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the places we gohe wrote to me:the places we go4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that he sits in the gutter and he
looks up at my window and he is
there and he is not and we're
okay and we are
not.
he wrote to me:
your silence is not enough. and i
think your feet caught the dust as
you walked away. and i think my
mouth was filled with dust
as you walked away. and i couldn't
say wait and i
let you down again and. you just
walked away.
he wrote to me:
learn the meaning of wait. and tell
it to me. sometimes the flies belong
in the kitchen and sometimes i forget to feed
the cats and sometimes i
forget to lock the
front door and close the windows
when it starts to rain.
he wrote to me:
w
colour blind.She saw him at the park once. He was the colour of dirt; with bird eyes and white, mapped palms. Her little forehead lined as she felt the bile force its way up until her saliva was acid. She counted her toes and bit the inside of her cheek, should she run? Are they fast runners? She figured this one must be if he kept himself out of jail. The dark man flashed a mouthful of pebbles and held out his hand- which would have swallowed hers.colour blind.5 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
'Don't touch me.'
Her hands were all knuckles and her baby eyes tore into his. He faltered and stepped away, a half mouthed sorry. He looked upset, a grin spread like fire between her dimples.
Suddenly she
make me stopsomething about nothing:make me stop4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
one.
you know, the real tree branches just
don't strectch as far as your arms.
two.
you know, one day i'll be able to get
that cow into my bedroom, up the stairs
with a trail of grass and cupcakes, and he'll
eat grass off my pink bedsheets and i'll
take some awesome photos.
three.
i like to write footones because nobody reads them:
i love you. i love you like nothing i've ever loved before.
i love you forever and i won't be able to tell
you that anytime soon.
four.
dear dan,
i love you i lvoe you i love you.
five.
my cats are sleepiong on thecouch. and i am
writing away words fro my heart. and no
untitled textMy hand is pressed against his body. I can feel his eyes. They look at me, up close, and then they’re closed. He’s waiting for me to say it, but I’m not going to. The words will have to come from his own lips if he needs to hear them.untitled text4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I let my body grow closer to his own, but I remain unattached.
Last night the trees had been scratching the window as my fingertips ran the course of his back.
I could hear the beginning again, and I moved, and lay down, letting him feel without my touch. Letting him be without me.
I had been watching the storm break around him and I had grasped at the idea that I could make it disappear, but
of storms and skysee my hair dance wild as wind-strings jerk it about//hear the ocean-wind heave itself against us all- crashing into our eyes and mouth//feel the winter-wind brush our skins in summer//then inhale the heaviness of air and sink through the dirt- because darling, you don’t deserve god’s beautiful violence.of storms and sky4 years ago in Other More Like This
(it drags the tree by its leaves saying kiss your trunk, kiss it and it does; releasing with a snap. the other trees flitter-flutter violently, crying within the cacophony of rain on concrete. white stars fall where light exists, and only sound where it disappears. the sky -the colour of sunburnt skin- watches it all with hunger. a
twelve hours green.he calls me and tells metwelve hours green.5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that his toothbrush
is an ocean green like
his fading bedroom
walls. and i call and
think that i dont have
a favourite number. but
i dont even know what
that means.
we should spend twelve
hours watching the
clouds fly past
and twelve staring at
the fragments of shining
rocks plastered across
the sky, until we leave
a dent in the grass
in the shape of
the different type of
world we live in.
i paint my hands in
speechless patterns because
colours always spoke better
than words.
my window, my framemy window, my frame5 years ago in Open More Like This
framed by a window,
a section of winter's dim sky
seems neither stingy nor prodigal now.
half rain, winter mist,
christens the sky,
against which water-slicked roofs
and the brittle silhouettes of dark trees rise.
there is such necessity to name:
dark tree
leafless tree
unclothed oak
the mind cannot tolerate
the cleanliness of the thing.
constructing meaning,
it is easy to wonder about the sky.
after all,
what do the arthritic hook and jag
of a bare tree mean,
and what does a steel sky signify?
clean surface, deeply cracked,
or perhaps the pale background
for the great tragedy of a tree?
