let's run away.lets get out of town. lets steal the neighbors truck and drive it into the ocean. lets melt along desert highways and freeze on mountain ranges. lets fill our lungs with saltwater and wring out our hearts in sundried wind.
trust me, my bags are already packed. i need to sit in the passenger seat with my feet hanging out the window. i need to hold your hand and let the distance fade our problems like a school-yard-eraser. because in that truck cab, there cant be anything but us. there wont be room for our insecurities or mistakes or flaws or regrets. there will just be us.
and thatll be enough. well stop only to get gas and food when we have to. we wont look at a map because there wont be any way to write directions to happiness, well just have to find that on our own. and if it takes months, then at least well be trying, at least well be moving instead of rusting over, instead of turning black wit
write me a story.If you ask, Ill spin you gossamer-words into the horizon.write me a story.5 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Sit next to me and listen to the water gurgle, listen to the creek singing hymns along the bank, the wind humming around us as dusk begins to fall. Sit next to me and rest your eyes, lay down for a moment and let me find words to tuck around you like a blanket. Let me slip into your bloodstream and warm you from the inside out, smoothing the aches and chills out.
Hush, close your lips, let me find your story.
Dont stir when the nightingales begin to call, just relax your muscles one by one. Let my voice burn away the fever and try to find strength in the quiet. I know you are weary, but you dont have to walk much longer. I have a place for you, so stop a minute, put down the weight and breathe. Breathe in the remnants of the night, breathe until your spine is melting and the tension is gone. Breathe until the world has dissolved and all that is left is your pulse enfolding you.
Ill search all night long t
pretty words, dead flowers CLBi want a boy that makes me weak in the elbows.pretty words, dead flowers CLB5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i want him to drive a red camaro and put pens behind his ear because hes scared hell think of something he needs to say when theres no one around. i want him to never hesitate to hug me from behind or throw me over his shoulder and spin me until i swallow my spine. i want him to mess up my hair and pinch my cheek and then kiss me until my teeth are shaking and my nerves are smoking. i dont know where he is yet, but i know ill find him.
well, i won't make you weak in the elbows, but i can make you weak in your ribcage; i can tame the struggling butterflies and terminate your bloodflow. i don't have a car, but i'd rather take long walks with you across the vivace boardwalk, holding hands or locking lips. there's no pen behind my ears, but there's an eraser in my chest that can erase all your problems if you listen closely. i won't hug you when you cry; i'd save them for beating up the bastard who stole your t
late this october night.right now:late this october night.5 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
the train is bulleting ten times faster than recommended down the tracks. sparks are cascading as the metal punches sporadic screams through the air. inside the cabin there are taut fingers clawing at the sides of the seats, praying lips asking for salvation as oxygen is whipped from the passengers gaping lungs. a mother is pressing chapped lips to her sons tan forehead, a husband is folding his wifes leathery hand in his for the last time. all chests are expanded and compressed against the back of the seats, hearts imploding as the track dissolves under grinding wheels.
the train rolls on, the screams roll on, the fire rolls on.
death runs rampant late this october night.
the plane is nose-diving through the starless fog. one little girls limp head is leaning against her fathers tense arm, his lips reciting a prayer long ago forgotten. the cabin is silent except for the steady sound of breathing, the sound of cotton on cotton as legs
developing exposed picturesthis is a photograph of me wearing no clothes and no make-up. I am naked and mask-free. in it, I'm a body of bricks slowly decaying into a body of water. I don't mind though; I've always wanted to be an ocean. if you want, you can cut the picture and crawl inside. I'll show you how my cigarette burns look, how my childhood scars look, and how my intentional wounds look, all from the inside. I'll show you what's inside by bleeding it all out. I'll show you the truth right down to the bone.developing exposed pictures5 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
the truth is, I look somewhat strong for a girl who's really weak. but that's all a coward can really do, right? try, pretend, act. sometimes lying is like the feeling you get after you wash your face and brush your teeth. sometimes it feels like living with a porn addict and knowing he'll walk in if you don't lock the door when you take a shower. lying sometimes feels like locking the door and feeling safe for a few minutes.
the truth is, being in a room full of bodies breathing and thinking is the l
then again, maybe.maybe i am the reason this bed is emptyemptyempty but for one.then again, maybe.5 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
maybe i am the explanation for the way the tires are peeling out or the way youve already changed your voicemail to me instead of we. maybe i am the excuse for the way our love has a white flag and is curled in the corner, calling mercymercymercy.
maybe i am the poison-tongue and killing-hands that you tell me i am, maybe you deserve someone who doesnt unravel like yarn in the afternoon, click their tongue against their mouth and expect you to help gather the pieces and put them back together in the evening.
