The Second ComingI.
I struggle because God told me that he doesn't like slackers,
and it is almost winter, and I have to believe in something.
His desk is so tall, I like to sit under it and stare up at where
the edge of the desk meets the ceiling and his hand tapping.
I don't like the cold, but God says that it builds character,
so I trek through it to get to something I once loved and it only
leaves me feeling small.
I was never a child, I told the interviewer when he climbed on
top of me. I was never born, I just appeared.
He wasn't listening anymore, but I kept telling him.
God sank into my skin when I was sleeping one night,
in a church somewhere east of here, and
He speaks to me now.
"God doesn't exist," huffed the Interviewer Man.
There was this man who said that if you spoke to God,
then you were praying. Lots of people pray in snow
And silence, but if they're silent then how does he hear them?
This man also said that if God spoke to you,
then you have schizophrenia.
I don't know what
SisterShe told black tales on her skinSister3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
about ancient ruins and hurricanes.
Her legs speckled gray like ash;
her arms marked with different suns
She was the storyteller.
Once she lifted her tunic and
an infant etched itself on her skin,
holding onto her bellybutton
and dripping blood down her torso.
The outlined child cried for hours,
but it died before it could make a sound.
She was the newborn baptism;
She washed away its hands and feet.
Once she removed her shoes and
claw marks intertwined up her ankles.
She told us that they were the dead souls
who lied in their graves wanting to live;
they reached upward and only found her.
She couldn't help them, because she didn't live.
She existed in the midst of her wounds.
She was a passageway.
She told black tales on her skin
about violent lovers and earthquakes.
Her eyes speckled white like spirits;
her heart withered from different makers
She was the storyteller.
A Funeral ReunionI tasted you,A Funeral Reunion3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And you tasted like San Francisco,
Broken piano keys and betrayal
Left over from your last lover.
Your hair is softer now,
But your expression is tough
And overgrown with malice.
I cup it in my hands
And see nothing but what I remember.
I haven't heard you
Or anything you've said since you began,
Because it's just space
Filled with your tongue
And teeth, and they have left me.
Your body is smaller
Like it has been running for too long
Marked with midnight blue
I understand now that my prayers
Made their way to you after all.
Cushioned with my love letters,
I made you a safe place
Where you can be a little boy
With a red face and soft hands.
No one can take it from you,
Because I made it for you, and
Someone made you for me.
I only write about you late at night
When I can admit that I love you.
The Earth cannot judge me.
Let the red darkness of my bedspread
Reap up and engulf me
Into a dreamless sleep,
You being the last thing on my mind.
The taste of your last
Dorian GrayIt has taken tenure in my body,Dorian Gray2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
This absolution of conceit.
Wafting parlor music seeps in,
And it prickles along my skin
And echoes out the banister.
O hear you me,
My only I:
I am compulsion raw and severance deep.
I am wild and vain,
I am auspicious and fetid
And I have entranced myself to the brim.
You can take these scowls,
Your virtues and your decadence,
And reap them of me dye by dye
As die I never shall.
The poet's umbilical fortuity,
The artist's wish to be courtier
It is intolerably transitory,
As I have seen all around me laid to dust.
You've left me cavernous and spoiled,
And I my own despaired.
Unlike the many shades of age,
I will not evanesce.
I will simply, by knife's blunt cunning,
Be taken swift and left demised.
It's always been cold here,You covered me in sweet nothings,It's always been cold here,3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
and I didn't have the heart to tell you
I didn't have a heart that beat.
How could I, when you didn't even
believe me when I told you
poetry lay naked underneath
my skin, carved into my very bones-
That anyone with eyes could see?
That your sweet nothings
might flush my flesh,
But have never once touched my insides?
And with a scalpel,
you swore you would prove me wrong.
lies, and other adventures.you could hear a pin drop to his knees and screamlies, and other adventures.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
"come back to me"
his heart's so thick you could cut it with a knife
alright, that's a lie,
but i'm glad you tried
you could see it coming from a mile away
but when it came for you, you were frozen in place.
it takes a village to raise a child
it takes a girl to kill my smile
if you take the blue ones it takes a while
but you'll have time to smell the roses
while you're pushing up daisies
while the rich kids blow their noses
on the wages you won't pay me
a penny for my thoughts?
a penny for my work?
is a goddamn penny so much more than what i'm worth?
we both know the wages
of living in skin
but i'll still weasel my way out
of the trouble i'm in
like a snake in the grass,
like two birds in the bush
while i drown in the past
while my sore eyes look
on a username popped up on a chatroom screen
that makes my heart explode, whatever that may mean
are you here to raise the dead?
or to raise the alarm?
