Free Verse, Poetry


Along the shore she walks, barefoot with bared teeth—
Shells and wet stones scattered about, a vast array,
But dim eyes gazing intently at the sea.
The tide emerges, white, clasping onto her dark ankles,
Pulling her with pale fingers to come in, to cast away
Thoughts as mad and as violent as the waves.

“Onward,” it beckons, lurid and enchanting.

The water is dark, heaving and brooding ‘gainst the rock,
Moaning a desirous tune in harmony with her heartbeat,
Chasing out the fishermen who’ve gathered by the dock.
Climbing each second with murderous strength,
It crashes and pounds and dances in the heat,
Forgotten, the pretty conches laying by her feet.

“Enter,” it whispers, misty and entrancing.

A tenative toe touches the ocean’s surface;
Little rings spread out from the delicate movement,
But further she goes, swaying body called to some new purpose,
And her skirt billows out, soaked in salt and black mud—
The sky seems to shake, to rumble, with amusement,
And she becomes indistinct, no longer lucent.

“Forget,” it smiles, soothing her panting.

All troubles are lost from the young woman’s face,
Eyelids heavy, lips moist, hands reaching out for atmosphere,
And tremulous mind now devoted to the destined place.
She submerges herself amidst the tall storms,
Eyes full of lust, she says, “I will find myself here.”
Dark temptation had replaced her first fear.

“Be gone!” it growls, finally recanting.

A look of final happiness seizes the poor creature
As the waves begin to tear her apart.
They latch onto each limb, each appendage, each feature,
Consume her with long, blue teeth and a gaping maw.

So lonely was she who thought death was her art;
And so cunning, the sea, who had not a heart.

© Loveviolent — 2018

This poem was inspired by Kate Chopin’s The Awakening, which is one of my all-time favorite books.


Free Verse, Poetry, Uncategorized

love affair with a lycanthrope

Hazy were the days of lemonade–breath and daisy picking,
Sticking our round, red fingers into hot Earth, letting the
Black dirt stain our nails and faces, sun leaving
Patterns on our skin, bronzed stars and malformed
Hearts and sullen secrets.
Our human mouths would collide and then I’d
Taste all your warm, jagged mortality,
On my tongue and on my lips even after I’d licked them clean,
The sky still cyan and heat still coursing through skinny veins.

Darkness, and all was lost to the chirrups of nightingales,
The stir of the cicadas, and so gone was your soft,
Claws digging into any surface, leaving things torn
And you turned my skin into an old, tattered oak,
My ears into moons so you could howl with a tireless throat,
My body into a forest so you could swallow whatever living thing
There was left inside of me.

Daylight, and you’re back to your old, pretty self,
Feral desires replaced with tender thoughts,
Liquid eyes like the ponds in which the
Silver minnows dart.

© Loveviolent — 2018

Sorry y’all, I have no idea what I’m doing.

Diary, Prose, Uncategorized

you make me nervous

I can hardly meet his eyes when he throws me a glance, blank and full of nonchalance, while mine are littered with longing and withheld words. I can manage it occasionally, like when he’s talking straight to me; the first time this happened I got to observe them for a good thirty seconds they’re dreamboat eyes, a dark cobalt hue, gentle and wise— before I was suddenly overwhelmed by embarrassment and had to turn away lest he think something strange of me. I generally have no issue with meeting someone’s gaze, but he is the exception, for there is nothing more difficult than eye contact when it comes to him.

He is endlessly witty, cracking subtle jokes left and right, never failing to make me laugh to myself. An amazing gift in itself, though it makes me feel a thousand times more inferior when I’m in his presence; I’ve little to offer when it comes to quick wit, and prefer to shelter my humor and thoughts within my mind. I can’t compare to his intelligence, easy and insightful; I linger in musings and daydreams and the lyrics of love songs. As a result, I often drift off, and no doubt he finds this frustrating when he maintains such intellectual acuity. I’ll stumble a little on my words, or I’ll say something offbeat, and I’ll just think to myself afterwards, don’t think I’m stupid, don’t think I’m stupid, don’t think I’m stupid.

It’s a silly, hopeless infatuation I have anyway— this I know— as there’s literally no circumstance that would promote his interest or any sort of connection, and I’m fine with that. But he still makes me nervous, and I hate that I like him so much.


Free Verse, Poetry

love is not what i’d once imagined it to be.

I kiss a dream so soft, so sweet;
The thought of you haphazardly
Is wrung into my memory.

I grew on roses, pearls, and sweets
And wished one day I’d be complete;
The fairytales told me of such
Displays of gallant light and blush.

But now I think they must be wrong;
The rose’s scent no longer pure,
Is begging for a wound-by-thorn,
And hoping I will be deceived;
Bygone, its former beauty.

Mother, I must speak to you
The tales you told, no longer truths.

But honey coats my throat so thick!

© Subdivine — 2017

Prose, Writing Exercises

Ice Cream

I bought an ice cream cone yesterday. It was pineapple–flavored, tart and vibrant on my tongue; the sweet coldness felt good, what with that irate old man Mr. Sun beating down on my face and bare skin. Well anyways, I thought my day was going well, but then the cream started melting, trickling down the sides of the cone, running slowly across my fingers, leaving them sticky. I licked them clean and turned my head to the sky, screaming with relish, “I hate you, Mr. Sun!

© Subdivine — 2018

Free Verse, Poetry

Give Me the Chance

Give me the chance
To show you how to paint the wind.
We’ll be streaked in marigold and
Calypso blue, acrylic staining our
Hands and our faces and our legs and
Our lips.

Give me the chance
To teach you constellations at night.
I’ll point them out for you, each
Star comprising Orion, or Cygnus, or
My favorite, the Little Dipper;
We can trace them all with
Our fingertips.

Give me the chance
To dance with you in the rain.
Water droplets glistening in hair,
Lashes, as we twirl silly in
These sopping clothes— still tight,
Our grip.

Give me the chance.

Give me the chance
To whisper something in your ear.
A delicate sensation, like lace or
Light embrace, my words
Fluttering into your mind like
The butterflies we caught when
We were kids.

Give me the chance
To look at you a little longer than I’m supposed to.
I’d forget I was staring and then you’d
Turn towards me and I’d turn
Mad red because I was caught, and so I’d think to myself,
“Look what you did.”

Give me the chance
To get lost in your voice.
Language becomes a different entity when you speak;
The way your words wrap around me is
Mesmerizing, and each cadence strikes some
Chord deep within me that I thought
I hid.

Give me the chance
To ensconce myself in your heart.
I know I am small, and obscure, and odd, but
You are a Divine Truth, and before you I knew only
Lies, and deceptions, and a bland, colorless world which now
You have blessed.

Give me the chance
To quit thinking about you every hour of every goddamn day;
My entire being revolves around your existence and
Your beauty and your overwhelming goodness and
I try to stop but
These thoughts will never cease because you are you and
I am obsessed.

Give me the chance
To love you with every fragment of my heart.

Give me the chance.

© Subdivine — 2018