crunchybananas

black water child

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A Poem After Love by crunchybananas, literature

Literature

A Poem After Love

Cuing memories at half-speeds on an old Pink Floyd record with your cheek as my paperweight on the scrolls of my tongue The book-bindings of my lips whispering stories in your ears of your eyes half-closed, sun sinking into the horizon of sprawled legs. Your scrolls scribbled stories into my skin: The climax motionless as held breath then the falling action then the end: when we can't bear to even look at each other.

untitled [slightly revised] by crunchybananas, literature

Literature

untitled [slightly revised]

I went to your house, ice morning freezing my eyes shut while my feet tracked toward your door. Only your door, not the contents. This snowy scene reminded me of some backwards refrigerator with all the slush outside. And with my eyes congealed to my kid gloves, I thought of my springtime childhood while walking through floury snow without the crusts cut off. And at your doorstep, I peeked through the keyhole at the other side, where at four years old, I thought there'd be unknown things and yeti. What dumb courage brings me to look in here? You hesitated at the other side, quietly opening the shutters of your eyes. In weird penumb

a desolate winter by crunchybananas, literature

spiderwebs at sunrise by crunchybananas, literature

Stems- rough draft by crunchybananas, literature

Literature

Stems- rough draft

Half-woman, half-girl, with your everyday swear words and bent shoulders like a crone. There are so many words, swimming, shooting through your head. Round them up and pen them in the right hotel rooms; what are these words?: suicide, spermicide, an infanticide. Which one of these rooms do you go to? Which of these words should you let crawl up your skin and touch your flower, which burns up, crinkles like stress lines, rounds the bend and folds back in? And when you come back from the accusing hotel room and the people see your flower debased, all rotted stems and severed heads, what will they say? Lifting up their spindly bud

string by crunchybananas, literature

Literature

string

This is the worst pain I have ever felt. I am old, at 16 with a heart where my pacemaker should be. I sit on a wrinkle, a trickle runs of boredom, despair. I am going nowhere in circles of other girls' bracelets, the encircled arms of a lover a father a family friend, things I can't have in circles around me. This is mine my shiny new disease where my tongue comes out of its stitches no rhetoric no eloquence. This is the realm where shadows, deadpan language belies my smut of repressed thoughts. My mouth is a ball of string knocked off and out of the doorway through the roots of houses where kittens will sc

lust, flowers [revised] by crunchybananas, literature

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A Poem After Love by crunchybananas, literature

Literature

A Poem After Love

untitled [slightly revised] by crunchybananas, literature

Literature

untitled [slightly revised]

lust, flowers [revised] by crunchybananas, literature

a desolate winter by crunchybananas, literature

Autobiography [revised] by crunchybananas, literature

Literature

Autobiography [revised]

I was born somewhere between a white sheet and walls. Fifteen years old, born with that awkward photo smile on my face. I have no recollection where all my childhood pictures were taken. I learned early that the drumming in your ears will often be because that today, your underground heart will scream, surf the crowd, and bump into that shy indie boy you weren't expecting I learned early frowning is the new smiling for grown-ups I've held staccatos in my fingers, from breaths and pianos and felt kisses from the notes, falling out of a symphony's mouth. Drunk whiskey every chance I got when what I wanted was a kitten. Had to dri

string by crunchybananas, literature

Literature

string

Stems- rough draft by crunchybananas, literature

Literature

Stems- rough draft

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Girl Wanted by Poetrymann, literature

Literature

Girl Wanted

I want a girl who thinks with her eyes closed (in black and white) and does not drink chamomile tea. She does not watch movies by Nicholas Sparks and thinks God really is Morgan Freeman or someone she has not met yet. She reads Goethe, Sartre and Salinger and knows Orlando is more than just a city. She wears plain white tees and jeans so faded her skin has lost its color and her shoes chew the pavement with real distinction.

Deviation Spotlight

daydream by crunchybananas, visual art

daydream

crunchybananas

About crunchybananas

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Oct 17
United States
Deviant for 15 years
She / Her

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My Bio

werp

Favourite Visual Artist

Salvador Dali, M.C. Escher, Jackson Pollack, Andrew Wyeth

Favourite Movies

Garden State, most likely

Favourite Bands / Musical Artists

Check here: www.last.fm/user/anitravox_21

Favourite Writers

Jack Kerouac

Favourite Games

See which lover can stare the longest at the other before parting

Tools of the Trade

A nice pair of rainboots. And a whole lot of rain.

Other Interests

Writing, painting, drawing, lucid dreaming, romance, reading, cookies, and huggles

Posts

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crunchybananas

Mar 23, 2012

new religion

0 min read

i just want to be a buddhist monk and shave my head, but i also want to worship the fonz. why doesn't anyone understand that? also, i just want to say that i hate artists, musicians, and writers cos they annoy me.

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crunchybananas

Mar 20, 2012

tw==f

0 min read

What's the last thing you wrote? some lyrics to a song. Was it any good? switzerland said it was? What's the first thing you ever wrote that you still have? i'm sure my mom keeps it somewhere... Write poetry? if you can call it that. Angsty poetry? uhh, no. angsty poetry is for emo kids. emotional poetry that actually speaks to its reader is a totally different thing. Favorite genre of writing? magical realism (think gabriel garcia marquez) and modern poetry (bukowski, plath, etc.) Most fun character you ever wrote? i can't remember his/her name... it was this transvestite who lived in the afterlife, where everything was just lik

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crunchybananas

Apr 20, 2011

love is a dog from hell

0 min read

"there is a loneliness in this world so great that you can see it in the slow movement of the hands of a clock. people so tired mutilated either by love or no love. people just are not good to each other one on one. the rich are not good to the rich the poor are not good to the poor. we are afraid. our educational system tells us that we can all be big-ass winners. it hasn't told us about the gutters or the suicides. or the terror of one person aching in one place alone untouched unspoken to watering a plant."