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PoetryWords are nothingPoetry2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
until they're spoken
and still they do not last
until they're written down
These words are powerful
these words are eternal
these words create
they reveal and destroy
These words open gates
and illume the paths
to the innermost parts
of our somber souls
These words form bonds
intangible yet strong
and shape us into one
unofficial family
And we stop to observe
as our brothers and sisters
hang from the gallows
made of their own words
As they slowly suffocate
we hold their hands tight
and gleaming we whisper
"your gallows are beautiful"
Hopeless
For ChesterThere stands the Man,For Chester3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A God; Peer to none.
A Strength like no other;
A Will to match.
His Eyes ablaze;
His Laughter, a warmth.
A Man Adored.
Life (Finite):
Sole enemy of Man.
It swings, It strikes;
Leaving Its dread Mark.
His Struggle, worthy;
His End, nigh.
A Man Loved.
Hope, strong;
Faith, certain.
Prayers answered:
A Peaceful Passing.
Rejoice! For Man
Is in Savior's arms.
A Man Remembered.
AloneThe chilled air around me stings my skin.Alone2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Yet it cannot compare to the icy shell of my heart;
The abomination that has formed in your absence.
I cover myself in warmth, like a cocoon, hiding under layer upon layer,
But I still can't escape the cold that seeps up from deep inside.
It reaches out its icy claws, grasping and scratching at everything around.
It devours me whole, imprisoning me within its frozen hell.
Saviors come and do battle with the beast, but their efforts are in vain.
I am forever trapped within my own cave, forever cold inside these walls;
Any desire of freedom ripped to shreds by this bitter ice.
I shall stay, an
Wall of PrideMy HOPE is wearing thin.Wall of Pride3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The pain is overwhelming.
Day after day, fight after fight.
It hurts so much; Why do I do it?
I continue on and on.
I create a cycle, a circle,
Of everlasting Anger and Frustration.
Round it goes: Frustration; Anger; Hate; Apathy; Regret.
It Rips and Tears at me from the inside,
Like a new blade; clean and waiting for blood.
It hurts so much; Why do I do it?
I want change! Something different.
Less Pain; More Love.
My Patience, nonexistent.
My Hope, deteriorating.
I Desire;
I Search;
I see the answer!
It's within reach! So close! I want it!
But I stop myself.
HUBRIS
It won't let me fix it.
I want
misleading.i always had a feeling that something inside me would shake and tremor when your heart stopped. that my entire body would washed in a darkness that i couldn’t explain and i’d be left with an ocean falling into my hands that smear the sadness back onto my face and mix it with mascara.misleading.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
i have a shadow clinging to me at the moment. i can't shake it, or wash it away with rain or shower or hot healing tea. its tied to my ankles and i'm dragging it around with me wherever i go. its a constant weight, and i can't explain it. i just hope my gut instinct is wrong. i hope its not you.
the arithmetic of love.two - one = nothing.the arithmetic of love.3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
leave with me, he says, all dazzling and perfect.
you stall, palm against the wall, and you swallow.
i can't, you whisper, and the lie in your throat
sears white-hot.
please? he implores.
(i don't have the ability to be as breathtaking as you are)
his smile fades and the shine in his eyes dissolves.
one + one = everything.
you realize you're a fool when it hits you
that life without him is meaningless.
then there's three taps on your shoulder,
and your world's swarmed with smiles and
joyfulness.
leave with me, he tries again,
and this time you're willing to dive face first
into the promises in his eyes.
beginnings.this beginning began withbeginnings.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
impulsivity restricted, considered,
weighed against odds: it was
found to be good and whole,
strong and stable and cruel.
surgical precision removes
all but deepest trace, leaves
skin swabbed raw and cleansed,
immaculate. aching, bleed from
pores, bleed out what sits
black, festered, in lungs.
torn from nest, it stiffens,
snarls -- it will not go easily,
willingly, and it catches, sharp,
pulling threads to rip seams:
fall to pieces inside out.
it goes; bruised and broken
though you are, it is gone, gone.
in peaceful night, mother moon
sends down promises of brighter
tomorrows, of sweeter starts.
gravitasi will scream your namegravitas2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
until my voice box
cannot even whisper
She Has No FutureI want to tie clocks to ceilings and shatterShe Has No Future1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
them to pieces like a
pinata,
because time is my most
feared enemy.
i'd rather die than live not knowingeven in the early morning,i'd rather die than live not knowing2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
his eyes are the shape of dusk-
the type of thing that is
half asleep, yet so awake
in the perfection of blues
oranges and whites.
i tell him they're pretty things,
the thing i'd love to wake up to
everyday, but he sighs, and tells me
they're not the type of thing
worth remembering.
i ask why, and his lips tweak
in this sort of paled, half-mooned
shape, letting out a deep, tired sigh.
i feel them with my fingertips, i watch
the confection of his eyes moving
back and forth to the shape of my face-
the sort of dance that is done in the midst
of thinking- the kind of thoughts that are
the most worth
in general anaestheticsyou are the you i want with hipster lips,in general anaesthetics2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the type with snakes in her bones and
crystalline between all the pinks of her tongue,
the type with all the right secrets in
the crooks of her pockets and neck,
the type with the golden weights
creeping up the sides of her thighs
and back.
there's something about injustice that makes me want.
