SLAMAt a young age,
I had to learn to dodge stones,
grow angry scales
along innocent freckled skin,
and open my eyes to a world not quite ready
to hear this tigress's voice.
Speaking in tongues to those paid too listen-
of fairytale wars, battle scars,
and the many linoleum squares I counted
day in and day out. I became mute.
Escaping through rabbit holes and back alleys
into a world of ink and worthy paper cuts.
[ I wear these
like a fucking
fashion statement! ]
And this goes out to you-
The Eden snakes, you dead-eyed demons:
It is you that keep me up at night,
weighing down these artist fingers-
IT IS YOU I WILL SLAM AT AN OPEN MIC NIGHT!
I do have a life worth writing about.
I long to set this world aflame.I once dreamt of ashes and dragons,I long to set this world aflame.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
as dark ravens loomed over my sleeping form,
planting cadaver kisses along my neck.
Stepping into a river of colors, I contemplated
smoke halos and the unlit cigarette between my teeth.
I asked myself if all of this was worth it-
gasoline rainbows painting landscapes along my thighs.
I'd never smoked a day in my life, but I liked to play with fire.
[Light a match and watch me burn. ]
Missing BonesWe spent our nights star gazingMissing Bones3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
on the top of that local bar on 5th street.
You said you loved me by night,
that no star or moon in any given universe
could compare to me; that we were lost warriors
searching for a home within the roots of one another.
I believed myself a wandering ghost among the living,
searching for missing bones and the warmth of another's grave.
You shook me then,
kissing me where it hurt most-
just to test a theory.
"Like dead birds,
you are not faceless;
your rib cage has a meaning."
And I believed I loved you then
underneath the moon and stars
tipsy on your smile and your words
and your warmth.
Your hands must be the thieves
who stole these thin bones of mine-
because, I never wanted you more.
So, I lied.I am a poet.So, I lied.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that's what my
skin tells me when
I'm slowly melting into
bed sheets not worth
lying in twice.
Half sick of shadows,
I think I've lost my mind.
My thoughts are s p i n n i n g
and my bones are shaking.
But I keep repeating re-peating
repeating your name like a mantra.
All I want to do is sleep.
But you see,
I bleed more than red
and there is this ink pen
digging through my skin.
SupernovaShe only ever wanted a real reason to scream, collecting her tears in jars and hiding them behind Poe and Hemingway; she secretly hoped for an ocean to call her own. She would name it after an aged bird spirit, pain manifested in many a Gods imagebelieving our vast universe formed by the callused hands of artists.Supernova3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"They must have a sick, twisted sense of humor." she said, eyes on the moon.
And I asked her "Who?" curious, because I'd yet to figure her out.
"The Gods; they give dead stars the prettiest of names."
i am.i am a dreamer.i am.3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
i am a fighter.
i'm running barefoot through fields of lavender, letting the rough earth tear at my vulnerable skin, letting the sun blister every exposed nerve, and feeling my heart race. at times i run just for that. just to feel my heartbeat that thunders like the gallop of a hundred horses. i run from wall to wall, like a distressed bird in a cage. i cannot house myself here. i am the ocean. i cannot be contained or controlled. i shall constantly rise and crash upon the shoreline and the jagged rocks, willing them to bend to my will. it's a pattern. repetitive, but effective in the way that it is destructive. i am complete and utter chaos. my thoughts are a hurricane and my ideas are a typhoon forming at the tip of my tongue. thoughts and ideas that cannot ever be fully expelled, but find their way out through the sweat in my pores, the tears in my bloodshot eyes, the cracks in my calloused hands, the screams in my raw throat.
i am a dreamer
He thinks her a Goddess,and he whispers, "Little birdHe thinks her a Goddess,3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Your stardust arms are quaking,
allow me to hold up your universe."
Stitched LipsHer lips, soft like old paperStitched Lips3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
tastes of stardust and ink.
I'd kiss her a thousand times over,
just to savour the poetry resting
on her wasp tongue
but, I'm kissing ghosts
with empty eyes, void, naked
and vulnerable like sleeping
gargoyles in the mid-day sun.
[ I'll love her quietly, close-mouthed
in the arms of stone angels. ]
T h i n k i n gI want to write of the tigerT h i n k i n g3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
crouched in my doorway,
the smirking hyenas at my bedside,
Apollo's love life,
beautiful Seattle skies I only dream about,
and girls with dragon scaled spines.