today the sky spreads a
exhalation.Sixteen. Sixteen years since she was the size of a deflated lung beneath her mothers ribcage- now she has her own mass beneath her ribcage. Thumping sometimes to the outside, treating the skin of Laylla's stomach like a door. It will open in 3 months, it will be sliced open because her flesh is meat and they'll bring Sophie to air and she'll swallow until all she tastes is that dull white of the hospital. And then she'll cry and the music will drone in Laylla's ears until she tastes vomit and she is numb in all the aching places.exhalation.5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
She doesn't know the father. She thinks Michael but she tells herself it is Louis. She repeats his name over and
Silly SongIt settles deep this timeSilly Song5 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
With the fangs that bury
Into my mind
You write a silly song
And move on
You keep your distance, dear
For these doors of mine won't
Let you in here
You write a silly song
And move on
I've been alone so long
I don't know if it's worth
Another song
I'll write a silly one
And move on
I'll write another one
And move on
cupboardand last night i felt like the weight of paper andcupboard4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
then i felt like i would sink into everything i touch.
and yesterday i thought that maybe a bottle of
red wine and 3am and then too many post it notes
and staring at the ceiling from the tiles in the
kitchen would make the tiger hiding in the cupboard
go away. and if you could line up miles of mountains,
that's how far away i felt from myself. even though,
i could see me in the mirror and i could hear me
saying stop it stop it stop it. you are not here any
more. you are not there any more, and suddenly
i was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the living
room. watching the telev
5 postcards from nowhere:postcard 1:5 postcards from nowhere:4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
somewhere between here and
there i realised: good things don't
happen because of 52. they happen
because we let them.
postcard 2:
and baby i'm afraid of a lot of things.
like the way your fingers read my skin like
braille in the dark. and i may not have any more
secrets left that way.
postcard 3:
but you still like to explore every corner of
my spine.
postcard 4:
i have a drawer full of foxgloves and a
sandpit of forget-me-nots. i
love your stretching tree-branch arms.
postcard 5:
you are magic, you are magic, i say. and i am
lost in the ocean of your eyes.
the sheep and the goatsa. I like smoke when it pushes off from the water with bendy legs, and I like to rip the faint latticework of wings off of dragonflies, and I like to paint my father's ears red when he screams at me with the skin of his taut palms and his daddy-smirk cupped in the lifelines there, and I like to eat my mother's nails while she is asleep with her eyes open and her pupils rimmed in a shortened black.the sheep and the goats5 years ago in Transgressive More Like This
I like to skin the seeping fur off of small rodents and cats with beaded noses and sweaty claws, and I like to play war with the quietest in my family telling them stories of Santa Claus and ribbon-sashes and robots and the way your stomach smiles
paper lanterns Apparently I did not give you my heart because I can still feel it swimming in its own shit, excreted from the little holes that have been drilled in with fingers that will not make it past my lungs, through the skin like valleys made of tough grass and weeds bogged down by dew when I'm wet from the shower and my spit is falling down my chin like makeshift rain because it's a lie, I made it a lie, lies are dams carefully constructed, stillbirths and miscarriages, bleeding through your throat and soaking out your gums and twirling little cocoons inside your mouth out of hair and twine and spit, spit sppaper lanterns5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
cat-burning one and a half.cat-burning5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i cannot teach babies to speak, cannot take their lips into my fingers and impress the words upon them, cannot summon the voice with my nails and form it between my fingers like loose ripped cloth, syllables dying their tongues pink and brown as they speak until they turn white and die, legs snapping like frictionless fingers. once i close my eyes with a little palm curled around mine and i heard him, talking to me, and he said:
&
April's HouseThe man who would be my lover through April had a daughter.April's House8 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I showed her Playboys from 1999 and she grabbed at my breasts.
In mid-April my lover's grandmother died in a Michigan hospital.
The night before we had hurried sex on a friend's floor and in his shower.
I lay naked on a dark blue couch watching B list horror movies
with names like Frankenhooker and drank carbonated strawberry wine.
The floor was covered in empty Bacardi bottles and powdered Cheetos
while the bathroom smelled of concentrated bleach and urine.
I could crawl out onto the flat tarry roof through a second story window.
