Wholeheartedly.After the yelling,
The broken glass and
Bent dreams that were
Thrown away in the black
Glad garbage bag
Hung over the knob of the cleaning cabinet.
The floor was dirty.
Covered in sticky, spilled beer and
Half empty soda cans.
Paper plates and coffee filters and
Ashes and cigarette butts and
Littered with expectations and hopes
That spilled out of every orifice
Of the human who lost them.
Crushed by the weight of knowledge lost
When the blood came.
And when it came,
The soul escaped
Along with the hopes, dreams and
Expectations for the new beginning
That caused the end.
It shone and glittered
Casting light on the dank,
Claustrophobic nightmare that she ran to,
Because running away
Was too painful without a destination.
Sacrifice Returns the SoulCrying inside,Sacrifice Returns the Soul4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Begging to know
The secrets that possess you,
The thoughts behind your eyes
The locks to the happenings
Inside your mind.
But not daring to ask,
Out of fear.
Fear that you wouldn't say,
Or worse, that
You would blame
All this heartbreak on me.
Knowing in my heart
I am to blame
For this bedraggled version
Of the person you used to be.
And those beautiful eyes,
Cocoa- colored eyes,
Stare blankly ahead
Through the cracked windshield
Which is all I can offer,
Because its all I've ever had.
I can feel it,
Slowly, surely seeping away.
The emotion, the feeling
The soul in your body,
And all I have now
Is a ghost, going by your name
The name you never preferred,
The name you now obligatorily
And this ghost
Commands her fingers
To close around
A cup of cold, bitter coffee
From the convenient store
That sells lifestyles on the side.
She tells herself
Leave the store,
Walk to the car,
Sit down on the moth-eaten,
ImpairedI used to think,Impaired4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you were an architect;
you demolished my walls,
so I would invite you in.
But maybe you were a wrecking ball;
tearing me down,
and making me small.
I imagined you an engineer;
tinkering with minuscule pieces,
until they formed a mechanism,
that fit perfectly in your hand.
Perhaps you were an open flame--
and never leaving them the same.
I believed you were a doctor;
a cardiologist of some kind--
sewing together broken pieces,
and making me whole.
But maybe you were something,
I was too blind to see;
maybe you were just a disease,
out of me...
StarsIt isStars4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
when our eyes
I see you
reflected in your eyes
you don't feel
A poet's broken words.Most people don't even knowA poet's broken words.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
what a poet is nowadays.
It's not someone who writes poetry,
but someone with the ability
to create beautiful things
with pain and hate them.
I traded my soul for letters,
that I later transformed to words,
together they wrote out all my pain
but I'm starting to miss my soul.
All I have left is these broken w o r d s
and I wish I could call myself a poet
but to hate something beautiful,
before you have to create it.
How can you write when your words are broken
and your soul is missing?
holding on to broken angelsi. i never told her this,holding on to broken angels3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
but sometimes i feel like she's my broken angel.
she can't see what i see,
she can't see this person who saved me.
ii. my hazel green eyed girl.
not you, please not you,
i can't have any more scars in my life.
unless they're my own.
and that's not going to happen.
i. why does she keep falling with me?
why do we keep falling?
isn't there a bottom for us both to hit?
i don't know who's falling faster,
i don't know who's further away,
i never knew a thing about physics.
i just know this is an eternal free fall.
iii. i'm sorry i can't save you,
i'm always falling,
you can't hold on to me.
because i'm falling.
and i'll drag you down with me.
i wish i could drag you down with me.
iv. i miss you,
but i--- i don't need you anymore.
you should be here with me,
you took your distance,
and left me,
i still love you.
you'll always be my other half.
but you left me when i needed you the most.
i don't think
Oh Dear.He is an Oscar Wilde inspired man-poetOh Dear.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Whose subjects are as real as glass.
He is a silly chorus boy
Spending far too much time in the music room.
He is a reader,
Who hums to himself while his eyes float across the page.
He is real-
But I don't even know his name.
And I am already infatuated.
ballroom dancing with jesusimagine a boy, eighteen years old and scared to death as he stutters "dad,ballroom dancing with jesus3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
i want you to meet my b-boyfriend." and picture not a look of anger but a look
of pride as the father grins and asks to be introduced. because love is love, and
no person deserves to be despised based on who they make out with.
think of the soldiers, battered and bruised and burned beyond recognition,
or how this little girl, perfect in her imperfections, had her fate decided for her;
because even though she said her please-s and thank-you-s she preferred kissing girls
to boys and in someone's mind, that made her unworthy of living.
in someone's mind, she didn't deserve to breathe the same air as a straight girl.
and so maybe the next time you tell the fag to go hang themselves from the rafters,
imagine a young boy curled up into a ball as he contemplates the best way of how not
to grow up; whether covering the parquet floor with grey matter would be more or less
disturbing than using his father's tie to choke h
You Need A New MusePoets, if your muse smells like eggnog, boiled eggs, fresh eggs,You Need A New Muse2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
or any sort of egg at all: get a new muse. If your muse makes sounds-
chomping or mewing, smacking, or worse, slurping - when she eats
animal crackers: you need a new muse. If she’s that sloppy gal that
downs a pint and hollers, “Freebird” at the bar, you know where I’m going with this:
you need a new muse. And trust me, pudding, when your muse misquotes
Bill Cosby while eating jello, you're going to wish you had gotten yourself
that new muse.
