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About Deviant iohes de eyck me fecit.Female/United States Recent Activity
Deviant for 9 Years
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this morning my heart woke
me up to tell me you're taking
your piece with you when you go,
tugging at the distance as your
plane left the runway and i wrenched into
the darkness you left me for and i swore
i could see the stars falling down around me
the minute i said your name and it echoed,
my god, the syllables sunk deep into the pit
of my stomach and rested there like seeds,
watered by the nights i spent telling what was left
of me to forget all of you while my insides
tried to figure out how to be less, necessarily
it never worked. it never does when you
treat hearts like candy bars, like pieces
you deserve to break off & take with you
like the chocolate centre of my soul i gave
you, instead of my blown glass shattering,
the battery that keeps me thinking about
my live wires at the edges where you picked
up & left; you had me making signal fires -
everything went up in smoke and
i found myself on the edge of arson
where i want to burn everything
down at the site, where i want to b
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 13 2
last season's mix tapes
in every story, there is a plot.  
this is called “what happens.”  
what happens is usually someone dies and someone rebuilds, someone buys a wedding ring and maybe she says yes.  
what happens is we lose touch.  
what happens is we stop at the laundromat, and i don’t know if i am inventing the men smoking cigars on the porch, or if it is really thursday. what happens is i am nine and you are a few years older and we are in the laundromat with three baskets full of clothes.
what happens is my parents are waiting in the car and we have quarters weighing down our pockets and we are grown up as we press coins into the slots on the washing machines. we giggle because we are the youngest occupants of the one large room lined with washers and dryers, and we giggle and we wait for the buzzers. we grow unsteady, confused, younger as we realise that we have been wrong. suddenly we are infants and we glance around the room and we feed more quarters into the
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 16 4
leaving the nest
i dreamed of
growing up a
willow but
didn't budge
from the oak
grove, stayed
unsubtle &
strong. where i
tried to feather
out my edges
i stayed firm
& full coarse.
where i tried
to love i lost
limbs & shed
another layer
of calloused
skin. where i
tried to weep
gracefully i
kept tripping
over my own
roots, kept on
sobbing some
thing awful.
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 18 22
reclaiming boston
on the bus with my
legs sprawled over my bags, i
imagine the miles
falling away from
me like hydrangea petals
in a summer breeze
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 15 9
e street shuffle
daylight whitens the scars of the hasty
reenactment, the perfunctory funk
of traincar graffiti crews hunkered over
backalley dumpsters making the news
humdrum the creation never undone, the hard-
won that stays because it stays unseen,
becomes routine, becomes
the sheen of art school dreams
still visible beneath the filth of city streets,
a fantasy decaying in its frame
& heedless with age under the superficial
rage of the blindly worked & blindly paid,
systematic slaves to factories where they make
but don't create, where graffiti is the only
god left to praise, where capitalists' fingers weighed
down with rings snap, start to sway,
pay to have it washed away, begin
to annihilate the day.
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 13 10
love the yarn, love the bestseller
falling for you in december was a cold fiction, myth
rich & beautiful like the frost weighing down the tip
of every blade of grass in the mornings, like heather's
house late at night, bushes swollen thick & obscuring
the street signs, with me scouring evergreen lane
for numbers, waiting for a flicker of the porchlight,
yelling her name to find out i had driven around
evergreen court in stupid sooty circles, down the street
from falling with you in december, when i was trailing
you by entire revolutions, when without your name i
thought i could hunt down your heart in the dark,
when without you i scratched the fable of our love
onto a brick in a house i'll admit i knew wasn't yours.
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 16 10
lose your self by anyimacielgray lose your self :iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 17 10
to giovanna cenami
mother goddess,
your whole deep greens
& your pale yellow slivers of sun
& then the blue sky sleeves
with your open fertile hands blossoming
out of them, small & serene.
your gaze a red innocence, heavy with curiousity
& need.
the white
white veil
won't dare
touch your
cheek bones.
it graces your glowing forehead, forgotten entirely
after the shock of love in your glance.
you know this man's  
profound black browns, his steady eye
the flickering immodest uncaring of calculation
hung over his lids, over the hazy grey
of city sky, this hard bent man stooped
with briefcase in hand, thickly
cloaked, thin lipped, top hatted.
you the warm unnamed bride & he
the sharp nosed Man
you the pleasant & powerful, indulgent
of his every little
lovely evil,
the eternal forgiveness in the curve
of your lips, the unspoken
colour of power. you the patient
the unending source.
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 72 29
i've swallowed continents en masse, & all
their statues too, or their shot glasses (i
