real artyou already told me
if a girl were art,
you'd fuck her brains out
but you should know
a bed is a bed
and not a canvas,
her hands are not bristles
but palms and fingers,
her face is not a figure
of pastels, but a face,
and her arms and thighs are
not tools, but arms and thighs
and her voice does not
hold reds, or oranges,
or violets, or greens,
it holds a human.
everything on my tonguethere are ghosts on my lips-everything on my tongue3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
sweet smelling, they are
like sugar. a vulgar, sweet
not really kisses, i know,
but bitter as kisses, i think,
coffee and eyes on eyes
trailing like cities,
caffeine on the folding sheets
rapping to our corneas,
dilating. craving to skin.
but sweet they are
like drifting fingers
on sailing nails.
but this lying- it brings
bitter salts under my tongue
and the inner folds of my lips
when i speak.
it puts the saltiest of oceans
i know, i say. i know.
her, she says, no. no.
they are only ghosts.
cancer handshoney, you should have knowncancer hands4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i'm one of those tasteful girls
with all those tongues hidden
in her bones
and not one of those watered down ones
wasting their time with fake, ersatz tastes,
but the pilled, the ones that can be
and can't kill
with cancer hands
stonei know hearts break easy,stone4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but i've still got a couple
ephemeralthere's something about theephemeral3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the way we keep
to a sleepless night
with the tap of a train
under our feet.
the way we end
with the close of day,
the oranges and reds lingering
while the sleep
tickles our eyelids.
the way we hold each other
in our hands, knuckles tingling
and skin pounding
with each new touch and breath.
the kind of thing that lives
with everything in the way we speak, the careful whispers
in the crooks of our shoulders,
quick in patters of rain, but crawling in droplets,
a haunting reminder of what we are-
what humans do0:00what humans do4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
she met him when she was fifteen, stupid, and willing to do anything to get out of her own head. it was winter, new snow sticking to the ground in snowbanks - like a naked blanket, cold on cold with ice. houses were lined up on the streets, chimneys blaring smoke, colors sticking out against the sky's dull grays. cars rolled by, marking the streets all with the same, parallel tracks, like fingerprints with chains attached. thick exhaust fills her senses.
he seemed weird to her. not because of his cocky, laid-back appearance, but because of the complete fresh and virgin ardor he gave her. it wasn't that kind of sense you get when you're born - the average, cliche smell, taste, touch, sight - but when you pass the age of twelve or thirteen.
he was the untouchable, the near-unforgivable. the sweet fruit to adolescence. the thing you taste when you want something new - lips on lips, tongues tying, tugging on piercings - the umph to the skinny jeans, the belt loops
selfishearthen toes, he saysselfish4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the branches to his soles
in his bones
sun's blare to corneas
i am the you
searching for you,
so turn me away
rip me out of
tomorrowbreathing.tomorrow3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
binding ropes, pointed sheets
and careful skies- i have all the oceans,
new days, richest nights and brightest
when i have the feeling
of the roughest rocks
under the soles of my feet-
the wood and splinters in my toes,
the cold metal to my arms,
the most frozen of fingers
pressed to my back.
arms are poison when they're numb;
ever is different when you can feel.
leaning, i have the air against my skin,
the deepest of skies breathing down my neck,
the poison of cradling eyes.
maybe being human is knowing how to feel alive;
maybe being human is knowing when to be alive.
black and white, knight eyes, shivers
seeking home in my skin-
breathing, i have everything-
even with the trains crashing
in my chest, black seeking
the corners of my eyes
and a slow, dancing conscious,
like magic, we don't only have tomorrow -
we seek tomorrow.
fragmentsi smell of sleeplessness and lubricant.fragments4 years ago in Scraps More Like This
it is three thirty-six in the morning
and i am still choking on your semen.
i created an ocean twice over
and birthed a volley of hot breaths,
i built stone walls and broke them down
when you cross your ankles
around my hips
i know you want me close
and my heart swells.
i am writing beautiful one liners lately
hoping enough fragments
can form from the body i am missing
and create a (w)hole
you can love,
so can i just say,
i love you.
i want to say it until i break,
until i bring the seas
crashing to your feet,
drowning me in you.
i feel unsafe with these words
tangling themselves on my tongue,
promising never to be spoken
but losing themselves in the evergreen forest
growing in my mind.
i let go.
i am in your arms and sharing your breath;
your chin is not smooth as it rubs against my neck.
i am every heartbeat discordant in our chests,
every trail left behind by fingertips.
