Hummingbird WingsI have a secret:Hummingbird Wings3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'm on to you.
The weight of your voice
reminds me of hummingbird wings
and I can't stand
the way you twirl your hair.
It's not a ribbon
or a shoelace
or an earring;
and look at me!
The purse of your lips
when you're angry
makes me think
of my grandmother's disapproval,
and I detest
the way you hold yourself
like you know something
the rest of us don't.
Like you know the destiny
you're being led to
and you're just waiting
for it to make the first move.
TrueI lost everything I was, true.True4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
But all I was
I was for you.
I wish you knew
How I still cry
To think of you
Harmonica DreamsOutside a subway on 75th,Harmonica Dreams3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
he plays a harmonica without breathing,
hoping just one person
will hear his heart breaking.
Let them forget
that their secret lover is waiting
on a bed in a foreign hotel;
that this late meeting
with their boned-up,
might get them a raise;
that the flowers in the park down the street
and that they can't breathe
with the grime,
the past they wish they'd lived differently.
I might have known her, once.On Tuesday,I might have known her, once.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I stood with my arms folded over my chest
trailing cold and lonely fingers
down my spine
icy water lapping hungrily at
and I watched them pull the body
from the lake.
She'd been there a while,
weighed down by crooked smiles and ten pounds of cover-up,
but I still caught traces
of track-mark bruises down her arms
and her tattoo-permanent eyeliner
was a streak of black
on her gray skin.
Her lips were stained
and her skin was mottled,
ripped away at the edges
and the rocking melody of the waves.
If she still had eyes,
I remember thinking,
they'd be slit down the middle
and glaring at me
for forgetting everything I once knew about her.
Except for her name
and the ways she'd always tilted her head when she laughed,
the obituary in this morning's paper
gave nothing away.
Lackland"Drop it,"Lackland4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"You drop it,"
"I'm the one with the gun, missy,"
"Yeah, and your jugular's right under my knife," I press a little harder, showing him how much I mean it.
"Do I look infected to you?"
"Never was much for killing kids," He mutters, lowering the shotgun he'd had trained on my chest. He drops it carefully and nudges it towards me with one foot.
"I'm not a kid," I tell himnot whining, just telling. I don't pick up the shotgun, just kick it a little farther away from him. Not as if I've ever known how to handle a gun, anyway. I'm more likely to shoot my foot off before I hit anything.
After a few second's consideration, I take my knife from his throat. I don't think I could kill him, anyway, and he seems much more friendly without his gun. "My name's S"
"Nono names," he cuts across my introduction. "Doesn't matter who you are, does it?"
"Where're you from?" Again, he overrides me, but he does it in an amiable
Love, a Funny Four Letter WordhavocLove, a Funny Four Letter Word4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
is a funny word.
you and me
are two funny beings
dying in their own funny ways with
funny liquids seeping from their wounds
[i know mine is a combination of
vodka and olive oil and sanguine
tears, i don't know about yours]
and other funny things on their
like funny stories. you know i
always loved your funny stories.
like the one where you were
talking about your mom and i being
your slaves and we started laughing and
i said "hahahahaha fuck you."
you laughed your hardest
but that was you in the time
that was 'then', and i'm afraid that
this is 'now' and i can't seem to get
over how we seemingly skipped the
in between. the in between where you
were supposed to hold me close and
really savor the blood in your mouth.
my blood. god, did you ever? because
i'm drowning in the taste of yours as
or rather, as we don't.
If you were hereYou know, if you were here next to me in bedIf you were here3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I would trace your nose down to your mouth
with my finger,
I would lean forward and kiss you,
maybe giggle a little afterwards
like a school girl,
I think I would kiss you
with my eyes closed
and my lips almost -
shaped as a smile
afterwards I would rest my head,
right there on your chest
below your shoulder
I would let you hold me
while telling me stories
and I would laugh with you,
whenever I felt like it, I would trace
some part of you
and kiss it again and again
just because I could.
CacklesSunset on black silhouette mountains,Cackles2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a breeze bending tall corn stalks as if the world
didn't screech to a halt three hours ago.