If she begins to insist on beginning debates with “irregardless,”
you won't need a dictionary to tell that you need a new muse. Even brings
to question your rhyme scheme or does not know how to tell you
she set the table in iambic pentameter, seriously, you need
a new muse. If you can’t get her to write you letters, but can’t break her
from sending four-page texts, then it’s time to call in a new muse. If she doesn’t know
Passionate IndifferenceTo say that I have lovedPassionate Indifference4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Would imply that I feel
Something more than
YouI scooped up your soul but it slipped through my fingers.You5 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
That's how I knew your spirit still lingers.
The coarseness of you leaves several abrasions.
Thoughts of the past take hold like invasions.
Your mood swings are a sand castle so fragile.
I can't escape for your strike is so agile.
I started believing this is what I deserve.
Hiding myself behind quiet reserve.
Can't let loose what I really feel.
Caging the beast behind four walls of steel.
Suddenly feeling like I'm going to blow.
Friends keep telling me I need to go.
Feeling alone and lost within.
Your words plant seeds and leave cuts on my skin.
I cry alone after everyone's gone
And pick up the knife to continue on...
Writer's BlockWaking up at three o'clock,Writer's Block4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
with this dreaded writers block.
It mocks me sitting on my paper,
maybe I'll write something later.
Tired of making words that rhyme,
I really just don't have the time.
Rhyme, grammar, emotion, meter,
maybe I'll stick to being a reader.
That line doesn't fit in that verse,
putting that word in makes it sound worse.
Can't think of anything to say,
my thoughts are all in shades of grey.
Imagery is overrated,
big words are so outdated.
Why does inspiration avoid me?
I'm very uncreative, you see.
I can't think of another line,
I can't make another rhyme.
So for now, writer's block, goodbye,
I'll be back tommorow for another try.
HappinessI was born in a cell,Happiness3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Built by my father.
Raised on a steady diet,
Of poverty and piety.
I was born wrong.
I grew up with no mouth,
No friends to hear my voice.
I searched for a man to love me,
Like my daddy never could.
I worked on assembly lines,
A human slave in a steel world.
I hid my hate from the system,
And it learned to love me.
I took it softly in my hands,
And bent it to submission.
I tore down factories,
And made grass grow.
I showed the world feathers,
and lace and buttons and leather,
Turquoise and Taupe and Vermillion,
I taught awkward boys to dance,
Cold girls to love. Liars to tell the truth,
And killers to live.
When my day was ending,
And on my bed I was growing paler,
I lifted myself one more time,
Happiness is something to be worked for.
In MemoriamA child once told another,In Memoriam3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
"When the world was created,
it was covered in powder-sugar snow.
The angels left the first footprints,
took the first steps,
and it's what's left
of those angels that's in us,
that makes us love morning snow."
And the child dropped her eyes,
unwilling to look at the honesty
in her friend's face,
the idealism she could only fake.
I sit at the window,
holding my tea mug,
more for the heat on my hands
than for drinking.
The warmth cupped in my palms
could almost belong to another person.
I wish it did.
My book is closed,
placed to one side.
It rests innocently on the end table,
printed paper cover against stained wood.
my escape from Hell barred,
her inspiration from Paradise dimmed.
I'll return to it, as always, when
I need to breathe again.
For the moment,
I'm too busy remembering
the child she used to be,
the child I used to be,
snow I never saw and still enjoyed,
footprints I thought I left,
steps I know she took.
uselessi must have rippeduseless1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
a million petals from
thousands of flowers
to see if you'd come back
when you didn't
i shoved them
as far down
the garbage disposal
Drowning in Reversex. I still have your phone.Drowning in Reverse3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
ix. The boardwalk carnival was shut down a few months later, roped off and boarded up like a condemnation of joy. The ferris wheel still rose high above the skyline, towering in silent reminder.
viii. The funeral was on a beautiful, balmy, sunny day and somehow that made it all the worse. The wind would pick up a little and ruffle your goldspun hair and I could hope, just for a moment, that you were still here.
vii. It was a cold, white room. I don't know why hospitals are so cold. Or maybe it was just me - maybe it was just me trying to siphon out all of my warmth and channel it into you.
vi. I didn't see the crowd that gathered on the beach - I barely registered the flash of red and blue lights - I only saw you, skin pale as the stretcher they were loading you on to, blue shirt stained black like a death sigil.
v. Someone was drowning. You cast an arm out pointing - there was someone out there in the dark water drifting further and further from shore.