maybe i am toomuchtoomuchtoomuch for anyone to ever expect to decipher, understand, control. maybe i am too hot (you did run with burned hands), maybe i am too wild (you did run with barbed wire-scars), maybe i am too irrepressible (you did run spitting saltwater from your lungs). maybe i am more than enough, maybe i am.
then again, maybe i am unruly like wild horses and you just were
we're just cracks in the roadSometimes, your skin gleams silver and sometimes, I'm four years old again scribbling my name across your chest in sidewalk chalk. Since sometimes, I pretend that you're made from concrete since then we seem a little more permanent and I don't have to worry about my painted heart washing away from your surface. But sometimes, I'm blind. Since these days, I'm stuck tracing the veins that dart through your arms which remind me that you're temporary. And then they remind me of cracks in the cement and other things we can't fix. And then I remember maybe, I can't even fix you.we're just cracks in the road5 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Sometimes I plaster makeup on my face trying to hide that childlike me with something so easily washed away and I'm fading away just like color in the sunshine when i think of you. I remember what it was like when everything was set in stone and 'temporary' was just a passing glimpse but now temporary is all it ever seems to be with you. I'm left sticking band-aids on our cracked relationship lying to myself with eve
it's raining in our hearts.four months ago, the weather was warm but the sky was dark except for little glowing drops of light that sliced through the darkness and pounded on your cracked windshield. the wipers were screaming back and forth cutting the comfortable silence we sunk into. your knuckles were white on the steering wheel as if the bones were begging to get out and i swear, i could hear your heart beating from my seat eighteen inches away. your eyes kept straying from the road to my face as i stared decidedly out the window watching the storm build and calm in the reflection of my eyes as the sky poured color infused water droplets on us. i wanted to pretend like this wasnt the most beautiful thing id ever seen since that would never count for anything. i wanted to pretend like this wasnt perfect since that tends to be so short-lived. but it was beautiful and perfect as you parted your lips and let your heart sing. it was raining outside when you said you loved me.it's raining in our hearts.5 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
a week a
the past is just practice.we spent last summer blowing kisses that never made it to their destinations. and now i dont know what to say to you to make all those wasted words seem right. its like we were waiting for our first kiss but neither of us had the guts to make the first move so instead we lay side by side not touching, not moving, breathing on opposite intervals. id say your name but you werent listening. youd whisper i love you but you didnt mean it. it was summer and you should have tried smiling with your eyes.the past is just practice.5 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
last autumn, we were flying paper airplanes with our wishes into the wind but they kept coming back to us. so you would tell me that we were young and we still had time. that the wind would die. that everything dies eventually and then we could finally breathe wishes that we wouldnt have to swallow again. we could whisper the words weve been needing to hear. but every other day, i was losing track of what to say to you. we were sitting in the
i sometimes think.my face is a little like myi sometimes think.5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
heart, beautiful pieces that
add up to an ugly whole
i'm sorry.i am sorry if i am not what you expected.i'm sorry.5 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
i am sorry if i am not slender or cunning or sticking to the schedule or falling into the precision of appointments and the rules of poetry. i am sorry if i am wringing my fingers dry and running out of paper and bleeding ink through my eyelids. i am sorry if i am butchering words and stitching their bleeding pieces into something i can lie and call beautiful. i am sorry that i cant stick to your grammar, your syntax, your expectations, your rules. i am sorry, i tried.
i cant help that i am running barefoot through the grocery store because i forgot my shoes or that i am driving through the fast food drive-through without buying a thing because it at least feels like im driving somewhere. i cant help that i am forgetting to bring you home your medication and sleeping with my back against the grass and tying your requests together to knit a scarf to choke myself with. i cant help it.
i wish i was different. i wish i
i'll come home.dear holly,i'll come home.5 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
the plane is rolling away and i can still see you waving. you are so beautiful, do you know that? your hair is fluttering at the temples and i can see youre crying, but dont worry, baby, ill be home soon. i know how this looks, the way the door shutting me off is so final, but itll open again and youll be running down the airport terminal and ill be there to catch you.
count the days until i come home, ill be counting them with you.
im home and the house is empty without you. it feels like the walls are exhaling in regret and its a bitter feeling to be surrounded by all this carbon dioxide. i walked into our room and looked at the bed that we bought together last june. all that space made me ache. so i went and grabbed boston and climbed on top of the covers with him. hes such a good dog, charlie, you were right. he just put his massive head on his paws and let me cry in his neck.
when i wa
hearts are for rebuilding_ci.hearts are for rebuilding_c5 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
when i remember you, i remember the way you laughed when i mixed up teaspoons and tablespoons.
