SpeechlessWriting is my passion.Speechless3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It's what I do.
It's who I am.
I can weave words easily, without thinking.
But when I think of you,
DemonsEach one of your scars,Demons1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Is a demon
Each drop of blood that stains your skin,
Is them laughing at your weakness
Each tear you cry,
Is them calling their brothers
But each smile,
Is putting them in pain
Each time you laugh,
They hide in the shadows
Each time you talk to a friend,
They cry out in pain
Each time you see a friend,
One of them dies
And each time we tell you we love you,
They start to run away
half truths, half lies, half wishesi.half truths, half lies, half wishes1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
it's like rain in the middle of an ice storm, you can't explain it and you don't know why but that doesn't stop it from happening and freezing your porch- but you don't find out about that part until the next morning when you hurry out because you're already five minutes late and there's going to be traffic and you suddenly go from walking briskly to black to waking and wanting to claw for the covers that aren't there because it's too cold for comfort and you're already two hours late and fuck traffic, what you really need is a warm cup of tea with a splash of something stronger because if your head is going to pound like that, you might as well give it a good reason to do so.
give me a ticket to anywhere and i'll be more than happy to take it and put it in a box beneath my bed so i can dream and wonder of what-ifs and maybes that i let slip between my fingertips. i'll never remember about that box, i tell you, and you may not believe me but that's probably because i'll lie if i
choking on nothing.Its not a sudden thing by any stretch of the imagination, its gradual, bit by bit.choking on nothing.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
But last night I felt the final jolt, the last step out of love.
It woke me and id never felt so empty.
you're a series of unconnected thoughtssometimes i wonderyou're a series of unconnected thoughts2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
if it's really true--
if history really does just
and now we're stuck in its loop where
you're holding everything back
and i'm holding everything in.
and there's nothing to do,
but hope for the best
or at least something better.
but for now, i just wonder
if there's anyone else
who misses quite as much
as i do.
it's never enough to remember,
but it's always too much
Why I WriteI write for the readers,Why I Write3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The ones who see with their minds.
I write for those who hope,
Those who wish,
Those who wonder.
Sometimes I write for the mad,
The ones who see things differently,
The ones who aren't afraid of the unknown,
The ones who dream by day.
I write for the poets,
I write for myself,
For my insane beliefs,
For my wandering mind,
An outlet for my thoughts.
I write for the singers,
Those who aways hear songs,
Those who can make music with anything,
Those who dance to unheard beats.
I write for the optimists,
Those who see only beauty,
Those who hear only wonderment,
Who feel only hope,
Who seek the brightness.
I write for the pessimists,
Those who see the darkness,
The ones who hear the cries,
Who wish they could hope,
Who cling to the shadows.
I'm stuck in the middle.
I don't write for publishers,
Unless they really hear me,
Unless they see my voice,
Unless they understand.
I write for the minority,
Those who don'
dust.i'm still under constructiondust.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and i don't know if i can
keep rebuilding myself
and re-stuffing my chest
with these secrets and ghosts
and if this keeps up i'll
run out of steam or energy
and collapse in an
unfinished heap of
bruised skin and weakened bones.
Stormingi. Summer rain fingersStorming2 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
quietly trickle down cheek
bones and window panes.
ii. Eyes darken into
shadows until morning light;
the tempest remains.
amphitrite IIif my lip will still be split when the austral summer starts,amphitrite II10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
and, all wrapped in rising sun, we're coccooning,
if we're throwing all the good things into a bucket of riverness
(and lawn flowers),
will we want to wake up?
I know I'll want to pour
my slice of eternity into a bottle of coconut essence,
make my foreverafter sweet and tropical,
and if your hands are balsam I can
carve my song in stone,
and I will never die.
But don't you ask yourself
why paper boats always sink, in the end?
I don't think I care.
I think they just sail off to a land without horizon
deep in the underwater of the bathtub.
You'll know when, and
you'll hear me sing a sea shanty, maybe.
I want to take my ship until the end of the river.
I want to see the spring pouring down blossom offerings
into the ritual water, I want
our coast of muck and destruction to be aflame with
I'm a shellfish and my fingernails are painted green,
I'm silent-all-these-years and fallen,
I'm wondering where my watercolor
SurrealismThree a.m., andSurrealism1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
God is in my bathtub
a freshwater moon
in the mother-of-pearl sky.
