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
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
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 politics of sleepthe politics of sleep9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you can feel
the black hands of old whores,
we are the mere jangle
in God's pocket.
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?&
on the roof of the worldif i could flyon the roof of the world7 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.
la machine a ecrire+eng translEn-dehors du reste du monde, le temps ne compte plus, les oiseaux chantent toute la nuit et la police ne sait plus quoi faire. Elle est débordée par notre sagesse denfants, nos idées révolutionnaires et nos jeux trop simples pour notre âge. Seule la pluie pénétrait notre univers et elle devenait ce quon lui disait dêtre; un baume, une confidente attentive qui nous a dit ce quon voulait entendre. On nageait dans lextase, on se roulait dans le sable, on volait dans la lumière dont on faisait ce quon voulait. Elle nous enveloppait de bon cur, nous étions devenus ses enfants, des enfants-lumière comme celui de King et Kubrick. On sest raconté des scénarios impossibles, sans fins et inachevés, des histoires parfaites parce quelles se terminaient avant de mal tourner, dans un décor de film fabriqué juste pla machine a ecrire+eng transl6 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
From Whence She CameBack down to the sea-floor she goesFrom Whence She Came4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
back to the coracle-clusters and starfish that
clamour, cling to her heart too tight,
walking barefoot towards where she
came from. It is too hard walking on
earth, the way she wears pain like a wedding ring
Back down, down, crawling on her belly
on the forest-floor, alive with the buzz and crawl
of worms and bird-prey. Back where she belongs with her
crazy palpitating wolf-heart, her bloody
deer-throat leaking in the snow, her yellow
eyes in the dark.
Back down, beyond subway trains, piano lessons,
falling rain, from whence she came, to the snow-covered womb
where she first gulped air.
Back down to a place before wildflowers,
fish on land, back to a locked box
full of old souls, from whence
you can't feel through fabrictonight the rain becomes the earthyou can't feel through fabric6 years ago in Other More Like This
falling from hidden spaces in the sky and swollen clouds
i hear it make mud of dirt, and lovers of friends
and ask, quiet, where are you going but down?
im not all there in the head
youre not all there in the head, my mother says
im not all there in the head i repeat
sometimes im there in my toes and fingers and heart as well
and now - in this downpour moment- i lie on the street
so warm that i think well thats where loves gotten to
but where is your shirt n? oh someplace else
and is that a light flickering in the house across the road? hide!
i rush in soaken with rain i watched fall (like stars)
am i poetic enough yet, yet?
leaving rain-prints on the carpet but mother wont mind
mind you she never minds anything if its mine
but then it stops a quick shut-eye stop
(i wonder) is it dew now that it sits like jewels upon the grass?
the wind is lovely in my ear, voice like rushing water
hush,When Mae was born, the room was silent.hush,6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The mother, and her heart were torn up in the insanity that occupied her mind. Mae was not celebrated, showered with gifts and flowers. She was just, there.
As she grew up she realized that the only thing worse than dying too young was not existing at all. Or rather, existing in a world where no one knew your name.
On her thirteenth birthday she decided that blood was a beautiful colour and so she painted her eye lids with hemoglobin and blew out the candles.
With an aversion to loud noises and just sound in general, Mae made a cardboard box her home and called it Unit 9. Covering her ears, and cowering at angry voices, she made a world she could shrink into. Imagination, her lover and creativity, her drug.
Sixteen years, and sixteen sweet hearts broken, Mae lost faith in the staples holding her heart together. The train-tracks make dents and etches, gaps and valleys. Her heart was a wasteland and the only sound was of a thousand raven wings flap
i lie to ghosts.it's late.i lie to ghosts.5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i don't understand things after midnight
like why i wear purple nail polish
instead of the popular funeral black
or why i live in a house with crooked floors
and a rotting deck
i don't understand why i listen to music
that doesn't mean anything,
music i don't even like. but i do.
or why i like to pretend i have pretty words
when i don't. they're all uglyuglyugly.
ugly masked in floral metaphors.
i don't understand why i type in lowercase
and write in uppercase. always.
or why i need sleep
when dreams don't exist.
i don't understand why i'm terrified,
my skin peeling away from my bones
in a distressed urgency
or why that makes me shiver.
the only thing i understand
is the feeling of drowning with the lights off,
in a world of varying shades of gray
and i know,
that i am just static between four walls
that don't stand a chance against this hurricane.
April's HouseThe man who would be my lover through April had a daughter.April's House10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I showed her Playboys from 1999 and she grabbed at my breasts.
In mid-April my lover's grandmother died in a Michigan hospital.