But it's all just tornadoing
around inside my head,
bouncing off my castle walls
straight jacket medicine
in an attempt to save me from myself.
So, I'm going to sit here, in the dark
as the clock tictictics away the minutes
of my evening as I stare into the face
of everything I've yet to write.
Searching for something,Considering myself deadSearching for something,3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
my life was a farce as I
walked into a new age shop last night.
It smelled like dragons blood and candle wax.
An old, greying cat with the biggest eyes
I'd ever seen raked his claws down my leg,
purring loudly for lonely attention.
The little old ladies there call him Ziggy,
said his hearts bad, that he wont live
to see next month. I gathered him up
into my tiny arms, stroked his aging fur
and whispered happy little cat things
into his ears as he purred against my chest.
I found his skeletal form beautiful,
an angel in cat form
come to prove me wrong.
TroyYou have too much time on your hands, Love,Troy3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
folding paper cranes with broken fingers,
wishing to see northern lights in the eyes of strangers.
There are no lions between your bed sheets
who understand your hunger better than I-
You are licking my wounds; one with the wild.
I swear it's you behind these eyelids- untamed
and desired by this lonely poetic canvas
stained with blood, ink, and words I can't fucking say.
You look like a Goddess standing there reading my skin
quiet and shameless, proud of the gaping hole in my chest.
I know it then, like I know my own counterclockwise heart;
I should never trust my own kind.
"I'll build you up, my Troy, just to tear you down again."
And I whispered please, please, please...
A Diary of Flesh and BonesOh, so you want me to be honest now?A Diary of Flesh and Bones3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Well, honey--that's a little hard for me.
Not to say I chew lies between my teeth
Or spit them out like sunflower seeds.
Read between my lines baby--
You're a psychology major.
Words are unnecessary links in speech.
What's my body language telling you?
But I know what you really want from me.
A line of poetry, a verse of total honesty.
Like I said, that's a little hard for me
when someone's in my shower singing off key.
My body's the most honest thing about me.
Standing here in flesh and bone baby.
Read my skin like a diary.
B u r nI'm not feeling it anymore,B u r n3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
But that cigarette between
your sugar lips has got me
thinking otherwise as my
lungs drink you in for the
second time tonight
while you spend your time
traveling my curves like
a rode map to your own
heart and counting our
murderous battle scars.
But even I know,
neither have won this
warfor my heart beats
six times slower than
it use to as your
fingerprints still cling
to my ribcage.
"I'm numb to your
touch, baby. But
I still remember
what it feels like too "
We're all mad here.God's biggest mistake,We're all mad here.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
She sanded away
just to see her wishbones.
Calling boys peaches,
hoping they'd taste
just as sweet
Mad cats and top hats
had her questioning
her own rose garden reality.
Because upside down
is right side up,
and holy rollers think her
much too butch for her own good.
As she prefers lipstick kisses
over slithering tongues.
NightdanceWe danced like monsters:Nightdance3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
lurking shadows atop gravestones,
long-limbed, and hungry.
We were hips and stitched lips.
Clinging widows to a dying mate.
You held my hand, whispering,
S c r e a m
lets wake the dead."
And in the end,
like fallen soldiers.
TigressShe is the kind of girl who smothers herself in astronomy,Tigress3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
New Age philosophies and coffee shop poetry.
All fire and dragon scaled-
She hides her tiger stripes behind bruises and ink stains,
living her life by way of verse-
throwing Hemingway around like insults.
Writing her letters to the moon,
she hides her heart underneath her own floorboards,
folding blank paper birds just to set them free at 3AM.
But, it's the lipstick stained collars,
the rose thorned fingers,
and the dead stars in her chest cavity
that tell her- even a tigress can bleed.
You found loveSly shoulders withYou found love3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
tiny bruises not
meant for lovers eyes,
Teeth and wicked collarbones:
You argued in the stairwell,
Fingers flirting with
that pretty dress of green
as you felt yourself asphyxiate.
Her lips, the antidote
to your wildest dreams.
Slam poetryWhat is this, Slam Poetry? An excuse to scream and get angry, vent your anxiety into profanities, hide your lies behind a microphone stand? Your attempts at literacy played with a back beat, be careful what you pass off as poetry.Slam poetry5 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Angsty limerick with less precision than a drunk mans hand at darts. Tell us your story about a man in his forties, who didn't know your name, but knew the colors up your skirt.
