Butterfly BreathI caught raindrops in my palm,Butterfly Breath3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Standing on rough sand
And watching the ocean swell
With the fresh, new water of Spring.
The air tasted of salt,
Lilacs, and something forgotten
Lingering in my brain
Just above my spinal cord.
The boy was there,
Holding the sky in his palms
And weeping- always the same
That was when I realized it was a dream.
"Who are you?" I called.
He dropped the sky,
Blue shattered and the rain stopped.
"Don't break your wings."
He warned in a voice the colour
Of sunset poppies.
"Don't break them, or"
The waves crashed and he was gone.
I stood alone again on the sand,
Blue sky fragmented at my feet.
My wings fluttered in the wind.
I held up my hand for the rain to return,
And a monarch butterfly, regal,
Precise in every movement,
Alighted on my fingertip.
"Don't break your wings." It warned.
Its eyes were black as snakes.
"Who are you?" I cried.
"Why do you always leave me?"
The butterfly crumpled,
Dissolving as the rain returned,
Salty as the ocea
The Washboard WindBody mimics water motion--The Washboard Wind3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
laundry skin, white wash, sweat,
your ribs are the hull of a ship
and heave night-breath. Bones
touch one another, unknowing
of their existence and you're scared
of the soundless swell in you.
You're no pirate. Don't fight this.
four sinsI.four sins7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
when the stars were so bright it hurt,
i fought a battle
to pull the light back into your eyes.
three weeks and a coma later your lips moved
forming a red stain in the air - "jesus," you said, "jesus."
i tried my hardest to understand.
please turn on the radio
and drag it to your grandmother
in the room with dusty light and dusty blankets,
she'll hear the dusty grit of static voices
from the old days
she will fall absolutely in love again,
feeling the crunch of an apple and touch of a kiss
on teenage teeth
guilt is the eighth sin
tears you apart with knives and daggers
and a satisfied smile -
i rebuilt frankenstein's monster
inside myself, all for you
XXXI - the difference of a dayToday I knot my hair in a braid,XXXI - the difference of a day7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
pat the envelope of you, which waits
to be opened; just a sphere of skin,
held beneath my beating breasts.
Yesterday he told me the buttons
of my spine were beautiful
and ran fingers over them
just to see me come undone.
Today I walk toward news,
my feet lift and fall -
there are three of us, breathing
Yesterday I held you,
only to feel your kick
carving lines in my palm;
together, we're a pattern.
Today I sit and watch my words
shudder as the authorities speak
statistics. But you're only one
line etched across my belly.
Today I drink to fate and forgiveness -
lime cordial and wafers. He stands behind
my arching shoulders and knows how you whittle
me. I am finely boned but breaking.
ShiverAn earthquake rolls across her skinShiver7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
as green curtains reserve a space
for construction -
he looks at splattered bed sheets
and cradles a small shiver.
He inhales, holds the breath. Hands
calloused by supermarket boxes grip
the railing. Cord of blood and sweat
fused into life is taken into other,
more precise palms.
A hand on his shoulder whirls
him around - birth is burdened
into his arms. Black curls smell sweet.
He feels her hand envelope his as he
leans forward to kiss the wailing temple
turned an angry shade of red. She's
whisked away - to wash and dry.
A statue of bones -
becomes a colossal collapse.
My Grandmother's GardenMy Grandmother's Garden7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
My Grandmother's Garden
We used to ease peacefully
It was less a resignation
Than a contented yielding
To vintage color...
First in trees
And then beneath our feet.
We entered winter intrepidly,
Believing yet in redemption,
We used to behold
The winter as it was
At the moment we first
Witnessed the snow,
Burying our sleeping hopes
Beneath the quiet depths
And March was once the month
That would begin to wake
Lazy and slow
(But sometimes as surprising as snowdrops amidst the snow),
As the winter would finally let go.
