cold pennieshoney, that tight little stomach of yourscold pennies6 years ago in Other More Like This
under low-cut denim
cries out that youre scared shitless
of whats to come
you know its gonna all go flat
after the lights and the dancing and the boys and the sweat
turns to ice, running down quaking limbs
to drench the sheets
your mouth tastes like cold pennies
and youve got blisters on your feet
but you wear those heels anyway
because if you stand tall and
maybe they wont notice that you dont know
you dont even know if youre real
the bare bones of bulimiathe day i turned eleven was the day i fell in love with my bones.the bare bones of bulimia3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
i am fourteen now, and my innocent soul has ripened and festered until i was thrown in the wastebasket with all of life's other leftovers.
i hate how my skin keeps me from seeing my fragile skeleton.
i hate that my bones are obscured by blue-pink skin and delicately knotted flesh.
i hate how slowly the world turns and i wish i could pull it faster- make it move quicker.
a wise person once told me not to dwell on the bad things in life- that it messes with the future, and the future is too beautiful to mess with.
i never really listen to wise people.
i am eating my lunch in the skillful, muscle-memory way that a professional dances.
two pieces of pasta- one on every other tine of the fork.
[constant speed, slower digestion.]
feet shuffling in a rhythmic pattern.
i tread upstairs. i always go to the upstairs bathroom. i don't want you to see my weakness- i don
not quitethat little catch in your breath was so telling, my dearnot quite6 years ago in Other More Like This
when I gave you a bundle of dead poppies
Im never exactly what you want
and you know Ill never love you like I love
those wavering silhouettes in the puddles
so you still your tongue
and pretend Im everything youve wished for
and no more,
The EndThe End3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And the uncollected rushes past the damn
whistles words, dry and
used up, old souls too far gone-
to turn around and try again
memories rotten in mind leap over edges
Old lovers, forget each others scent
and the dark passion that used to rage between them
one desire for June and for evening
the bough of summer and winters branch
Labor and pain, glory and love
like a fixed heaven
on the planet of which they were part
symmetrically still and
forever over edges, flowing on
never met a letterhello,never met a letter5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i am growing my hair out
for you. soon the birds
will entangle themselves in it
and twist nests, nettled
with twigs, into miniature
huddles. they will squirm,
robin's eggs mirroring the
waning tides, and swallow the
you make me feel like i am
supposed to be the sun
instead of a stupid girl
with her flat hat and cat eyes.
i swath myself in
manufactured clouds, drawing
a long white face still
heavy enough to
drown a soul.
i am the ugliest clam in
printed with the illusion that
inside my mundane shell,
i hold a shellacked pearl on
my tongue. you will pry
me open at the hinges, rusted
copper breaking into shrapnel,
and see that i am
House of Good SenseI want crawl insideHouse of Good Sense5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a cleft in your
& live among people
who don't know
under typewritten words
the print mistakes
the white page,
my passion diffused.
In a world of
like the static on
the Hollywood sign,
I could be small
I wouldn't shake
from the lapse
I could be
the future inside
like film screens.
How Are The Cats?How are the cats? they say to meHow Are The Cats?5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
In the space where How are the kids? should be
As though compelled to obey social pleasantry
But confounded how to categorise me
When I'm clearly such an anomaly?
Not a mum, not a career girl
What else is there for a woman to be?
So I see them thinking.
Time after time I see people fall
At the how-are-the-kids fence
Like it's the barren elephant in a sterile living room
My supposed heartbreak, a 'fact' that must never be mentioned
A woman my age without children?
Why, it can only mean one thing
Especially when you look at the family history,
They whisper soundlessly, pityingly, thinking I can't hear them
Just because the words aren't spoken aloud.
I observe the delicate verbal tiptoeing
And feel touched and frustrated both at the same time
How I long just to tell them the simple truth:
I don't have kids because I don't want kids.
