poetry like teaI never want to know you.poetry like tea6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I want to wonder, want to slide back-down and backwards across your glissandos,
linger over the breaths and pauses,
pour into the warm and dark hollows that you curve into your words,
nestle there like water or skin:
I want to sink into the cracks between consonants, smooth them over,
find the sighs folded into the velvet roundness of an O,
contemplate each brightly fractured e in your name, how it
is wrenched open to the world, wounded, and still
curled tight as a fist over the wound:
I want to drink poetry like tea,
in sips, with sugar,
and then in longer draughts until it washes down my throat like heat
and I forget, for a moment, that winter lasts longer than this
and I am far from home:
I want to find you in dead trees and bathroom stalls,
carved with some memory of permanence into the flat surfaces of my world
accompanied by numbers I will never call
for fear of breaking the intimacy of anonymity:
I want to picture you (a picture of you) wi
bipolar or in love?i ate lemon cake for breakfast today, well actually it wasn't lemon it was vanilla. not that it really matters what flavour the cake was, only the cake itself mattered. it would be like saying you had jam on toast then freaking out over whether it was strawberry or raspberry. its like having a bad trip on acid, but what's a good trip? if its not losing all of your money gambling over a peanut butter sandwich, when you don't even like peanut butter. or losing your virginity in the back of a limo, to 'wonderwall' by oasis. if its not all of that then, no, i've never had a good trip.bipolar or in love?5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but hey, maybe that's just me.
i'm like a car crash
only slightly sexier
and with a better sense of
there is a humming bird sitting on my window sill
next to my clock which refuses to keep time
but i don't really mind, 'cause who really wants to be on time for anything?
other than your period.
if i were an animal i would like to be a magpie
mainly because i like the reference to pie
I dreamed of a door...I wore the thread that slipped from my daughter's baby blanket around my wrist,I dreamed of a door...3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
white against tan, bumpy yarn, it's been four years
since my mother patiently crocheted the stitches together
while my daughter rolled in my belly,
impatient. I dream and there are doors under my fingers and
I am alone.
I go down to watch the water rippling slowly past, carrying barges
for hundreds of years, my shoulders tan darker, I am absorbing the sun,
eating strawberries, writing a will. I wonder what will become of you.
I pray to old Native American gods, they do not see the world in black and white.
I investigate the trickster gods, in my dream a coyote trots across a field of waving grain.
Why does anyone go home? There are places that we live, places that we've been,
places that have never been exactly what we are looking for.
Skipping rocks out across the water,
on the roof of the worldif i could flyon the roof of the world6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i would do everything.
i would climb a mountain
and be fearless,
because if i fell
the wind would catch
in my great eagle's wings,
and i would go wheeling off
i would sit in the clouds,
play cards with the stars;
sleep in the curve of the moon.
i could go up into the rafters of
the tallest auditorium
and dance on the ladder,
because i'd fly if i fell.
i could run on the catwalks
and sing at the top
of that oak
that no one can climb.
i would go to the roof of the world
and look down
because vertigo is nothing to a bird.
Balancing Acti am to sway hips and sip the mind of an adolescent fromBalancing Act4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
my latest cup of tea
things, sing scales while they struggle for even-footing, even after
the sun frowns down
town, i'm walking and tripping on some stones,
(three or four there scattered) flattering my lope with a little extra bounce.
look at me,
look at me
walking home while the jays talk of the weather,
whether or not it will rain tonight and i think
look at me,
look at me
all while spinal chords tingle and
gag reflex threatens
The irony of poetry and sexShift things around in your head and you're single with skin to skin contact attaching heavy breath.The irony of poetry and sex3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
You're flexing your body, eyes rolling, jaw lifting there is nothing but increasing pressure on your hips.
The guilt is left inside your chest propelling your heart and jolting adredelaine showing up in your heightened
movements and sinking lungs.
Thoughts are only given the power to let you know it's wrong not the right to connect to your heart
when you have pushed it below the surface. The wrong is what makes it so good too. It's the pressure
on your hips that activates the thrust not the pounding of your pulse or the dividing of your mind
between your id and your superego.
