after you diedi.after you died6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
they asked me if there was something
of yours that I wanted to keep
to keep your eyelashes, your breath,
I said this, and they looked
sad, said they meant did I want your
clothes and possessions, your things
I didn't know what I wanted
cradling my head with my arms and
quietly saying no over and over
dry with the taste of morning sickness
and old seawater
a month later, I wanted all your clothes
I was scrub-faced and tired
of the walls hurt my eyes, buried in wet
towels, sleeping naked on the floor every
I fucked somebody else
after the funeral
"somebody else" sounds wrong now
as if you are still alive, kissing
my shoulder in the morning
I'd taken cocaine
and it made a sound in my ears like a hummingbird
like someone banging on a door or just that tiny high pitched scream
that someone starts to make when they have grown tired of crying
your mother was fixing my hair in the kitchen
a bobby pin tucked
last season's mix tapesin every story, there is a plot.last season's mix tapes3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
this is called “what happens.”
what happens is usually someone dies and someone rebuilds, someone buys a wedding ring and maybe she says yes.
what happens is we lose touch.
what happens is we stop at the laundromat, and i don’t know if i am inventing the men smoking cigars on the porch, or if it is really thursday. what happens is i am nine and you are a few years older and we are in the laundromat with three baskets full of clothes.
what happens is my parents are waiting in the car and we have quarters weighing down our pockets and we are grown up as we press coins into the slots on the washing machines. we giggle because we are the youngest occupants of the one large room lined with washers and dryers, and we giggle and we wait for the buzzers. we grow unsteady, confused, younger as we realise that we have been wrong. suddenly we are infants and we glance around the room and we feed more quarters into the
tabula rasaCAN YOU BRING ME BACK TO BLANK PAGEStabula rasa4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
CONDITION ME WITH THE FEEL OF YOUR FINGERTIPS
TEST ME SO WE CAN ALL KNOW
JUST HOW MUCH OF A SCAR'S LEFT
ALL I'M ASKING IS BLANK PAGES
THE POSSIBILITY OF ABANDON
YOUR CARVED, GRANITE PALMS
AGAINST MY THROAT AND MAYBE
A COLLISION OF THE ATMOSPHERES
OUR BREATHS CARRY
YOU'RE JUST TOO CLOSE AND ALL I KNOW
IS HOW TO PULL AWAY
LOOK ME IN THE EYES, TELL ME
THE NAVY SKIES ARE GIVING WAY
THE HARDWOOD IN MY SPINE
THE MONSTER AND HIS MOUTH
TELL ME, IS THERE MORE THAN WHAT
THE 14 STORMS LEFT
Suicide my love.Suicide my love.10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Just slit your wrists and end it now
Don't have to feel anything anymore
No more pain, no more rejections,
No more illness, no more injections.
No more torment, no more fear
Nothing more, because you're not here
Not here to enjoy happiness..
Not here to feel love.
Instead lying on the floor
staring at the ceiling above
A crimson river of pain
Flowing from your veins
Left in your last thought
Of how you never gave yourself a chance
And in your last breath
You end this romance
LandlockedDay 1 –Landlocked2 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
The idea of being landlocked has always terrified me. At age eight, I sobbed as we crossed coasts from Maryland to Oregon for my aunt's wedding and her husband's ensuing funeral; at the funeral, I stayed silent.
Day 2 –
Sometimes it's nice to think of the shores, especially when I am so far from their comforting infinities. At college, I am in a university surrounded by trees and mountains. The nearest body of water is a man-made mess in the middle of campus; it is rumoured that it is filthier than the aftermath of a Friday night in the partying capital of the school.
The only difference is that one has snapping turtles. In all honesty, I am unsure which that is.
Day 3 –
While I swore I never missed you, I missed you all throughout. With trees and skylines punctuated by tall, ugly buildings, my heart ached for the water. It also ached for you.
At night, I would find myself remembering the night I graduate
here comes the anxietyI like writing and I especially like writing poetry but whatever poetry is, this isn't it. This isn't opinion or fact or a disclaimer saying "hey, this is me and it's mine and if you copy it I'll kill your family with a rake". This is just me sitting in front of a typewriter in high-waisted black jeans with my shirt tucked in and my jacket not and my mom saying "untuck your shirt, it's not 1974 anymore" and me responding with "fuck you, yes it fucking is".here comes the anxiety5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I like buying books upon books about the Beatles and reading everything in them down to the page numbers even though, for me, it's all regurgitated matieral that I've read twenty times before. I like putting on red lipstick and washing it off after five minutes because I only have the confidence to be bold if no one else is watching. I like cross-dressing and not brushing my hair. I like walking around the neighborhood spewing fuck-all with my best friend while listening to 3oh!3 and chain-smoking until my fingernails woul
things I learned at 11 am while I was half-asleepithings I learned at 11 am while I was half-asleep2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I’m spending most of my time
not crying, and I’m sorry,
but I don’t think I’ll ever love anyone
as much as aspirin, or lullabies,
or the cheap wine sold for two dollars a bottle,
or overly-apologetic letters bending over backwards
to make a point of themselves, or the pink petals
blooming on my wrists like flesh and blood miracles,
or the songs named after women
things may not change,
but you will have to.
