Hello. I am shell, and I am relatively new to darkforums...I have been hanging about in the Dark Fashion section for a couple of weeks, and thought I might now expand in to the realm of Poetry.
I have over 600 poems under my belt, but fear not, I will not post them all. I have mademy first post in the Poetry Party thread, and now will satrt a collection of my poetry here for you all to enjoy, or not enjoy, as you see fit.
Any constructive critisicm is more than welcome, as I am no longer in school or collegea nd do not have the luxury of a writing instructor any longer.

Oh, and just in case I have friends here I don't know about...I am originally from Dallas, Texas, where for 6 years I frequented the Church, a gothic club. I was the girl who wore the chain mail bikini for an entire year.

I now reside in Tulsa, Oklahoma (hell), and don't go out much at all, as I am nor mother to an evil 3 year old who has no regular babysitter.

Anyways, here follows my poetry...

-shell-

*if you, if i*

if you were bolder,
and older,
and if i,
if i were
younger,
and fresher,
you would tell me
what you
want to say
and i
would let you.

-3.11.2002-

*big hands*

when i stand back
and look at you
my heart bursts
i see an angel
blonde and
perfect
i see a demon
swift and
deadly
i die each time
i see you
but i need
the look
the touch
the feel
of you and
your
big hands.

-18 aug. 1993-

*splash*

my face feels
tingly,
eyelashes, too.
i think i'll go
spla-
shh
water on my face.
is it real?
sometimes i don't know
anymore.
he reaches over
the
wall
of
pillows
and holds me.
i still feel tingly,
eyelashes, too.
our lips touch.
he's tingly now,
he's
shaky,
uncertain,
i don't think he's
done
this
before.
oh! his hands,
his fingers are
cold.
touching me where i want
holding me now
lapping me up.
his stomach is warm and scratchy.
i know he is waiting for me.
but i linger, i
suddenly don't want
to do this. I don't
want to grow
up.
he's already grown up,
and i help him grow
some more.
his lips are all over me,
fingers/feathers exploring
measuring all.
the sheets are
getting
damp
with our hot
movement.
swishing and sloshing
smooching and squashing
we dance and dance
all night our bodies
always touching, never
fully separated - always
our lips are locked as
we explore this perfect
fit weve found for any
things that might have
been missed.
soon i am tired.
i get up and sex my way across the
room and
spla-
shhhh
water on my face.

-may 1993-


my apologies. i typed this one and as i typed i saw just how immature this poem truly is...i have grown up since then, i promise
-shell-

this poem was inspired by Shel Silverstein.

*math question*

jeez, sometimes i hate teachers.
on,
and on,
and on,
she goes,
i'll never ask a teacher a math question again!
"multiply three by a billion, then carry the four..."
after she said this i passed
out and
hit the floor.
OWCH!
i'll never ask a teacher a math question again!
-may 13 1993-

this poem was inspired by the scrap steel pegasus statue outside my high school in Dallas, TX.

*pegasus*

i sit, protected, under the cold, hard, red steel.
from here i thin khe's pawing at the sky.
i can just see the bluegreyyy divots fly,
and i think to myself,
oh to careen of into the blue depths of his eyes,
riding this winged beast
until my heart is in my feet and then
my toes begin to go to sleep and then-
hoo boy!
we're off on a red baloon ride through
his eyes again.
-may 13, 1993-

*fear*

fear
true fear
running through me
flowing
everneverstopping.
do you care?
or do you fare
so well
that you must
shun me?
hate
true hate
running through me
flowing
everneverstopping

-old, date unknown-

*razor*


razor in my hand,
i lift my leg from the water.
i stop,
and consider the steam lazily rising.
razor in hand,
i lift my leg from the water.
i stop,
and consider the razor.
the water is just right,
and i'm very comfortable.
there's a towel under my head.
i stop,
and consider the razor.
i could go and meet all of my
friends
(personal demons)...
i could go and
float
(burn burn buRN BURN!)...
i stop,
and consider the razor.
i'm so tired
(exhausted)
with life.
i stop,
and consider the razor.
snapping out of the daze
with the help of that DAMN
drippy faucet, i...
i stop.
and shave my legs.

-may 13, 1993-

*some thinks*


somethings to think about
when sitting in the
bath

somethings to think about
when up on the
10th floor.

somethigns to think about
when staying longer, and
longer
under the water.

what if i...
went ahead and
cut myself.

what if i...
just jumped.

what if i...
fell asleep here,
under the heavy
water, falling
drifting away
into the dark?

