasteof-paint's Profile Picture
"i am a lazy, self-indulgent little girl,
who is making herself crazy."

last fm:
anyone part of a writing community they're really enjoying? wanting to try something new that is more targeted towards writers.

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Add a Comment:
declanewan123 Featured By Owner Jun 8, 2016
hey mich
hypnicjerks Featured By Owner Apr 15, 2016   Writer
thank you for the favorite!
BipolarBearDisorder Featured By Owner Apr 9, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
it's good to see your writing back up on here

welcome back 
(1 Reply)
the-chemical-factory Featured By Owner Jul 17, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
i got your book in the mail like 10 minutes ago!
i haven't started reading it yet but i'm excited to start :) 
(also, i love the font - just gotta throw that out there) 
(1 Reply)
Anna-Le16 Featured By Owner Jul 1, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
i've just finished reading your book and i was not disappointed.
perhaps i'm a little biased though because i've always loved your style haha but i thought that it was really raw and personal. and words just can't describe the feeling i get from reading it. it was too amazing for words! 
(1 Reply)
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