i remember the way you refused to eat the cake because you said it was too salty and the way i stood crying over the sink when i shoved it down the disposal. i remember how you left me standing in the middle of the floured, sugared, baked-on-mess kitchen to finish the tivo-game, patting me on the back and saying nice try.
it was when i was wiping my tears with the back of my hand that i best remember holding my heart close, telling it nice try. maybe next time wed fall in love with someone who saw us when they looked, who cared about stomping all over the most vulnerable of spots.
when i remember you, i remember crashing out of love.
i know it was bittersweet, but i cant remember anything but the burn.
and now i am thinking maybe the cake was too salty. maybe my hands shook when i was making it because you were standing behind me, your laureate finge
i'm not your wintergirl.you're looking for thei'm not your wintergirl.5 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
seasons in this silence since
we've gotten too cold.
tell me something that mattersyesterday, you were sorting through your pullover sweaters waiting for the winter to come as you thought about how you never feel warm even with your hands tucked into stretched out sleeves. you were wearing your favorite cardigan, buttoned sloppily down the middle so that the sides hung unevenly as you sorted through your even sloppier feelings.tell me something that matters5 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
tell me something that matters.
tonight, youre in love with this wool coat that buttons uneasily and has pockets with holes in them so you lose both your rhymes and your reasons. youre finally realizing that your favorite song is the tune hummed by train horns at 2:40 am since you can hear the sound while you're lying awake thirteen blocks and four houses away thinking about how that was the backdrop to your late night romances in his house that lies parallel to the train tracks. youre convincing yourself that your heart isnt broken and you wear that coat even though it makes you sneeze since its dusty with memori
gamble on me.hey boy,gamble on me.5 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
i think you should know that youre twisting my spine into knots and clogging up my arteries and the least you could do is give me a second of your time. i think you should give me a chance. you should know that you make my hands itch when you smile because i want to brush my thumb over your cheekbones. that my shoulders are trembling because i can imagine them resting against your chest, the idea of the warmth shotgunning straight to my nerves.
i think you should know youre making a relatively sane girl misplace her mind.
and i know youre so much more than youll ever imagine, that you are making me tangle words that once lived tucked safely in my pocket. that my fists are clenched against my legs and my mind is unwound around my skull and youre just tipping jaunty lips without a thought.
you see, ive been bottling this feeling but carbonation is beginning to shove against the cap. and i can feel it fizzing down the sides, leaking out my fing
vicarious lust beyond page 287Cassie was an artist. With charcoal pastels, she painted masterpieces on last years newspapers; every Sunday night she watched film noir cartoons on her vintage television; every Monday morning, she stressed over the unfinished projects due that day. She found disgrace in beauty and believed color was only for the shallow. When it rained, she'd stare at the nimbus clouds and trace her grey sunset in the gloomy sky. Rain was her muse, her inspiration, her best friend. And melancholy weather was her lover. To settle her depression, she went to the library; she closed her eyes, point her finger, and let her heart pick her new favorite book. But when she landed on a book titled Ryan, with a picture of an intriguingly handsome young boy, she knew it was perfect.vicarious lust beyond page 2875 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Ryan was a poet. With water-soluble imagery, he refracted lexical spectrums in kaleidoscope dictionaries. He believed
good thing we're fools.I think I might love you.good thing we're fools.5 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
I think thats a stupid thing to say, why would you say something like that?
Because when you look at me my toes curl and my stomach flutters.
Is that a quote from a book?
No. I dont think so. I dont know. It all gets a little mixed up sometimes.
So you love me like they love in books.
Question or statement?
Question, then. And, yes. I love you like Scarlett loves Rhett, like Elizabeth loves Mr. Darcy, like-
Stop, just stop. Dont love me like that. What happens after the last page?
We continue on loving like happily-ever-forever.
No, wed drop off, we'd end. Love isnt static, it doesnt continue in a flat line. Who can carry the same tune for years? We rise, we fall, we bump arms and step on each others toes. Ill annoy you because I cant stand going to Chr
this might be foolish.forty-nine hours ago: we were pressing fingers together through frosted windowpanes, laughing at our reflections and sticking out tongues through frost-bitten teeth. we were gently whispering through the snow to kiss the glass, the intimacy of our own breath steaming down our throats never able to take the place of what we imagine itd be like to breathe each others carbon dioxide.this might be foolish.5 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
thirty-five hours ago: we were running down fields clutching dandelions between our fingers, throwing our heads back to expose our neck to the whipping wind and trusting it not cut the slender expanse of it. we were tumbling down the grassy knolls and landing in the middle of the wheat, in the middle of the cerulean pond, in the middle of danger, in the middle of something we didnt know how to tag and label.