i am several pieces of a person,
shrapnel from an explosion,
printblue windows, he saysprint4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
why can't i have all the blinds,
choosy birds and clouded eyes
too wide open, he knows
but the winged fingers, beaked lips
and beaming eyes
are all too tempting-
why can't he have it all,
the rivered skies and blurred
whites, the flaking palms and
kaleidoscope eyes, branched feet
and lipped suns,
but the newsprint says no,
too far from glass it says, and he knows,
but blue windows lie.
so this weekendso my friend, he tells me he doesn't drink. he tells me he has respect for himself and knows well enough that if he did, he would unravel like a spool of yarn and make decisions he'd regret because he wouldn't remember them in the first place.so this weekend3 years ago in Scraps More Like This
what i didn't tell you was that he's a little more than just my friend, what i didn't tell you was that he was drunker than a bum in the alley on friday night; what he didn't tell me was that he he found a new heart to call home, so i wrung my hands like a telephone until i resisted the urge to call home, too.
so my friend, you know, the one who's a little more than a friend, the one who uses my body like a piece of paper and wraps my wrists like christmas packaging, he didn't mean to drink. no, i know that sounds silly, but he didn't, honest. someone put a little something in his soda and somehow he woke up with three girls under his blanket and some hickeys somehow lining his neck like some warm wint
melatonini scared you into saying you love me.melatonin4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i am two pills of melatonin,
i am a mouth drier than the sun.
i scared you like a snake,
a rattler wrapped round your ankle,
a python about the perimeter of your neck.
i made you cry.
i heard your throat
swallowing your sadness.
i am sorry but not sorry enough.
i choked on my words,
i gasped for air
like a fish on the shore.
you don't love me when i am a monster,
you love me when i laugh.
i am sorry my smile
doesn't shine like the waters
i am too grey
for the joy
you could bring me.
Making History"What do I mean to you?"Making History4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
She was sitting there, wearing that dress that made her look like a Thursday night just before a long weekend, and a smile on her lips that could have confused the Mona Lisa herself.
"What do I mean to you?"
It was not like she had to repeat herself. It's just that he needed to find an answer that would find its way to her thrice broken heart.
"What do I mean to you?"
And since the third time's the charm, he opened his mouth and let her know.
"You aren't pretty.
You aren't lovely.
You aren't any of the things that make the world go around.
You aren't a doll, you never do what you're told.
You aren't a listener, and you talk too much."
Her face crumbled and she turned away, long hair falling over her face like a curtain. And then, a soft voice, like a single light in a dark room, found its way into her broken heart.
"What you are, is the kind of girl who is beautiful.
What you are, is the kind of girl who is unique.
What you are, is the kind of gir
the culling songi watch the clock shift,the culling song3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
its hands sinking like ships.
every notch in its rope
lowered into the sea of time,
i realise i spend
most of my time
thinking of dying.
i'm going to kill myself.
please stop laughing,
it's only going to make me
do it faster.
and it goes like this:
you pour your hips into mine
and i hold your bones together
like an eggcup of wine.
truth is i fell apart years ago
and you're only talking to
the fragments of a human now.
i feel you on an airplane,
pushing its way into the sky
as a baby does from its womb.
you're leaving me behind
on crumbling ground,
faster than even you
could have dreamed.
i become an ant,
a segmented being
divided in three-
where i am,
where you are,
where we were.
and it goes like this:
you leave me like dirt
under your fingernails,
and i hope it makes you sad
to drive down my street
to see my house
empty of me.
i want it to make you ache,
like your concerns
for yourself over me
what happens is this:
in blueblinking eyes,in blue4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
why can't i have all the smiles
of dustened piano keys
breathing roses and parting lips,
the closing me with the folds
of the blues in concave,
rocking eyes and cradled
you are the burning touch,
the burn to the touch
when you're under my skin
i don't know what beautiful
means anymore, what beautiful
because art won't take me back, i say
it drowns me under covers and sheets
and burns my fingertips with all of
the magazine covers, pillows and mourning
and leaves your coffee-stained skin
perfect eyesi have the perfect woman, he said,perfect eyes3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
glass bodies all shown in her eyes
shining, oh shining.
she doesn't even see me, he said,
she only sees blues and pales and fats,
and sex and sex and oh, sex.
she tells me
i wanna be like barbie,
i just want to be like barbie.
i don't care if i'm made of plastics
or silicones and fakes and fakes and fakes,
i just want eyes.
no, not bodied eyes. not flesh eyes.
