breathing is secondarythe tap water is too coldbreathing is secondary3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to rinse the ice from my throat
and the chill from my lungs
but what does it matter, when
the birds in my ribcage
are all flying, up up up
and through my skull,
and falling, down down down
and onto the floor
landing in front of my feet,
the same ones that
stood me still in the snow
and wouldn't let me leave
to find somewhere warm.
tigers in cagesthere's a leopard under my stomachtigers in cages2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and a boy above my back, feral creatures
marking my peripheries.
everything is made of hands slipping,
curling, gripping my thighs, of
cold glass on my forehead,
of two sets of bent knees and too much
confined heat and...
there's a blue gleam from the front seat
that reveals sweat on my spine and dark
curls sticking to my shoulders.
the moon comes and this space is crowded,
secret, shrouded by not-quite-midnight,
by four locked doors,
by one wild cat licking at my stomach,
and one who kisses my neck.
shuteyegot my mamashuteye3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a golden needle,
she hid it
in the hay -
the sweet things in life
are worth looking for
'til your eyes just
sunday thoughtsyou are glowbraceletssunday thoughts4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and fireflies and oatmeal raisin cookies.
you are thunderstorms
and comic books and afternoons on the bleachers.
you are constellations
and crinkled denim and nights spent on the park bridge.
you are the best thing
i could ever hope for and i love you more than should be allowed.
so kill me, mockingbirdi once said, listen up,so kill me, mockingbird3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
because here's the way
it's going to work:
there will be milky ways
and mountains and clouds
dancing with rain,
the sun won't quite
look the same, and the moon
won't seem so dull.
i once said, come closer,
because there's something
that you need to know:
at night we'll breathe
against each other, move
with each other,
and our delirious melodies
will wake the waves
and shake the stars.
i once said, stay here,
don't go, never ever
but here i am now,
eating my words
from a silver platter.
epitaph erasedhere lie the deep-seated sinsepitaph erased3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of the hollow-hearted youth,
of the kids who lie
with clammy hands
and half-mast eyes
gripped by late night desires
and words carved into tabletops,
words telling of
wet cold sheets
wet hot limbs:
here lie the unspoken truths
of the insignificants,
of the ones who sit
11112(if what was lost has now been found111121 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
consider me resurrected
are better left untouched)
opposite's day - collab.i. today i ignored the dismal beatingopposite's day - collab.5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in my chest [it held me closer than
you ever did] and chased after you
like a lopsided puppy,
watching your skylit legs sink into
shin-deep puddles with indefinable
bottoms. i looked as you left me
miles behind as i shouted
nonsensical wishes and
honeycombed thoughts to you.
[let's drop anchor and stop
this off-course ship with
a handful of windswept lies.]
ii. your eyes are like my mirror -
reflective, deflective, and unforgiving.
[the only way you'll speak to me
is without words.]
one of these days i will write
'ugly ugly ugly' on my forehead
so that on opposite's day,
those baby blues of yours
will tell me that i'm beautiful,
and maybe for a minute
i will believe them.
iii. your smile looks all wrong
when it's upside-down, like the
sea is dancing in the sky and the
clouds sleep on the floor.
i tell you everything i've ever
held back, like how your freckles
looked like glitter storms and
the way your fingers were like
[anything to mak
tremorscurled over a porcelain mouth, i let my dinner fall out.tremors3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it's 9:33 p.m. and i think about saturday,
when rain hit the pavement like firecrackers,
the sky darker than the shadows behind the shower curtain.
i know there's a spider burrowed between those plastic folds.
funny thing about deep spaces; they feel better
when they're stuffed full. i think about how your fingertips
made my skin feel soft and breakable, how your tongue was warm,
about how my legs wouldn't stop shaking and you laughed, whispering,
well, there's this experience known as an aftershock.
hands clutching cold tile, water coming in spurts
from the faucet, i pretend that no one can hear me and bend my spine.
my thighs are still splotchy and red from bathing and jade green bruises
polka-dot my kneecaps.
sometimes i do things i don't think i should.
