She Was a Stormcloudshe was a stormcloud, and you loved her,
and the two of you took walks and wore
nothing but promises,
broken chains and
strands of pinkish pearls.
and the two of you kissed under trees that attracted silver lightning
(metal branches scraped the sky, and you, always faithful,
tipped your coat over her head to keep her dry.)
but she never stayed that way.
in an instant, she had whirled into the rain
and danced without clothes,
and she left you
with the pain of frostbite on your naked skin
where you trusted her to kiss you warm,
and you thought you heard her laughter
when the sun came out again the next day,
and the next.
she was a stormcloud, and you loved her,
and you didn't know it at the time but
(and they never
Beautiful Monsterswe are tangled, unwashed hairBeautiful Monsters4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that splays like tentacles on our bed,
long, dark hair and eyelashes like curtains,
long, beautiful hair and two eyes on two bodies
that only watch in
shady bars, because our friends
can't see us like this.
we are hand-holding under tables,
stumbling through alleyways
into apartments, with doors flung open and shut
when our clothes come off and souls entwine.
and when our screams subside, we are
two bodies, one soul.
we are liars when we sit alone on park benches
and watch sunsets from separate ends.
they ask us "do you know each other?" and we
catch each other's eyes and whisper
and if we are strangers, we should not be
kissing under bridges in the dark,
letting the waves crash over our feet
and forgetting who we are.
...and so i gave you thisyou asked me for a poem....and so i gave you this3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
sometimes i fall in love with words
and wish that words
would fall for me.
you want a poem? how about the darkness of the morning
when the sun still rubs the night from his eyes,
the dew on the grass and how your feet jump from the itch.
how about the laughter of a creek or the roar of the ocean,
there, that's a poem.
you want a poem?
ask me about watermelon kisses
or how a blackberry whispers love to the backs of my teeth.
ask me how my lips know every curve of my knees
and my spine knows the unyielding wall,
ask me about sunsets and the giants who paint them,
who gave the frog his croak, and why,
why the ravens never seem to cackle
on those dark and maddening nights.
how about the way the muse and i do things
that make her a saint and i a sinner?
how about the soft hiss of my breath when my mouth falls open,
the crust that sleeps in my eyes until i scrape it away.
this too is a poem.
you asked for a poem?
the way honey drips off a spoon,
The Days of Our Livesmonday said that you loved me.The Days of Our Lives4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
he whispered this through broken teeth
and touched me with hands that were
crackled, like boiled eggs.
tuesday stole you.
her eyelashes batted too slowly
and i saw you leave,
brought you back to my door-
meek, wet, and disheveled,
clutching wilted roses.
thursday, ever tricky,
hid you in the orange grove with a lady
and no amount of april fools could convince me to stay.
friday let me cry at her bosom,
she stroked my hair and murmured lullabies
into tangled silk.
saturday was kind and gentle.
'fear not,' he said, and patted my hand.
'he will return.'
you did. saturday dragged you home
and draped you over our lovestained couch.
sunday was the meanest day.
he gave me bruises and whiskey-tinted kisses
all up my neck.
i was packed to leave,
monday said that you loved me.
he whispered this through punched-out teeth
and touched me with hands that were
tainted, like last week's garbage,
so tuesday tol
Unpoetica painter,Unpoetic4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
with his tubes rolled down to squeeze out the last
flicks his brushes with precision-
sends ballerina strokes of color across the landscape
to become houses,
and this is elegant to watch.
arms slick to the elbows with grey,
twists her long fingers around the neck of a vase,
coaxes shapes from dirty lumps of clay
and calls them pots,
and this is elegant to watch.
who bends and twirls like long, swaying grasses,
lifts a delicate chin,
points a rounded toe,
leaps and spins and stops breathless
before the judges,
or a crowd.
and this is elegant to watch.
but the poet,
whose eye are red from sleepless nights,
hunches protectively over notebooks,
curses the muses he cries to
and crumples his inadequate words,
hammers his fist on the desk and
topples his coffee onto his poem,
and this is far from elegant.
of all the artists in the world,
the poet is the
Valtreki miss you like hell.Valtrek3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
hell, i miss you like
roses in our bath,
the water going cold and your warm legs against me,
the shampoo in my hair
pop pop popping
until you pushed me under,
our goosebumps colliding like
flint and steel.
hell, i miss you like
dewy orchard apples, crisp and sweet-tart
and cold, so cold,
your tongue like a pink lady,
i miss you like
the snow outside our window,
our backs frozen against the trees
and your eyelashes-
flavoured like saltwater and rain.
i miss you like
the fog that roamed our streets in early morning,
apparitions, phantoms, spectres,
cloaked in blackness.
the sound of your breath.
the silence is the only thing i've come to fear.
