she's only happy when it rainsshe's only happy when it rains10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
ist nur glücklich wenn es stürmt
verfallen der Finsterness
verfallen dem Bann der Selbstzerstörung
ist nur glücklich wenn es stürmt
entfallen der Realität
entfallen jedem funken Liebe
es stürmt immer,
es stürmt immer,
bist du glücklich?
she's only happy when it rains
depending on darkness
dependig on the spell of self destruction
she's only happy when it rains
escaped of the reality
escaped to every spark of the love
it always rains,
it always rains,
are you happy?
My Heart Always Returns To MeMy sagging heart alwaysMy Heart Always Returns To Me4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Returns to me; cringing
Like a wounded animal,
Tail between its legs, an
India-ink river of blood
Mapped across the kitchen floor.
I blindly follow these maps
Back to myself.
Like a wounded animal it lies
Whimpering and grotesque
On the tiles, flayed and shaking,
Reeking of iron and fur.
In my arms, my little animal
Slackens, shudders, is still for a while.
In it I can bury my breath, my face
As I wait for it to howl.
You Poor ThingI am sorry for your skeleton,You Poor Thing4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the way you carry yourself when you walk into a room
like your arms are tied and your mouth is empty and you've been
kept prisoner for a year, waiting for a bird to arrive
at your window. Your eyes are full and I spread my hands and say this;
sorry, like a man abandoning his lover in a cloud of dust. I am sorry for
your eyes, resentful like a North American river.
Sorry, for everything, for your breasts and womanhood.
You are standing on the edge of eighteen
relunctant and awkward; you do not want
to spread your legs wide and let the world drop its' pants
to fuck you. You are standing on the edge of something
looking afraid and saying no,
I don't want any spaghetti. I'm not hungry.
I'm hurting and horrible the way that a person feels
when they shatter the shell of a snail by
accident. I cannot say sorry
enough for your hands, scrabbling at the surface
of a wooden panel unheard, clawing at one another
like you're putting a deer in the headlights
d.i.di.d.i.d5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the first time i saw her
alone in the cafeteria
scrap of cling film
wrapped tightly around her finger
i had a friend
but she died
and now i am not the same
she is the one i love
touching the edges
of a kitten sticker
on her french notes like it was her dead
grandmother in an open casket
blanched white fingertips
no i am not the same
she hurts the world and
rapes the earth and
the rabbits scream and
the trees scream and
the air screams and
she sits at the hearth with fur in her hands
i go into work with bruises on my breasts
we do not kiss
or make love
because it makes her cry
but she loves me best when we are
and she is mine
my little golden idol
little sleeping one
she says why did you give him a rabbit?
why are you taking him away from me?
i cannot see what she has written
she says there is a baby now
it hasn't a name and it never cries
and no one ever holds it
it grows and spreads like a weed
the lonely planet's guideIt was three AMthe lonely planet's guide6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It was three AM
we were talking about
and I was too ashamed
to admit that I couldn't
remember how that felt,
staring stupidly at the
piss-stained bed and then
at the ceiling. There was a moth
the size of my heart and coloured
in like autumn and pain. That's me,
and then threw my shoes at it.
The next day on the metro
somebody had scratched C'EST
A CHIER onto the window
and it was only then that
I felt the papery beating of
winged grief in my
You might think that it's
pretentious to write about
Paris, but that's where I was.
nique ta mère.
seven things to do.i. they say that there areseven things to do.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
seven natural wonders
in the world. well,
i think theyve got it
all wrong. i think
the seventh one is
a place called
and i need to find it.
ii. i can name all of my
weaknesses. they are
ugly and obvious and
i am aware
of all of them.
now, i need
iii. people have given me
'unconditional love and
unbreakable promises but
they took away both.
so im sorry
if im just a bit
i have reasons.
and id like it if someone
made me forget
every last one of them.
iv. seven is supposed to be
the luckiest number, right?
and it stands for
note to self:
figure out why
seven hates me so much.
v. i need to hear
again. i need
to know that you
were not only
in my imagination.
i need to know
that you are
(and i want to ask
you if you still feel
when we talk.)
vi. i still have
and phone number
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.
