bad days.on my bad days,bad days.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
i open notebooks like bibles and hold pens like lifelines.
i keep opening the book of my memories
just to see if it still leaves a bruise.
i am covered in the bruises of your hand
your ghost is in my bed. i can't sleep there,
again i find myself miles from home
wishing on stars i can't see
and spitting memories into the ocean like watermelon seeds.
i sit on my longboard like driftwood and send my shivers into texts
like letters i never should have mailed.
on my bad days,
i wear cuts like ropeburn,
like i just don't know when to let go.
i get lost inside the sadness and hold tea thats long since gone cold
as hours escape like small birds set free.
i forget to open the blinds
and paint my fingernails black
and stare at the too-big numbers aligned on the scale i can't stop stepping on.
Beating faster, fasterpretending i'm afraid of the word 'love',Beating faster, faster8 years ago in Teen More Like This
i suppose i could replace it.
i can fall for anybody. boys in black with hot pink ties. transvestites. cute japanese guys with tennis racquet voices. good looking shop mannequins (i always confuse that word with 'harlequin',) and that boy who works in gap. but no matter how many ten minute crushes i get, when i'm holding your body and you're looking in another direction, i'll still love you.
see, my favourite shoes rip my feet open,
i considred writing a novel about
a tattered whore finding love. so yes,
i wrote our love story
(ours, this belongs to no one else)
sat on my bed
in a david bowie top and expensive faux-french underwear,
smoking to myself and smiling secretly.
like a little girl with a barbie doll
i faded away from the world
with my notebook
and a lollipop.
so, i got all tarted up and, giggling like a japanese girl, i went out dancing. not specifically to meet you, but that was unavoidable.
i met a b
living on opposite endsshe mouths Rilkeliving on opposite ends6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the way angels
speak to god
perspires the culture
writers die for
is not finished
without her eyes
the only scan
my hours pass
of her voice
tangling with mine
see; children playing footsy
see; Bukowski and Martinelli
see; her words in my mouth
see; America and China
eating steamed bread
and fulfilling her dreams
when I'm asleep
when I'm trying
to discover mine
of the desire
the minor details
Satelliteit seems you wander aimlessly—Satellite1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
like the white blinking light
between the branches of that dark tree
i see when i open the backdoor to smoke
another desperate cigarette—
orbiting so far in the distance that
i cannot fathom your purpose,
though you must serve one in the lives