i've gotten used to
absencesbut this isn't just distanceabsences2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
as in space, not just distance as in
"i can't believe how far you
are from me, i miss you" -
this isn't just distance
in the way
that roads seem to spill over
hilltops for years,
stretching like skin across knuckles
but never ending,
this is the kind of distance
that isn't seen but instead felt,
that isn't marked by miles
or gas money and can't be pinned in two
spots on a map with red thumbtacks:
this is not hearing from you
and knowing you haven't noticed.
this is wanting to have you
and knowing you're just fine
this is the kind of distance
that knows broken bridges, that hurts
because it feels
like it can't be mended, and because
mornings on suburban trainsdearest, you have thunder in your eyesmornings on suburban trains4 years ago in Teen More Like This
and lacing your fingertips
the mornings that you sit across from me on suburban trains; they are the brightest mornings of all. i could spend the whole trip admiring each curl in your hair and the shape of each fingernail if only i had the time. sometimes our legs brush when we sit across from each other, and my heart skips, but i don't think you even notice. your gaze lingers on the scenery outside the window; as if you wished you were outside too. as if the train was a cage.
if only you would let me, i could brighten your mornings too.
the afternoons that we exit the train at the same stop, they are the warmest afternoons of all. we split ways at the end of the station; i go left and you go right, but listening to your heels tap against the concrete even for thirty seconds makes me want to hold you in my arms and never, ever let you go.
the morning you smiled at me, i think my heart stopped momentarily. you had off-white teeth and dimples
dont go to barsher hips twirling in the candlelight, barely contained beneath tentative layers of sequined silk twinkle star bright, and while she writhes,dont go to bars4 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
the very meaning of motion,
the soundless berating of everything you have ever doubted of love
(for there is love there, spoken in the language of full-to-bursting flesh)
moves over you in the waves of sweat cresting your collarbones,
tidal-waves of wanting only the impulses of your body betray -
in your eyes, there is nothing but echoes of sweet smoke and the charred, timber-brown residue of poppy flowers swaying,
like the serpents of her hips
in gentle spring breezes.
the curses of her skin are writing prophesies over the scars of the sky,
tomes and heresies to the greatness of man
with the scent of her womanhood
sweet as perfume
clogging the darkness through the parting of your lips -
there is no breath left in you,
only the deep incense off her warflags,
waving you down
with bullet-blasts of red lips
swollen in their wanting of you
can i stop answering questionswhen i am having anxiety attacks at three am, i enjoy the ghosts floating under my skin, giving me that quick rush of cold air needed to slow down my heart and speed up my mind. i'm teaching them to twist their transparent limbs between the two sides of my brain, maybe if i cut off their communication i can stop running my life in circles and my emotions can stop doing back flips off my aorta and landing mid center between two lungs not quite ready to handle a boy not quite ready to handle himself.can i stop answering questions3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
so you enjoy quizzing me about my own body. how many ribs line my left side, have i recently counted the veins spread eagle across my forearms, but what if i were to tell you i found a hobby, and that hobby found a hobby, and i am sure many more hobbies after that. what if my hobby was counting how many ways my body can slowly die, and its hobby was practicing this art at least three times a day and what if that hobby had so many more hobbies that were divulged so deep within my skin that i
easteri'm in the back of the car, sucking my chlorine hair and watching with sleepy eyes out the window. brown dirt is soon ochre and we are nowhere in particular yet. we are going to the atheton tablelands for easter. i fall into a broken sleep on my sister's warm shoulder and when i wake up we are there.easter4 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
it is nighttime and my cousin is only still a baby and she cries from inside the house (which is really only a very large shed). out of the car the air is like freezer air but fresh and crisp like cold water. my eyes become wide at the rolling of the hills around us, the living green they are, the horse paddocks, the shapely trees. there is a loud, insistent buzzing of myriad thumbnail sized insects slamming themselves against us, and walls, towards the light. they scare me and i go inside, under blankets. i am still tired and softly i ease back into sleep on a mattress on the floor.
when i wake up i am the only one awake, even the sun is still sleeping. when i'm the only one awake i like
9.7i am but a weary passenger9.72 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
might be missing me -
can tell whether this is just a famine
or an infestation,
it's strange how that works -
maybe you are lying beside me
or above me
but i am suffocating -
not one of those things that
you can forget
easily, not quite like -
11 3i've been sitting under11 32 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the same tree for days and now
the leaves are leaving and now
the bark is peeling and
is this what they talk about
when the sparks all flicker
i've been stoned enough
times to be called a martyr and
my mind's been getting hazy
how do they expect me to answer
all these prayers?
i'm not a saint, i've just got
no grasp on sin.