Then, when we still
argument The last time I spoke with you, it was like breathing underwater. My lungs were filling up, so that thin words kept swimming out of my mouth and I coughed up phrases that didn't make sense. Every speck of twisted logic you managed to shout suddenly fit, and I found myself wondering if you had been right all along. It was too bright. You were too loud. I didn't know what to say, and the fish were swimming all around me and brushing my shivery arms and my skirt was floating and freezing my bare legs. My hair was seaweed. My tongue was salt. I was not as pretty as a mermaid.argument7 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
I'm not sure how, but underwater you were the most sensible person alive or dead. Your arguments, usually ridiculous, rang strong and true and made me look like a stupid foolish little child. My retorts were sloppy and ill-re
note to selfnote to self7 years ago in Open More Like This
it's a cycle
it's a cycle
it's a cycle
flux a cycle
in the spiral
the meta-ternal datastream
of vicariously obtained wisdom
breaching the walls of delusion
lifting the veils of illusion
liberating the amusing
from the 'truth'
it's a cycle
it's a cycle
it's a cycle
Stairwae to ElevenThere's so much sunny play this morning of May,Stairwae to Eleven7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
who's April showers brought heavenly floral hours.
"Smile as Lips," say the pillars… "
"& to who say we sailing today;
we as Friend who happy to be as you to welcome this into place…
The Place where goodbyes caterpillar into hellos that forever sing as say,
(Harmonies nurturing bay)…
Cuddle and Pray…
Tonight became Today!?"
ghosts in a slideshowghosts in a slideshow4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
the skysick sun, fading woozy, throwing up.
dripping on the backs of conveying camels.
bodies of water, yes, every touch moves through.
grassland often. skinny belly atop the garden hill's slope.
train-track thap-thapping. smile, God's tap dancing on a saturday sundown.
you're watching the show frontrow. i'm watching you.
i say, "those mistakes on your arm look nice in this light." but i don't. not aloud.
instead i say, "do they hurt when it's cold?"
and you say, "it's not cold right now."
so i say, "i didn't notice." but we don't. not aloud. not allowed.
so i say, "you look hurt." no. i say,
"you look pretty."
yeah. i said that.
then you looked at me. then you cried. because i'm a liar. only to you.
i mean, to you only, i am a liar.
i mean you see me as a liar.
but you know what? everything's alright in my mind.
and that's good for me for now.
"hey, V?" that's what you said.
"yeah?" i said.
"where are we?"
"we're here, dear. we're right here."
tell me i'm lying. tell me there's a me a
SevenShe woke up at six in the morning and stayed stock-still - not even twitching - until it was seven minutes past the hour. She walked in and out of the door seven times, brushed her teeth seven times, and had to say goodbye to her mother seven times.Seven2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
'Why do you do that, honey?' her mother asked.
The girl just blinked seven times, half-smiled and shut the door, tapping the brass handle another seven times.
On her first day of school, she had collected seven daisies and had five lessons. She'd place a daisy somewhere in the room in each lesson, and decided that the longest-lasting daisy would dictate her future passion.
The daisy in the music room was there for exactly seven days, longer than the daisy in the Maths room or the Art room or the Drama room or the Spanish room.
So, she started to learn to play the piano.
At first, she thought she'd try the drums, but found she had to hit every tom and cymbal at least seven times, and kept playing wrong. The school band was instantly irri
the origin of tweed coatsthe origin of tweed coats6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
tailors, surgeons, homemakers
keep the human closet covered:
violet knitted hearts, corduroy veins
and this tucked in your pocket
adjust the place of something old
and add, add, add
like a mathematician
stuck on one sum
take this tweed patched to pinstripe
thread up and through
through fabric, and prick -
the first mistake and ebb of red
prick, prick, prick -
let me, your mother says,
pins between lips,
fingers knitting thread
through brown and blue
In the Year of Our Lord 1921Aug. 2In the Year of Our Lord 19218 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Two weeks out.
This far north
the sun barely touches the horizon
before it rises again.
No wind now for three days.
We have not seen the skipper since friday night,
but we can hear him screaming from his cabin:
"The sea has many gods!"
The sea is oddly calm;
his voice carries for miles.
This morning we dragged up
the bloated corpse of a sea lion.
The first mate stared long at its body
before he decided that it was not a mermaid
and we threw it back overboard.
The holds are empty still;
our nets drag useless behind us.
Cook says he hears bells in the distance.
He has been drunk for days.
The galley smells like stale bread and trench-death.
The skipper has gone silent now;
there is only waves against the keel,
and the first mate leaning on the wheel.
He mumbles foreign names
and stomps his heavy boots on the deck
to keep us awake.
We have not slept for weeks.