Remind us of the time when in your pre pubescent mind, the guy you used to sit behind, meant something by that valentine, so you undressed and tried to play it off as "all his fault" He wont remember you, but you still claim he broke your heart.
These irrelevant tangents have no depth to them. No demands on your intelligence, your rhyming your text messages. Your lack of relevance may impress the masses, yeah, Obama, Israeli, Jesus. You are NOTHING but your references. Broadcasting sexual preferences, minority status, political correctness. Politics are not a[valid] substitute for sub
She never wanted children.She was cold.She never wanted children.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
With frostbitten fingers
numb to the touch,
She set herself on fire
just to w a t c h her skin burn.
Tiger EyesHidden between a ribcageTiger Eyes3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
not fit for company, or
I grasped your heart, tightly.
We were a mess of ugly
metaphors, and tongues
gone limp-from far to many
late night, gunpowder kisses.
The kind that left nostalgic
paper cut hearts that burned
and ached, lonesome for you
after months of itching.
Tired, but deadly, I once found
you resting at my feet, peering
up with hungry tiger eyes and
[ I never wanted you more. ]
Cemetery CatsThe wolves were out that nightCemetery Cats3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and all of the hook laden quips
that we concocted
fell upon lips
like a hummingbird's whisper.
Then, they ignited into flames
like burning stars.
That should have been us:
beautiful ash, supernova romance
with tongue and fingers soaked in ink.
We always did find the taste of Heaven
stale, like coffee three days old.
And with that taste still lingering,
you were a walking oxymoron.
A sinner come to save
these easily swayed, glass bones
from smashing into oblivion.
I longed to taste that wild,
untamed energy beneath your skin.
Devour that dragons heart,
and tattoo love along the bruises
I begged you to leave on my arms.
[ The 7 deadly sins wrapped up
into one nasty little Pisces. ]
You made me violent.
Names come and go,
but the race of these
rose petal hearts
wont easily be forgotten.--
As we spent our nights in graveyards,
with ghosts, in the company of
stone angels and cemetery cats-
Whispering our secrets to the dead.
Golden Ink and Going BackI thought I was in love with that four-year old red-haired boyGolden Ink and Going Back2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Shining in a silver knight costume with a black dragon sewn on
Because I was in the pink Sleeping Beauty Dress
I was a good Belle, too
(Back when I hadn't picked up a book
Except for the blue one with the golden pages
Brimming with witches and fairies and magic)
I wanted to be a princess, back then
They were the ones who always found love, at the end
I wanted to be Wendy, too
Because she wore a blue nightgown and learned to fly
Now, I'd rather be Peter Pan, honestly
Because he managed to swerve this whole ordeal of growing up
(And maybe a little because of the flying)
Now, I just want to go back
Back when the only kissing I thought about
Was in The Princess and the Frog
And the only houses I had to be weary of
Were houses made of candy
Back when the only disappointment
Was when my parents were too tired to read me a bedtime story
Or when I found out that the real Little Mermaid
Dies by Hans Christian Andersen's hand
Witch TrialI believe I was a ginger headed poet in a past life,Witch Trial3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
who wrote love through magik spells
burning candle wax, whispering incantations
under a full moon and painting pale,
naked flesh with dirt and ash.
Dancing with ghostly ravens through flames,
to the thumpthumpthump of my storm heart,
as it became one with the earth.
I roared my passions and my glory
to the heavens above, laughing
like a crazy eyed crone for the sake
of those who feared me.
My witches tongue, hissing, 'Come hither!'
as heat licked my shoulders like an old lover,
Arms Of A StrangerThe view is painted today in such blazing colors,Arms Of A Stranger3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
But at least are dimmed all the errors.
The vapid grey of his eyes turned into cyan,
While the blonde hair had rapt the shine of the sun,
Bodies without faces are swallowed by the mist one by one.
The distorted sound seems stunning,
But at least is indecipherable every word coming.
My sight is blurred but I think his face reminds me of another "him",
In these whirling waves I can barely continue to swim,
So I hang on this stranger's face,
Catch him in a breath-taking embrace.
The words I said came out so twisted,
But my tongue is knotting,
The phrase was almost spitted
His lips are stretching into a smile of understanding,
A whisper that is supposed to reach me floats away,
But I purport this was okay,
Sure, except the moment when I've almost lost self-control,
A sudden contact of our lips imbued with alcohol.