But I've seen it too many times now:
The surprised look, the puzzled frown
jokesi promise that i will always amuse;jokes5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
proud pieces of promiscuity
and vivacious displays of vulgarity.
surprising fountains of profanity
spouting from the mouths of barely babes,
but i want you to know something.
i am not the laughs under your tongue
i am not the smile upon your lips
i may never be without one of the two
but they do not define who i am.
there are half-baked scars burned, but raw
stretching across my face and they
curve at the right piece of time,
parting for the red sea of dead cells
i'll pretend doesn't exist at all.
just because i'm the funny girl
because my nose is a touch bulbous
my voice a sound raucous
and because i never seem to cry
doesn't mean i don't.
jokes have feelings, too.
if i'm not speaking, maybe there's a reason.
i'm skating on thin ice without blades
a shuffling across frostbitten souls
i'm ready for the lake to break apart
and leave me sinking to the bottom.
i'd tell you that i want to die.
but i've got a better punchline.
dirty musicianthe street lights pukeddirty musician5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
cloak of yellow
and black spit away from cracked-
and it was
as if this man
or had been
to the place
from which he played
probably stolen from
or hell's only
a pawn shop
dollar bills fell
into it's coffin
as if hypnotized
by the guitar strings
in a slow-
sway only found
page 10it's coldpage 105 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and my saliva
to prevent me
from spitting icsicles
out the window;
is in the passenger seat
at the car-
like an alternate-
speaking to me
until we past a man (dead
or just shy
to the side-
by his own
(and she finally
of shopping bags
like the petrified
muscle tissue of aparitions
searching for fame
or a place
in the highest branches
of the naked birches
that only flaunted
SupermoonI sit here, quietly battling my demons over a cup of tea,Supermoon4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you at the other end, receiving my transmissions.
We talk, or I do tonight, because I have things to say, mindless things
like how my hair breaks, the random coldness of spring, what I said to this and that and nobody,
how I have a black hole for a heart.
You listen. You disregard the fluff. You reply at the right moment, every time.
We've danced this one before, after all.
Outside, not far from my window, a guy is shot in the head. He dies.
I take a sip of tea, tell you more about my problems. They fill my mind entirely.
His body lies immobile, more shots are fired, two others are hit. A black car disappears into the night.
I tell you something about how I can't get my relationships to work. This seems important.
They find the car in flames some miles away. The killer ghosts have vanished.
You tell me to sleep. It is a full Moon lunar perigee. None of us are superstitious.
The night is impenetrable, dark, claustrophobic. I reme
punchlines for dummies"you can see babies kickin' to this ultra-sound"punchlines for dummies5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i like your shoesyou stamped your cigarette outi like your shoes5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
on the bottom of your untied shoe.
(that you deny)
that i'm infiltrating
your already weak immune system.
you say, about your fake disease.
i'm terminal, too, you know.
you walked away for five minutes
(an estimate, you say)
i stole a cigarette of yours,
among other things.
i'll admit i'm a
too much alonewe live for days off,too much alone4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
days away -
we earn our keep,
keep the peace,
one piece at a time.
we work for freedom from work.
find nothing is free,
not clean air,
not even freedom.
we eat to live,
not to eat,
wish not to be eaten,
we pay for walls and a floor,
for locks on a door -
for falsified news,
for calsified views.
we, who do all the work,
are thankful -
for what good there is, and
give what we can.
they, who profit from our work,
show little thanksgiving -
that they can't keep it all.
we treat each other formal.
we wonder what is normal.
we know -
this is NOT it!
llp - dec2010 - dA
ghosts in a slideshowghosts in a slideshow5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
the skysick sun, fading woozy, throwing up.
dripping on the backs of conveying camels.
bodies of water, yes, every touch moves through.
grassland often. skinny belly atop the garden hill's slope.
train-track thap-thapping. smile, God's tap dancing on a saturday sundown.
you're watching the show frontrow. i'm watching you.
i say, "those mistakes on your arm look nice in this light." but i don't. not aloud.
instead i say, "do they hurt when it's cold?"
and you say, "it's not cold right now."
so i say, "i didn't notice." but we don't. not aloud. not allowed.
so i say, "you look hurt." no. i say,
"you look pretty."
yeah. i said that.
then you looked at me. then you cried. because i'm a liar. only to you.
i mean, to you only, i am a liar.
i mean you see me as a liar.
but you know what? everything's alright in my mind.
and that's good for me for now.
"hey, V?" that's what you said.
"yeah?" i said.
"where are we?"