The night before we had hurried sex on a friend's floor and in his shower.
I lay naked on a dark blue couch watching B list horror movies
with names like Frankenhooker and drank carbonated strawberry wine.
The floor was covered in empty Bacardi bottles and powdered Cheetos
while the bathroom smelled of concentrated bleach and urine.
I could crawl out onto the flat tarry roof through a second story window.
On the fourth of July I sat on the functionless brick chimney and got high.
The roof in South Oakland always reminded me of Mary Poppins.
Vodka coursing through my blood, I danced like a chimney sweep.
A man with bleached hair and long nails filed to a point walked me home.
He said, Margaret, I want you, and I knew I had stayed in a house full of lies.
I Wish I Lived In Newfoundlandit doesn't matter whatI Wish I Lived In Newfoundland5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
anybody else call you,
when i call you names
like "lover" and "mine"
and "hot sexy beast".
it doesn't matter that
we don't even live in
the same country, or
that we've never met
and that we probably won't for
eight hundred and eight years;
that's eight hundred and eight
years too many to live without
your shining face brightening
my otherwise unbearable life.
it doesn't matter that
this is cheesy as fuck
and been said before
but as long as you're
smiling, then i'm good.
it doesn't matter that i can't see it
because i believe it. in this. in us.
it doesn't matter that
nobody knows about
us. well, maybe two
people do. but two
isn't comparable to
how much we want
to be with each other,
in each other's beds,
in each other's city.
none of that matters because
at least we're in each other's
Re.: Ten Things...I knowRe.: Ten Things...5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I know you hate hearing about her
or any of them
for that matter.
The thing is,
I wouldn't be half the man
I am now,
or at least,
it'd be hard for me to
what it is that's
Early AubadeIf melodious birds were encumbered by words,Early Aubade5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Would their speech be as music through hollow reeds
and quick like dewdrops spilling down leaves?
Or would it be violent and shudder with death?
In the morning chorus are a thousand threats,
angry advances and adverts for sex
In the dark after Eden; who spends their breath
ViewHey.View5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Whatcha doin' here?
Just enjoying the view.
Ever wonder what would happen if you just slipped off one day?
Um, no? You do?
All the time.
Wow, you're kinda crazy.
Still here, huh?
Looks like it.
Hey, can I ask you something?
Why do you come all the way out here? Really.
You can see the whole city from here.
Yeah you can, but I call bullshit.
Would it sound crazy if I said because light pollution is as cold as me?
Just a little bit.
Your sarcasm is appreciated.
If you slipped off, I'd pull you back up.
You're entirely devoid of arm strength.
Then I'll hold you close and wrap you up instead. I'll unfold you, help you find yourself, and keep you from feeling small. I'll breathe you. I'll keep you warm.
Thanks for ruining the introspectiveness.
Oh, The Games We've PlayedYou smell like cologne and skin, your fingertips are rough and slightly calloused, and the bruises on your forearm remind me of Orion's Belt. You listen to music I can't understand, but I love watching your head move to the beat and your lips form the lyrics you love. You're detrimental to my health, boy, because every time you're near my blood pressure rises and a coil of heat forms in the pit of my stomach that only your touch can dissipate. "She's got looks that kill," you tease, your lips against mine. You play the solo on my hip, your hands pressing deeper into my skin as mine run through your hair. When it comes to you, the lines between right and wrong play hop-scotch, moving so fast I never know which side I'm on. You look at me and I can feel you from the tips of my fingers to the bottom of my feet. I can feel you mixing with the molecules in the air around me, effervescent and venomous.Oh, The Games We've Played5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
You are not a poet. You are not a musician. You are not gentle or kind. You like to have f
you entranced me near the exithow fascinating,you entranced me near the exit5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you look tonight
dressed in a spellbinding fashion
like some European opera singer
or Parisian supermodel -- trendy
with a waist smaller than E. Coli,
you sure seem more dangerous.
double, double, toil and trouble
so haute couture
so hoe, cut your
because you put
the EW in BITCH.
you are charmful to my health.
i am enamoured with glamour.
you've cursed me with rhymes
like "hex" and "sex" and "ex";
you've cursed me with poetry;
you've cursed me with shame;
you've cursed me with curses;
you've cursed and cussed me,
with words like fucked. ALSO:
you fucked me, too. and took
me by my heart and shook me
in the dark and kissed my hips
by the lips with wrists pressed
against me (by nature, you're
you've cursed me with nature, too
and, as if by black-and-white magic,
our bodies levitate across night sky,
wearing nothing but o
a boy i used to knowlanky with long dark hair; i thought he was the most beautiful thing in the world and even though he denied it, i knew he was just being modest. sometimes i would let him stick his hands up my shirt and touch my ribs. he'd slide his long fingers up and down each one, reminding me of how thin i am. i often forget.a boy i used to know5 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
i liked it when he touched me, but that was short lived and it was already too late to tell him to stop. it was like he didn't understand the meaning of the word "no" but i could forgive it because the mistakes he made were so honest.