I remember the weight of your claws
and the onyx of your gaze, Cackles.
You used to laugh at the plaid of my shirt,
the straw sticking from my sleeves,
the sightless look to my button eyes.
Hell, you used to laugh at everything.
I loved that about you, you know?
I loved you, Cackles,
but I hated how you played chicken
in the middle of the road.
I told you so, once...
but you laughed at me for it
and I started to hate
the dip of your head into roadkill,
the clasp of your nails around your food,
the sheen of black feathers in August's breeze.
I warned you about Farmer Ted's son
and his love of squishing things
beneath the rubber of his tires...
and you laughed at that, too.
Maybe fate decided
you'd pressed your luck
for too long.
Maybe I was never meant to be anything
but the stuffed doll
you were never afraid to sit on and leave...
but I miss your laug
His Dishwasher HandsI met a boy,His Dishwasher Hands4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
who captivated me.
was always slicked like silk
into a band
at the nape of his neck.
He wore black
and walked with a swagger,
the hem of his trench-coat
reaching past his knees.
He reminded me
of the vampire Lestat
and he had a habit
when I caught him off guard.
He was a musician
in the making,
or a poet
or a surgeon-to-be,
but you'd never tell
because he had a dishwasher's rough hands.
And maybe I didn't know him well,
but I know he had cornflower blue eyes
the likes of which you could swim in
and his green work shirt
was always molded to his stick-figure skin.
I met a boy,
and the tilt of his head
and the opaque hue of his skin
And I let him go.
You lie to me as I sleep.You have blue-gold eyesYou lie to me as I sleep.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and a bad habit
of only telling me you love me
in my dreams.
I lie awake,
sleepless and missing you,
the heavy comforter
draped across my naked waist
as stars settle,
across the sky.
And I wonder
if the barn owl outside,
is telling me I must move on.
if the moth
flitting across my cheeks
is telling me
that you're already gone.
You have a leprechaun's pot of gold
hidden in the depths of your heart tonight
and I can read it
in the shadows of your eyes:
You just love the idea
of falling head-over-feet
for the impossible.
Forever on the Horizon LineWild windblown hairForever on the Horizon Line4 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
and dead-leaves-in-August eyes.
Still searching for you.
Waiting on RainThunderstorm-heavy eyesWaiting on Rain3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
across the pebbles under our shoes
and the tracks
we walked beside,
headed to nowhere fast
for a hell we could smoke
like the cigarettes
from brother's underwear drawer.
When the metal rattled
and the whistle shut out the noise
of secret lingerie
in the backs of our closets
we didn't know how to give up on,
I watched an eagle
above the trees
and wished it could be so easy.
I never saw you--
short-shorts on tanned thighs,
V-neck to your navel--
step in front of the train,
but I imagine
you were smiling
when you did.
victim of circumstancei looked the perfect ladyvictim of circumstance4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
on the day i ground you to the dust;
my silk button-down all buttoned-up,
my lips rouged like Mama's
when she was in the breaking-hearts kind of mood
and my breath laced with whiskey like Papa's
when the preacher wasn't looking.
you looked the gracious gentleman
even when i took your pride under my prim-high heeled shoe
and as i sailed out the door,
sipping straight whiskey on the sly,
i mused idly on the moment when we peel away our skin
and find our parents living underneath.
Chasing RabbitsThere's a rabbitChasing Rabbits3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
tangled in my veins;
he's shaking my ribs,
I've got him caged
beneath my collarbones.
I can't stand
much more of the twitching,
the fur tickling my breaths
as he searches
for an escape.
I want him out,
but I don't think
stomping my foot
and telling him
how unfair it is
that he's choking me
with his little rabbit doubts
I shouldn't have made
the space near my heart
such a nice place
for him to move into.
Searching for ReliefDepression: when evenSearching for Relief3 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
a poet cannot find the
Butterfly DreamsButterfly wings don't mixButterfly Dreams3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
with stomach acid
and bad memories,
angry words boiling holes
through vulnerable hearts...
let me try again.
