Magic FluteMagic Flute1 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
The moment I felt Death courting you
my rib cage collapsed. I curled
into childhood: the strange little girl
always alone, talking to herself
on the playground, thinking she
was whispered a safe solitude
of hush-holy clouds, relieved
to slip away from mating rituals
unnoticed; a detached solitude
seeing only in shades of rock
beneath a surface any touch
or even death couldn't reach.
Listen: Love is the beginning of Truth
you were the first coup de foudre
I climbed and the last amour
out of this place. Wherever
the courtship carried you,
if ever a marriage or honeymoon,
I renounce this waiting of hope;
this solitude of celibate womb;
this misguided Magic Flute -
just to see Love embracing you
before finally surrendering
to my own destined course.
This I promise the Universe.
Image 'Romantic Encounter', 1864 by Mihaly von Zichy (Hungary) 1827-1906 (St. Petersburg)
Bipolar DisorderSometimes I am very happyBipolar Disorder2 weeks ago in Free Verse More Like This
I feel so anxious
I feel that i can do things that sound impossible
I feel so imperative that costs me a lot relax me
Sometimes I feel very depressed
I feel so empty and lost
My brain just tells me to kill myself and that hurt me
I feel so tired that I can hardly get out of my bed
And the only thing I can say is I'm sorry
I'm sorry to be a burden to all
I'm sorry to be so irritable
I'm sorry to hurt myself
I'm sorry to be me
I'm sorry to hurt my family, friends, etc.
But this is not my fault
All this is because of my illness
I'm not a monster
I'm not crazy
I'm not a freak
I'm just ill
PinholesFaltering wordsPinholes2 weeks ago in Free Verse More Like This
and blemished sight
in the night...
to tear that sky
How To Become A WriterStare at the ceiling when MomHow To Become A Writer1 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
turns out the light. Count sheep
jumping fences. Stop when you
can't help but image them impaled
on the fence post because they
just can't seem to jump high
enough. Shake it off. Count
backwards from one hundred by
threes: 100, 97, 94, 91, 8...
give up because you are only
seven and math is hard.
Wake up with a jolt, because you
just watched your father drown for
the 7 millionth time. Remind
yourself his cancer is gone and
"Daddy is going to be okay now."
Fall back asleep. Wake up with an
arched back because, you swear, a
thousand bees were just stinging
you all over, and you weren't
going to make it out of that
cabin alive. Tell yourself it was
just another dream and that
awful buzzing was just the air-
conditioner in the window. Fall
asleep. Wake up with a stiff body
because you were a kite, but the
wind died down. You were falling
and there was another fence post,
and damn those stupid sheep. Roll
Rub tired eyes as mother grounds
you for slee
DollBarbie’s thighs were not meant to touch;Doll1 week ago in Free Verse More Like This
her hair is devoid of split ends
and there's this deadness in her eyes,
impossible to mimic—a quiet crawlspace without light.
There's a pastel pale to her skin,
hairless and unblemished,
a blank un-crevice between her legs
and her rouge-stained lips are ever smiling.
She is nothing like you, child.
But do not forget
that she borrows your voice.
Liquor is one way out an'death's the other The art of growing up,Liquor is one way out an'death's the other3 days ago in Free Verse More Like This
is to pour shots of whiskey
into your coffee in the morning
to make it through
when all you want to do
is lie in bed
but there’s nothing
How To Build TomorrowStep 1: remove yesterday and today from packageHow To Build Tomorrow1 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
Step 2: assemble solid dream(s) (see page 3 for details)
Step 3: drill through tough days*
Step 4: pile ideas atop one another
Step 5: wrap dreams tightly, as they are fragile.
*Batteries not included. Satisfaction not guaranteed. No refunds or warranty granted upon purchase. Some models differ, as product contains handmade parts.