dear emmalove is a person.dear emma3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
he is a man with cocoa skin, writes with weak hands and a strong mind, tuned ears and speaks in a placid voice. it sounds of ivory, smells of coffee, and is music in a silent world with unmade beds and the typing of keys, the quiet hum of black and white re-runs speaking to the crook of his back.
he is a boy with fine, chapped lips and a thin cigarette between the thin cracks of his teeth, a being seen in dimmed lights and close things under stars, the ripple of cars passing by, the tapping of cooling engines. lit, green eyes under night sky hair with a starry shine.
she is a girl with fireflies to dawn skin, a burned nose and pale scared knuckles. she is speaking under the monotones, cities of skinny, magazines she curls in balls at the foot of her bed when she sleeps, with rose cheeks and the hiding of doe, scar eyes.
she is a girl with vertebrae fingertips, cracked red fingernails of resin; one with bracelet wrists and rings on her lips. the type that has a naked f
the girl with love in her bonesHer lips are a smoky colorthe type of chapped things with paled, cracked edges and words hanging off, clothed by the least incessant whines and the most liberating cries. They're somewhat extended and exemplified through the cigarette in her moutha thin figure held between the sticks of her fingers with filtered lips of its own, ashing edge, a paled body, and a slow burning with every breath. The grayed portions fall off in a dirty, snow rubble on the sidewalk, burning into it, leaving small holes by her feet.the girl with love in her bones3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"I don't understand," I say.
She sighs, breath coming out white, warm in the icy air. "It's a human thing." Her eyes are red, raw around the skin, and her corneas glint blue above the thick smoke, like a cat'sexcept it wasn't darkness, but the exhaust of flameclouds before morning rain, the lights of a city blaring through the smog of night.
"I still don't understand."
"It's liberating," she says, and I can see her eyes on mine. Her nose is flushed red lik
hollowfalling in lovehollow4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
is like plucking ribs, and
each time you've fallen
you're another bone closer
to cardiac arrest
if home is where the heart isoh, little birdsif home is where the heart is3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a heap at the pulse-
do not tread in my compass
like you do at windowsills
and boys who will break you.
wrist bones are small
in girls like me:
i do not wear bones on my sleeve
like i do in my rib cage,
i do not have breath
like i do in my lungs.
there is only wickedness- a bleeding
in parched skin
above the closets of bone.
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.
the dearest diary9.23 - autumn has the same color as morningthe dearest diary3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
she was one of those women you'd pass without much of a thought. much of a long thought, at least. she wore sweat pants every day- the same gray ones, she'd think, but they were really just the same make. she wore the same shoes, the same loose shirt. the same damn, arduous face. that kind of face that reminds her of some sort of third world country- a heart shaped, tired thing. but under that dirt and grime, there are amazing, beautiful eyes. tired eyes. human eyes.
there's something about arduous people. the same, half-mooned shape under their eyes. naked lashes, and a naked, weak face. and there's definitely something about the way her lips are always the same pink, hearth-like color. the kind you don't know what it'd look like wearing a smile.
that's what makes meetings all the worthwhile.
12.11 - cold breadth
she takes off her gloves and outstretches her hands. nail polish is cracked over her nails, her fingers thin at the kn
helplesswhen we kiss, you breathehelpless4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
nostalgia through the cracks
and i find myself empty
Dancing With Dreams'I'm back.'Dancing With Dreams4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The fragile silence collapsed. Slowly, the Other looked up, 'I thought... I thought you'd gone....'
'For longer...' Came the murmured reply.
The Speaker swallowed, 'I'd never leave you.'
'Then where did you go?' asked the Other, indignation making cold words hot.
'I went to chase that happy ending,' answered the Speaker, 'I danced with all the dreams in the world and tried to discover perfection.'
An icy glare, 'So, what did you find...?' The question was bitter.
'I realised that the dreams I danced with were mere imitations of you and I brought my happy ending back in a box.' The Speaker held out a small wooden container.
Taking it, the Other opened the box, 'It's empty.'
A small nod, 'My happy ending. It's you.'
his mother in readingit might've been the weighthis mother in reading3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
she gained in her
hips and stomach
her only child,
or the heft of responsibility
brought on by jobs and bills
and eviction notices,
but she wasn't beautiful
some key element
left her skin empty
and let it sag
and slump like her shoulders.
she looked like wet laundry
hung like papier mache
streamers dragged down
by a cold summer rain.
it choked the life out of her
i can see it in her eyes
in her face
she just sits in front of the television
she doesn't feel love anymore-
telling a story that has no end,
breaking her heart just to feel again-
there is a big nothing
where love should be.