'tis the seasonanother december's defeated me'tis the season6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
one more winter
to the ghosts
who keep leaving me
choking on hope
'til I'm hoping
they'll leave me be
'round my bony tree
forced to flee
a certain we
surely she loves
but her I's
keep deceiving me
as snow melt
as they appear
when the numbers
have no meaning
about the year
It is hard to be softMom cutting Dad's hair in the kitchen. Feather voicesIt is hard to be soft8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
because they are discussing matters heavier than water,
jarring scrapes when they move the chair.
Tufts of hair fall, touching the
curved blade of ear. It is sharper, as are our brains,
than you think, even as
the night velvets. It pads alongside my cat,
who sits behind the laundry room door and makes old saxophone sounds.
I slip inside to touch
the kitten scruf of his neck.
How difficult it is, to definitively love or hate,
when everything is so soft.
From where I sit there are no windows
and except for drooping eyelids I would not believe
in the moon. Or in the swift autumn nights
that come upon us like riders. And the hard
hands begin groping in my belly,
begging to be noticed. I do.
Birth MarkedGrandpa used to tell storiesBirth Marked9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
about the night I was born,
said a lost sparrow with cockeyed feathers
hopped across my right shoulder
and left its mark.
Shifting the sheaf of hair
mom refused to cut short
and craning my neck,
I could just see the cluster
of sharp-edged W's etched like tattoos
across the scalloped scoop of my bones.
In summer heat waves,
I learned to weave my dark tangles into braids
and let the claw strokes breathe,
the thin straps of feather-print shirts
pushed out of the way.
On those days,
Grandpa claimed I could lift my arms, wing-like,
and fly myself into something new.
though the sun is high
and summer nears again,
Grandpa is gone
and I am weighted by dark moods
and black mascara.
Standing at his graveside,
I tell him stories about the parts of him I miss
and the parts of me I hate
but cannot change;
the parts I was born into.
A phantom breeze clutches
the fresh bob of my wayward hair
and for a moment,
I can feel his work-calloused fingers
like in romance novels.i would like to say that it's not my fault i fall in love in five minutes, i would like to tell you i am logical and intelligent and everything the stereotypical whimsical teenage girl is not. because i am supposed to be the person that isn't like everybody else, that doesn't fall into a stereotype, that doesn't fit into any pre-made shape or size or measurement. i am supposed to be the girl that has will power and judgment and thinks ahead. i'm supposed to be on a different shelf, a higher shelf, a place with only me. but i keep finding all these other people on the shelf; it's getting bigger or something. or maybe i just fell down and i didn't notice.like in romance novels.6 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
i find myself looking at people and wishing that for once there would be some magical moment and they would say to me, "i think you're beautiful."
two-fifty an hour.let me save you the trouble:two-fifty an hour.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
because what i'm trying to say is
i'm not a good person.
i don’t tell valerie about how i planned to rekindle
my friendship with charlie’s best friend last year
just so i could get to him and hurt him.
(i don’t tell her how, in the end, i ended up liking
his friend instead, and charlie dated another
fifteen year old
because shit happens and what was i doing,
expecting things to go my way?)
there are certain things she doesn’t need to know,
certain things i can’t say because
putting it into words what it was like waking up,
that sort of shame that came with it –
it was like – it was like looking into a window
and swearing there’s a monster behind it
before, slowly, i realized
it was a mirror.
what therapy promises me: love yourself, forgive but
never forget, tell us your past
then let it go.
what i learn in therapy: nobody has all the answers.
we certainly don’t.
PerfectionHidden, as if a secret.Perfection7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Our relationship was swiss.
No commitment, with a hint of insane love.
Each time we were together one thing lead to another,
we made love.
Love with no commitment. It was absolutely perfect.
was it easy?i.was it easy?3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
When I met you, I would only bring tragedies up to the rooftop, or down to the street corner, or to the bike cage. You asked me if any of them were true.
"You make the saddest stories so beautiful with that pen," you said, on the same day that we held hands for the first time and I found out you smoked.
It's all we are now, though. Just more depressing words from my pen. You loved my writing that much; and that was more than me, and it ruined us.
The January before you turned twenty-one, you told me you were afraid to become an adult. "I don't want to be somebody a child will hate."
You had always smelled like peppermint, cologne, and the truth, and it made me so sure when I told you, "You won't be. You're different."
And hey it wouldn't be the first time I was wrong.
We spent the summer talking about baby names and our house in Colorado. You wanted a daughter and I wanted four boys, and one of them had to be called James.
It was October when
I Call ShotgunI'm losing friends like I'm losing time,I Call Shotgun6 years ago in Other More Like This
But what is time without these friends?
And If I just cut off all these loose ends,
Will my body survive the fall?
I'm fighting with myself all over again
And these strangers, they aren't like before
So lock me away for the second time today
And let me grow out these sores.
I'll ignore you all until I'm sure I'm just fine
Because these late nights drain my bloodshot eyes
And did I ever mention my tired bones?
Turn off the light, I'm at my best when I'm alone
An AnswerDarling, you asked meAn Answer6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Why I worry that our love
Will grow stale and crumble...
We were once young and spontaneous
With passion that could warm a cynic's heart.
But now I sometimes feel displaced.
We are comfortable, yes,
But that does not mean we need to be complacent.
You tell me that stability does not equal boredom
But lack of evolution results in death.
I fall in love with you over and over again
And I like that feeling of being in love with you
As opposed to just loving you.