You know nothing but what your body wants you to know and that's what feels good. Shadows are
crawling throughout the room hollowing out cheek bones and hips, you end up thinking it's something
fucking beautiful, when it's just fucking. There is nothing poetic about fucking a body when it's only
a body, there is no
Last SeptemberIf I could see you again I'd stick my fingers into your navelLast September6 years ago in Other More Like This
to feel if your core was soft
or if you even had anything there at all
I'd hold your lungs in the center of my hands
to see if they were black purple blue
from all that cancer
I couldn't make you spit out
I want to see you again
To tell you,
"I hate your hair like that"
"I hate that you left me"
"I hate what you've become"
Then I'd take it back
and say something nice
You'd still borrow my perfume,
because from the ends of your hair to the tips of your shoes you smell like tobacco
and you don't want your mom to know that you've been killing yourself
You don't mind that I know
I won't scold you
I feel like you have no power in your life
And it's not my place to say, but,
I feel like you've tangled your talent into spider webs
and thrown them away
I feel like you've bitten off your nose
to spite your face
and I wish it wasn't true but
you deserve it
you deserve everything you get
If I could go back
Seasons of Violet.We called her Violet, and she was.Seasons of Violet.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
We knew her when she was young and pale, during Fall
And when we'd climb old trees, their brittle branches
Like welcoming arms
Would snap in two
And we'd cascade to the earthy ground
Carpeted with golden and red and orange
And as we fell,
Secretly, she'd wish with all the goodness in her heart
That she were a leaf as well
That like a leaf, she could be swept away to some distant place
In arms that would not break
In arms that belonged to people who truly loved her.
We called her Violet, and she was.
And with the changing of the seasons,
Winter had taken away her smile and replaced it with the cold blank
A frown that could only belong to a soul like hers
To a soul that had wished to be a leaf
But had became only the scent of pomegranate and midnight
Perhaps people would embrace her only to get drunk on her scent
But my love was sincere, and it mingled with her berried essence
As I would try to will life and warmth back into her.
A gift sh
Our Ambiguityone.Our Ambiguity4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
He wears cargos and goes barefoot,
even though it's only March.
He asks his sister to shape his eyebrows
(she's better at it),
and hums to himself
while he smudges on eyeliner.
His nail polish is chipped
but he likes it that way.
After two hours of walking around shirtless,
he pulls his favourite t-shirt over his binder.
"I am here to make you question," and
"Pronouns just get in my way," and
"If you're confused, I
He writes his name in the fog on the bathroom mirror,
then writes a girl's name underneath it.
Then he wipes them both away,
and scrawls his favourite nickname instead.
lioness.you are my artform.lioness.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
there are days when my stomach is not tucked in
and these attempts at spanish translation are too feeble
to dredge up verb conjugations
and i am just a fool.
i tried walking off this stupor
but it was like skipping off a cliff
(too easy, and anyway the philosophers
in my mindtunnels were too fat
too heavy to make action practical)
it's a sluggish sort of progress,
this growth into an orange-maned
and daily i stoop to rebuild the walls of my illusions.
(because i want to keep this sunrise radiating
from my smile
and i want to stay happy.)
i try hard not to be a realist.
all the way home.this is a poem at midnightall the way home.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a walking away of hands.
it is beautiful
we will never run out
of salt the way we
run out of love
we are children of the sea
oceans inside our
glass bodied vessels
and drifting along rough sands.
i want to touch you
a hundred different ways,
to kiss you like i need it to breathe.
you just tell me about making magic
i can tell you about making love
(and how they are both the same).
i love you more than i love myself
and i wish that actually meant
something. instead i rely on
poorly structured letters
and wrap my head round the wildflowers
in hopes that we can lie
until it is uncertain where
i end and you begin.
make me laugh and you have my soul.
the way your heart beats in my ribs,
around my spine,
you are magic.
Just.. breathe.This love..Just.. breathe.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It gave you such warmth and peace.
But now they're gone
you're drowning yourself in tears.
Wishing they were still here.
Right now, right here, forever.
Pick yourself up off the cold ground.
Wipe away your tears.
You were so blind.
So blinded by love.
You believed every word they said. Even when you knew they lied,
Those were lies that kept you alive.
Laugh at your pain.
No one deserves your tears.
But they're the ones who left you here, in this darkness.
What once was love, became pain.
And the pain slowly evolved into hate.
Just breathe, beautiful.
It's not worth it.
on being a woman'what's a pretty ladyon being a woman2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
like you doin' smokin' cigarettes?'