There are no exclamation points
at the end of this sentence
and there might not be anything
but chemistry between us,
but butterfly wings
aren't razor blades
and I'm going to trust
that you'll pad my heart
before you let it fall.
Shattered SilencesSheep are too noisy.Shattered Silences3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I imagine their back hooves
hitting the white picket fence,
their startled bawling when their heads
hit the greener pasture on the other side.
My husband swears
he can't sleep a wink
with all the giggling
from my half of the bed.
I'm going to count shooting stars.
I just pray I don't scream
each time the gun goes off.
If I were a better person...If I were a better personIf I were a better person...2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I would know
that the distance between us
isn't my fault
or your fault
or his fault
that the distance between us
is a lack of time
and the notion
that it's too late to change.
If I were a better person
and it was up to me,
I'd write down all my flaws
and mail them to you right now
to take as you will...
but all I see
are the shadows on your words
and how you've always taken
the easy way out.
If I were a better person,
I'd tell you
I've never blamed you
for the way things are now,
but I wish,
late at night,
that you still fought for me
like you did
when you thought you could win.
If I were a better person,
I'd pick up the phone
and ask why,
I have never mattered as much to you
as they always have...
and I'd understand
if you whispered
I don't know,
I don't know,
I don't know.
If I were a better person,
I'd take the time
instead of taking offense...
but I've never known you
except in five minute phone ca
Finding Out the Hard WayLike having the rugFinding Out the Hard Way4 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
swept from beneath me, I fall
and glimpse fading stars.
Cracked"I'm waiting, Miss Dickinson. Waiting, waiting, waiting," I say it all in a singsong voice and then dissolve into giggles because somehow the made up tune makes the laughter bubble up in my chest like champagne and I'm thinking of the time I got drunk on New Years and beat the girl I loved at gin and later poker even though the cards spun a little bit in my vision.Cracked4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"But I played 'em close to my chest," I smile up at the sky and am rewarded with a fat raindrop hitting me square in the eye and then another and another and I open my mouth and I imagine myself drinking the whole sky and being filled with blue.
It wasn't New Years this year. It was last year.
"I was happy last year,"
Emily Dickinson told me that death was on his way, but he's late. And I guess my schedule's not as full as hers, because I can and I have come to a full and complete stop, just like a train or a bus and then (and only then) am I allowed to safely exit. Only I've jumped out of moving vehicles befor
SmokeI don't know if it's the smoke in my lungs or your lips on mine, but I swear I am floating in my own skin, so close to drifting away, just like the gray haze that spirals towards the ceilingSmoke4 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
But you hold me to you, deliciously too tight, as if you feel me falling away
And with my hands locked around your wrists and the amber scent of you deep in my chest, I know I would not leave you.
I will never leave you
The mist is cool as it prickles over my skin, but it warms to the blood tumbling through the translucent blue veins of my wrists.
The scent is sharper than I remember, harsh and biting, as though the amber curves are turning to razor blades, sharp and lethal and warning you away.
I anoint the hollows beneath my ears and the sharp points of my clavicle with my fingertips and I imagine that she is still holding me too tightly, and so I am almost safe.
Because there are lines drawn into me that you dare not cross, and because there are some promises I still keep.
And I am kee
Forgive and Forgetand she's fumbling over her wordsForgive and Forget4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
through them almost
because she knows she was wrong
to hate you
but now it's better now because
she forgave you
even though it was only
herself that she had to
Scissors and How to Spell Itso i took coveted metal to my hairScissors and How to Spell It3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and shore off an inch, enough to rid myself of
what was and had been and was no more
split ends that needed to be gone months ago
"did you get a haircut?"
but i cut my hair."
except it didn't come out that way at all
i mistook her for a thoughtless lass
"did you cut your hair?"
"yeah. i do stupid things
when i feel melancholy."
but i don't think she took me for stupid
i think she took me for coping and
how i wish that were the case
not that change finally eluded me no more
(i will master it:
from the edges of change
to the squeak of my shoes,
i will master it.)