-may 17 1993-

well, i htin k that these are enough for now. I do hop ethat you will enjoy them as much as I enjoyed writing them. I had always thought to publish them in a collection one day...perhaps you all can help me see if this is toopresumtious? but hold *those* opinions until you see some of my more recent work, yes? I have matured a little since some otf these were written, i promise.
-shell-

*free*

somewhere,
in the middle of me,
there's a deep,
dark place,
pushing to be
free.
somewhere,
in the middle of me,
there's a girl
who loves
unconditionally
anyone who
happens to
be there.
somewhere,
in the middle of me,
there's a deep,
dark place...
it's ripping
away and
running to
him.
but he's
old enough
to LOVE
ZZTop and
to call her
sweetheart,
darlin',
doll.
but he's
too old
what will
mom and
dad say?
somehwere,
in the middle of me,
there's a light,
loving place
i'm
digging
it under
never
to be free.
-may 17 1993-

*keri*

grinning, as a hyena
would, she told me
today that
she's been with
him since...
with mock pity she
tells me
that
he really
wants to
with her...
anger flows up,
and i see red and then black
and then green
and then
blue.
do i have to care?
no.
do i still love him?
yes.

-23 feb. 1994-

*untitled*

slowly. a touch of fire,
then a glance of ice,
he has had his way,
now he leaves.
it will always be this,
in my acres of body
and millimetre of mind
and universe of soul.
we dance to the
rhyme,
the meter,
but not
to the truth
in the music.

-1993?1994?-

*postscript*

a puddle in my words,
a puddle in my song
you tell me what you think
then you tear it down

-date also unknown-

*a denim eulogy* (in memoriam, Felicia Phipps)

died on Monday,
buried on Tuesday,
and forgotten in a church on Wednesday.
they all cried,
but when
the subject of you
comes up they
wince, turn away
and say
"let's not talk about that right now."
it's been two years now,
and he -
he doesn't wince anymore.
i still wear a pair of your cutoff shorts sometimes.
he gets a wistful look and i end up
changing
because
"i dont want to talk about that right now."
for you i have heard confessions of love
confessions of hate
but all he says is
that
he regrets that
your relationship
failed so.

-undated-

*legend*

like a child, i cry out in pain-
only to become mother, again.
nothing ventured, nothing gained -
another student taught in vain.


lost to the wind,
the world, she cries.
lost to the wind, the world, she died.

too fat to move, 'pon tortoises back
earth mother in son's pain doth wrack
her son walks her spine with forest pack
tracing his maidens' endless track.

forest's lover circles 'round
to a cycle always bound
loving lonely 'till she's found
by her brother's shining crown.
there they meet in an incestous kiss-
father reaches down : "and in solstice
you shall have your lovewish
to join your love, and then miss
each other, 'till your brother has desire
to bless you with his warming fire.
for he is king, your love but squire.
now, close my eyes, for i tire."

-23 oct. 1995-

*untitled*

i am dying for you
not here,
not here,
but yes, here
where we are and where
we were and
i am dying for you still
because...

-a poem's beginning dec. 1997-

*untitled*

pieces of your beauty are falling all over my
shoulder and i miss you more desperately
than if you never came home to me.

-for Jason, i think 1998-

*ne'* (french for birth)

i held you, once, when you were in pain.
i gave you a gift, and from you i took mine.
perhaps you didn't recognise me - i wore no disguise.
i came in to you, left a piece of me where your pain used to be.
and so, you live inside me...
i tried to find me in you, my mirror, i looked but i am lost.
i am lost inside you, no sign of my presence there-
what did you do with me?
am i spent in another's arms, am i burt, heated in your rage,
incinerated by your anger?
your eyes burn into me and i weep.
your eyes burn through me and i moan.
your eyes see around me. i die.
i am lost inside you, and you are found inside me, already lost.
why, when i could never kiss you as long as your stormy eyes are looking upon mine?
why make love when i have your face, your cheek to caress?
your shoulder to stroke, your hand to hold?
why kiss when we could touch, chest to chest, and breathe as one?
as long as your pulse beats through your wrist i would rather hold it to your ear than touch your lips with mine.
why kiss, when there is blood to taste?
what is speech compared to your collarbone?
why speak? why kiss?
i am consumed by my study of you.
my words can only be:
may i be your masterpiece, as you are mine?

-for cole, probably 1996-

(for a little explanation, i must say that this person and i never had any realtionship..it was one of those star-crossed lovers deals where we wanted each other, but the time was just never right. once, he hada terrible shock, and i am a natural healer. i went to the pain in him and removed it, replacing it with a little piece of my love for him. i calmed him down, and from that point on, we were connected ina manner that bordered on ESP - this poem i wrote as a gift to him to show him how i felt. he liked it, and in fact asked for a nother poem, which i unfortunately cannot locate now.)

*sometimes it's hard*

sometimes it's hard to be your friend.
you caught me looking at you yesterday.
it was one of those soft looks, the ones people use when noone is looking.
you caught me,
and we blew it off - i was lucky, then.
sometimes its hard to be your friend:
you told me you liked it when we lay in the grass, and
it was so easy, then, to love you - but
you must have felt me doing it :
you told me then how much you miss her.
i suppose my luck had changed.
sometimes its hard to be your friend.

-for cole, unknown date, '96?-

this poem i posted in the Poetry Party Thread as well.

*death on the rise*

in the almost-time
between life and death
when the sky hasn't told
the earth what time it is,
the trees linger
and the grass sings
and i lie and
you lie and
we listen to their
words -
they sing to the trees,
warning them of the death on the rise.

-on winter with Cole-