If Time Could Sing A Song ItselfThe stirring of ticking clocksIf Time Could Sing A Song Itself3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Fresh and still from the craftsman's shop
Rupturing their fragile hands as they fall into rewind
Until we're centuries behind,
Gamblers play solitaire with the larks
Every string of your heart plucked like a silver harp
Violins ringing with bittersweet sorrow
Bid us farewell should we see no tomorrow,
Pressed flowers in a crystal vase
And children dressed in patterned lace
Like the listless expanse of time and space
And the lost virtues of love and grace.
Another taste.Push me up against a wall, and show me how it's done.Another taste.2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Put my hand above my head, and tease me with your tongue.
Put your lips close to mine, and push them onto my face.
Leave me breathless and excited, longing for another taste.
© Rocio Belinda Mendez
Open WindowLooking out the window, wishing for a smileOpen Window3 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
a broken winged angel, crying in her footsteps
I walked out in the rain, with a blanket and cup in hand
I invited her in, she excepted with a hug
After awhile, I was in love
and I watched her smile, and saw her wings heal
We closed the window, and shared a kiss
Finding the Good Girls The dress is too tight, sticking to my sweaty skin and squeezing my curves. Leanna told me that I look beautiful in blue, and no one will notice I am wearing her clothes, but I'm doubtful of that now. My heart pounds painfully when I hear the noises that mean it's meeting time, and I'm still trying to wiggle into the dress. I almost faint in a panic when Jesiah walks through the door.Finding the Good Girls4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Rechelle, what on Earth are you doing? Everyone's already gathering in the Common, we're not going to wait for you forever."
"The dress doesn't fit," I murmur, avoiding his eye as I tug the skirt down.
"That's not your dress, is it?" He steps forward, running the fabric of the skirt through his fingers. "Whose is it?"
I shake my head. "It doesn't matter now, I can't walk in there l
hello strangerhello stranger, i love you.hello stranger3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i don't know you- your favorite band, if you like coffee. the lop-sided grin and the friendly eyes make it easy for me to think that knowing doesn't matter. i couldn't say what it is you do on saturday mornigs. the way you walk with me in the halls makes me think maybe we could be just as perfect as those five minutes. i don't know who you want to be or what you want to do. the way you talk to me makes the future become irrelevant compared to your voice right. now. i don't know who it is you admire, or whether you like kissing in the rain. thinking about life without the possibility off seeing you makes tiny raindrops slide down my cheeks. i love the way you irritate me on purpose just so you can watch me get frusterated and hit you. i could spend my life like that, with you.
hello stranger, i love you.
i care about your story, the tale of a broken heart. the look you give me says maybe i could mend it. i love your dancing, awful thou
Make it BeautifulSome say that writers have a giftMake it Beautiful5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
To write about the mundane.
To make it beautiful; set thoughts adrift.
But if you'll listen, let me explain
That making beauty is not great;
Especially beauty from pain and hate.
Poets turn love into what it's not;
A devouring monster or sweet peace,
What is love truly? Your scribbled ink-knot?
Reading that sadness grants no release,
And happiness is always so short;
Happiness is many poets' final resort.
Are we the doomed generation?
So many of us are liars by trade
Can the few poets give an explanation,
Or are we also just liars, unswayed?
Poets fill hearts with a burning desire
To experience passionate things
Yet a poet might be a glamorous liar
Or just able to feel awe for all life brings;
What I say is probably slander
Against the poets that write with candour.
2 Cold 2 BleedOn frozen nights when it is too cold to bleed,2 Cold 2 Bleed1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Those are the times I am afraid to dream.
When conversation brings unwanted memories,
Tears flowing in streams until I can finally breathe.
The truth is that getting over things
Is what I do best sometimes it seems.
But how the sun shines when he speaks to me!
And I find myself wanting to know everything.
I want to look through his eyes, to see what he sees,
I want to know if he ever thinks about me.
In the end though, I shyly retreat.
I can't allow him into my reality.
I know I could love him, most certainly.
But we all know what happens...
when someone is loved by me.
SeePeople say that losing their sight is the most frightening experience a soul could endure, forever wandering in the dark, unable to see the soft smile of their mother and blind to the affectionate gaze of a lover."I am alone," they would say, "All alone in my misery." Then, their mothers will draw them into their gentle, tender embrace and their lovers will drip words of golden honey into their ears.... and all would be well. Different, but well.See2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
I lived in that deep void, not left alone for two consecutive moments since the day I was born. There were always people around me-- my parents, my sister, Bea.... the comforting presence of quiet breathing filled my senses. Soft touches and tender pats on my shoulders were common. Naively, I believed the world was perfect, filled with an abundance of warmth and affection. My only regret during that life was not being able to see the gold and silver paved paths that I thought I knew had existed.
When I woke up from my eye surgery, I was