FireplaceHe tells her not to let go, never to let go. Whatever he becomes, she must not let go. She kisses his butterscotch hair for consent, once, twice. He grasps her hand and they run into the night together.Fireplace6 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
The queen is impossibly, inhumanly beautiful, with eyes like flint. How can anyone compare with her? But he whispers into her ear, Dear hearthow could you think such a thing? I will never love heryou are the only one. She looks up into his dear gray eyes and smiles.
She shuts her eyes tight against the adder twining its sinuous body up her arms. Its scales are cold and awful against her skin. It flickers its forked tongue in her face, and she cringes back. But she does not let go.
She is on her knees now, tears streaming down her face. A terrible roar rattles in her stricken ears, and the ferocious teeth snap at her bared throat. The lion is immense, too massive for the circle of her frail human arms. But she knots her numb fingers in its fur and holds on.
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
of storms and skysee my hair dance wild as wind-strings jerk it about//hear the ocean-wind heave itself against us all- crashing into our eyes and mouth//feel the winter-wind brush our skins in summer//then inhale the heaviness of air and sink through the dirt- because darling, you dont deserve gods beautiful violence.of storms and sky6 years ago in Other More Like This
(it drags the tree by its leaves saying kiss your trunk, kiss it and it does; releasing with a snap. the other trees flitter-flutter violently, crying within the cacophony of rain on concrete. white stars fall where light exists, and only sound where it disappears. the sky -the colour of sunburnt skin- watches it all with hunger. and then a moment we are swallowed. gumtrees, rain, earth; we are all night sky now. but our eyes open and the rain is no more, dew on grass. and the wind is no more, only breath.)
Looking UpEvery person that I pass on the street either looks at me and smiles, or looks down at the passing cracks and scuffed boots that refuse to look back. Not one ever looks up. As a human I feel restrained in this two-way world, and as a stranger I feel helpless.Looking Up7 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Did you see the man with the tattered work gloves? How he hid his fingers in his sweat-stained blue jeans and held a staring contest with his steel toes? I wish he knew that I walked by, that if he was to pass by me a second time, a that man looks more tired than the last time I saw him thought could run through his mind. He cant even imagine where hes going because he is too busy stuffing his mind with personal guilt. Nobody blames him but himself: for his menial job, his workaday routine, his solitude.
But I am just assuming here. I couldnt pinpoint this mans face in a lineup, or greet him by his predictable nickname. He would tell me (if he could see me), that the brim of his cap simpl
they never quite doMara made pictures without a thousand words, without sounds or touches; Mara made pictures with a whisper, when she least wanted to, much to her chagrin. They hung thick on her walls; faces frozen, eyes wide at Maras word.they never quite do7 years ago in Horror More Like This
Mara was thinner than she seemed, taking steps towards the bright light at the end of the hallway. Not as sure as she was stoned, she meandered; her feet leaving strange skinny marks in the thick carpet. Her hair, blonde on black, wagged back and forth as music played somewhere between her ears. She rounded the corner and asked the man on the wall a simple question. Where were you while we were getting high?&
holding.you are lovely. even when you're notholding.5 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
which is most of the time.
you don't speak often.
and yet, i hold on like a
suicide jumper hanging on for a saviour
for a sign that maybe things don't have to end like this.
give me a reason not to jump.
you speak softly, rarely
and i swear, i still wear yellow to catch your attention,
i still put a traffic cone on my head
in hopes that you'll divert, stop, take notice of the road.
please don't swerve me aside.
if you could open me up like you open their legs
if you could open your eyes to me
i promise, i could be more.
i could be more than this girl who is standing in front of you
pretending that she wants nothing more than to be your friend
pretending that she wants nothing more than to laugh with you
when really, all she wants is to make you smile.
all i want is to make you smile
and when we are listening to the beatles and smoking ourselves into other worlds, i am holding my tongue, holding my breath,
Other Feathered Things little bird.Other Feathered Things4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Little fragile feathery
I have been
waiting for you
for all of my life. I have been
buying birdseed and letting the bread
go stale. I caught all the crickets,
I gave away the cats.
i have been waiting
in this dark
room with my hands cupped
like a supplicant to dust.