"what would you do if i died?" he asked.
"i would be sad," was all i said and he looked disappointed.
today his hair is short and his eyes show a change. today i realized that he is the type of boy that all the teenage girls write about and it makes me feel pathetic in more ways than one.
he's been my inspiration for too long and it's time for me to move on because he's gone.
he's been gone for a long time.
i am what i ami'm nothing more than a little dirt road discovered by a boy with calloused fingers and a toothy grin. i'm not much more than truck tracks and muddy ruts on a couple of rickety old bones.i am what i am5 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
the stamp on my back claims i'm from porch swings and empty whiskey bottles. i'm that burning in your throat after you take a shot, i'm that ringing in your ears after you shoot shotgun shells through old car windows.
i was moulded by sunset smiles and starlit nights, talks by the fire, crushed beer cans, laughter suspended on tree branches.
i am short shorts and tank tops, flip flop tans, and skinny dipping at midnight.
i'm from dirty lakes and drunken nights. i'm from fields as wide as the sky, that stretch farther than the eye can see. i am from tender kisses stolen between classes and hands held underneath tables.
i'm made of patriotism and unwavering spirit.
i am what i am.
Singing to the WetlandsI'm the girl with bayou eyes,Singing to the Wetlands5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
twigs, mud and death snaking into my curls.
I pause to breathe and s-h-o-c-k,
shock sets in:
Earthen clasps latch on my arms,
pulling me back down;
the meandering waters clutch
at my bell-shaped elbows.
My smile is climatic;
the sun always seems to shine,
burning the layers of leaves
but I can't even put up a fight
to remember it's grace.
I'm surrounded by an animalistic embrace--
mismatched light from alligator stares
and throaty frog musings.
I forget what color
the back of my eyelids were.
summer passed.we grew up watching the sunsetsummer passed.5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
crawl over our backs like spiders
invade damp bedclothes in dusty
we began speaking, singing the
songs of wallflowers in morning
rain while the blue ink swelled
from our wrists. the effects of
homemade tattoos made from
cheap pens and sticky fingers.
we smelled of history textbooks,
science experiments and barely
sharpened pencils. we were the
echoes of school bells, wedding
bells and sleigh bells. we were
we spent hours lying on rooftops,
smoking cigarettes and calling to
the ocean through seashells. we
spent too much money on records
we couldn't play and far too much
time picking which one we'd listen
to first if we could.
we pretended that rocks were the
frozen hearts of ghosts and should
be swept out to sea so we skipped
them once, twice, three times but
the waves always swallowed them
we were ripped jeans, broken tea
cups, fluttering curtains, hushed
midnight getaways, sandy kisses
and faithful stereos.
but we are still only pas
amour'you actually believe in love?'amour5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
'yes. how can't you believe in love?'
'garrett, look at our parents. your dad's a drunk, he treats you and your mom like shit, your mom works two jobs so he can buy whiskey. my parents split up almost right after i was born. they don't love each other, none of them do.'
'but they had to have been in love at one time, kat. i believe with all my heart that my dad used to be a good guy. mom says that i remind her of him, and i sure as hell ain't a drunk. he must have some good in him.'
'you still don't believe in love, do you?'
'you're so damn stubborn.'
'you like it.'
'no, i love it.'
sa-reng-neeGargle, rinse. Gargle, rinse. Gargle.sa-reng-nee5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Spit. Count your bloodstained teeth.
Count the ones missing. Count me,
I'm 18 going on 18. Count me, but
use symbolism instead of numbers.
Count me out of surgical insomnia.
Count to ten, backwards. Wake
up confused. Sick. Uneasy. Still
shaken from the painkillers. Put
them in the medicine cabinet by
the sink. Since you're by the sink,
chug the glass of saltwater. And
swallow toothpaste. Don't forget
to call poison control. Don't forget
to call the dentist's secretary. O-Don't-ology, I
believe is the name, but I may have forgotten.
In case of bad hygiene, stitch the
bitemarks on my chipmunk cheeks,
chapped lips disease: not the only
ones cracked. Remember to floss.
so if i'm a cavity,
you're the filling
Gargle. Rinse. Gargle, rinse; don't choke. Or
don't try. Or don't mistake mou