are you here to raise the bar
when it co
it'd make sense i would swear.we dance like undead pagans under suburban street lampsit'd make sense i would swear.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
singing songs from rat pack days we know we can't get back
we're dreaming steamy scenes from night time outside streets
and when i hear those lovely love songs i guess i kind of want to scream
and the thought police are scared to see what's inside your mind
and it's only when i wake up i remember you're not mine.
and when there's not enough rain and we get just a mist
we like to strip down to our lingerie and play around in it.
we dance like sleeping giants from underneath the sea
and the love songs come alive at night, i swear they're after me
and i guess it's okay and i guess i'm alright,
because i'll go to sleep and dream i have you here with me tonight.
the telescreens won't show the score because they know we know they cheat
and the product placement ad campaign sells Rockefeller jeans
and the war we fought was just a sort of tug a war of sorts
we didn't tear you up for anything, we tore you up for sport
we dance like ballroo
healing processDearest R,healing process3 years ago in Letters More Like This
I'm a pile of sunken collarbones and messy black hair sitting (quite un-)quaintly atop a bundle of exaggerated tragedies
and guitar strings needing replacement.
I tend to bring my knees up to my chest as though I want to fold myself into an origami crane and fly away to the edge of an unknown universe.
I keep a dusty box of secret wishes,
and one is how I'd like put music to words I write- if that would impress you.
I'm a pile of ugly regrets and ugly words that leave a bad taste in your mouth.
I'm black ink smeared all over your pristine orange sofas and slamming doors and broken streetlamps and the sound of crashing cars followed by desperate, speeding ambulances.
I'm that drunk pedestrian slowing them down.
I'm full of slurred words and phrases out of order. Metaphors that don't mean shit to you.
(With a filthy mouth that goes off at all the wrong times)
Late night poetry with
written all over it.
I stare at my not-so smooth ceil
ColorlessI huddle in the passenger seat of your chaotic misadventures;Colorless3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
my breath is black and the morning hour screeches to a halt.
It sounds like the sky is screaming; I hide my face in my hands.
I learned to survive in the midst of your destruction.
The fires line the streets and make this place look like an accident;
we are not mistakes, just aged dynamite, eager ecstasy
pumped up morphine; the paradox on my skin, in my mind.
I am the drug that settled in your chest: breathe. black.
You might not take this seriously, but I take you seriously.
I turn tables faster than you wiping the ink from your eyes.
Everything turns dark eventually; eyes are the last thing
to go black. I have no expectation,
but you make me sick nonetheless.
Heaving, vomiting hearts that I have as keepsakes,
they lost their color last November.
One of them is yours I think, from that night you try to forget.
See, I can be just as destructive as you.
Give me the gun; you never had the guts anyways.
NelophobiaHer heart was the same color as nightmares.Nelophobia3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
She spoke in her sleep, whispering early on
when things were uncertain; then sometime
around midnight, the screaming began.
Her body was the closest thing to bloodless.
She ran her fingers through the night sky
and told it to stand still; then sometime
around sunrise, she was smothered.
Her room's walls were marked with mayhem.
She drew tiny pictures all over her body
so that her thoughts could breathe; then sometime
in the near future, they found her.
Her soul was made of white glass.
She compiled the shards in the shape of roses
because they smell like dishonesty; then sometime
in the past, she began to fear.
Awake in a Lucid PlaceBlood like cherry soda, sugary heart tastes of sweet-tart tissues.Awake in a Lucid Place3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Are you alive Candy Man, is this the saccharine
you've been aching for?
I gulp down smoke in gluttonous gasps,
as the marijuana pounds a marshmallow pulse
through blood. A soft thud
as THC ignites fibers
to bioluminescent tissue.
Meat glittering like rubies.
Lighter sparks lightning on glass, thunderous clouds
spiraling down esophagus, expanding
(the grasp of eggplant kisses through amethyst eyes)
Violet layers of air faucet the senses. Lungs inhale,
only to be encrusted in bruised oxygen.
To ingest atmospheres of lavender and
Frigid . He MeltedI fell in love under a mighty pineFrigid . He Melted3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to a man made of snow.
His touch was bitter and
his kiss was slow and frigid.
I decorated the tree with orbs
of my imagination
and hung lights so I could
always find him
waiting for me beneath the tree.
The night he told me that
he loved me,
it was negative ten degrees
and his words were ice,
and his breath was freezing;
I fell in love on Christmas Eve.
The morning he wasn't there,
all he left me were my love letters
and a yellow rose
growing from the ground
where he once stood.
He had a heart of water
and never found his perfect fit.
He was afloat in a sea of
uncertainty and memories.
