Absolut."Atunci când confunzi visele cu realitatea, atunci știi că ești fericit".Absolut.3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
Încă nu sunt sigură dacă visez sau ești real. Pentru că dacă ești, realitatea mea depășește bizarul, depășește extazul, oarecum, tinde către absolut.
Așa cum filozoful caută să atingă perfecțiunea, să-și demonstreze însuși că teoriile nu stau numai în vorbe profunde, așa te caut eu pe tine.
Ai apărut de nicăieri, ai fost răspunsul la întrebările la care nu am avut curajul să răspund, ai fost salvarea mea, ai fost acel unic lucru care ar putea defini fericirea.
Te văd în vis, mă cuprinzi, ești promisiunea zilei de mâine, ești curajul, ești riscul, ești aventura, ești tu.
Am riscat totul și am primit totul în schimb.
Sunt fericită cu
waiting for a silence.I am waiting for a silence;waiting for a silence.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a silence crickets are yet
a silence whom death
would sue for identity theft
a silence half
as death's foot
a silence that will echo
in every crevice and depth
outliving its own memories
until there aren't any left.
a silence devised
for intellectuals playing chess; the kind of
are in debt.
would not dare
an arrogant silence that wouldn't remember they had met.
behind every reason
I am not asleep
A cigar is just a cigarFreud and the penis shaped cigar clenched between his teethA cigar is just a cigar6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
stare at me from beneath everything I've ever written.
Clearly, he says, this obsession with monsters stems from
a childhood trauma. You're in love with deadly women
because your mother never loved you. You're in love with
the devil because your father never loved you. Your sexual
repression has led to isolation. Your isolation has led to
this anxious pathology.
Why darling, he says, and the cigar jumps, everyone
knows the girl you wrote into this labyrinth is you.
Once you address the source of your problems,
this unhealthy writing compulsion will cease.
So I cut my hair and left my basement for the first time
in twenty years. I took the bus to the center of the city
and spent half a lifetime in warm dens and nicotine smoke,
in bars full of women with amorphous eyes and gentle fingers,
in strip light burst my eyes light, in the back of a stranger's car
behind the abandoned earth. Like a wounded animal I touched
her face. I le
Call my name, I won't answerI think I lost myself somewhere in the skyCall my name, I won't answer5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
among those white tea cigarette
you like to call clouds
StowawaysI whispered my secrets to the sky-Stowaways5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The clouds caught the words
And encapsulated them in droplets
With the greatest of care.
All at once, the wind whisked them away
To parts unknown,
But somewhere in my heart
I can pinpoint the exact location
Of each individual piece of hope.
Some form downy flakes
Floating silently, slowly,
And mound into soft pillows and banks.
Others more hard and violent
Pelt the Earth
Leaving behind dents and divots
To remember them by.
My favorite remains:
Glistening showers reflecting sun rays,
Splashing a host of colors across the airspace;
To strangers' faces.
friendsto the extentfriends6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that anyone can be a friend,
(despite the endless oceanwalls, flattened fisheyes, abysmal wingflaps that span our interstice;
despite that i am a box of words)
know that i am yours.
ImmutableWe take happiness from withoutImmutable6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
like a coat, donned in opposition
thought's lightless hum,
the desultory sprawling veins.
In search of quiet equilibrium,
we estrange ourselves
all shot through
like embroidered cloth
with the shivering filaments of sorrow.
HesaraghattaBangalore: tinHesaraghatta6 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
houses lean in mass
saffron lake, perspiration
erasmusi.erasmus5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i hit my head four times at work today,
and my scalp is bleeding. it bleeds all day, all
night, until my brain is grey and parched. it
needs a good soaking in a terra cotta pot, it
needs fertilizer, it needs four hours of consistent
sunlight. dappled shade, dandelions, a light
breeze to prevent fungus. tender loving care.
i crack it open and find a medley of things.
through the crevice in my head. there's an open
field of green grass, bubbles, bokeh. in the center
there's a great tree, oak maybe, because the
acorns crack underfoot. i touch it, and there is
every memory i've ever owned, etched there into
the heartwood. there is everything i've said, the
words dipped in dark molasses or tar; they look
the same. there is every time i hid in the closet
with a hatchet or headphones, a rash around
my eyes. there is laughter and every asthma attack,
every used q-tip, bandaid, the stitches my family
doctor removed when i was 7. all 12 of them.