I am most alone
surrounded by people
and the buzzing in my head of words
that should have lost their meaning
back when I discovered
they never meant anything
Dedications are only relevant
to people who appreciate shitty poetry,
or you. Insanity is writing the same thing
over and over and expecting it not
to sound clichéd.
and as much as anyone will swear otherwise,
I am a statistic. A number, an example,
a case study in the manipulation of
narcissism and moving on
growing up.five a.m and we were strolling down the sidewalks, like mice or streelights dancing. we pretended to be special and when you looked at the sky and said, all of my dreams are of thisgrowing up.6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
i tried to understand. when we were eight years old you pushed me, too hard, and i fell and my knees bled and i was a baby begging for someone to hold me. but you just looked at me and said, you know, you have to hurt sometimes.
you'll never grow up otherwise.
and i didn't understand and i didn't want to try to.
five years later and here we are, you in whoknowswhere chasing the sky with some guy that's going to abandon you for someone better someday, maybe today and you'll turn to me, a baby begging again, and i'll say, he's not worth it, but i won't mean it.
because you'd do the same to him if you had the chance and you've done the same to me. and the truth is we're all hypocrites, we're all liars and thieves and we're always the person we never wanted to be.
and i guess, in retrospect, i would have loved
straight trippin'and on these bourbon nights i'mstraight trippin'4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
& rainbow coated. in another
i'm friday's ghost. i'm breakfast
in bed with someone else's
friend. there is something
glittery about the
way the stars in my
hair. they just
exist. and combust. it is
a daily ritual.
like polishing my piano &
bones & my technicolour
exist. a part of
his painting. a lust
in his company. i'm a
he likes me only
for my golden body & my
and i'm christlike.
and libertine angels
come to me & they tell me to
i shall disappear into the
moon. and i shall
melt. and i shall
and this afterlife, that is
and i'm caught, like an
alley cat, in this particular
& i'm smoking my
42nd cigarette, i'm wearing
my red jeans. i can't get
out of my mind, but
i don't dream about it.
i dream about asphyxiation
& card games and
abandoning my vengeful
i have live
SuicideSuicide11 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
With you not to do it
But you did it anyway
You had to be free
Tell me how, to forget you now
In your absence,
I know no peace
You had to be free
Tears well in my eyes
Still I try not to cry
Somehow I've got to carry on
But I can't believe
That you're really gone
You had to be free
I begged, I prayed, I pleaded
But you did it anyway
You had to be free.
you're just a question marki met you so long agoyou're just a question mark2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but back then our bodies were made of metal
and nowadays they’re made of the blades of
grass and dirt settling
underneath my fingernails.
my fingers are having a hard time
reaching the keys and
my organs are shaking mostly because i haven’t
eaten in two days but also
because i’m worried about the things you're doing to yourself.
we didn’t meet very long ago at all but it feels like forever ago
and you say you don’t know me
that you don’t know anyone
but baby you're turning into a skeleton and i’m peeling back my skin
to try and reach my bones, just like you.
i hope you're happy,
i’m covering the hard wood floors now
the bits and pieces splattered.
they are calling it a suicide but i’m calling it
a way to see my brain and
just how dark it has become, and honestly
i don’t want you to try and see about your’s.
i’m mourning the loss of my heart and wish you weren’t either -
she had scars on her wrists"There was this girl I used to love."she had scars on her wrists5 years ago in Emotional More Like This
"I don't believe in love."
"She used to say that, too."
"This girl I used to love."
"Did she always not believe in love?"
"I don't know, but she had scars on her wrists."
"What happened to her?"
"I don't know, but she had bruises around her neck."
"Who did that to her?"
"I don't know, but they made her not believe in it."
"Did she know you loved her?"
"I don't know, but I loved her anyway."
"Why did you stop loving her?"
"She stopped breaking."
"What happened to her then?"
"She stopped being beautiful."
a new kind of karateI coulda new kind of karate6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
cater to the base
to their fave shapes
'til our poems
and bite takes
so we spit
for the masses
from my pen and
united by a
is the form
but I'd rather
volcanoesand i smelt of ash.volcanoes4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that night, coming home. there had been
books, saved from the
fire, i learnt.
as we watched it
die down. hands held, somewhat.
in that blaze of lovelier
words; we said sorry
it had taken a week to salvage
onenightstandi'm sick of hearing my phone ring.onenightstand5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
my life measured in pixels on a screen.
and headphones are a fake iv,
i woke up with my heart on your sleeve
so don't pretend you forgot about me.
it's more like home when you're not here.
your hypocrisy is stunning.
i don't care what they say,
i'm dreaming louder every day.
so build your barricade of books
and turn up the silence.
nothing says best friends like broken promises and one night stands.
if luxury was rain and poured onto ushe sang with a chorus of a child's criesif luxury was rain and poured onto us2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
as if they connected stars into dotted pictures
that broke the fall of andromeda,
when perseus' winged-sandals wouldn't fit.
he shared hera's milk with hercules, and painted the milky way.
with bristled-fingers, he stroked the vacuum and threw molecules together
as if they were a sari strewn on the floor at the foot of a charpoy,
and he and hera were thrown in between the sheets,
halos on her breasts, and Saint stripped from her,
if saintliness was pale and made love in a humble room in the googolplex of luxury.
