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About Literature / Artist Rosie K.Female/United States Group :iconletterpoems: letterpoems
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Literature
on equating brown with gold
i need to bleed out the chaos.
my mouth is ravaged on the inside
and winter hit like a punch to the jaw.
chills fall down my spine, fluttering
veins of decay and
i've stopped asking for death
to be pretty, because it usually is
anyway.

i.  generation z


welcome to The End.
this is not the waste land;
it is the beginning,
the only one i am allowed to tell.

ii.  oneirataxia


this is another poem
about how i don't see things clearly.
i'm filling in the past,
scribbling poetry with the
time i don't have,
letting words and getting burned and losing her
mind.
iii.  growing up in the broken
my high school shares a fence with a
graveyard, except we always call it 
a cemetery. it sounds less awful.
we wear all black like we can see the future.
god is probably dead and his coffin
cushioned with our dreams.
did the world teach me to pick locks
before i ever touched a poison?
look, cyanide's not an element and yet it
kills so quick, so par
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Literature
tempestad // not again
Caen las hojas del árbol a la tierra—
cruzada por la suerte, embrujada
por luz—y muere la flor marchitada,
esperando hasta el verano cierra.
Este incendio forestal me salva,
y tienen toda la dulzura de miel
las cicatrices debajo de mi piel.
Pero es mi alma verde, o malva?
Ahora la luna me deja en paz con
el mar tan tranquilo, tan violento.
Duermo baja las estrellas porque son
mentiras los susurros halagüeños.
Discúlpame por dejar y lo siento
por la pérdida de cientos de sueños.
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Literature
ghost flavor
advice from a lifeless girl:
don't ever tell someone "i hope all your
dreams come true."
that would be cruel, you know.
nightmares are dreams too.
i don't have nightmares, actually.
since i've given up my dreams, the world is
clockwork. iron but rusted. gold silver
bronze, in need of a polish.
6:59 am. roaring cars. the sunrise and
static sky prod me a little bit awake.
12:45 am. crickets and howling dogs. my
gaze throws itself into the darkness and
doesn't return.
4:03 pm. i stare at the blank walls and
they stare back.
i test the words on my tongue.
i'm not human. i'm not human. i'm not
human? i'm not

a voice grabs me by the shoulders and
shakes.
you haven't given up on creation. you still
bake cakes every sunday and play music
for strangers.
on the inside, i'm shades of crimson, like
everyone.
on the out, i'm black gray purple and
green, swear to all your friends i'm the
most haunted girl you've ever seen.
on paper, i'm everything they want.
i no longer know what i want.
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word play / happy birthday by PatchworkLynx word play / happy birthday :iconpatchworklynx:PatchworkLynx 9 8 and the earth breathes and beckons by PatchworkLynx and the earth breathes and beckons :iconpatchworklynx:PatchworkLynx 9 0 woven contrails by PatchworkLynx woven contrails :iconpatchworklynx:PatchworkLynx 7 3
Literature
pyrophoric
i cupped my hand around the flame and
                 raised it to my lips like water
it's a self-igniting prophecy:
there's nothing more dangerous
than a girl with a plan
unless she already has a
match in her hand
             when i dream i swear it's different
       i'm a softer writer in a world of winter
                                     smoke and sugar
and it breaks in waking to something bitter
summer tastes like strawberry kisses,
a sunset voice she misses in violet;
but her love is always the forests and seas
emerald leaves, sapphire and skylit
i paused one day and murmured to the walls,
                                 "there are spiderwebs
               
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Literature
chirality
i am turning hollow.
staring into the mirror's image,
          i am left by the
             war / raw 
        down to my bones
  and there was a fight which
            i won / now i
    am thrown out of a home
what the hell's going on—
     can someone tell me, please?
her name makes her a queen of light:
quantum entanglement
to the universe's dilemma,
shadows locking around her feet
and feather-imprinted stones beneath
when i'm up against / the echo in the mirror
but you don't really care for music, do you?
it's a cold and it's a broken wish for freedom;
she raises a trembling finger to her lips.
i'm gonna run away now / and never look back
but i have these memories,
the taste of
metal in her mouth, wounded words
and the truth:
i always look. i always look.
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Literature
Following in Mosaic Footsteps
        Rasheed wouldn't tell anyone his last name.
        He knew it would make him stand out, as much as he didn't know the strange feeling of being a foreigner in the place he was born—until now. He needed to discover what his adoptive English father either didn't know or couldn't tell.
        The dry wind carried up dust from the road. A sparrow perched on the fence cocked its head at him, then jumped to the ground, seeking refuge from the Palestinian sun.
        "Five days," he said aloud. Five days remaining to find answers about his family.
        He stepped over deep-rutted tire tracks in the road and turned west, his eyes seeking out the beautiful minaret that rose above the roofs of the city. Few would take kindly to a boy his age wandering the streets alone, but he prayed no one would stop him.
   