So much to tellPale moon,So much to tell3 weeks ago in Free Verse More Like This
out of tune,
at my window,
So much to tell -
heaven and hell
to my dreams...
live'n in a box.a guide tolive'n in a box.3 weeks ago in Free Verse More Like This
sweet talking a girl into her
i) tell her she's beautiful
and that she looks
like she fell straight from heaven's top 10
and landed with crash
on your lap. ask her to come home
with you. keep
ii) touch her hair when she
sleeps, just to reassure her
that you're there,
and make a promise to her
that you won't just write about her
when you're stoned. say,
"i'll write about you every time i
iii) keep telling her
that it's not too soon, that, yes
it's okay to love again
and that she's only human,
after all. everyone makes mistakes,
you know, and he
was a massive one.
iiii) start to realize
that maybe she's not your princess
trapped in a tour;
in fact, she's more like
a dark hearted teenager
convulsing in the corner
of her own thought process. and
wonder if you want to fight the
iiiii) buy her a ring
and smile at her, because you
love her, as you slip
UntitledIt's in the treesUntitled1 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
The world sighs
Falling dreamI still remembered the first time you told meFalling dream3 weeks ago in Free Verse More Like This
About that dream of yours, the one you cherished so much.
Quiet morning, sitting over rubble,
Even grizzled fallen leaves carefully listened.
This burning passion it triggered inside you
This childish and innocent gaze in your prospect eyes
Every sinner would have seen redemption in your words.
And yet this very dream you treasured,
Led you to your last smile.
Knelt, I swore I'll handle this torch of your will
On your grave, tears felt, promise rised.
No matter how mighty mountains will be
This world isn't strong enough to stop our friendship's bond.
But though, what am I doing here like that?
I jumped from the steeple...
Drained of any happiness...
Flattened on the soiled ground...
What a long drop it was.
From my steaming agony,
Our dream evaporates into this hopeless air.
The tragedy of the mook and how it died one dayThe fickle sky pressesThe tragedy of the mook and how it died one day4 days ago in Free Verse More Like This
Against the glass of the windows
And the dry strung up heat of the winter sun
Spilled over the anemic asphalt
Our shadows seared into the bottom of our sneakers
Moving with a sort of blithe nonchalance
Searching for the speckled grey of a familiar horizon
The apathetic footsteps and my clenched hands
Quiver beneath the setting sun’s bloody smear
Across the over populated sky
That was no longer clear
Rather it was the looking glass phenomena
Spread eagled across my retinas
And during those grief stricken days spent
Hanging off your rooftops and skylines
I've contemplated replacing
my heart with another
Liver so I can
Drink more and care less
And I can vow that sleeping is only
For the dead or at least
The heavily medicated and sadly
I can no longer tell the difference between
.I wedged the remains of your bus ticket veins.1 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
And chloroform sticky notes under the floor boards
Concealing them, out of sight out of mind, but I swear
Sometimes at night I can hear them crunching
Vowels like bones between their molars
Aching for the flesh and thesis of pretty little girls
Filmy and crackling like static between the slopes
Of your shoulders, those quiet spaces between
The short lived confessions and pulpits of your
Half assed convictions and lovers trysts.
Hardly left any room
For the gods to reside in the pieces of heaven
That you scattered across the carpet
Of your apartment floor
in hopes of catching angels between ash trays.
Solo algoSolo algo1 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
Me preguntas sobre el atardecer y yo te digo que nada más el sol se esconde.. Tratas de darle un sentido poético a tu hablar y solo te sale una línea torpe en esos labios levemente rojos que muerdes de la frustración por no poder sorprenderme.
Me hablas de las nubes y yo solo respondo de una manera aguada, te remueves en tu silla sin nada más que decir
La lluvia cae frente a nosotros y tú te meces en tu lugar para saltar de el y lanzarte bajo esas lindas gotas danzarinas que caen en tu rostro, te empapas y solo sabes sonreír y girar y girar… ¿cuándo será el día en que pueda ser como tú?
De pronto te me lanzas encima riendo, y me abrazas eufóricamente arrastrándome bajo la lluvia, está fresca y moja mi cabello.
