aoi-sekirei

may the peace be with you.

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July HaikuWriMo 2011 COMPLETE by aoi-sekirei, literature

Literature

July HaikuWriMo 2011 COMPLETE

1 Boneless, nerveless - yet it breaks and shakes me mad. 2 Summer's phantom itches, salty sleeps: friends missing. 3 steel mesh kiss sphere under words holds them high. Wine stink rough face spits thick unsolicitation. 4 Wakefulness: coffee nightcap and three's stories. 5 seek warmth; palm for a spark; chemical burn. 6 circular lurch of calories she burns. 7 if I could catch your eye, humble half-god — if you could hear my voice, spitting prayers. love's advance, sharpest terror: gasping chest. belong where no one knows where to go. flicker out, sand dune. and I think of the moon. 8 In the dar

Matter Observations by aoi-sekirei, literature

Literature

Matter Observations

I carry you though not in my heart in my face, my limbs, you lay heat-traces of your strokes and the pressure of your bones stay, brave and heavy where you were this time last week. I'm keeping them not the touches but each imprint of five senses that I taste your spit, your skin and feel the shadow of your chin listen for laughter, inhalation heart and watch your mouth agape, the stone curve of your nape against the scenery, the frame. I take the air between your hair into my chest, and the lasting anti-memory, the clean shirt I took back with me— Leave it in my bed, I board the train and lose my place, but

For lack of a better word by aoi-sekirei, literature

Literature

For lack of a better word

I can't speak in thoughts so free because when I think of you sharing space with me my brain resorts to pounding beats structured bits of measured spits words that taste like dried up heat my god you're god genesis, me broken bone who takes a bit of apple from your tree I went on for so long, you see because there's something in your air your atoms arranged themselves somewhere and all I can do is spew trite campy adolescent been-there-done-that meaningless, needless, drum-roll please this anticlimax will now present: poetry.

November 2010 Haikuthon by aoi-sekirei, literature

Literature

November 2010 Haikuthon

1. air goes gray from green and suddenly, I feel. 2. The camera points; there is no beauty yet. 3. slower than jog. unaccustomed, i fall. 4. weak bones shall soon emerge from a black hole 5. 19 days nonstop we could walk; it's easier. 6. no, too sweet this song speaks forbidden names. 7. survey asks; indeed, often, i am sad and blue. 8. a mockery! they're still writing five-seven-five. 9. like thoreau, do the ponds, the forests live deliberate? 10. six days still behind, yet I cannot sprint. 12. i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love 13. "disifigured" - critical acclaim

Any Other Normal by aoi-sekirei, literature

Literature

Any Other Normal

If I were any other normal poet of this era, I would write this like, like paper cut in strips and tamed with normalcy. Anastasia was a fictional girl I used to read about. Her father (in the story) was a poet. He had shelves of books of poems; he had food, a wife, and children, all alive and fed and happy- ish, save for Anatasia who was always said to be thin and tall, but resentful of her gangly manner. Anastasia, I used to dream of having that old woman on the bus ask me if I were a model because I was so tall and thin like you. Get over yourself, sweetheart - I'm sure you have great cheekbones, but be happy you're

TRUTH by aoi-sekirei, literature

Literature

TRUTH

Do not prostrate yourself to this man: it would shatter him, but do please sit. It is not sleep he weaves for you, no songs for surfaces under your spine, not picked-strings for fingerings of constellations but rest. Flat and real, the earth is best around you, a crater-lake you traitor, you accidental fiend This era was unkind to you. This era is textbooks and centuries of blue This era is sick as an animal flu. This era has struck him down, too but he has not fallen from the sky-set place or the curving rock face in his wavering life. He's a flame in a zero-negative space, a flame like a star burning deep within space a

MSU Dorms by aoi-sekirei, literature

Literature

MSU Dorms

5/27(?)/10 circa 12:scribble AM sleeping under paper sure, uneasy, yes, uneasy, too too uneasy to be evil but enough to be I AM AT: a loss for words The ne- on gree n wrist band is far too tight for me to feel an- ything red. 5/27/10 1:something AM in Michigan Fraught & distraught as Sylvia I know the poets' pain I doubted earlier, when I could speak as freely as a star. Now the shortened tangled twisted lines between us have brought me to gray and to my ashy knees because unless I am beside him or beside his brain, at least, I am too scared to sleep, too overcast to breathe, too shy to see an eye in

Still Water Moves by aoi-sekirei, literature

Literature

Still Water Moves

this fluid is too thick to be the ocean, too dark to be the sky, too much to be broken glass: I can smell it from here. Somewhere up there, it is made. People waltz around on prisms, throw mirrors; blame fears make it rain heavy enough to fill craters, but this isn't the moon. This is stone and earth-bone mineral miracle water around thicker than swallowings, darker than us but just light enough not to see me, however million miles below and the pitcher of glass: you. about to throw flute-fulls of space to hit me in my invisible face. fall off that mountaincliff rockface of spray and drop like a pearl through shampoo I wo