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Literature
toxicology // anthology
"you can't hear your heart pumping,
you can only hear the doors closing."

nightshade and hemlock
they had opened a window to the storm.
it rained the day she
stepped foot inside a clearing,
vertigo and photophobia
the portrait of twilight sleep.
solana, there goes the next.
she turned at the sound. looked
all around, at nothing but
green
found nothing but earth and the
roots against her skin
                                  and then
the belladonna singing in her sweet, venom voice—
    blind as a bat, red as a beet,
    hot as a hare, dry as a bone

she scrambled to her feet.
    mad as a hatter, bloated as a toad
impossible, impossible;
she fell to her knees.
    and the heart runs alone
through rime-coated double vision
were her own
crooked fingers reaching for dark dusty berries
imprisoned behind the serrated lea
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Literature
to bury me
go without a compass until you find the clocktower.
"I don't want to know if I still have a home.
It's not home if it's all gone."

.    the university
he overheard in the laboratory that it would be another year.
extended semesters,
        he was thinking that maybe midnight is a misnomer, that
nothing is quite like the library at 2 AM,
 a study in silhouette of the shapes outside the window
            simply the statues of weeping angels
   standing guard over sufi tombs.
from sunrise to sunset, through daybreak and fireflies,
he studied neurology in an excerpt from
    the dream journal, writing a thesis on afterthoughts
and flower pots.
.    the soccer field
the foxgloves grew beneath a million jewels of sunlight.
students sprinting like dama gazelle,
hitting goals and grass stains
he admitted that there's delight in me that's
not yet dead.
  he recalled knotting his shoelace
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Literature
only the undefined are infinite
​limits
not anymore.
as we approach the start/finish line, i turn on an axis of my own making.
i bleed into language like a storm lets rain, untamed, bound by none.
when we're gone, they'll tell stories about us, and it will all begin like this.
they are a definition unto themselves.
derivatives
on that first day of classes
they asked me what my religion was—
i smirked and said,
differential calculus.

because i wonder about the slope of your cheekbones, the curvature of your hands in every vase of flowers you've carried and all the notebooks you've filled up. there's nothing heretical about this, loving girls as much as boys and only wanting to be their best friend. wanting, with all my being. there's nothing improper about it but they tell me i'm wrong anyway.
eventually, at some critical point, i learn to stop caring.
coincidence, perfect coincidence, that black-gray-purple are the colors i choose to dress in, that pink and blue were the first colors of pain
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Literature
dama gazelle
sister addra,
the low rumble of thunder is here.
graceful jumping, running,
running racing flying over the ghazal-sung gold land
it's hunger or hunter faced all alone;
trade the swiftness and disappear.
fangs and claws, hooves and horns,
bones for trophies
painted with shotgun carcasses
a notice riddled with bullet holes reads:
'extinct in the wild'
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Literature
you would have loved me.
                  ​ivory ink skinned,
      delicate lavender and chamomile
         braided helix into her stygian hair,
  desert roses at the aethereal curves of her shoulders.
there's something so soft about summer mornings.
and like magic, i can write again.
i'm twisting my hands around a staff of acacia,
trailing in the path of nomads and vague directions
intended to an oasis, surrounded
with blooming cacti and the prettiest mirages.
i'll say i was lost on purpose.
scarlet scarf around your head, playing the cithara
that you stole from a soldier,
your boots kicked the sand up and i laughed.
found you, little red, and you found me.
did you know the dunes breathe with oak lungs? that the
    stars at nightfall seem to shoot towards earth?
              that timber wolves are not
 what they appear?
           
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Literature
rubble and rust
stones crumbled to dust
in the aftershock static
pierce tear-stained skin and
ash-streaked ribcages, leaving
eyes without hope nor magic
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Literature
nymphalidae
​paper-thin warning wings
veined with oleandrin:
it's april and foul play is
flaying open daffodils already,
bordereau to all the
milkweed and
heart arresting
mimi-cry
faking the cardenolides and flashing it,
not vibrant venom but
internalized malignancy; they know
it's a grimace or a grin.
(mark and recapture)
heights seasonal/illegal
migration is not the same as fleeing,
something more than flight.
foliage soft and fresh, chrysalis
on asclepias curassavica
nectar corridors outside the
santuary city,
they survive like monarch butterflies.
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Favourites