admit to a collection) or their calls,
their laughs & hiccups, ornaments in piles
on trees – the odd ingredient in pies
& tickets to museums & that night itch
of metaphysics' batty evil eye.
i listen for the strange ways we debrick
each other, say hello, craft whole triptychs
of queries after dogs & aunts, i wake
with elbows bruised from who knows which
event i tripped into (but i would bake
forever while you read me nietzsche or
the dialogues or charmed me to the floor)
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 15 19
with a single match tossed over the potomac
reckless clouds sky-streaked
slapdash - the whole mess spilled with
oil & lit on fire
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 5 11
i call the basket weaver mother so
she'll curl into my future self but time
does not go lending me a favour, knows
whose accusations fray its essence (mine
might be the least inspired) but she will find
the centre of my soul outside of days,
each reed she plaits a branch of my lifeline
in disbelief of past or coming age.
she grows indefinite & kneeling, prays
with spokes & palms repeated into sky,
each revolution of the wicker maze
another texture for the looping i -
the cursive of this self she'll craft beyond
the memories of selves i'll have, i've lost.
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 12 8
Towards Peace
the Means of Peace, betwixt the Government
almost ever worse than the Disease:
of Justice in the Hands and Mouths of the
Aggressors seldom getting what they seek.
fading enjoyments of this Lower World:
and Greatness of Dominion more than Right
     Men seek their Wills by War rather than Peace
     embrewed their Hands in one another's Blood:
     as they will violate it to obtain
     Possession of Princes and People too.
     Perhaps it may be in a good Degree
     not to destroy the Lives of Men: to give
     as War cannot in any sense be just
     the Maker and Preserver of our Peace
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 1 0
beware of
you my dumpy little cockroach
my forgotten bit of red glass
my not mine
the beautiful driftwood
see how i've made you heavy,
see how i've planted my fingers into the deepness of the deepness & fluttered my eyelids for effect but how i've read the braille of earth & found out your ten thousand names & misplaced just one or two into a decaying notebook once green by incident, by accident.
i'm sorry about calling you a giddy swellbellied politician & about forgetting most of your names. but the nice bit of it is, look, i can figure a language assembled of clicks & berries.
maybe if it's raspberry plickblack pop. pop.
maybe i shouldn't swaddle you in names maybe
i don't want to letter you into a cage
see how i've called you instead by my swelling eyes.
see how the unfolding of my hand
becomes you.
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 13 7
faking halloween: a family pastime
vava drives her old camry smack yellow on the double line. this car's as old as i am i say lisping over plastic vampire teeth & she presses together her purple dry-flower lips humming oh yes – 92 – she counts her feelings in orange lollipops, she arranges the wrapped candy into an elegant JAMES on top of vavo's grave & the trees have gone greening themselves but it doesn't matter, otherwise she'll never sleep so we keep a costume handy all year & black face paint just in case she grows blue underneath her april umbrella.
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 9 6
here is a photograph of a car window during the late day.
it was taken on a cell phone.
the car is light champagne & its window reflects trees.
& it reflects a few words smoothed in with a thin finger
faintly on the inside of a foggy pane
too faintly so you tilt yourself inside the memory.
& it reflects a few words we love you will
you spill into it slowly, in reverse, all of you at once.
here is a man in a black suit & tie.
he is telling you where to park your car.
human beings standing up like ants
unfolding their creaking legs & waiting to be devoured.
human beings or ant beings standing up to talk about it.
we are being devoured they say.
nos están devorandos.
they put their ant hands to their faces.
oh they say
ay ay
we love you will. why
we love you. human beings crawling over each other's tears.
collapsing on top with sobs for the warmth of another body.
there are two faces, one his & one no longer his.
human beings examining his exoskeleton. this physical
stuff. you gr
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 6 0
for my mother, for whom i am never careful enough
i always thought if i kept still enough or grew two
dimensional enough i could tip myself over into space:
honest, bones, i could shrug at gravity & join with you
to fashion a rubber duck for the great & terrible zeus
a universe wide, tipping earth precisely in the right ways.
i always thought if i kept still enough or grew two
orchids, carefully, the way my mother often tried to,
she wouldn't die thinking i refuse to carry her face,
honest bones i could shrug at gravity & join with you.
i walk fast without breaking her back – i can love, too:
oh, mother, your beloved & bitchy brace face, space case,
i always thought if i kept still enough or grew two
new toes, i wouldn't bother about the others being blue
with your poor circulation, or other bizarre malaise,
honest bones i could shrug at gravity & join with you.
but i won't go to space & i promise to wear rain boots.
don't worry if i get arrested at a protest by mistake.
i always thought if i kept still enough or grew two
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 159 37

