untitleddsgfjindoors,i'm paling bonfires and verbing the nouns and
death is a metaphor.the room sighs with the afternoon
grief,the morning grief, the early summer grief saddling
nightfall. the grains in your coffeejar are a thousand
condensed nightmares imitating mine.the room sighs as
love is just a metaphor. in photographs,the eyes grow closer ,
but lighter with the loss of regard. your hands probing through
my ribs find filthy similes eating at a faint throb.the throb,
the paling bonfire, the room with no doormats, no sky,
just blood and disease- affect lunging into attempts to
hide.inside,warming up for spite, expecting
crisis in the hub,i lay out trump defenses- failing, failing,
EscapeI'm trying to escape,Escape10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
trying to get away,
trying to ignore what they do,
forget about what they say.
No move I ever make,
can ever be one right,
every simple thing I say,
always starts a fight.
I'm sorry I'm not perfect,
the way I'm supposed to be,
the thing is your slowly killing me,
why can't you see?
I'd really like to run away,
where someone would understand,
to someone who could see my pain,
and gently take my hand.
I'm Not Sure Why All of ThisI'm Not Sure Why All of This8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I stick my toes into the flaccid skin
collected on the floor, as he tells me
that hes going to construct me a wooden bra
and that cunning smile of mine
creeps across my face.
The headlights on the shitty asphalt,
of the pleasantly named subdivision streets,
illuminate the features of that thing they call a canine.
He asks me what is on my mind,
which always presses
for something that isnt pessimistic.
She shows her teeth to the stench of foot odor,
and I tell him,
Her mouth looks like
-she seeks solace-1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
from the crevices of her mind
because it's the only place
where innocence still remains;
and it is the only place
where she can think
without the corruption of the world plaguing her mind.
FlawedInsecurities.Flawed5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Screaming at me,
clawing at every inch
of my body.
That little voice inside my head
sounding strangely like my own,
tearing me down,
from the inside.
Each hate-filled blow,
hits harder than the last.
Each self-inflicted cut,
hidden in shame,
nonexistent to the piercing eyes of others,
visible only in that lonely mirror reflection.
little dotted lines drawn
over every flawed bit of me.
Not pretty enough,
There is not a perfect inch
within my being.
Why can't I be beautiful?
For Bukowskii ran into you today, after school,For Bukowski8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
after an hour of embarrassed laughter in my head
about a bra-strap coming undone.
after a tear for humanity, lost after a stream of
blood rising to my brain because im
unimportant after saying to myself that its ok to
hate old people,its ok to
sleep while they leave for
a surgery after having the low down blues after all
my surgery, you gave me back
and i love you already like a girl loves
a man she's never smelt, just read and felt and
built in her mind for centuries after he was dead anyway, though
she's unaware. like an unlettered girl loves a man she steals poetry
off, knowing it as her own.
im a bugger that way, but goodness knows
its only been an hour
lets see how, if at all, this changes
from peach flavoured to wine
-i. the world would be a better place if-1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
no longer existed
there is far too little time
to hold such bitterness in our hearts.
ii. the world would be a better place if
we found homes
in each other
home is where the heart is,
and my heart lies with you.
iii. the world would be a better place if
to believe in ourselves
it’s okay to fall
when you will rise once more.
iv. the world would be a better place if
the scars that adorn our bodies
in our flaws.
v. the world is a better place
because of your kindness
and everything you do.