a love story you don't want.january: she wasnt ready to be serious with him so she left at exactly twelve oh one on new years day with a few words. he kept saying that this was going to be their year and she just said: piss off.
february: the words still stuck in his head even as he pretended to forgive her and took her back. he feared another painful goodbye.
march: she was never good with saying what she truely meant and he never looked deep into words so when she said "i don't love you." he took it as "i don't love you." and not as "i don't know how to love anyone." which was what she wanted to say.
april: the snow had melted away and they were hanging on by last strings. every day was a question of whether today would be the last.
may: she fell apart when her hamster died and he was there through the whole thing.
june: the death of her hamster silenced her but she visited with him more. she never wanted to be alone.
july: as they watched fire works together on fourth of july, he kept looking over at her wonde
for lack of a simile --every saturday,for lack of a simile --6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i scribble away at words
that have prettyyellowcolours, but mean nothing.
because if i told you what was true about the both of us, it would be:
we had something special,
but now it's gone.
because i don't have any clever similes about
magic and love and how fire falls into ash.
there's just me, and the page, and the stories
i tell you about how we are fire, we are the ocean
and we are the shore.
No Pictures Left to HangShe was three hundred school lunches, and one thousand, ninety-nine days of mooching off of her friends' snack packs, and four hundred more spent shushing her screaming intestines.No Pictures Left to Hang6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
She was one sick day of flu carried over from the weekend. She was two bottles of cough medicine and toomanyadvilstocount. She was her mother's free time spent mopping up puddles of fresh puke.
She was sick.
She was sixteen birthdays, fifteen Christmases, and one hundred ninety-eight presents all specially chosen for the smile on her face that was never there.
She was ten months of pregnancy and two months of getting there. She was twelve pills of Viagra swallowed with tap water. She was a trip to the baby section of Target and her parents' obvious beams at the checkout. She was a horde of pink things, now neatly folded and put away in the attic.
She was never what anyone expected, including herself.
She was a second glance in the mirror.
She is four closebutnotcloseenough friends, two supportive parents, an
i want to be a real poet.i want you to know thati want to be a real poet.5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you sound like the color yellow.
like sleeping hands or a
violin solo in a symphony
or cold bed sheets in the summer.
i want you to know that
i would remain for eternity if
it meant you would be there,
by my side. i could be your lover -
today, and every day.
i want you to know that
my every molecule screams out
to you. my spine is fractured and
my lungs are collapsing under the
pressure and i'm not sure
how much longer i can take this
but i guess a few more hours
let go, little bird--hope is the tired little bird at the bottom of your heart, the one whose tiny wings are broken and bleeding, the one that won't stop flapping uselessly at the sky, like it's going to take off, take off dammit, even when it's fading by the second and dying in a heap of feathers, and it breaks your heart to see the optimistic flame still sparkling in such innocent eyes.let go, little bird--5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i'm writing this to tell you that i don't know what i need. i'm writing this because i can't pull any fancy metaphors from the back of my throat to save my pride this time. i'm writing this to see the look on your face when you wake up and wonder why i keep running away.
hope is the thing with feathers, my broken baby bird. hope is the trust in those newborn eyes that makes you burst out sobbing although you never know why. it's the razor-sharp edge between happiness and pain, the line you try to fly on crippled wings, my little bird, just to save someone stronger from having to walk it for themselves.
coeur.you see, people are all the same. bones and hearts and brains and yet they're all different.coeur.5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
i thought i was lucky to meet him. i thought hell, he's the one. but what did i know? nothing. maybe i was wishing for a fairy tale ending, and a whole fairy tale begining to go along with it. that's what i felt like. all the princesses and all the other fairy tale girls always have those shitty lifes, and i could of told each and every one of them 'i feel ya, sis.' and they would just go along talking to their animals or riding in their pumpkins. some people believe in fate. i did. after i met him and i was walking with him late nights into early mornings, going where ever we would go i would think to myself "hell, i sure am lucky. i was in the right place right time."
it didn't take me long to realize how untrue that was. yes, i was in the right place right time. to do what you might ask? to get hurt. i was just another of his false fairytales. he was good at breaking hearts
confessions of a misguided poetcertain things in my mindconfessions of a misguided poet2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
would be better left unsaid,
i. how I stared at a bottle of pills
for an hour as if they would slide down
my throat on their own.
ii. when I stepped out of the shower
with bloody knees and didn't bother
to put a band aid over them.
iii. why I can't keep a smile long
enough for someone to take
iv. who I wanted to be when I was
a little girl and who I am
right here and now.
v. where I tried to jump off a
bridge and landed in water
deep enough for me to swim in.
vi. what I wanted to scream at
you that day but I just stayed
silent and hoped you would forget.
no more pretty words and
today; just life,
the truth, and everything
that I never want to tell
you lied the night you kissed me.there is a thick exhaustion in the pit of my stomach, spreading to my shouldersyou lied the night you kissed me.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
till they hang and to my knees until they buckle. and I will sleep for days on end,
and when I wake up I didn't really.