Lunarm by aoi-sekirei, literature

Literature

Lunarm

They're there if you look on the plain yellow place the moon's pale face from elbow to wrist changes from new to crescent to full while the blue rivers breathe under land arbitrary trains and buildings and roads round the pole in circles like ropes and In the sky just past the atmosphere We gaze on the topaz blue earth. Tear down the buildings remove the stations and stop the trains. Unpave the roads junkyard the cars Do all of this to find the scars the craters and riffs that eroded and chipped to a sun-slapped yellow two rivers below Months or centuries ago this would have been a warzone specked kamikaze were th

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July HaikuWriMo 2011 COMPLETE by aoi-sekirei, literature

Literature

July HaikuWriMo 2011 COMPLETE

Matter Observations by aoi-sekirei, literature

Literature

Matter Observations

For lack of a better word by aoi-sekirei, literature

Literature

For lack of a better word

November 2010 Haikuthon by aoi-sekirei, literature

Literature

November 2010 Haikuthon

Any Other Normal by aoi-sekirei, literature

Literature

Any Other Normal

TRUTH by aoi-sekirei, literature

Literature

TRUTH

Still Water Moves by aoi-sekirei, literature

Literature

Still Water Moves

Lunarm by aoi-sekirei, literature

Literature

Lunarm

Rain Song by aoi-sekirei, literature

Literature

Rain Song

The rain knocks at my door at the most ungodly hours of the morning. You would think it thinks that's it's welcome, like an old friend or something, and the knock's just a formality like making your bed right before you go to sleep or writing things by hand or religion. No no no, that isn't the case. It's not welcome and it never has been. We're hardly acquainted, and he insists like some bossa nova just prancing around to get my number at a bar. Well, guess what, rain. I hardly go to bars anymore. I hardly open my door anymore. I prefer it to be a divider instead of a passageway. There's inside and there's outside and when my door opens,

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Deviation Spotlight

Recalling by aoi-sekirei, literature

Literature

Recalling

Once, I forgot my limbs. I left them downstairs because I was in such a rush to get up to the second floor. I didn't even realize my legs were missing until I was halfway up the stairs. "No matter," I thought, "I won't need them for a while anyway." Only when I tried to reach for a paintbrush did I realize that my left arm had done just that, and the right away. Again, I shrugged it off (with only my shoulders) and went about my business. My business is rather unconventional. There's no elevator in my office building, because I work from home. Thus, forgetting my limbs downstairs would be, as you probably assume, a hassle. And, well, sure,

Recalling

aoi-sekirei

About aoi-sekirei

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Artist

June 27
United States
Deviant for 16 years

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My Bio

Salutations and hello! I'm Jill, pictured here with Ivan the wire sculpture of a hand. I'm blue.

Current Residence: In the sky.
Favourite genre of music: Foreign language, 60s and 70s pop, showtunes.
Operating System: Carrots and hummus.
MP3 player of choice: iPod. I named him Seki. <3
Skin of choice: [gackt, miyavi, yoshiki, and sugizo] DO YOU GET IT?!? LOLOLOLOL =|

Favourite Bands / Musical Artists

Gackt, SUGIZO, Dead End, Ayabie, Miyavi, ABBA, Vidoll, LUNA SEA, J, and a plethora of others.

Favourite Games

Twister

Other Interests

Running, writing, synesthesia, fashion, literature, film, philosophy JRAWWWWWK

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aoi-sekirei

Mar 30, 2010

magical realism.

0 min read

I keep waiting for you, though the hands of my watch have stopped. oh, my wavering thoughts, reach to you Even if all is lost Are you still going to tell me to smile? From those words overflowing with kindness I found you, smiling That dear voice That gentle voice Let me hear your voice Even though the dream hurts me, I don't change anything

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aoi-sekirei

Jul 27, 2009

OH MY GOODNESS.

0 min read

Thank you, thank you, thank you a thousand times for the Daily Deviation on Recalling!! I never imagined that I would earn something like this! `Memnalar (https://www.deviantart.com/memnalar) and :iconLadyLincoln:, thank you very much for the suggestion and the feature. I'm honored to have my work featured today among all those other beautiful pieces. Thank you to everyone who has favorited and commented on Recalling. I appreciate that you've taken time to look at my writing. One last time: Thank you and HOLY CRAP!!

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aoi-sekirei

Jun 1, 2009

Stephanie Meyer is still the Ronald McDonald...

0 min read

...of popular literature but I need a new journal on my main page so here it is. So, in three days I will be done with my freshman year at DSOA as a communications major. The evening of June 3 (Wednesday) at 8 PM, I will fly to New York City for the first time to attend the ceremonies for the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards. Most of the people who read this already know, but I won a Gold Key in poetry. I'm fighting my own ego after realizing that Sylvia Plath won something from Scholastic in her school days. Since summer's about to begin, my newfound seasonal depression is due to kick in full force any day. This self-diagnosed ailment has