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put you in a room like a moth
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Sunday in the Kitchen
dear mother,
i ask you how far we are from heaven.
hunched over the sunday paper like a patient gargoyle.
your eyes blinking too often, and tongue snaking
around in your mouth, as if the answer is hidden between your teeth.
dear mother,
you hum holy bars in the kitchenette.
say "hallelujah means praise yahweh, praise the lord"
say "angels must rest on the tongue of that word"
say "angels, oh angels hallelujah, hallelujah, rest in me"
but you haven't slept in weeks.
i hear you sob sigh into the night like a prayer.
like your table lamp is the closest thing to heaven-gates.
dear mother,
sometimes i still wish i could pray with you.
pluck off our sorrow feathers and
watch the angels carry them through the ceiling.
hold your hand like a steady branch
and breathe free.
but i know i'd either start laughing, or crying.
and both are told to be inappropriate during prayer.
dear mother,
what rests upon your tongue, but the paste of morning?
the old words, of dead men. the wet remains of one thou
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Elena's Face
Lord, I tried.
Every piece of you that broke,
I glued it, sewed it, hoped.
My cheek ached
where yours was bruising like a peach,
withdrawing. Something taking you,
cell by cell, like a palace
dismantled by masterthieves.
You changed from coffee to white to green
and finally a shadow started settling
over you. Understand:
I couldn't leave you there,
where rats used your pelvis as a throne,
nursing their babies in your vellus hair.
Couldn't leave your fine lips to wither
and me a doctor.
Gentle, gentle with her.
The sun is up. Away.
:icondiscocabrado:discocabrado 22 12
Oh, fertility
Juicy as she may have been,
Caroline makes an average statuette.
Her likeness is no closer to life
than movie tie-in merchandise,
apologising with unmistakeable costume
Granted, stone does not bend generously
and she was never one to be captured
anyway, but two spheres, a disclaimer
and a nametag, or a garden gnome
in a wig would take me
more speedily to her. The artist
must have folded
at the pollen pockets of her breasts
in source material; must have
set down the file or chisel
and despaired, jilting
the tiny goddess halfway
between hyperreal and monstrous.
Caroline would have cocked her head
at the spectre. Caro
would have laughed, then frowned
frustrated that we could not hear her.
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and we found...
we love like we sin, terrified and breathless.
we are tea-at-midnight girls, naming constellations
that don't exist after lost tourists we meet on the
street, reminding our freckle covered shoulders
that even beautiful things can be made ordinary.
we are broken fingers and half-closed eyelids and a
penchant for mischief. we are ribbon skin and frantic
desires and incandescent hope. we are a voice spilling
secrets to falling leaves diving after their arachnid brothers,
mimicking the millions before us who were
judged unfairly, unjustly but all too correctly.
we whisper promises to dandelions because they do not
know how to hold grudges and we refuse to die because
the world can not stand the sight of our scars and
cloud-colored eyes filled with a malady called freedom.
we are believers and dreamers and scared to death but we
are not done yet. we are dusty library windows and thunder
raking through bones and leaving eyes glowing, skin shaking,
burning whispers of 'I'm sorry, but this is
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and next month, we smile.
there is a skeletal disorder pouring into your brain
and someday it will catch fire, while your insides
are left out to bake under wrought vanity,
much like a second skin.  the skeletons like to
bang on windows and scream for hearts that
skip beats.  the ambulance doesn`t respond,
but oh!we are hurting.
today, the north star`s tendons peel from the
sky.  tomorrow, the only appropriate thing to do
is punch doors.  the next day, you are choking dahlias
because they are your favorite flower, and
i always knew you were a girl of opposites.
the person on the other line is verbally
hideous, saying we will never be a bird,
but marmalade skies will come marching into
our bell jars someday, [but we already
fucking knew that.]
this has nothing to do with making the
puzzle pieces fit and everything to do with
coming back home.  we won`t get
used to this, we won`t get used to
you know how to inject sunshine into
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The day the leopards died
Alarm clock - check!
The city humdrum - check!
The noisy guy upstairs - check!
The sound of running water - check!
The angry woman on the phone - check!
The furtive cat legions, stray, spoiled - check!
The wars on TV, clamorous, onerous, futile - check!
The shadowy stalkers returning to their hideouts - check!
The mother, worrying about offspring whereabouts - check!
The birds - a farrago of doves, gulls, sparrows, crows - check!
The dogs - spaniels, Great Danes, retrievers, pomeranians - check!
The plumber, wanting money for that job he never completed - check!
The bugs, the critters, the noises behind the walls, the eyes in your kitchen sink -
Check, check, check!
Everything accounted for, I look outside and find no leopards.
You would think that this was natural. This is not
leopard country, but I feel their absence elsewhere, and
I wonder why all the city eyes look inward.
So I walk.
I cut into the sunshine
and sail the concrete waves into
the green - no leopards, into
the blue - n
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iohes de eyck me fecit.
United States