-me mojare todo… deberíamos ir a otro lugar- digo entre palabras temblorosas llenas de frio-
-no quiero, solo quiero correr bajo la lluvia ¿a
Jack FrostOh, how lovely it is,Jack Frost1 week ago in Free Verse More Like This
To peer out a window from the cozy warmth of your home
And see the whole outdoors kissed in crystalline brilliance!
As snow and ice decorate the earth
It's still amazing to think that,
With a single giant and chilling breath,
Jack Frost turns an everyday world into a sparkling,
Floored PetalsHe drowned the cheap motel roomFloored Petals1 week ago in Free Verse More Like This
in smoke, back in ‘53,
when I was just a bud of seventeen
who had watched herself bloom
in the mirror in her mother’s closet.
I had seen the bloom and the bud
and had wished to be deflowered.
So I had leashed myself
onto the back of a bus
and roared into New York City
like the little dragonfly I am,
falling into deep dreams
on the laps of strange men.
A pale girl with a patched-up suitcase
off on an adventure in the city
with nothing but a few dollars
and a fear of the dark.
The hotels were musty
and the dollars digested,
but the lights lowered
as the jazz flew upward
into a shower of sparks,
and I, a flower shaking off her petals
as she swung into his arms
and into his life.
A life of roads and roaring,
and sitting half-still in the smoke
as he mused long into the night
and down the drain, saying,
“Poetry is daydreaming on paper,”
wiping his grey lips on discarded poems, and
crashing between the waves of sheets.
A life of racing
Death/Kill/DieDeath did take from meDeath/Kill/Die3 weeks ago in Free Verse More Like This
Did meet me at street corners
And in the newspapers
Did talk to me from the phone
And the television set,
With the crooked antenna.
Kill glared at me from the abyss of my mind
Told me in bossy tones
How little people actually cared
For my wellbeing,
So what wasn’t okay
With opening a vein,
Scarlet scarves warming my pale arm
As blue blood did cascade
Down to linoleum
And was soaked up
And choked up by the sheer
That fantasy entails.
Die whispered into my ear
As I saw the people around me expose themselves
Wanted me to snap
And gut the girl with the oversized shirt
Strangle the boy who’s too kind
And won’t let me be sad,
Gouge the eye sockets of the girl with the angel’s voice
And become the monster that little children
Claim hides under their bed
Until the lights are off.
And the games begin.
-Emilienne C. Bratt 11/17/13
iambeautiful.i.iambeautiful.1 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
when i was born
i had hair
the color of the sun and
eyes like the sea.
i was a quiet baby,
that strangers stopped
and told my parents that
i was beautiful.
by the time
i was 10
my hair had turned
like autumn leaves into
a dish-soap blonde. i
learned to speak.
nobody stopped me
to tell me
how beautiful i was,
even though that was the time
that i needed it the most.
when i was 13
i was tired
of sunny hair, so
i dyed it all cherry-black;
had turned a dark, mucky
gray. that was the first year
i told myself that i
didn't need anyone to tell me
that i was beautiful.
at 15, when i
fell in that teeth-gritting,
limb scratching love, i
realized that my
scars weren't beautiful
and neither was i.
(he tried to tell me
that i was, but i never
listened. isn't that
how it always goes?)
and now here i am,
16, red-headed and empty, spare for
shaking fingers and teeth
rattling around inside my skull
and dead love
spun out so far, i can't be true to you.he's still the way i watch the starsspun out so far, i can't be true to you.4 days ago in Free Verse More Like This
and how i run like no one's watching
he's what i dream of when i'm awake
but maybe i'm done waiting
maybe it's you
maybe it's me this time
and maybe that's enough
he still races through my veins
and no, my heart is not steady when i see him
but i was never one for patience
a year is too long to hold on
and he is conservative
and button downs
he is beautiful
but i am wild
i am dirty feet
and summer evenings
i am mud-caked nails
and cider throats
i am sun soaked
laced with drunken poetry
i am watercolour
he is oil based
he is canvas in london galleries
i am doodles on napkins in mediterranean restuarants
you are cheekbones and dark eyes
coffee stained fingers
smirks and accidental brushes
i don't intend to know anything more
he is confidence
i am uncertainty
i live in the wind and the forests
we both spend too much time in front of mirrors
but whilst he kisses them
i crack them
and all the while he is leather
the rape of persephone1.the rape of persephone2 weeks ago in Free Verse More Like This
when i was fourteen, i learned not
to trust my beauty, my body, and
men. in that order.