Dreamersi.Dreamers4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
our backs pressed stories into the hillside.
mine was short and deep
and yours grew long and crooked .
the grass died beneath us when the sun sank below the hill.
"when the clouds change shape,
that's when i leave you,"
and i cried as they shifted with your breath.
"don't forget me."
"i'll be back in the springtime.
try not to miss me."
i missed you in places i never knew i had,
and the night fell down around me and it was all i could do to hold up an end of its black blanket to let the moon pass through.
and when the morning came,
i ached for you.
"babe, don't miss me."
"you say that as if it's easy."
"we're dreamers, babe. everything is easy."
this bed is full of dream-husks.
they keep me turning until the morning.
i am unrecognizable.
i'll be longer than i thought.
the nights are cold here
but i'm more alive than ever.
don't worry about me."
black shadows stole y
From Daddy to Father i lost my daddy. i don't even remember losing him, actually. one day he was there, and the next day he was replaced by a man named "father." this "father" isn't like my daddy at all. he doesn't hug me like daddy used to. my daddy used to rub my back when he hugged me, but father pats my back awkwardly. daddy used to talk to me about philosophy. father shoves his ideas down my throat until i choke. my daddy would never do that. my daddy was a nice man, and if he ever caught anyone treating me like father does, he'd whoop their ass. i know he would. and he could, too, because he's the strongest man i know. my daddy could beat father up any day. i wonder where he is, and why he's letting father be mean to me. father is always mean to me. he was okay in the beginning, but now he only talks to me when i'm in trouble. never to say anything good, just when i'm in trouble. daddy used to talk to me about anything, but father only yells. daddy also used to reFrom Daddy to Father4 years ago in Emotional More Like This
Motorcycle.Motorcycle3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
there are stray-cat men who ramble through my bar rooms,
ponytails that drip down their backs
and they wear ink beneath their skin,
blue jeans that are soft and faded, hands
whose callouses rub spots on my tables, and
how many times have i felt the sticky-cold smack of a bandana,
the bristle of an unshaved mouth running rough against my thigh?
there is a certain poetry about the way a hair
sticks to naked skin.
i am weaved between burning legs,
dripping oil and gasoline
we roar like tigers
in a concrete jungle.
the morning after is
heat between my thighs and an empty bed,
shy noseprints on the window and my best friend
poured in a dirty glass,
if you feed them,
stray-cat men have a way of coming back.
on the nights when i forget whose name i need to scream...
Before You Judge Metake a walk in my shoes,Before You Judge Me4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the ones that never fit and are always caked with
mud or dirt or cat shit,
the kind that pretty ladies tell you to take off
before you come into their white-carpet mansions.
take a walk in my shoes,
the ones that give you blisters
in places you never knew you had,
the kind that are never laced properly
and fall off when you run.
and while you're at it,
try on my clothes,
the shirts that never hang right
or the pants that always get made fun of because they're torn up,
the kind that are comfy but mother
won't let you wear.
try on my clothes,
the socks that make your feet sweat
and the gloves you have to wear when it gets cold,
and no, not those gloves because they have holes in them
even though they're your favorite and you don't mind.
and while you're at it,
try my brain on for size,
the dull fuzziness that never seems to go away
or the hyper-activity that comes with your sugar highs
(that people say are annoying),
or even the jolt it gets when yo
flotsamwe crash seafoamflotsam3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
when my bones are driftwood,
i dive for pearls in your hair,
lose my breath and realize that
i don't need it;
your sighs suffice to fill my canvas lungs.
our bodies carve castles in the sand.
("you've practiced," you whisper.
"tongues in tidepools have taught you to love.")
the moon swells the waves.
your kneecaps remind me of
your fingertips are hermit crabs
that scuttle on my skin.
(we howl like seaside wolves, and then)
when morning comes i can't help but see the way you
sprawl like yawning waves in the early morning tide.
you are a shipwreck.
between sailor's-knotted sheets
we sweat the ocean,
you, a siren,
i, odysseus chained.
WintergirlI.Wintergirl4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
"Fuck the system," she whispered to me
the first time we met.
"Or it will fuck you."
Her eyes were as clear as a summer day.
I absorbed her meaning, her attitude.
I befriended her and we fucked the system together,
rode it like a bull at the fair
and laughed when it tried to tame us.
She laughed the loudest when people said
She said that they were sheep, that they hated us
because we weren't like them.
"We're not wrong," she told me.
"Just different. Just unique."
She was infinite. No star could escape her.
Her smile stretched from one corner of the earth to the other
until the world became one with it.
She was the seismic wave that could start a tsunami,
teasing, powerful, dangerous.
People prayed to their gods for her mercy,
but only the wind knew if she would give it.