Literature
forest of stars
i.
you came to me and asked, with tears in your eyes, "what do i do when i am small but my heart is not?"
and if i could, i would've passed through galaxies to hold you as i thought.
ii.
i told you about soul mates and how you can never have just one.
i told you that you have time because you're young.
i told you about the statistical probability of you never finding love
(and in case you're wondering, the answer's still none.)
iii.
i know the world is big and it feels ever so far,
but who needs the earth when you've got the stars?
when i look at you, i see clear blue skies,
and millions of questions burn in your eyes.
i will answer as many of them as i can.
please know that i will never let go of your hand.
iv.
i would do anything for you.
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Literature
.
I breathe in
and taste the sun-kissed air,
the rough feel of my palms, the
blood on my lips, the salt tangled
through my hair, running down my face,
and I can hear my heart
beating loud and clear, but
this feeling is not mine
to keep
:iconWindFragments:WindFragments
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Inktober 2017 Fairies by eikomakimachi Inktober 2017 Fairies :iconeikomakimachi:eikomakimachi 85 1 Staying IN by PascalCampion Staying IN :iconpascalcampion:PascalCampion 600 10 Infinity by sukinova777 Infinity :iconsukinova777:sukinova777 23 9 Hunting Eyes by artistamroashry Hunting Eyes :iconartistamroashry:artistamroashry 325 56
Literature
inside
sometimes it feels
past the point
of saving,
like a graveyard
filled with all the
things i used to be,
but lately,
i've been learning to turn
graveyards to gardens,
trying to remember to let
the rain fall,
so that i can bloom.
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Literature
fragments
If I could, I would bury the memories of you
in the back of my mind,
so that I can stop trying to dig the fear
from under my skin;
I would go back and convince myself that
through it all,
you never loved me.
But for now, I am stuck
like a raindrop falling in slow-motion,
watching the jaws of rock bottom draw nearer,
I wanted to be the clouds, but I’m just
not that good at moving on;
this pain you left behind does nothing
but remind me that sometimes love is a mistake.
That throughout all the things you did,
I should have been the one to stop you.
At the time, I was blind enough to put up with it.
I loved you, because I thought you loved me.
And after everything,
after going through so much
just to convince myself to
get away from you,
seeing you with her does nothing
but remind me of how much you didn’t care.
I never should have believed you.
I never should have loved you.
But back then, I didn’t
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Literature
in between,
you kiss me like light pouring through the window
the skid of a car.
you windshield-wipe away the tears
turn on the radio with windy hands
throw me back, tumbling red
but i still see
the apple trees in the backyard,
shivering before november
no, you are not behind me,
anymore
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November Evening by Ikarusthefirst November Evening :iconikarusthefirst:Ikarusthefirst 116 41 Big kitty small kitty by sandara Big kitty small kitty :iconsandara:sandara 3,843 102 sea legs by CanvasConstellations sea legs :iconcanvasconstellations:CanvasConstellations 17 0 speedpaint #104 by Sylar113 speedpaint #104 :iconsylar113:Sylar113 818 24 Inktober#8 2017 by TrollGirl Inktober#8 2017 :icontrollgirl:TrollGirl 199 4
Literature
another kind of suicide.
heartache is prominent in quaking shoulders
when i think about could, should & would be's. 
idealistic in spirit, cynical in soul; i know it is
better not to inhale these kinds of toxins but
i am too hopefully stubborn and obsessed with
possibilities. there is purity in such aspects when
seen in other people but when i see them in myself,
i feel no different from oil spill casualties. this is
the kind of poison that takes and leaves no survivors.
— i think i might be (cr/d)ying.
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Literature
when stardust became soil
i dream in the green space.
my fingers are cold
but my heart is warm,
and ivy grows around my ankles,
telling me,
you can stay here.
you are safe.
you are loved.

it took me a long time to realize
that it's okay to have roots:
it means you're growing.
sometimes,
frost will sugarcoat my bones
just to hold me together,
but i am learning how to build fires
without burning people,
even me.
sparks still fizzle on my eyelashes,
but i can see through them now;
sometimes the stars will blind you
and sometimes they'll lead the way.
i used to think the galaxy held all the answers
but now i look for them here.
a lot of the time,
things are closer than you thought they'd be.
i look up at the sky
and over to the treeline
and down to the soil.
i take a breath.
i dream.
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PatchworkLynx
Rosie K.
Artist | Literature
United States
Greetings! ^.^ I'm a 16-year-old high school senior with a love for reading, writing, playing piano, traveling, and learning about toxicology. I adore all animals, I draw inspiration from everything, and I'm going (to try) to save the world.
Some fandoms I'm into are all the books, shows, and games listed under "Interests." I wrote a novel (not published yet) two years ago and I'm also working on its sequel, and if you'd like to hear about it, do ask. Thanks for visiting!

Also, if you ever want to ask for help with anything at all, I'm here for you!

Wonderful visitor,
thank you for coming here to thank me for a watch or fave.
Before you comment, if you don't mind indulging the curiosity in me, I'd like to try an experiment of sorts.
This place is about words.
and photography sometimes. and music.
Instead of or in addition to writing a thank-you to show your gratitude,
tell me something you find beautiful, whether it's a single word or a book, a picture or a movie, a simple sound or a symphony.
I'd like this page to be as pretty as can be, like the atrium of a museum.
What is lovely in your mind is welcome to be the art.
Interests

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:iconall-my-circles:
all-my-circles Featured By Owner Dec 8, 2017  New Deviant Hobbyist General Artist
I find acceptance beautiful
Reply
:iconhopeburnsblue:
hopeburnsblue Featured By Owner Nov 20, 2017  Professional Writer
Hi, Rosie! :wave: Thanks for following my page. :iconheartblueplz:
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(1 Reply)
:iconpeaseblossoms:
peaseblossoms Featured By Owner Nov 10, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
AHHH ROSIE i know it’s been a week or two since but i hope u had a lovely 16th birthday!! miss u, hope ur doing well :heart::tighthug:
Reply
(1 Reply)
:iconoorising-angeloo:
oORising-AngelOo Featured By Owner Oct 26, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist

Thank you for the watch!
I appreciate it :rose:
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(1 Reply)
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