he wrote his suicide note on an etch-a-sketch board.
elmo-red frame, golden paint drawing out the classy cursive logo, white bottle-cap knobs, and a fake digital screen.
a child's dream.
it took him six hours to revisit his childhood for the last time.
[it didn't take that long because he didn't know what to say, but because he wanted to finally do something right.]
he carefully turned each knob, forming darkened pixels into letters, letters into words, and words into spider-silk-thin sentences that would rip and fade, just as spider webs did.
his words faded a bit when you accidentally knocked it off his dresser so you could take it
ink bloodi am a thing of words and ink bloodink blood9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
and you, the proverbial book thief
albeit with loving intentions.
you bend my spine and gently crack me open
to the sunlight without asking.
for who gave you permission
to walk your fingers along every tale interwoven
through my vertebrae?
to have your eyes
browse each piece of my nonfiction,
where the day and night have kissed my brow
and ran me through in equal measure,
as if i were truly an inanimate thing
of pages and dust?
under your scrutiny i am no longer a volume
left face-down and dusty beside the armchair
by the window,
unloved by hands and falling prey
to the patient gluttony
summergirlNow read aloud over here. Do give it a listen, won't you?summergirl5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
you are crowthroated and tumbling
through the aspen grove
hair on fire with sunrise, lungs
full of sky.
eyelashes like wildflowers
and every morning brings
a new spray of freckles
and a sharper curve to your collarbones.
the cornfields hold no shadows
for your lighthouse eyes
and there are no endings in that
ii. you have grown
autumn finds you with broken ankles
leaning on an oak branch
and watching the skies.
crow to sparrow--you are quiet.
summergirl, there is peace in silence,
fallen antlers in your hands.
you will come to mourn your deer.
keep them close.
iii. by winter you have paled,
and like the streams
your eyes have frosted over.
you feel the chill--
there is no need for sight.
all of me--all of me--1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
i know i said you make me feel-
safe and loved and warm and, and,
i hope you take this chance
because you can have me,
you can have all of me.
i could fall in love with you
if you fall in love with me too
( i remember the guilt when i
let someone else inside my soul
but you're meant to be here )
and i know that it's now
two o'clock in the morning
and i'm listening to that song
your favourite ones, over and over
because they make me think of you-
starry-eyed and so very kind
this is who you are, but i
never really noticed before,
i never saw you in this light
( i know this might be too much
and this might be too fast
ballroom dancing with jesusimagine a boy, eighteen years old and scared to death as he stutters "dad,ballroom dancing with jesus10 months 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 d
blue and gold are not just colorsshe had been blue-sightedblue and gold are not just colors9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
dawn cracked her forehead.
it was the dress she wore on his funeral
the color of her school flag
the shine in her father's eyes;
she waited in blue and gold.
no, she refused to set a bar
life didn't just come to her.
she earned her place
in her mother's womb
when each blood vessel questioned her
each nerve ending, if she could live
and each antibody, if she was worth it.
see, she doesn't need new dresses.
she has a memory
for each of hers in her locked closet.
she may not wear all of them
(and most she cringes at the sight of)
but her heart
every time bits of her old
Something I'm NotI'm not pretty,Something I'm Not1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'm not beautiful,
I'm not gorgeous nor cute.
But I've always found myself different,
Different from the rest.
I don't always like the same music,
Or have the same taste,
I don't always think of what I'll do tomorrow,
Because I know I may not even have tomorrow.
The Lion King wasn't always my favorite movie,
Not at all.
I usually preferred Robin Hood ,
Or my real favorite, Mulan
I write in composition books,
About my sadness and grief,
But I wanted to tell you today,
That I may be something I'm not.
I may not have blonde hair,
People tell me it's light brown.
I may not have blue eyes,
They have an od
the things they should have told ussee, no one really warns us about growing up.the things they should have told us1 year ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
they leave out things like heartbreak and gossip and broken people you could have saved but didn't.
it is this: the girl who holds her wrists and sits alone and tells me no child should ever grow up being afraid of someone who should love them. Her eyes are fierce, and something inside me is screaming but the clock ticks and the moment is past. i pretend i can't hear the pieces of her shatter as they hit the floor.
the next time we speak there are new shadows beneath her eyes and her shoulders hunch as if somehow she could fold into herself and disappear. maybe it would be better for us both if
I'm not who you thinkYouI'm not who you think1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
bad days.on my bad days,bad days.4 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
i open notebooks like bibles and hold pens like lifelines.
i keep opening the book of my memories
just to see if it still leaves a bruise.
i am covered in the bruises of your hand
your ghost is in my bed. i can't sleep there,
again i find myself miles from home
wishing on stars i can't see
and spitting memories into the ocean like watermelon seeds.
i sit on my longboard like driftwood and send my shivers into texts
like letters i never should have mailed.
on my bad days,
i wear cuts like ropeburn,
like i just don't know when to let go.
i get lost inside the sadness and hold tea thats long since gone cold
as hours escape like small birds set free.
i forget to open the blinds
and paint my fingernails black
and stare at the too-big numbers aligned on the scale i can't stop stepping on.
Working ClassSmoking is a working class diseaseWorking Class1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
They said; he smiled at this.