The wind is
Toughshe looks strong, toughTough7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
at least you think she is
but then again we all know
that ignorance is bliss
you dont know her pain
sometimes you'll see it in her eyes
but she doesnt let it show
behind toughness she hides
there isnt a true smile
there isnt a true self
its what she hides behind
there isnt anything else
you think you know her truly
you may know her better than some
but you dont know the pieces lost
or all the things she's done
you dont know the lies shes told
or seen her many scars
you dont know the lonliness she feels
or the coldness of her heart
you cant see the effort
it takes to hold on
you think shes alright
when shes almost gone
she looks strong, tough
and behind it she hides
she continuously puts up walls
cause she's been hurt so many times
you think she's opened up to you
shared the pain she keeps
but she only shares a portion
the rest gives her the creeps
you wont see the tears
when she looks back on it
you wont see the pain
and you wont taste the vomit
you wont see thi
I Found Your Lips In The DarkI Found Your Lips In The Dark10 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
"Good things come to those that wait."
A night full of smiles.
I can't look at you without getting weak in the knees.
Grasping onto my hand.
Running your fingers slowly across my palm.
Deep conversations about nothing.
Making me giggle.
Being so completely comfortable after a few drinks.
Poking your belly.
My leg touching yours as we sat next to each other on the couch.
We're at the peak of our innocence and something's bound to happen.
I tell you I have no talent.
You share a story.
I share my praise.
Sharing a drink.
Lingering over the thought that your lips touched my straw.
Would those lips meet mine anytime soon?
The songs played on.
I wanted nothing more than to imitate a feline.
Pounce on my prey.
Devour it whole.
You gave me:
A kiss on the hand.
A kiss on the forehead.
A kiss on the cheek.
Nothing would suffice.
Staring into your eyes and seeing the way you look at me.
Like I'm something amazing.
"Kiss me you fool" would have been innap
Meditation on ThoughtBegin the quiet storm of fidgeting,Meditation on Thought3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a drum, a drum:
fingers through hair,
the insides of my lids.
My mind grows scrublands.
"What do you mean?" and,
"What do I mean?"
I tend slowly toward the abstract.
Pine trees sprout from my hair,
a forest of church steeples.
Whippoorwill am I,
and my fingers stretch
to build me bridges of stone,
a whole cathedral of bone archways.
My Michelangelo eyes sit restless
in a face of white and green marble.
The smallest drop of rain
against the window
and my thoughts collapse
I must begin again.
There is a secret
as the drops of water
roll down the glass.
Dr. Moses recommends...life is aDr. Moses recommends...4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
film is a
thought is a
ghost is a
time is a
loss is a
golden ingredientsminneapolis hadgolden ingredients5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
eyes so blue
I couldn't sleep
wanted to wander
lose myself in her
but memory's unmade
dreams depart with
I ate up pavement
like a twin city
and though I left
before you loved me
I couldn't ask
for a better way
to fill my hours
A Funeral ProcessionAn Old ManA Funeral Procession6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
He says, "I dreamt of an old man
who travelled back in time to
become himself as a boy."
And the sun older than
he is, older than man
watches him disappear.
He reappears seventy-five years earlier,
but still here,
still with us, and
We let him go.
We let him go and now
he has never lived.
Her arms are wrapped around her body.
"The dawn has a shape," she says,
"and a voice, and "
she smiles "it knows my name."
Twisted so tightly around herself
she doesn't even exist any more.
A Funeral Procession
The ships, silver paperplanes,
glide past Europa.
There's nothing here, between the stars,
except the silent dead and us.
And something nameless that watches over us.
Lilt Hubris But LovinglyLilt Hubris But Lovingly3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
I shake the most when I've never felt stiller than a mountain of laundry flattered by the detachment of fastening my jacket before dying feigns the sheets wonder of bed life like before the linen shelf was filed or lightheaded domination died in the drying of people as special as you're making my feeling like a car salesman in a Plato costume we're seeing through and through seeing the bonafide fibers and stupid gold chains of the softest names for real hardness parting reigns so we're black horses waving back to tunnel ending strangers so like life that the translucence is sucking death off our shadow for new grossness's beginning fresh as baby's supernova so murmurous of the purpose poised in my superfluous point of speaking from the peak of Whateverest that I bet nothing ever better than a wet bone to gnaw was never left alone to press bare paw right against the raw stone so I let her know it's a dog feeling patience like panacea is knowing the weather and when to be or not to be al
what's yours is minesI imagine youwhat's yours is mines4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
unaware of the
in my gut
the piece of me
and another thing
what you're thinkin' 'bout
what you're thinkin' 'bout
and I guess
'cuz I'm all
filled up with
it takes the place
pressed up against
it fakes the shape