I hate you dear, I hate you so.
because there is so much to do, I could travel to the other side of the country and
paint a portrait of a stranger and I could sit on top of someone's roof and look at the
stars with a boy I don't want to know and I could fall asleep in his bed and listen to
him playing guitar without clothes and he'd take me out for diner and anywhere I'd
want to go and we'd have sex in his car and on the trampoline in my back yard and
we'd eat at my grandparents with Christmas and it would never be enough because
he's everything you weren't.
I think I lost myself, I think I fell out that time you ran away holding onto me and my
skin tore. I looked for her in that empty hole in your chest cavity, but all I found was
lost so long ago, and you wouldn't show me where it went b
the oracle card in my pocketthe man i love is anthe oracle card in my pocket5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
old soul with a stunning mouth and
he gathers up pieces of me into
his hands and carries me to bed.
dreams catch in the lungsby the window she sat with cold umbrella bones, laying there just staring at the wooden ceiling. she thought each breath was dying to escape [clogging her littlepores in glassy skin] as they struggled to come slipping out of her mouth. it was like spirits and ghosts in all those books of witches and warlocks, when they came back to the world through the mouth of another.dreams catch in the lungs5 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
dangling from the crossbeam was a blue beaded dreamcatcher, but she knew it caught hearts and souls in its web and never let them free
[right then she was just so soulless . heartless (like she couldn't feel the breeze or the warm summer leaves) and she knew the dreamcatcher would never catch the nightmares or bring dreams to dancing life. she knew all her fears would happen every day but all she ever wanted would never come to her (they would float along outside the window just behind the glass; she could see them watching her but they would not touch her skin and seep through just as they would not seep t
cutting.my body was the canvas for what my heart had to say.cutting.5 years ago in Emotional More Like This
the stars ignored me.ssuddenly my bonesthe stars ignored me.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
don't seem quite so
and my skin
seems to be paper thin
and so easily torn
if these waves continue
to crash over me
controlled by a
far too white moon
that lies like the stars
it's as if my tongue
would crumble with
any movement it made
and even the simplest
words weighed it down
anchoring it to
the bottom of my mouth
refusing to be lifted
so i had to try and
force my thoughts out
make them solid
however maybe the heavens
could smell the pungent aroma
of self doubt
or they could see the
way that i couldn't
make up my mind
between cracked bones
or weakened vision
to give me both and
leave me staggering
on numbed feet
muttering under my breath
wishes are a lot like regrets.i say a lot of things that maybe i dont mean so while we were sleeping in glass covered streets. i was talking about being a lot like twenty four hours that are disappearing. like i could make something pretty or poetic out of the fact that im a complete waste of your time.wishes are a lot like regrets.6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
we were leaning against the curb trying not to cut our skin on the sharp pieces of our shattered reality as i said that we cant age backwards and this is as young as were going to get and that you should just pretend i never happened. pretend i dont exist because i cant say what i should to you. i cant say the words to fix this. i cant say the things you deserve to hear anywhere but in our dreams. i cant and im sorry.
i believe a lot of things that i maybe know arent true so while we were lying among glittering blades of grass. i was counting all the stars in the sky and rationing my wishes so i could make one each night for the rest of my life. and
how it goesthis is how it goes; you meet a boy and you think he's cute and you hope that maybe someday you will kiss the nape of his neck. the ache grows inside of you like a tumour, you feel it pulsing every single day and there is a piece inside of you that hopes he likes you back.how it goes4 years ago in Emotional More Like This
then you start to doubt it, you start to think you're ugly and your chubby and your clothes aren't pretty, but then you realize if you want him to like you, you have to like you as well. so you start to like yourself more, you're happier and you think he likes you back, which makes everything so much better.
one day he walks you to the bus and you wonder how time managed to put you here, and you see his lips moving but all you hear is the sound of your heart hammering. you agree to go on a date with him, and you try hard not to maul him when you hug him goodbye. you sit on the bus smiling and miss your stop, but it's alright, because it's a breathtaking day.
things are beautiful for a long time, trees look like they
i left my heart in haiti.and so iti left my heart in haiti.5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
[like everything else.]
was torn down,
shattered on the
i bought seven
cans of hope, and bet
them all on horse number
[like everything i've ever put my hope in.]
decided to fail me
i broke out of
your loosely colored wall
treason, so i
[i was never good at taking orders.]
and i swore nothing
could stop me
try to tear
me down, but we
both know i'm
[other then obvious.]