love that's all

favourite genre of music: everything, operating system: borrowed spleen, shell of choice: turtle, favourite cartoon character: calvin and hobbes, personal quote: I'VE HELD MANY A BABY WHILE THE HOMEGIRL GOT HER SCRAP ON


Add a Comment:
ei9 Featured By Owner Apr 30, 2017
Happy Early Birthday next week my dear and may it be a most beautiful and blessed one!
ei9 Featured By Owner May 6, 2016
Early birthday wishes goes out to you and may it be totally fabulous!
ei9 Featured By Owner May 7, 2015
Happy Birthday to you and may it be as sweet and lovely as your great poetry and writing!
mel-dickinstein Featured By Owner Feb 23, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
ive always been a fan of your work. keep up the awesome work. you are definitely an inspiration! :heart:
ei9 Featured By Owner Jul 20, 2014
 great writing and poetry that you got here and its awesome with a capital A!
I have a few of your masterpieces in my faves and look forward seeing more from you in the future. keep up the great work and God bless!
spartan-locke Featured By Owner May 7, 2014   Traditional Artist
Happy Birthday!
TheEmptyChest Featured By Owner Jul 28, 2013

Tag a quality deviant, You’re it! Quality doesn’t mean that you have a lot of followers, or a lot of messages. It means that you’re nice to other people, and you deserve to be happy. If you get this message, someone is telling you that they love you as you are, and they don’t care how much followers you have. Send this to 10 deviants who deserve it. If you break the chain, nothing will happen. But it’s just good to let someone know that you love them! ♥

(Just thought you deserved this.)

anyimacielgray Featured By Owner Jul 28, 2013
thank you so so much! i will definitely pass this on <3
TheEmptyChest Featured By Owner Jul 28, 2013
:huggle: Good!
seabelle Featured By Owner May 8, 2013  Hobbyist Photographer

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