Retraction of ChlorophyllLonger nights,Retraction of Chlorophyll2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and shorter days,
Sinking towards the horizon,
the sun stretches itself against
pulsating veins retracting
from margins to petiole
NaPoWriMo: Day 2sometimes,NaPoWriMo: Day 21 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
i have this
sudden urge to cut
most of the time,
i just wish I were anything
other than me.
a rocket ship, a bird-
the sweet flavored smoke
I promised my girlfriend
these briar patch lungs
would not in.hale.
i have fallen in love
with the strangest of things-
eyes that intimidate
the way my scars
play hide and seek
with her hands. -
the love letters
that start and end
pressed against limbs.
i make promises
i know i can not keep.
but if i were a liar
i would say i was tired
of writing to the stars.
xsuch an infinitesimal amountx9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
of forgotten language
found only in shuddering touch
breaking waves or
lapping tides beneath
stronger than the fleeting gaze
you can’t hold
that moment between stolen
mugged and beaten glances
when both crash as last
to intersect as we should
I hope it's worth it when I'm gone.I can't even pretend things are simple anymore.I hope it's worth it when I'm gone.2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It's raining again, and with every crash of thunder, I miss you more than I can bear. I know it's not worth saying, because really nothing much is anymore, but it doesn't make it any less true.
It's eleven ten on a Friday night, and I'm sitting in the middle of the grass, watching the downpour spill off the roof. My t-shirt is clinging to my ribcage, and my hair is sticking to my face. I can feel the water running down the ridges of my spine, the backs of my hands, clumping in my eyelashes, but still, I don't move. Sometimes, when I can't stand what the world is doing anymore, I allow myself a thunderstorm to wash everything away.
It's the meteorological equivalent to a clean break. Faster to heal -- or at least, that's what they say.
The lightning is tearing across the sky, cutting through the darkness like a crack in the atmospheric layers. I'm staring at this like I half expect all the air to disappear around me while the world disinte
no one, noand I am screamingno one, no2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
jesus, jeanie, you're such
a fucking slut.
my hand is a propeller to her skin, and she blooms like a red carnation. I spit on her face. she is hot, I can feel it. baking like the sun.
"burn in hell," I let her know, but she might be already.
tonight I rustle the childish blankets of her bed. she doesn't move. I am a threat. I bend close down to her. her breaths are rigid like the crags that jut from a cliff, like she is shaping the air so that when I pounce I will be struck and she will be saved. I don't hesitate.
her hair is silk through my hands. I pull it, unhemming thread. "you're an ugly bitch, jeanie. who the fuck would love you?"
"off," she pushes me into the sea. "get the fuck off of me." I land on the planted crags of her nightstand and her lamp. the pink vase, curling upwards to the light as a tree, smashes like an eggplant. the florescent splashes on us and the blushed scoopula of its skin cuts the breadth of my b
a different explorationwe talk abouta different exploration8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
astrology and ex lovers. the raspberries
dying in the heat, the way the water
bit our skin, the homeless man set out
to buy California, the center of our universe,
you. that feeling labelled “blah,”
and the notion I am not my own.
we leak questions
like overrun rivers, excess spillage,
draining curiosities about that tragic skeleton
balled up beneath your clothes.
and for you,
I’d travel the length between heartbeats,
shallow and vain like your promises,
your liquid eyes.
above all, we were lucky.
miracle children. one in ten,
one in a million, a pair of stragglers
in seven billion exempt from
clarity and unclaimed skin.
I know this guy who had
sorry lips and scars down his spine
without a story. we didn’t have
a thing to say so we talked about
how the stars were our newest horizon,
the undefined, and how we’d escape to them
Night PredatorA raucous shriek from hunting bird,Night Predator4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Left Predator in sleep and undisturbed.
While morning mist did hug the ground,
Waiting in fear for night-time sound.
When Predator would stir from daytime rest,
As twilight touched the edge of its nest.
Now dark has come and the eyes burn bright,
Eyes that see clearly though the night.
Claws are flexed and wings spread wide,
Prepares to launch a soft air glide.
To seek a victim, be it man or beast,
To abate a hunger with gory feast.
Fair Madeleine stands at foot of a hill,
To tend a sick lamb, short taken ill.
Though wary of merciless night Predator,
That had struck her flock three nights before.
Those dying lambs' scream still in her head,
She swore Predator would leave no more dead.
Chill silence warned Madeleine he was on his way
Knew both she and her lambs in his path did lay.
From beneath her cloak she withdrew a talisman,
Passed down through the years from her ancestor's clan.
Stood firm her ground and prepared for the test,
Would she or the Pr