The flower of judgement searched her for cracks
to land a root in,
but it found no fissure
and died at her feet.
She owned the world,
The Sands in my Hourglasswhat use are dreamsThe Sands in my Hourglass4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
when all they get is broken,
how good can they be
when they glitter on the floor?
i had a dream once.
it was of love and nothing more.
chasing dreams is a useless pastime.
their soft tails melt away in your hands,
and you're left with pain and hurt and heartache
and the touch of a thousand sands.
Broken Piecesi.Broken Pieces4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
some nights are so lonely
that i find myself craving smoke from your lungs,
the thick scent of the earth and your heavy cologne,
and air so cold that my breath hangs frozen in it,
and my lungs so warm that they burn me from the inside.
i find myself engrossed in books you never read
but always said you wanted to,
the books i never wanted to read
but always said that i would.
i find myself in your forgotten clothing,
two sizes too big and yet so very small
that they hug me until i can't breathe
and i wind up naked by morning,
tossed across this too-big mattress
like a mermaid
dashed over the rocks of a raging sea.
i find myself in pieces strewn about our old house,
in chipped mugs and shrunken sweaters
and flowers with no petals in them,
and i follow our ancient patterns and try to find the rest of me,
but i think it slipped somewhere in your suitcase
and is halfway across the universe
She's Brokeni.She's Broken4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
she is an ink-stained poet of seventeen,
whose bruises take the shape of africa
or thailand or italy,
and the ones that don't look like anything
she presses on until the blood pools up
and blackens the map of her skin.
she wanders from
one filament of conscious thought
to the other,
sailing through time and space
as though it were a vast ocean
just for her.
sometimes she sits before the sea.
"who am i?"
she screams to the waves
that drag her under
and fill her mouth
small, wet sand.
she finds beauty in
wine glasses and
roman numerals were never her friends.
she preferred to count on
snails and shipwrecks
and the lonely blue flowers
that speckled the grey of her eyes.
four letters she never wanted to believe in
but always did.
she doesn't know if she'll end up
marrying a boy
or a girl
or just loving everybody
because everybody deserves
to be loved.
maybe she'll just die
because gods are immortal
and she doesn't
SynesthesiaaloneSynesthesia4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
tastes like the first grass of spring,
and the tender shoots
stick in my throat
and i cough.
feels like a hard, oval sugar-disk
that is yellow in color and tastes like
is the melty-blue sky
when the wind kicks up,
and it has the emptiness of a
is brown and vast and breathtaking,
as if the awesome landscape deserves your air
more than you do.
and awesome feels like
popcorn in my shins,
hard kernels exploding into
slippery, fat puffs
that just disintigrate.
is a funny word because it has three i's
and it is rust-red like a river
and reminds me of chalk.
is a slap in the face with
a cool sheet of red metal.
it bubbles up like boiling water.
face is different
if it's mine or yours,
or if i'm facing something
smooth and white and cold
like a marble statue of the sky.
It's A Fine Line...will we ever be able toIt's A Fine Line...4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to tangle our fingers through each other's hair
without wanting to pull it out
and watch it drift through time and space
like the lazy fluff of a milkweed?
our branches rot and we
let them drop off onto
someone else's head.
if a leaf falls in the forest,
is it poison? because if it is, i think
that it needs to find its way into
your seven o'clock cup of tea.
here we go again.
Stop Breathingmaybe it's the spaceStop Breathing4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that makes my lungs raw with aching,
(after all, the air that stretches from you to me
is wrought with your perfume,
the air that stretches from you to me
is heavy with memories of us and the world,
and promises as empty as grandma's wine bottles
scattered across this floor,
with labels peeling off like our clothes
and long necks that stretch for sloppy kisses.)
we lick the drops from bottoms of jars,
honey-sticky and sweet like our childhood,
and the space between us makes it harder to bear
when i can't stop breathing
even though i want to.
Breatheour first breaths together wereBreathe4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
like the movement of that caterpillar
you put on my sleeve
when it reared up and questioned
the placement of its feet.
we found our footing in
broken flower pots and
little red wagons.
the summer air became a blanket
that kept us warm through winter
and the early days of spring.
i found myself
staring absent-mindedly at the sun.
our laughter began to
permeate every conversation,
then the weather became funny,
and so did our lives,
and we ended up throwing them out
with the garbage
and laughing at the man who took them away.
we had everything and nothing
all at once.
and then our eyes grew heavy with
and our nights began to
and our storylines began
to share a common theme.
and the paint peeled off of our little red wagons,
and our flowerpots cut our feet
when we tried to run away.
and our last breaths together
were sharp and biting,
like the slice of our ice skates
on the thin layer of our dreams.
those burning nights in parisif paris is easy, then easythose burning nights in paris2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
is the way i like my love.
there are souls folded into cafe corners,
there are lives we'd like to taste and try on.