Lean in body and broad of mind
With shirtsleeves rolled,
A modern man's philosopher
Who stuttered over the words
Like his fingers did over her chassis
Detroit rolling iron beneath his palms
Grease and lubricant under the nails.
The cigarette cherry glows in the dark
Giving him a hard edge aura
The gloaming settling into the lines
Of his work-worn face
Ask and Tell You asked me once why I tap my pencil whenever I space out. I told you it was a habit; in reality, the steady tapping keeps me here. The abrupt raps of wood on wood wrap around my brain like fingers -- each tap prods my skull severely, but it keeps me here so that I don't lose myself completely.Ask and Tell1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
You asked me once why I talk out loud when I do my homework. I told you it was a habit; in reality, the words just fall from my lips because my mind is already much too cluttered with other things to cram in math problems and what-not. It's much easier to talk out loud and get rid of those useless assignments. So why don't I just speak my problems
Harvest MoonThree a.m. moonlightHarvest Moon1 year ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
across lazy dust motes; a
tree scrapes the window.
Your arm weighs on my hip like
whispered promises of love.
SensesTo: you,Senses1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
saying Sundays are never beautiful
counting fallen meteors as wishing stars. we
dream the inconsistencies of space- timid
chemistry mapped between your rough skin
and my boneless fingers, breaking outlines of isolation
in constellations, dwelling in the abodes of time lost
beneath tearless skies.
living amid painted strokes of genius, between
colors communicating to trebles and records in collective
urgency. let us crush the aftermath of our damaged
liberties, breathing the dire fumes of cremated guitar strings as
Van Gogh enters the centre of the last field, aims his cocked
gun and forms the sixth instance o
Drop YouI can't carry you in my mindDrop You1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
anymore and I see the spot on your
neck where my lips left their stain marking
you as something belonging to someone
else. And damn if you didn't leave one of
The time has flown since dark nights and soft
music and that mediocre cushioned cerulean couch.
and damn if you haven't killed me in
I see you stand, and know what you look like beneath
your facade of clothes, I know your geometry
I could write proofs, postulate, pen theorems
and damn if you didn't just throw it
And on top of it all, at the bottom of
I wish I could trust you just as far
penchantI wish Ipenchant1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
could breathe right again,
let the sink holes in my chest
expand and pop
until I am round,
until the press of your fingers
don't sink me
mosaics.sometimes uniquemosaics.10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
is not loud;
or bright, alive and raging,
possessed of a hunger for the atypical,
up front and too close,
or thrice-pierced and drenched
in the rebellions
particular to the latest generation.
sometimes it is a girl with
mouse brown hair and eyes
the color of weak tea,
who stands with her schoolbooks clutched
to her chest, in uniform shades of grey-blue
like the midmorning autumn sky
who has a wide mouth prone to nervous smiles,
pale lips and pale cheeks
and words that don't always come out
the way she means
who holds the universe
in the intricacies of her fingerprints
and laughs in treble clef notes
MusicLyrics with melodyMusic1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
from glory to tragedy
and though the language vary
Uniting the world one and free
What more can you ask for?
When music creates harmony
Like petals and leavesWhen she thinks of him, she thinks of tree branches:Like petals and leaves9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
spindly fingers spread out, stretching
in angles wide for handfuls of sky.
And she thinks of him.
She thinks of him digging his toes
into soft, damp sand,
wading in shallow depths before
being carried by crescents of the sea.
She thinks of him in a blur of curls, in the
warmth on her waist and the coolness on her lips,
pressing the memories and the maybes
like petals and leaves
And she thinks of him.
The Point of No Returnshe tells me that there's aThe Point of No Return1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
difference- between jumping and
falling, even thirty one stories
I lace my fingers through her
coffee brown hair and tangle my legs
with hers like a safety rope.
she might just be thinking these
things, but thoughts are always more
dangerous than they appear. and
I don't want to search through
the crumbling layers of earth and cement
to find the last molecules of you.
the fingertips sliding over
my belly catch my mind wavering,
thirty one stories up. her brown eyes
dare me not to fall.
"what's the difference?" I whisper
into my pillow. her breath jerks in
her throat. "because," she answer
heartache dear brain,heartache10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
i don't know how to tell you this but
i am trembling with a thousand different sensations at once.
my valves are like
drum beats and if this were an orchestra
the composer would order me
a. side. of. staccatos. to. go. please.
because i am
palpitating; my valves are fluttering
with nerves; i am quivering and pulsating with
anger and desire and perspiration, so don't be
surprised if i suddenly asphyxiate and
your blood supply gets cut off.
thrumming in my every cell,
BirdtalkI know that the Starman will be waiting in the sky, butBirdtalk1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
I don't think about it under these fluorescent lights
I remember when Wal-Mart wasn't a hospital, the world
wasn't a graveyard, and my spine wasn't ripped out
Didn't the birds used to talk? I seem to remember that
so they canwristsso they can2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
feeling of i don't
so help them
the ones who are being
fucking smashed shattered open
know the truth know love
hurts but it should never
like this people hurt but they
should never (.) hurt
find the words to say
just sit there
nod and say yeah yeah i know
because you do know
how they feel
and you do know