'if i fucked you
for every time i've
you wouldn't think i was such
a lady anymore,
and what's a clever fella like you
doing minding my business for me,
i am not a lady-
i do not curve my appetites,
i do not curve through the waist and hips,
i please for my own pleasure,
i soak in my own sweat,
i fuck for my own glory.
tiddly tum, hidden harems and come,
i am the singular player in my play,
i am the prologue, intermission, and final act
every love i have known has been fueled by
my own fury, every discovery dug up by my own
destiny, every body of water i touched, i touched
with my own skin, i am not domestic, i am imported-
virgin beer on saintly lips, i am not comely nor
forthcoming, i offer my bed to no soldier, i take
what i can and give what i can, i do not plea or
placate or play the victim with my eyelashes-
my father says one day, i will be a lady and
take my rightful place to the left and behind
UntitledTo hide in sweet subtlenessUntitled3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and find pure innocence
The heart has been tried,
the poor mind scorched every second it lied
All for one forbidden moment
On your lips
Reservationsyour social vicesReservations6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
dont convince me
you drink like a sinner
but you fuck like a virgin
you sing like a sinner
but you cry like youre innocent
you pray like a sinner
but you die like an actor
you sell like a sinner
but you hurt like a bitch
you cheat like a sinner
but you bleed like a victim
you dont convince me
Dreams Of MeDreams Of Me3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Dreams of me
Every night as I watch her restless sleep
In the soft bed in which she lays her head
Quietly I try not to make a peep
Until morning when she wakes from the dead
I hide from the sun when it is rising
My sanctuary I sleep and wait
To me her human form is so addicting
Having her blood lust is something I hate
I watch at night and wonder what she dreams
If it is of me and her heart I'll steal
I will wake her if it's ever of screams
Then to her I will finally be real
One night I will give her my sweet blood kiss
Her blood lust is what I will always miss
ObituaryI will write your obituary tonight.Obituary6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A simplistic ending
to a complex tragedy.
Three paragraphs filled
with dates, accomplishments and
the final act.
A conclusion fit for a queen
laying beneath the coffin
of a traitor.
Your end has come,
My new beginning
Wounded muse - A PoemWounded muse - A Poem2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Her skin is like fresh paper,
frail, unwritten, white;
it whispers of a story
I might want to write
I find no flaws, no traces
upon this tempting skin;
the bruises have long faded
the scars lay now within
But as I trail my fingers
across the trembling shapes,
I can feel her haunted
by all her past mistakes
What manner of a story
could I possibly write
upon this wounded landscape
now seeking to take flight?
How could my clumsy affection
erase her hidden ghosts?
Tell me, how could I guide her
to pleasure's sunny coasts?
I'm powerless before them,
those scars she hides inside,
those lingering compulsions
to which she must abide
Her lips part in the silence,
her eyelids flutter still;
her body speaks of longing
and of dreams to fulfill
I gather, thus, my courage
-her eyes are now ablaze-
and I set out to love her,
her phantoms to erase
As I caress her figure,
her kisses as I steal,
I hope I can be good enough
for her, that she may heal.
Her skin is like fresh paper,
frail, unwritten, white
on walking with your lover half stoned and deaddo you remember-on walking with your lover half stoned and dead2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
all those summers,
different loves with
love was quiet
it was not a
word. it was not
something to be said
or heard or understood.
remember the glances?
the ones that stuck and
held and caused a swelling
in the soul that surfaced in the
eyes and the bite of the bite of the mouth
on the thighs and the drunk and weary restless
nights where salvation was dead but hope was high
because love was not a word, or a scream, or a cry
but a look and a touch and a moan and a sigh
remember those first glances?
before the love, predating love, existing
outside of it, tugging one body to another body
through delirious crowds and clothes and existing
thoughts and ideas of what is and how it works. that first glance
that denied the mind its reasons, denied the earth its seasons,
because this was something outside
remember those big eyes?
the naked ones. fully undressed
but most naked in the eyes. little
secrets were passed through sets of
teeth and the only wo
Dance MacabreDance MacabreDance Macabre6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I see you there amidst the vapor of bight crimson.
Your dress the deep red of life as you spin and twirl about in your dance.
Your movement flows as the deep sanguineous bile flows about,
Slashing your sweet flesh in the warm color of life,
Covering the ground your feet grace, easing the speed of your steps.
Shining beauty of justice and gore.
You dance amidst the corpses, dead and dieing.
You dance the dance macabre.
And I join you.
Taking your hand in this dark tango of desecration,
This heavenly waltz of sweet sanctity and sacrifice.
Your beauty only grows the more I look upon your sweet passion kissed form.
I give my all to your dance, to join in your steps.
For I am drawn to you.
My heart throbs for you amidst the cadavers, deceased and Damned.
And so we dance on my love.
We dance the dance macabre.
We give color to this gray ground.
Paint it red with our passion.
Paint it with the hallowed blood of the dance.
And say to each other that no