(luxury is a saint) he would whisper,
and among the grunts and gasps, it crept into the room
and settled on their lower backs and between their thighs.
their breath fell cold, and the ceiling dripped with monsoon rain,
and snakes slithered sleepily by winged-sandals, green with mold.
(they fell from the sky, from the feet of saints
who all followed in a chorus of wails and outstretched wrists.
if children's cries could weave nets of star
pathos as a punchlineand then, mid-rinse, it hit me.pathos as a punchline6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
there's something a touch more troubling
about quiet desperation
showing its face during the
familiar & commonplace.
weeping in the shower; fully lathered,
red-eyed in the mirror;
shaving cream scattered,
small cut crowning
a procession of teeth.
crying at breakfast;
full stack of pancakes
cooling on the table.
miserable at brunch;
spinach quiche crumbles
collecting on the chin.
it's a fully realized sadness
fit to laugh at, on the screen.
it's a swallowing despair
to bear in skin.
run on aheadthe reason I keep reachingrun on ahead7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
out these tired hands is
sleep keeps speakin' promises
that someday I'll say something
that treats itself to insides
and feasting you will find me
rich in wonder where you'll find
me wrapped in soft words like
the ones you will remember when
my shape's some chalk stained yellow
and I've learned
the easiest way to breathe
(there's irony in this space)
if you want to go solo
you'll have to do it without me
champagne for my real friendsit's british comedy that leaves us reeling andchampagne for my real friends5 years ago in Emotional More Like This
it's disney movies at three in the morning.
it's comic books and pokemon
and guitar hero in the basement.
it's duct tape and sharpies and
falling asleep under the stars,
and it's hearing your voice for the first time-
and you're crying.
it's shopping malls and waiting in line
and spending money on music instead of on food.
it's spray paint and polaroid cameras.
it's arguing over who's better: john or paul?
it's riding the train to chicago
and that feeling of knowing you're finally home.
it's the last line of your favorite movie
and yelling over music and thousands of screaming fans.
that- that emotion,
i only get it with you.
The Normality.There is a cloud of fish swimming by my ankles, light flashing off their sides as they turn as one. Moss grows on the walls and occasionally an eyelid, soft, green, damp, will lift and a multifaceted eye will glint out. On my arms, there are flowers, large fire red lilies with orange throats that have sprouted where my large dark freckles are, each one just smaller than my palm.The Normality.2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I look over my friend sitting just off to the side of me, there’s a blush of blue-purple scales on her cheeks, gills flutter on the sides of her neck and every time she breathes out, sweet smelling oil pours from them, trickling over her collarbones.
Something sings near me, the piping call of a rainforest bird, and I turn my head. There are hummingbirds in my hair, I realise, ruby throats shimmering as they sing; they are caught in the long waist length strands woven into a thin fish-weave cage. They do not seem distressed, flashing the rich green of their wings as they flutter from one woven bar to anot
a quiet night at home with...I want somea quiet night at home with...6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
on my chest
and a mane
to rake my
your eyes glued
to the screen
the set spitting
news at us
the stars aglow
I'd like to find
I am a piece
pollenwasp-waisted beautypollen2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
pray into my collarbone
let your snake tongue slither
with the syllables.
i wish for soft-chested nights,
and the trickle of champagne down crystal glass.
poppy-lips, lull me to sleep,
nurse my coiling tongue with yours;
tap my scalp like a silent drum,
and wind my hair in between your fingers
like broken guitar strings.
(serenade me with the buzz of pollen in your kiss.)
waiting on 50let mewaiting on 505 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
sing songs of chain-
place the pieces
is it safe
would it be
your proper name
'til my mouth
broken poem for broken peopleat times, i must admit, even my words betray me.broken poem for broken people5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i really didn't mean to open my mouth and toss out my heart at your feet. to spew out open promises like daffodils that wither and die in the fall. i swear- oh, do i swear- that i never meant to fill your head with false hopes and put you under the illusion that when i cup my hands over your closed fist and pry apart your fingers, stars will twinkle in the sunshine.
i never meant to lie you down and beat you until you bled. to stain your collar with laughter and rip the roses from your eyes. believe me when i say that peppering your summer tanned skin with bruises to match the dead, purple blotches on your summer tanned soul- that was not my intention.
living is so easy when you have your eyes closed, when you're running your fingers down my lips and over my bones. that's the difference between you and me. you throw paint while i throw up and you tell me that the colors are the same beca