You admit we have become predictable
And it is because we know each other so well-
But can anyone really know anyone completely?
We have become so attuned that
I can guess just how your body will move
And you are okay with that because it is comfortable
And who needs surprises?
I know you're busy, but so am I
And I still spend more time than I should
Writing you silly verses like these-
You can't tease me about it though
Because there was a time when you did the same.
I miss that.
You swear that this is tempor
If these walls would...We are the figmentsIf these walls would...10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of a small town
with a small imagination.
You thought it was bad
but you never even worried about
being poorly conceived.
The bright lights
of the big city are filled
with colorful characters,
while the dark nights are spaces
this tiny mind can never fill.
I fell in love with your words
and made myself believe they were you.
Scattered PiecesThere should have been a wayScattered Pieces5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
To frame your voice in silver.
Your comfort would be
A beautiful decoration.
If, somewhere, I could have
Collected your caress,
Relief would be a keepsake
On the mantle next to your portrait.
Our past had a brighter future
Than my present.
I should have preserved
Your embrace in the scrapbooks.
More than tender memories
Would flow from each page.
I want to hold each moment close,
Assemble them--store each second,
Since I have to face this life
Pieces of EightI pressed my back against the wall of the train, pushed my legs against the other wall and told passers by "Guess the magic word or you don't get passed".Pieces of Eight6 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
:Most people just stepped over me.
:Some pushed me out of the way.
ne swore at me, and kicked me in the side
:A few did guess and
By the end of the train ride
Eight people knew the magic word was Pumpkin and that I was simply trying to make the world, a slightly odder place. I like to think this may have brightened there day.
Just a little.
I wear Converse that are coming up to there fifth birthday, are one and a half sizes to small and they're falling apart. They are a shade of "Hello world! I used to be blue". Most of the time they're covered in various shades of faded ink and stolen words. I like to float around aimlessly in and out of a world of coffee shop and book stores. Largely because I feel I should.
no earthly gooddullish drudgeryno earthly good3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
insides all ug-l-y
spilling out split seams
pitch black and bubbling
sick carcass covering
mostly in sane
pitted & precious
half-blessed & breathless
of days seen
seems less dream
than real scenes
tine of self
heart screams head
FadeInput and outputFade10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
are forever separated
by the walls of
can never be
like new york...i.like new york...7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
score! (and seven years ago)
we're all artists
and aren't we all
pathos as a punchlineand then, mid-rinse, it hit me.pathos as a punchline6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
there's something a touch more troubling
about quiet desperation
showing its face during the
familiar & commonplace.
weeping in the shower; fully lathered,
red-eyed in the mirror;
shaving cream scattered,
small cut crowning
a procession of teeth.
crying at breakfast;
full stack of pancakes
cooling on the table.
miserable at brunch;
spinach quiche crumbles
collecting on the chin.
it's a fully realized sadness
fit to laugh at, on the screen.
it's a swallowing despair
to bear in skin.
It's everything...I've found a spot where the floor creaks just for me.It's everything...10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I sit & wait there
for the boards to collapse,
for my unannounced visit
to the neighbors.
I sit & wait
at lights, and in lines,
and in conversations
that go in circles.
I sit & wait for the music to end,
just so that I can go home.
I keep quiet as the world sleeps;
afraid to wake someone up,
afraid to sleep alone.
I've built a routine
dependent on falling apart
and still somehow manage
to be surprised
by every last bitter goodbye,
by every last haunting regret,
by every last
UnbrokenTell me,Unbroken6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Are my hands cold?
I feel old--
Not in years,
But in half dried tears.
My fears are gone with you.
I am resilient too.
I once was brilliant
The way diamonds sparkle in mud
But gems are just rocks
And only fools fall in love.
I thought the world was
Epitomized in your face-
How much of the universe is just empty space?
Everyone (I suppose) makes mistakes
And so we digress, supress and repress
Tarnished memories of youthful disgrace.
Yet how can I erase the lust of imagined glory?
Is there such a thing as an unwritten story?
We're all destined to cry
All fated to die.
Dear, do not lie-
You are a cynic, too.
You would sell your soul, wouldn't you?
Whose god is God,
Gentile or Jew?
Religion is a scapegoat to you.
You tried to teach me
About faith, hope and love.
But I only learned what heartache does.
So now I sleep
With eyes that do not weep
But burn in apprehension.
Dreams are merely a reflection,
An extension of revelries long dead
And my days are too few
plansI want to moveplans6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
at the rafters
of every new poem
I want to paint
of a man
covered in rabbits
I will call it
'man covered in rabbits'
(it will revolutionize the art world)
I want to
leave things be
when I believe
before they're leaving
now it's just dirt under my fingernails.Novak carried an umbrella with her everywhere for nine years. And when he asked her why, she told him, "Ever since my dad died, sometimes it feels like the sky is falling."now it's just dirt under my fingernails.3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
That was six months ago, and he still catches himself checking for cracks between the clouds when it rains.
He likes to remember her eyes. The left was blue and the right was brown, like two people in one, and faded, like old photographs.
But then he remembers that old photographs are the only things she exists in now, and his office will get so small that he needs to go outside to breathe.
He wanted to be gentle, even if he couldn't think of a way how. But things were already ruined between them, and he knew that long before he ever sat her down in his parlor.
"If you have to hate me, I want you to," he said. Her face was deadened by the weight of her pain. "As long as you feel anything for me, I want you to."
She shook her head. And she kept shaking it when he followed her, his bare feet