I smelled the pale petals of
my loss's final goodbyes
and began to wonder
when will I fall in love
with a man made of spring
I'm sure his words will be bright
and warm. I'm ready for spring.
Existing for the MomentMaybe we're love struckExisting for the Moment3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
or just freaks with chemistry.
Maybe we'll exist beyond tomorrow.
I don't concern myself
with such things.
I exist purely for the moment
as it beckons me to see:
locked doors and fantasies,
searching for extremes.
Discovering limits to push beyond,
fulfilling the wildest of dreams.
With no laws from governed society,
no barbed wire to get in the way,
no keep out signs or rules to abide by,
just instinct and a will to play.
So follow me over the edge,
let us thrash and wreck the way.
All I ask in return:
a pleasant distraction to ease the pain;
something to cloud my thoughts and mind.
Let me escape the day to day.
TruthI don't mind being heldTruth2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
At arm's length
As long as you're still
SatisfiedI can see decades aheadSatisfied2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
One chain-link secret at a time
I don't care if it is forever
Because I don't need anyone
To take any desperate measures
I am satisfied with my thread
And the last time I heard my name
Full Moon HorizonThe full moon on the horizonFull Moon Horizon3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
as big and bright as the fading sun on the other side,
Dare I chase the one that has forsaken me?
Can I find the warmth again if I follow westward,
always from behind and into a dying light
that will not slow down for me,
as I become exhausted from running
from clinging with desperation
to the golden strands in which I once basked?
No, the darkness will creep in slowly
from behind unbeknownst
to consume this heart of mine
pining for the light
So I turn to the east
face the shadows head on
walk into midnight with only
the pale lunar glow to guide me.
I dive into the ink-steeped landscape steeped
to meet the demons that were always there,
no longer stalking me as I face them,
take them head on and forge through
the black night, push onward
to greet the morning light with open arms
and the Holy Hell vanquished in my wake
we'll falllike folded paper stars hanging from starry ceilings;we'll fall3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
our hope and love lost in between the harsh creases.
Mad Libs for Ex-Lovershe told me that he loved meMad Libs for Ex-Lovers2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
whispering (bitter) sweet nothings in my ear
under (soured) cream clouds, embedded in an (icy) blue sky
his voice like (faded) silk
he was (sickeningly) sweet and
his (soulless) eyes made my knees weak
He told me that he loved me
Under (soured) cream clouds
as he whispered (bitter) sweet nothings in my ear
ingloriousi am all smilesinglorious2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and pale sun,
and we are wild
but in past lives
i was good.
Ink StainsShe traded in kisses forInk Stains3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
With inky lips
and quill for a tongue,
she speaks her mind.
She's made of content not
suitable for innocent eyes.
Like that one book
the Classics on the
top shelf of a used
The one with the yellowed
That has been read
a few too many times.
On the after-lifeshe: "I would not be afraid of death because the writers of the prettiest things are never afraid of death."On the after-life2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
he: "But are you afraid of me?"
she: "A little."
she: "Because you make me afraid to die."
(e) sat cross-legged on the sailboat train of thought, questioning the count of lovers' ribs and the sweetness of fruit, pondering the justice of piety and the cool touch of the afterlife, and with spare free-will, retrieving a finger to trace letters to the known un-universe but the w o rd s
be g a n
Faithshe carries it ‘round her neck like a crucifix;Faith1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
she writes it on the scapulae of deer and human skulls.
in her pile of oracle bones, lies her faith.
and when the snow falls, her fingers become frozen in scripture;
she’s left muttering the names of her god again and again.
it matters not which words leave her mouth because god is everything
until she was nothing.
Landslides and moodswingsAs my careworn eyes meetLandslides and moodswings3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
A quiet few balconies
On an even quieter side street,
My talltales, they shorten;
To the skyline retreat.
As a led astray gush of wind
My neckline sets to greet,
A blank piece of paper and
Stir beneath my fingers' heat.
To move them now is such
Slight a deed, indeed.
I won't care for in morning;
This shepherd, that nymph,
And all wretched couplings,
That in moon's pale stretch lies
A Rome till this ceiling
And a draped windowpane
Could still make a heart wring;
That a finger-painted sky
And the night's velvety scent
As much cajoles my writing,
As probable a meteor rock is
To crash in a desire spring.
From yon crooked oak tree
To this glass of milk,
The paperballs belonging to me
Often land in that empty plot
To which one has no key;
Often hold some far-off tales
My pen fails to agree.
No passion flower, oak sprouts
No Echoes to repeat after
Such a winding soliloquy.
So in this turbid pool
I, myself, stoop to see.
A poem-maker subverts,