I try not to
that you will
because you will have many friends and
you will never
your small talons will scratch
my fingers, when you come, and i
if I keep you in a cage
if i leave you a
waterwater5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The raven-haired boys come on the twenty-eighth of every month, when our city grows ill. The buildings will begin to peel, copper under skins gleaming like blood under the gasping sun, and they will navigate their way between them to Central Square, where it is the driest of all. There, the streets are ashen--parched. Dust fills their creases, unforgiving. Beside them, sewers open their gaping mouths, waiting for water that will not come. And then, there are the water towers; the structures that have spread the name of our city to millions of households abroad. "Gleaming tokens", they've been called, but gleam is the last thing they do. Looming stout and unimpressive over the twelve acres of Central Square, they smile at the everyday passerby with chapped cement lips and scar-ridden faces. Wry.
But the boys, they are unlike our city. They are beautiful, like birds, with
Subtletieshe tasted of December, voracious love withSubtleties5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a pinch of sweet, sweet
where's your shimmer.
did you lose it when you lost your way?
she tasted of the night and pear blossoms and miracles
and kept her strength in a drawstring bag
looped at her hip
premade perfection isn't for those who wander or those who wonder
you can't have my forever
and I don't want
leavemedon'tleaveme.you make me sick. you make my stomach fold in on itself and press out against the lining of my flesh. you put lumps in my throat and you tie strings to my tear glands and tug until the world is just a panoply of blurred lines, hazy colour and bokeh.leavemedon'tleaveme.6 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
you made me do this. you put the knife in my fingers and you told me to tear, you said you would care if i hurt myself like this. you said youd care if i opened my flesh up for you like a gift of blood and flesh and tissue. but you never really did.
i like being small, i like being the blue eyed girl sitting amidst background noise, rubber band arms holding the necks of her legs together. i like being the blue eyed girl with hands holding her from spilling in a mess at everyones toes. i like it when theyre your hands.
i try to define you with mental disorders. i say you have schizophrenia and pretend its a valid excuse. im in love with one of your personalities, but the other doesnt even notice
empty seashellsi'm the boy--empty seashells5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
no, i'm a boy.
you're the boy
who's just an
but convinces all
that you hold
(even though you're
not really a boy.)
i'm a boy who
hates peeling off
his shirt because it
reminds him that
he's just dancing
bones (and that
the skeletons in
his closet are bad,
even if he also
uses them as
i'm a famous boy
who no one knows.
i coined the phrase
"air, air everywhere
but not a gasp to
breathe," but no one
heard. all i
anyway is just an
you came along
and told me that
i am me, and slowly
i came to believe it.
the shock widened
my eyes, my heart,
the pipes in my lungs;
now i can breathe.
i'm the boy who
can lounge with
his shirt off, 'cause
he knows his skin
can't be taken to the
i'm the boy who
learned from a-
nother boy that if
you believe you
have an ocean
inside, others will
hear it, too.
second servingi like you splayedsecond serving5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in your seat like
a bell flower
awaiting your first
and the sunlight
tangled in your hair,
golden like sparks,
as the morning
clashes with the
knot in your brow
most of all, i like
the way--after we
twisted like spaghetti,
curled in a bowl--
when i came
back for seconds
echoes.it's been a monthechoes.5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but my skin says
a month too long
your skin says
the flocks of
taking flight in my body
the seashells lining
so i will always sound
like the ocean
the glass bottles
the greenest of my eyes
i'm just fog off the water
i'll be gone by tomorrow
but i'll be back