On the fourth of July I sat on the functionl
you can't feel through fabrictonight the rain becomes the earthyou can't feel through fabric4 years ago in Other More Like This
falling from hidden spaces in the sky and swollen clouds
i hear it make mud of dirt, and lovers of friends
and ask, quiet, where are you going but down?
i’m not all there in the head
you’re not all there in the head, my mother says
i’m not all there in the head i repeat
sometimes i’m there in my toes and fingers and heart as well
and now - in this downpour moment- i lie on the street
so warm that i think well that’s where love’s gotten to
but where is your shirt n? oh someplace else
and is that a light flickering in the house across the road? hide!
i rush in soaken w
asthmashe smokes marlboro cigarettes with the bedroom door locked. i taste it on her breath, lips and skin everyday after school. her bed is a mattress on the floor. sometimes we make love on it and i wonder if she'd rather have her mouth around a cigarette than me right then. she has asthma too.asthma4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
she is my second cousin. i didn't know this until two years after we began fucking and three years after i fell for her. i don't think it really matters. emily says if i ever made her pregnant she'd make me punch her in the stomach, heavy and hard. but i never would you know, i love her.
the smoking is killing her. i hid the cigarettes beneath the sink,
sickDeath slouches over the edge of her bed, licking his lips as he caresses her thighs. He sings the noise of wind and rain crashing all around and her head throbs with the sound. Her head is hot. Her forehead is on fire and her cheeks catch alight with it. She burns silently and sees red, red, black.sick4 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
Tiny insects have crawled beneath her fingernails and they dig with tiny claws and teeth until they are swarming beneath her skin, biting outward at her flesh. Each vertebrae carries bruises and as she tosses her body about the bed they ache loudly and sharply.
All the heat has rushed to her face, her body shakes like a leaf in wind and goosebump
ManuscriptI have written us down, typed us up, and sent us out.Manuscript6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
they will edit us, and say some parts are no good.
but I want your run-ons, your lack of punctuation; and you are so easy
on my weak binding, my damaged spine.
Lovely knees, scraped elbowsshe wishes she has lovely knees, instead she has a lovelyLovely knees, scraped elbows4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
way to see the world. she doesn't believe in umbrellas, only
the stars in the midnight sky and the raindrops running down
her neck, arms, legs, spine.
she knows things that most will find useless: there are more
stars in outer space than there are grains of sand on earth. dogs
have over three hundred facial expressions, mostly made with
their ears. the average person will spend two weeks waiting
for the traffic lights to change in their lifetime.
she wonders: what if stars are just dead pixels in the sky? what
if they are specks with worlds living in them? that would mean
t
i was thinking maybe..October 10:i was thinking maybe..5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I tried calling her today, but
the phone was left for seven
rings too long. She
doesn't like, she is afraid of
dialing numbers and jewellery and
the sound of bugs flying too
close to her ear.
She probably would have laughed
at the thought of dreaming the
day away. Because she can't stop.
She can't stop to meet me at
the rooftops. To meet me and
hold my hand. To meet me and
watch the sky move sideways.
October 16:
Today I called him, to say, to
say that I wanted to drown,
not in sorrows or swimming pools, but in
the ocean, because it's so peaceful
down there. Only I didn't. I
didn't breathe. Or speak. I
didn't
Seasons of Violet.We called her Violet, and she was.Seasons of Violet.5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
We knew her when she was young and pale, during Fall
And when we'd climb old trees, their brittle branches
Like welcoming arms
Would snap in two
And we'd cascade to the earthy ground
Carpeted with golden and red and orange
And as we fell,
Secretly, she'd wish with all the goodness in her heart
That she were a leaf as well
That like a leaf, she could be swept away to some distant place
In arms that would not break
In arms that belonged to people who truly loved her.
We called her Violet, and she was.
And with the changing of the seasons,
Winter had taken away her smile and replaced it with t
lightening bolt eyes.he has lightening bolt eyes and one fucking killer smile.lightening bolt eyes.4 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
let me introduce you to whom i call "fire-fly."
he has ice white skin and something about the way his hair falls that makes me wish mine would conform to such a beauty.
looking at you for so long makes me feel. Really feel.
he calls them fire-flies but i say lightening bugs.
fire burns hot against his skin, and i can feel the heat in his heart
but lightening bolt eyes can destroy you.
but god, it's so beautiful first, but only at first.
he calls me his "freckled girl" and i call him my heart
and he says that i shine undern
Sta.sh