there's something about
the type of bitter sex on the radio tunes stuck
in all the right parts of her dilated corneas,
the type with short eyes and far ears and
a liberal face, filled with all the best rat-hands
and poor words that makes us bold in all the right places.
and i know there's somet
for the unhealthyi met a girl, once, who stole mattressesfor the unhealthy2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
motels and rayed light with just
the look in her makeup-smeared eyes.
her mascara reminded me of tears,
and the peeled and cracked rims
red of roses,
the scene i think
almost ironic
in the silence
of creaking floorboards,
sobs racking the air,
and the breaths
as she stole my breath
only to leave me bathed
in shreds of light, of eyelids
plagued with shattered
eyes,
and
as she breathed into me, i know i know i have no excuse
and i know i can't say i know love, because i'm blind
and i didn't know love was blind,
and
as her words sit on my neck, as they trickle
in the cool air, as
look into the airi want to tell you a story. i want to tell you a story about silences and long drives and saying no so many times that it made me stronger.look into the air3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
so it started with this woman, right? this woman who had long white hair and she was missing three teeth. she was my grandmother and she didn't know everything, but if anyone on this planet knew as much as god it'd be her. because even god doesn't know everything. for one, he couldn't tell you why people don't believe in him. it makes him cry to think about it. anyway, so my grandmother was smart as hell. she never said anything. and i know what you're thinking. you're thinking 'if she never said anythin
tomorrowbreathing.tomorrow2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
binding ropes, pointed sheets
and careful skies- i have all the oceans,
new days, richest nights and brightest
mornings
when i have the feeling
of the roughest rocks
under the soles of my feet-
the wood and splinters in my toes,
the cold metal to my arms,
the most frozen of fingers
pressed to my back.
arms are poison when they're numb;
ever is different when you can feel.
leaning, i have the air against my skin,
the deepest of skies breathing down my neck,
the poison of cradling eyes.
maybe being human is knowing how to feel alive;
maybe being human is knowing when to be alive.
black and white, knight eyes,
sleep sequencesleep doesn't work as a cure or remedysleep sequence2 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
when 3am leaves you clutching at the dark
clambering for stability in your personal ocean.
and you are quartz so the inside
of your skin is lined with the interior
monologues of vaporized shellfish.
sure, you could have saved them. but how else
could we communicate, if not for this ocean
digesting us softly and churning us into one?
you exhale, or maybe it was a sigh
i cannot tell anymore with your constant
breaking waves and breaking bones.
and you can talk about death in such
elegant phrasings of crescent moons claiming
and guiding lost souls.
but you never were so good at telling me about
your own personal little deaths.
the littlest deaths, the ones that slip
through the spaces between your fingers
when you hold your safety net so close against you
and so tightly. if i can't get that close to you
i'll swing the moon around your shoulders
so that no one can. because nothing else
in the solar system could be so stark
and yet so quieting.
but oh
Taste of falling awayTaste of falling away2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
You're spilling breaths
until your frame shakes
and your heart
is leaking from the center
where it was weakened
on the first day.
And on the second day
I loved you.
You're dusting my skin;
my shells and ocean mists
and ladies of the night perfume
so that I could be pure
and we could start over.
But I've got bones
and skin and ruptured dreams.
Your hands are calloused
and they feel like apricot cream
scraping at my lips, begging me
to bleed something
other than red.
And on the third week,
you loved the idea of me.
It was cold;
and cold isn't enough
to freeze these moments
when you think we're something [.]
beautifu
wrong bedsyou fall to the ground, sand between your fingers,wrong beds2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
grass tickling the tips of your toes
and you scream
noise is all there is -
emotion drained from your system through way of your lungs
-
and then, there is nothing left
muscles relax, head sinking into the ground,
falling slightly to the left
broken twigs litter the ground beside you
still clinging onto their leaves -
bright green in the cloud-dulled moonlight
you realise you love them more than anything else in this world
because you know that sometimes,
the broken things need the most love
-
you burn the book you write in
smoke fills your nostils, stings your eyes
a
don't make me writein a world wheredon't make me write2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the world is but wind
i am the writer,
my fingers eating at
the words,
and you are the paperweight
holding my drunk hands down
spilled milki am a girl with without feelingsspilled milk2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the type with ccrossed legs and closed eyelids
the type with i don't knows written across
her lips and spines and collars crooked with
the weight of love across her back
i don't know
i am a repetitivve being who can't speak
without stutters or write withhout petty kkinks.
but i have shudders in my pupils and cringing
in the back of my throat when i close my eyes
to you, you-
the ugliest thing who can't let me write a word
without acid. without tickling in the back of my stomach
without the cramps in my chest, the slaps to my heart
people tend to call butterflies
though i beg to differ because butterflies a
ersatzyour wake is the warmersatz1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
languid whorl of a sachet-latté
morning after,
gone when six a.m. rain swirls
pavement scents of whiskeysmoke
& a careless caress away
under cinnamon-sugar grace --
and it was only ever this:
you were lovely
by trembled halflight, when you almost had
my summer-boy's eyes.
I BELIEVE3 years ago in Emotional
More Like This
TearsTears are the windows to a soulTears8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Within them contain the emotions of one's being
Falling for the death of someone loved,
Streaming for brokeness
Rolling in laughter and happiness,
Tumbling in depression
Holding onto the light,
Clinging in fear of darkness
Windows,
Windows to the hiding one afraid to be seen
Sta.sh
