there's nothing that feels quite like this.Maybe the problem is that I don't know what a love story should sound like. I haven't figured out what order I should put the words in to make it read just right. I do, however, know what it feels like, but pushing around nouns and adjectives just to make it grow is the hardest thing I'll ever do. And it's true that I've tried it before and maybe I succeeded once, but since then I've learned the way real love washes through veins, and rumbles through the shifting and settling of bones until it changes you completely in a way that is absolutely unyielding. Perfect. Simple. It's not angry, or jealous, it doesn't hurt. It isn't like before. So now words don't come so easy, since I'm not sure which ones will cheapening the moments, the feelings, you.there's nothing that feels quite like this.2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
And god, I could never do that to you, since the only thing I know with completely certainty is that you are the only thing that saves me. That moves me. That completes me. Without you, I'd be less than nothing. Alone. Forgotten. It's e
i'm not your symphony but i'm orchestrated anywaysit's not easy to explain --i'm not your symphony but i'm orchestrated anyways2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but i'm a rushed symphony of heartbeats, quick breaths and hiccups. i'm not made of skin and bones, but a complicated sentence structure and thoughts that i spew out before i even finish them.
i'm messy in all the wrong ways.
and i'm not right in any of the ways that matter. but still you're always here, picking me up when i fall, kissing me goodnight, making a life with me one day at a time. and you haven't gone yet but i'm always moving so how long can you stay. how long can i expect it. how long is too long when you're living and loving and breathing and hell, if i can't stay still i'll mess this up for sure. i just need a minute, to think, to stop, to be. so i can be yours forever.
all i know is that i'm a constant frenzy -- a kaleidoscope of words and ideas and minutes and clumsy steps and i don't know what i'm doing, but i'm always shifting and moving and growing and going and going
and going and
until i'm standing still again.
no one can stop
untitledi have something in my pocketuntitled3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that is dangerous
but one could never want-
it gives me little cramps
in my chest, drawls at the dries
in my eyes, cradles on my vertebrae,
bites down on my knees and grinds.
it leaves me sickened
slain, they say
by all their wicked tongues,
drunk. drunk on the hardest
of stone foot-steps,
drunk, on the coldest, fleshed
and boned carpets.
raw, i am,
from eyes and rubbed fingertips.
but i can't i am
without having an i am.
humans can't be numb, they say,
humans can't be raw, they say,
they have to feel what they feel,
they have to be what they be,
but i can't
not with what's in my pockets.
not with knotted lips, swollen thighs
and queer eyes.
foghe is like the arrival of birds:fog3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
slow, beautiful at first
but spreads gray like cancer
drunki am dizzy anddrunk3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
eyes dim with the lights, naked
with He who is not here.
The DoppelgangerThe first time I saw the other girl, I was standing on one side of the high street. Because it was the end of September, and we were in Britain, it was raining, but the main bulk of water had passed before lunch, so all that was left was the kind of rain that's annoying in its intermittency.The Doppelganger2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I watched her look in both directions and then cross the road, stepping carefully through the pool of mingled rainwater and rainbow engine oil in the bus bay. She was unusual, not just because she wasn't carrying a handbag, or wearing a coat, but because she was dressed in a chain mail and leather dress, and leggings. The second strange thing was that no one else, and this was a busy street, even in the rain, gave her a second glance. Their gazes slid benevolently over her, like she was an endearing, but not unfamiliar, child. Her booted feet crunched over some shattered glass as she approached, and then the third strange thing happened.
As she got to within a few feet of me, she winked out of exis
100 Ways to Abuse Boba1. Drink all your milk tea and leave the boba. Then, use your straw to shoot boba at your classmates when the teacher isnt looking.100 Ways to Abuse Boba6 years ago in Editorial More Like This
2. Go to Lollicup and ask the lady working there how much it would cost to fill an entire regular-sized cup with boba.
3. Dump boba across your neighbors yard and tell him a rabbit pooped all over it.
4. Go into a long, lengthy and confusing question and answer conversation with a lady at Lollicup about what boba is made out of.
5. Find a person that doesnt know what boba is and dump it into their coffee as a prank. Watch their reaction.
6. On a quiet, sleepy Sunday afternoon, run to Lollicup and smash your body against the doors. Scream, MUST HAVE BOBA! Then run away before the security men arrive.
7. Put boba in water bottles with drinking water and take it with you everywhere, flashing it around.
kiss meright then my heart spokekiss me3 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
in vocal drums, the perfect
prayer: please. please. please.
Mermaid Bones - a beat poemTRIGGER WARNING: Sexual assault and eating disordersMermaid Bones - a beat poem2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Mermaid Bones - a beat poem.
I'm hiding an ocean of teeth under my scales
it's in the forbidden taste of salt on my tongue
the weight of the measuring tape,
of those numbers pushing bubbles through my blood and through my gums.
It's written on the circumference of my waist.
In the words cursing the ghost ship of my shape being plundered against my will.
It's spoken by the fish telling me that I have no right to fill my gills with oxygen
underneath a sea bed of regret laid heavy with the shape of a tail.
You are a whale they said
and they made me push my bones out to see the fish bones that they could wish on
to beach myself on the sand reaching for a reason to say "no"
I will not make sandcastles out of sandwiches, and pick at the entrails of the jellyfish noodles on my plate on the first date with puberty that said
"you will now be endowed with an oyster set with strings of pearls that hang heavy round your throat like a