"we're here, dear. we're right here."
tell me i'm lying. tell me there's a me a
earthly mattersexistence is a shoreearthly matters3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
we arrive to/depart from
everything interweaves here
waves rumble and break
grinding, eroding, wearing
bring life, growth, death
synergy and symbiosis
drifting up and sifting down
this planet, and we, so evolve
llp - jan2012 - dA
radiant childwho painted yourradiant child4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
shades which haunt
while they still live
who set your place
with empty plate
at the Odeon
perched on Mulholland
to prophesy to
cry your death
over fading California
to inject those tropic
and (never) wake
as the meridian
the lost can sing
the history we bleed
on city streets
the same old
same - oh
and plaster your name
while angels weep
and color shrieks
why oh Wyominga bright whitewhy oh Wyoming6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in the snowblind
of god's former
and he whispered
of slow death
of the fading
of a self
in the murmurs
at the dawn
at the taste
the hollow shape
the bullet makes
a kind concession
this shedding skin
every holy wound
scrapes to make
in all this
we have made
La Pioggia d'Oggi: A SonnetLa Pioggia D'Oggi e' la Neve di DomaniLa Pioggia d'Oggi: A Sonnet4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The earthy smell of autumn rain
that worms its way within my nose
has come to witness summer's wane
and bring its sorrows to a close.
A Dryad must have sent it here.
She must have heard my tortured pleas
as I lay weeping, on my knees,
and begged the skies to free their tears
and adumbrate my solitude.
Hush. I shall arise, abandon all,
and like Thoreau I'll glean the woods
for scattered remnants of my soul,
until the day l learn and know
how today's rain's tomorrow's snow.
we might evolvewhen self delusions obscure the world,we might evolve4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
we lack free will for matters at hand.
queries can part those gossamer veils,
curtail the bias of pseudo perception.
don't simply say, "i believe this!";
ask oneself, "why do I?".
begin the cure with curiousity,
learn the freedom of free will.
without questions, there won't be truth;
without truth, we don't own ourselves;
'blind reactions to life' - surreal,
acquiring answers, allows the real.
to introspect is the magic grail;
llp - jan2011 - dA
the firing of CEOsit is said that self deceptionthe firing of CEOs4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
means much stressful mental rust.
large leaders self deceive the most -
subconscious chars their inner toast.
someday they must
consider the heat
from calories burned -
first to ashes,
then to dust.
so, as their minds incinerate,
their children's children know them not,
except as driven men of fate -
distracted lives; their lies are hot.
there is no bird of Phoenix arising
from their ashes - not surprising.
llp - sep2010 - dA
ibuprofenibuprofen5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
cold, big, vast maybe
toilet bowl feels exactly like the ceramic tiles.
exactly. the rug feels warmer now that
mum missed some dust though.
it's not dust
wipe, back to front because
i can't stare at the spider
stare at the spider.
sidle around the spider.
i should kill the spider.
need toilet paper. too thin.
throw that in the toilet.
need paper towel.
bundle it like a glove. seven sheets.
it drops down to eye level.
it's a jumping spider.
killed one yesterday.
hand is shaking. can't grab it.
why. why the fuck
it's smaller than my fingernail.
smaller than a tooth.
imagine it on my nail,
on my tooth, and now i have
i am shaking, shaking too hard.
what if i used both hands?
but then i touch it with both hands
i want my mom.
kill the goddamn spider.
he's not ev
a qualification upon durationdeatha qualification upon duration4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
always a wraith
sometime to loom - then bloom
not a black rose
merely what opens
someday shall close
there is a pact
writ upon birth
signed by first breath
to greet with grace
accept with respect
'you are' is not just
'you're not' is a must -
resiliency given thee
some 'times' might seem heavenly
so long it may last - but
let endings be fast...
llp - oct2010 - dA
Rhyming SuicideRhyming Suicide7 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
On the edge of suicide,
Our two worlds do not collide.
The force is strong,
The wind won't break.
I stray away from your side.
Out in the rain I am weak,
Aware of the pain, my fate is bleak.
The smell of the earth,
The texture of the rocks.
Through the darkness my eyes will seek.
Thoughts combine to a meaningful stare,
There will not be war I shall declare.
The purity of the water,
The droplets of grace.
Looks like I will have scars to bear.
I can't part with my dispise,
My anger will not be disguised.
The atmosphere is dark,
The air is icy.
No envisaged hapiness will arise.
There is no joy that I will fake,
No heart that I will awake.
The flame here is blazing,
The heat not worth erasing.
This small joy I did not make.
(c) Indy23 - RW