liar, and that any
sense of truth i
left at baggage
of abandoned tea partiesi:of abandoned tea parties6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
we are fresh mown grass and the first stars to come out and
fireworks in the rain and gently washed jackets. we are
piano melodies drifting from the house-next-door and
we are government conspiracies and laughing at fireflies and
black-blue-and-purple on pale skin. we are trying not to fall off the edge
even as we promise others that we'll be at the bottom to catch them.
we are embers lying in the dewy grass and the lone cricket in the background
and leftover play dough sticking to your fingers.
we are notes to children we are not going to have and letters to your mother
that aren';t going to be read and flames burning patterns into our fingertips.
we are abandoned tea parties with the dolls sitting in the chairs at nightfall
and unanswered text messages and faint whispers of iloveyou
from the room across the hall. we are staying up late to finish poems no one
cares about and passages from ancient books that no one opens and
You found loveSly shoulders withYou found love4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
tiny bruises not
meant for lovers eyes,
Teeth and wicked collarbones:
You argued in the stairwell,
Fingers flirting with
that pretty dress of green
as you felt yourself asphyxiate.
Her lips, the antidote
to your wildest dreams.
the breakers will always call us homedon't mind my voicethe breakers will always call us home2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in the twilight.
i am without shoes,
beneath my wings.
i was the well that fed the lake--
i [saw] your fingers touching the water.
where did you sleep last night?
dear diary, i fell again todayi want to be beautiful by math's standaddear diary, i fell again today5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
because math is what makes the world go
'round and, my god, how i want to be the
reason your world keeps turning, even though
words are far more important than math, and i'm
really no good at either.
go ahead, call me yours like
we used to make butterfly handsYou told me that when I was older I would understandwe used to make butterfly hands2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and I looked up and saw the sky in paper planes and periwinkle blue.
I reached out and drew a line for you;
traced it all over the globe and back to your wise heart
so that when I was older, my head full of understanding,
I’d be able to navigate back to my place there
and touchdown, settle down with you.
You said that our worlds were too distant,
you with your job and bills to pay and me with my honey-sweet dreams.
I nodded and pulled back my flyaway hair
thinking that if we’re alive together, against all the odds and centuries alive together,
that’s close enough for me.
I kissed you and you told me I was great. Carousel great. Sandy-toes great. Smiles on a Saturday, belly-laughs great.
You snapped the string and flew away.
I’m older and I do understand
that dotted lines get tangled or just fall away completely and
you were right when you said that things aren't quite as pretty
as they are in my party-h
nothing is what it seemsi couldn't remember your name and inothing is what it seems4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i panicked because maybe i'm not ready
to let this go you are a symbol to the
it's not you, it's me you had said but
i knew you mumbled under your breath
'actually, it is you. it has always been you.
you caused all of this to go to hell.
you are good at that.'
i feared (losing) you
sometimes i laugh out loud at the
absurd fact that you know nothing
about my life and i know nothing of
yours and yet i care, just because
i left you on the side of the road when i
moved on with my life in this metaphorical
road that shows my journey throughout life
and this metaphorical car that takes me or maybe
it was you that had left because
i always expected you weren't as nice as you acted
. . . i dreamt you were a poetearly in the blue-blood-clot morning, i traced the varicose veins down my arm, following along my skin like a coloring book, but it only lead to a battery-dead end. like how id thought we were: a dead end. but we were nothing more than varicose romance twisted, coiling, unhealthily swollen.. . . i dreamt you were a poet6 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
were abnormal, ill admit, but my basement-low bloodpressure and your self-induced peerpressure arent exactly best friends. hell, theyre not even acquaintances! theyre nothing more than varicose fantasies intertwined in my mad-dog-wild imagination my hypersomniac mindset, where i pretended you wrote me lyrical, varicose verses.
when my closet head met my discomfort pillow and my lethargic lids met rapid-eye-movement, i unrealistically piloted my paper-mache-airplane from the movie theatre to the schoolyard restaurant, but the faulty jet engine on the elevator popped my circulatory balloon. i somehow
for hummingbird lullabies--he is not the kind of boy who chases golden afternoons or dreams of things like bright red ribbons and spiderweb silence and love. he doesn't like metaphors because they never say what they mean and he doesn't like himself because he doesn't know who that is.for hummingbird lullabies--4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
sometimes he draws pictures in the sky with clouds and feels like maybe they mean something. but mostly he forgets to look up.
he likes things in neat, orderly rows. words that come in short sentences with two syllables and clear meanings, but really he doesn't like words at all. on his way home, he passes two shiny pennies, but he's not looking down so he doesn't think to pick them up.
'look,' his mother said one night, pointing at the sky, 'that's the big dipper, and there! that's orion's belt, and that's andromeda!'
but as hard as he tried, all he could see were stars, and so he stopped looking.
he doesn't believe in the magic of finding a quarter in the bottom of his pocket and spending it on gleeful gumballs in celebration; i