Vulpes vulpesveins creep along the inner cornerVulpes vulpes4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of your elbow, like ivy on fire or
foxes flying from tree stumps,
the ones i hear screaming outside my window-
like lonely people crowded on a
train and sitting in ugly silence while
their hands call to be held.
the foxes make me cry,
and i forget to breathe
until we pigeon-step into the
vanishing points of the sky-
no one even knows anymore;
no one remembers to think
it's beautiful to see the skyline melt; it's
everything and nothing -- you and me, respectively.
nicotine withdrawalhis fingers are drumming on the metal ring round the countertop. his knee is sharp and jostling, beating out a ruthless rhythm in time with his tongue flicking against his teeth.nicotine withdrawal4 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
his knuckles are raw, fingers chewed senseless and bloodied. the waitress casts uneasy looks his way every few seconds. she is concerned for him; he is jittery and looks like a boy she met at a party once, where she first tried ecstasy and the boy he resembled fell into a heroin coma.
his eyes are rolling around, looking at everything but focusing on nothing. the waitress wraps her fingers around her elbow, feeling awkward and unbearably nervous. this boy wore the same brown jacket, the same messy red hair as- what was his name? she frowns at her lapse in memory, cursing the ecstasy she took again before her shift tonight.
he is on his tenth coffee. he does not even look straight ahead, he is more interested in the front of his dark shirt and his bloody fingers banging on the counter.
the waitress is pulling o
congratulations, you just diedyou fucked the Grim Reaper,congratulations, you just died4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and i won the lottery. if this
is good luck or bad grammar,
i'll never know. i'd say karma
if i wasn't so homicidal, but at
least i don't screw entities (or)
screw the academy,
i'd like to thank you.
but who are you, exactly?
or rather, who aren't you?
well, i know for a fact:
you are not the love of my life.
you are not the life of my love.
you might be the death of me;
you could be the death of love.
perhaps just the love of Death.
i heard Death got married last march.
i wasn't invited. i never am. oh well.
i bet the wedding was like a funeral--
the Death of bachelorhood. the end
of loneliness. the birth of matrimony.
i heard there was a massacre
at the reception party. one of
Death's cousins set the church
on fire. Arson, i believe. Envy,
maybe. i don't know, maybe it
was his sister, Disappointment,
or his brother, Murder. anyway,
serbian mermaid.in five years i want to move to georgiaserbian mermaid.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
or serbia or atlantis and start a family,
name my children after odd numbers
and teach them russian lullabies and
the art of manipulating those you love.
in five years i want to marry you, but
i don't know if you like odd numbers,
or even if you like me all that much.
maybe you'd like me if i tell you
that i'm a mermaid, but i'm not
and you can always tell when i am lying.
in five years i want to be seventeen,
but wishes don't work like that.
in five years i want to be on a plane
and i want the plane to crash
into the ocean and i want everyone
to be okay except me, but if i were
a mermaid i would be okay too.
i could just swim away.
in five years i want out of this bed.
in five years i want to be crowned
queen of lowercase letters.
in five years i want you to say,
"you are the best thing that has
ever happened to me," and mean it.
in five years i want to either be dead or a poet,
but i really mustn't get my hopes up.
theme nine - cuti.theme nine - cut5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you are not a marionette of wood
but you leave splinters somewhere
beneath the skin where i can feel them
dig into my bones and slow my heart
you and i are not two-dimensional
but thinking about us leaves thousands
of tiny paper-cuts along my tear ducts
i wouldnt dare to let a tear drop
memories that we have made are this
dry sensation in the back of my throat
i breathe through my mouth and you
slowly chap my lips until they run red
you do not just break my skin
you are blacks and blues on my muscles
there is blood from your actions
that only nerves and probing fingertips find
you are made of scabs that are slowly
healing over; i rip them open before
i fall asleep and let emotions trickle
because i am terrified that i will forget you