twenty-three hours ago: we were diving into the belly of the sea and trying to filter out the saltwater with our tongues. we were curling up in coral and seaweed, an
i never liked life until.i never liked numbers until i watched you do math.i never liked life until.5 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
and somehow between the derivatives and the way you made the calculations dance, i fell in love with the logical precision of how they added up, the poetry you weaved on graphs with a pencil behind your ear and a slow smile curling your lips. and when i sat on your lap, counted the kisses, multiplied the desire, divided the distance and subtracted the inhibitions, i decided i might be mathematically inclined after all.
i never liked roller coasters until you took me on one.
and somehow between the buckling down and the gripping your hand as the car shook forward, i fell in love with the stomach-dropping, jaw-aching beauty of letting go and finding yourself flying instead of falling. and when i looked over and saw your grin stretching your face and your quick laugh getting stolen by the wind, i decided that i might like losing control and free-falling after all.
i never liked the rain until you danced with me in it.
and somehow betw
the truth never killedand thats whenthe truth never killed5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i looked you
in the eye
and told you
that i am
a dead end.
the girl they hold
in the middle of
the oh-honey-you-taste-so-good, the
lost and falling,
looking at the pieces
without seeing the whole
whole picture scars.
and i am
living without skin,
living without skin
so even the air burns.
jeremy lives in the present.jeremy is the type of man who is scared that if he falls between the lines of sanity and dreams, he might never find his feet. he is the type of man who runs all the way home in his suit because he thinks hes chased by demons. he swears the only time they fell asleep was when she ran her fingers up and down his piano-ribs.jeremy lives in the present.5 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
jeremy is the type of man who has always been ten pounds below slender, who has always had hair two inches longer than chic and spiderweb-fingers strong enough to make a woman wonder. he is the type of man who wears clothes that are always this side of wrinkled with his grandfathers watch in one of his pockets. he thinks digital clocks sapped the magic out of time and its no wonder everyone is running late.
jeremy is the type of man who falls asleep listening to the radio with a vodka in his hand. he is the type of man who hears his past in-between the chorus and the verse and would sing along if he could carry a tune. instead he hums along unde
confessions of lostwithoutyou.i'm not a liar. but i never told you that you always looked best in black. i liked how your skin would fade to a paler shade of perfection and your perfect teeth would glint a little brighter. and i could pretend for an evening that you were my black and white dream come true. and with you there would be no shades of inbetweens and no grays for us to get lost in. i never told you but it's true.confessions of lostwithoutyou.5 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
i was never able to tell you, but i hate the way you cook your 'specialty' eggs. you always laughed over your shoulder and told me that they are the best food ill ever eat, that i was blessed to get the chance to taste them melting on my tongue. but frankly, you used too much pepper and the wrong cheese and i always spit them in my napkin when you turned away. i always told you that they were my favorite food, but i dont even actually like eggs.
i could never say this, but i can't stand the way you click your tongue against your perfect teeth when you're nerv
barefoot in the rainit's too cold to speak into payphones without trembling. it's one of those nights when the whole world seems to be the colour of smoke. I am screaming even though I know nobody will hear me. I press my face against the window glass and it's cold enough to feel exposed, but not cold enough to want to stop.barefoot in the rain5 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
it's like the r-rated movie I watched when I was ten years old. I wanted to scream but my own swollen fingers were covering my mouth. now I am pushing two fingers into my mouth like the one time I pressed my palm into the shower drain. I wanted to be sucked in. I wanted to fall out. I wanted to be in a place where it was raining all the time.
time may have made me bonier, but I'm still sitting here with my fingers against the window of the telephone booth, and there's a boy standing out in the rain, but he looks happy. it's been so cold for so long that I now almost enjoy it because I like knowing that I could leave but that I never actually do.
he's the ghost I never should have even
truth flavoured lies_cthe lie about me:truth flavoured lies_c5 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
i am beautiful like freshly-cut grass and popsicles in the middle of the day. i am summer-lips and winter-teeth, laughing my way through autumn-leaves. i am branding laughter against the back of my throat so i can feel it with every breath i draw in, soaking in your words as i stick them under my tongue and save them for a while. i am living for the moment and dancing without caring whos watching. i am loving recklessly and throwing my heart into the wind with wild abandon. i am calling each scar a beauty mark and opening my arms wide to catch the wind. you are calling me love and i am answering.
the truth about me:
i am ugly like cracked sidewalk and melted popsicles all over calloused hands. i am winter-eyes and cracked-leaf-lips, evaporating along with the polluted ocean. i am branding my mistakes on the back of my eyelids so i never forget but rather dream along the splintering branches of them. i am drowning in the moment and hanging up my da