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 --5 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.
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--3 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.3 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
i want to be a real poet.i want you to know thati want to be a real poet.4 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
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.1 year 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
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 Hang4 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
confessions of a misguided poetcertain things in my mindconfessions of a misguided poet8 months 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
cutting.my body was the canvas for what my heart had to say.cutting.4 years ago in Emotional More Like This
the oracle card in my pocketthe man i love is anthe oracle card in my pocket3 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 lungs3 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
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.4 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
the stars ignored me.ssuddenly my bonesthe stars ignored me.3 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
theres this girl.theres this girltheres this girl.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
who stays up
all night reading
ugly people who
do beautiful things
like write songs
on post it notes
and stick them
where people will
find them and
about people who
dance in the rain
to just feel like
they aren't the only
theres this girl
shes trying to
be so beautiful
but shes falling
apart with those
words they write
because she cant
be so beautiful
and this girl shes
spinning in circles
with anyone who
will spin with her
and she is falling
down hard but
coming up okay
theres this girl and
i think she will make
it through all this
and get away and
this girl is you
you always got to me.i was scaredyou always got to me.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i was scared of you
i was scared of
my heart isnt
broken anymore and
neither am i
the things i said
i meant just
telling you to
i think it
healed me even
if it didnt break
songs we humonce, in first or second grade, i spoke to emily. it must not have been a very deep conversation--how deep can seven-year olds get?--because i don't really remember what each of us said. i just remember emily's wild blonde hair and long eyelashes; the explosion of freckles across her face. emily lived down the street, but she lived far away enough to be on the stop before mine, so we never had a chance to speak. or maybe i just didn't want to talk to her. i don't know.songs we hum4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
now, here's the thing. emily, you still live down the street from me. you have a daughter--angela--and i have my beautiful melissa. melissa's first day of school, i walked her the extra few blocks to get to angela's bus stop. while melissa counted cars and found animals in the sky, i had eyes only for the fair-haired, blue-eyed girl that stood to my left; the stars scattered upon her cheeks. maybe if i'd been loo
dear diary, i fell again todayi want to be beautiful by math's standaddear diary, i fell again today3 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
i left my heart in haiti.and so iti left my heart in haiti.4 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
i can't find you.it's eight minutes till two and half past disappointment.i can't find you.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
hello, it's me again, sitting here thinking about you. i have my knees tucked into my chest and my chin resting upon them. my hair is falling in my eyes and my heart is falling into the ground. my fingers have turned blue from the cold of writing your name over and over again in cursive in the broken dimensions of us. it took me a while to realize that no matter how many times i scribble your name with my feeble hands, you are not going to come back.
and it scares me.
because it is almost three o clock and i can see my own pain in the air in front of me.
hello, it's me. just one more time. and i'm lying here in the heat trying to find my way back to nowhere. i am bathing in the sonnet of our long forgotten songs and i have a river flowed by angst and heartbreak dripping down my temple. from chambers slow i recollect my body, one by one, until i am able to stand and walk and say that i'm fine when really i'm not. i am not oka
Letter to SelfYou're sick from reading too much literature, fat from the words contained in your thrumming veins. You're unsatisfied as of yet, and it's not anyone else's turn to tell you why. Not now. Your tiredness is beginning to weigh on your shoulders. You want water lanterns in the shining dark. Your hair is short, certainly, but not stark enough to startle yourself into pleasure. You need more typewriter ribbons. You need more clothes. You need sleep.Letter to Self3 years ago in Letters More Like This
There are black strips hanging from your ceiling and a coin in currency you can't even use lying on your bedside table. There is a thirty-seven stanza poem waiting to be copied out onto rented-for-nothing-walls. There is a silent shut door, faint murmurings from women below, crumpled sheets. There is sweat.
There is the feeling that something right is being done, and it passes.
You have bruises on your pale knee from political compromise. You have tangential reasons for everything you do. You have a siren for a sometimes-friend that you insist o
gravity still works.maybe it was the way that she was so beautiful and yet she never took advantage of it. she never used her beauty to get her way. she didn't try hard though. she let things take her where she'd go next. one day she might show up knocking on my apartment door dressed in a nightgown and then next night she'd call me at three in the morning telling me to meet her in the park and she'd be in a dress and with someone she'd never met before. it was normally some person that was wise with age and she'd never see them again. that was okay to her, she'd have soaked up all the knowledge she could the few hours she was talking to this or that wise person. maybe she'd not talk to me or call me or come knocking on my door at random hours for a week. then one day she'd show up again. maybe this time in sweats, but of course she looked as beautiful as always.gravity still works.4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
we could be watching a movie or something and the second i looked at her we'd burst into fits of laughter. she was just one of those friends. at
i don't deserve better,there's something amazing about you, but i just can't place it.i don't deserve better,4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
maybe its the way you brush your finger against my cheek, lay your head in my lap to take a nap, squeeze my hand as we sing sweet caroline at the top of our lungs in the backseat of my moms car and kiss me just below my ear for no reason at all. maybe its in the way you stare at me with eyes the colour of the sea, press your lips to my shoulder creating chills up my narrow alabaster spine.
it could be in the way you look at me. your goofy little smile when i place my head on your shoulder or when i walk into the room is the cutest thing i've seen all week. the way you pretend my punches hurt and the way you protect me from the silliest things. the way you play your guitar for me and teach me a few chords even though we both know i suck at guitar more than anyone else. the way you sing in my ear and send goosebumps running up an down my arm.
i'm pretty sure it's in the way we just seem to be perfect for eachother. you're a
my introduction left holesI crave the feel of your scent between my fingertips and the angle at which lust lingers on your lips. I make stars clash in my eyes because darling innocence is a virtue but not as fun as sin. Rip the sun from its chains in the sky. We already shine enough for the moon anyway.my introduction left holes2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Gosh, I'm sorry." Your weight against my arm singed like you were still there. I just needed your touch again. I guess all contact leaves its mark. I know I left mine on you.
"Are you okay?" My silence was disturbing you. I have a gift for that. I can unsettle someone until their core shatters, and they're picking at their skin on the ground like starving pigeons. Your smile illuminated my hunger for your affection, and you never knew. You initiated the game with a brush of your shoulder and baby I never lose.
My fragile limbs scale your calloused skin. I was never good with introductions. They slide down my throat and echo in the hollows of my lungs. Imcarterit'snicetomeetyouwowyoureyesaresoblue con