ben link lived in my neighborhood, a
year older than me and whiteboy handsome,
straight teeth and dark eyes and a stiff
buzzcut and a virile flexing cruelty.
he would sit behind me on the bus
every morning every afternoon and
tell the person sitting next to me
that he would shoot me if he could
that i was dirty, a border jumping bitch
that the only way someone would ever
fuck me was from behind. transportation
turned into terror.
the ones who seemed sweet, i found, just
waited until the lights were cut. and when
the sun rose and they were done with me, they
returned to polite distance as if the betrayed
tenseness was my fault. silence, encouraged
and enforced. silence, ruled under military
law. for the longest time, i felt nothing.
and then one day i woke up
and everything felt red
because i had been
doing what had
been done to
discarding things once
they began to
a persian gi
the King and his moon.i.the King and his moon.5 days ago in Free Verse More Like This
this is an ode
to the King. We
watched him blow
away like an ocean
of black feathers,
and our Father muttered
that he was
forgiven, always, truly
forgiven. But we
all know that
nothing gold can
stay-- he had to
go. It was written.
that was when the
Queen cut her hair. Again,
we watched it fall to
her chamber floor
in heaps of strung
gold. But we already
knew that it would have
to go. We already
knew that she
would go, for it
was written, and it
was already forgiven.
the Prince grew up
with the memory of
black shoes and hair
littering the halls of
an empty palace. The
Queen was busy, always
busy, and then she was sick--
and then the Prince put on
his black robes for her, even
though he always remembered
her in shades of red.
on his father's throne,
the boy-king realized that
this was the place
that swallowed up his love,
and it gave way to war.
You know what they
say-- "A heartbrok
Winter's SnowThe snowfall brings joy, fun to children, and allure to the worldWinter's Snow1 week ago in Free Verse More Like This
Although, many dislike it
It's too bitter, makes them ill,
Or is a bother before they go out and take leave their comfy warm abodes
But it's soft powdery white scenery brings out so much hope to others
The twinkle and sparkle within it
The happiness it will always have and will bring
Snowmen and snow angels everywhere,
Snowballs in the sky,
Icicles on the edges of roofs, wires, and tree branches,
Intricate and fern-like designs dancing upon window panes
People see it as a winter wonderland
Especially when it first falls
The world never knows though
That I bring them this kind blessing, this satisfaction, this wonder
Yeah me, Jack Frost
The one who people say I nip at the nose and toes
Well I'm very grateful for those who do believe in me
And I will keep coming once a year for a few months and grant your wishes.
Drowning In Rose PetalsDrowning In Rose PetalsDrowning In Rose Petals2 weeks ago in Free Verse More Like This
“Think about it, drowning in rose petals,”
She sighs wistfully…
“It’s a magnificent thought, isn’t it?”
His brows furrow, hands deep in his linen capsules.
“How is drowning a pleasant thought?” the boy asks.
“Even death can be a beautiful thing, honey.” Her eyes--
So passionate as she speaks of this beautifully morbid scene,
“I believe the rose is the perfect representation of humanity’s fragility,”
She moves her hand from her heart,
To the blood red petals, as the thorns prick her fingertip,
As a crimson droplet stems from her index,
Her hand wisps towards her cherry lips, before she licks her finger’s bead,
And she continues, sweetly. “Her stem, as it grows, it finds its color.”
He watches her like the sun shines on her beloved roses,
“The petals bloom in the early spring and begin to brighten,”
She smiles, “Sort of how w