line 9 is BrokenBecause the television is brokenline 9 is Broken6 years ago in Other More Like This
Pierre gets zits
Pierre gets zits
Because the television is broken
Because pierre gets zits
The television remains broken
Because the zit is
Pierre gets a television
Pierre is a zit
The television remains broken
The television is a zit
The television is pierre
Zits and televisions
Remain broken in
The television remains
The color is pierre;
lights out, child of mineshe wakes up to the sound of white bottlecaps shifting weightlights out, child of mine7 years ago in Surrealism More Like This
like the boughs of a taciturn ship
only to realize thru bedcovers
and forgotten colours
that it was just her vacancy sign.
she hugs her knees to
the nausea that slithers along her major organs
bedposts and wire springs that construct her waking life
and now perturb the numbers in her head.
the streetlamp outside her window is
just a metaphor for something she shouldn't read into
but always does.
jettison cigarettes on her marline veins
more the colour of phosphene scarlet letters
like the one only Nathaniel Hawthorne could rectify
and she could embody.
stop. stomach wails won't be pacified.
through roundabout monkey knots and cheshire directions
she breathes in singsong tongue-lapses
. s t o p
no, a letter to you.sometimes i wish i could show you the things you've never seen -no, a letter to you.5 years ago in Letters More Like This
the beauty like the alignment of a thousand suns and a thousand universes in your smile, the way it feels to be free. the fragility of someone else's heart in your hands and the length of the list of wishes you've made in your life. one day they'll all be yours to love. one day, you'll have
everything. one day, i'll read my children your stories and tell them about the girl i once knew, the one who told me to follow the rainbow, and the girl i taught not to care, one upturned table at a time. i'll tell them that it rain heavier than ever over her, but she never stopped singing into the darkness. they'll ask me what she looked like and i'll tell them she had the eyes that could defeat
the horizon. i'd give her the world, one tree, one cloud, one poem at a time. because i knew better than anyone else that she deserved every last bit of it. every last goddamn bit. i'd paint and write and bleed and cry f
12poetry125 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
should only be
b r o a d s h e e t s -
[where the ink is tangible where words have faces
words rush between my metaphors are never lies
fingers: tasting the grit. all similies are smiles like hers.]
theceiling.theceiling.5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
its wet paper, four candles and t.s. eliot. good morning. its you-and-me. books are just paper torn to be read seventy, eighty three times its you-and-me. THE OIL IN THE RIVER SWEATS, AND ITS SEEPING INTO THE CHEEKBONES OF OUR MOTHER.
what is heaven, what is nectar, what is sweet grass, what is patience.
its me-and-you. good morning. but the morning is still night when you haven't been to sleep. breathe in pores of lust and luxury. its dry bones in lightening. its hostile sleeping. its you-and-me. good morning.
timinga vague october hush, sunlesstiming6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
beggar goddess, squeezing for my painted
now your pocket karma clouds
have grayed out my new
and ive only just bought her, dear
ive unblued the ventricles from their
i spent my years for this
blossomsblossomsblossoms5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
from my broken body
gentle on your breath
only you can find
within your tender keep
others who suspect
a faith in their belief
and very deeply sought
still I am tested
in a faith of which
I hold no stock
based on others'
for ever after death
from my broken body
gentle on your breath
Observations As a stone cast in a starry lakeObservations5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a makeshift heart will sink,
and in the scented air, an eye
will light a careful sigh
against a law signed by the
ink and sky.
The atmosphere will sing its tune
to a September afternoon.
At the wedding, I will be
a sordid feast, licking violins
and burning hymns,
like a horse euthanised upon
I walk the dusk to
Manhasset Bay, and though
I must, I must.
To Connecticut and onward
oh, the evening sails,
lusting o'er sunset tales
inadequate with avarice, as
sound in relation to the heart(paint on my palms,sound in relation to the heart6 years ago in Other More Like This
skin, like wax.
melt. melt. melt.)
i have a fever
and you tell my
mother i will die.
but i have water stuck to the walls of my throat
and inside each strand of hair. i tell you.
i am drowning.