(whose empty eyes? whose wrists are these?)
and they will beg of you
"oublie moi, chers amis."
and you will forget them.
paris is easy.
i have probed her underbelly,
felt the warm rumble of the coming rain, and
she has shown me her metropolitan drunkards,
stray cats and
women of the night:
the girls who slither through back doors,
(a feather lost floats softly,
kisses the ground and blows away.
"c'est la vie," she croaks,
and in her voice i hear diamonds,
wine bottles and a hundred
the wind that snakes between the legs of
the eiffel tower
has whispered wicked words to me,
she has teased the braille on my tongue and i
learned to read the love in a pain au chocolat, le foie gras,
le vin blanc.
i have learned that pastry chefs
are the worst kind of
paris has been my lover. i have traced
Daisy Chain Dreamsi.Daisy Chain Dreams4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
she taught him to make daisy chains,
and they sat in the summer sun
and tangled their flower-laced dreams into the wind,
letting their white petal wishes spell out letters
on the thirsty grass.
the birds in the air
screeched and soared;
she saw his envy
and taught him how to fly without wings.
they looped flowers over their bodies and giggled
dusk teased the goosebumps from their skin
with gentle fingertips.
she's a poet now, and he's a musician,
and neither have time for silly things like daisy chains
or starving grass.
they meet in silver buildings that are too loud,
and they can't scream over the silence
so they just nod and pretend they don't remember
what the world used to sound like.
they are children
with pink cheeks and sun-kissed skin
and wilted flower halos.
her dreams of him are
she's learning that
daisy chains can't hold her life together,
that the grass is always thirsty
no matter where she runs to,
Across the Marble Skywe danced as dust motes-Across the Marble Sky4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
with the golden summer sun
shining on our hair, our lips,
and then we were the freckled eggs
that nestled in the straw,
and we spoke with gentle thumps
to the apples that fell in the orchard,
and we punctuated those words with
two-legged chirps and
and then our teeth became little stars
and we kissed until they fell out
and skittered across the marble sky.
Sand in my Hairwe were caught in a whirlwindSand in my Hair4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in the summer of '69,
and the sand from our nightlife beaches
never really washed itself
from our hair.
i am finding grains on my bed in the mornings
after i dream of you,
sweeping them into mason jars
and trying to remember our days
as they saw them.
the air is uncomfortably still.
i pick absently at the scabs on my knees
and think about that summer,
the night sky that seemed to stretch until breaking,
the way the wind kicked sand at my face like a child.
we clutched hands to stay together-
our feet nearly plucked from the earth like
and the sand sprayed into our eyes and ears and noses
but we laughed all the same.
and later, we coughed up beaches on the hotel floor,
feeling the grit between our teeth
and washing it down with shots of anything we could find
in the liquor cabinet.
we slept on a sandy mattress without making love,
a concept foreign to the world outside.
we fell asleep in a tangle of innocent limbs
Lonestar Belt Buckles and Old Faded Levi'sthey warned you about loving cowboys-Lonestar Belt Buckles and Old Faded Levi's4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
how their ropes twine around your heart
and they hurt you with their
how their spurs leave scars when they ride you
and how, even though they love you,
they never stay for long.
they never mentioned the silky cowgirls
with lashes that curl like a desert wind,
didn't warn you about their smooth, cold pistols
and the dents they leave on your hips in bar rooms
when the night crowds stumble home,
never told you how intoxicating their sweat-soaked chaps
are when you snake them off,
how gritty their lips when you kiss away the sand,
and how, when they scream and buck against you,
they sound like the wild wolves that roam at night.
they never warned you about the cowgirls,
and so, when you fell in love, you were not afraid of her well-water eyes,
didn't fear her temper or her bloodshed
or the way she loved you like an animal
when the moon was low and your moans echoed off the cloudless sky.
they didn't warn you about the
the love of our poetsthe earliest poets dreamed of perfect lovethe love of our poets4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and it destroyed them-
the worlds they created were
too beautiful to leave.
their sheaves of parchment grew heavy with inkblots,
loops and swirls and dots the color of Juliet's hair,
letters that curled like eyelashes
and words that touched and groped and caressed.
and these poets,
whose sleepless nights were spent creating
and whose dreams were of the worlds they had made,
crafted featherstrokes into breathless promises,
sculpted beautiful women out of letters and words.
and these poets fell in love with their women,
and they locked themselves in their studies
and scribbled out their wildest dreams,
and the earth spun on without them,
and they aged and didn't know it,
and their children grew up fatherless and hungry
and cried in the dark for parents who were never there.
and all of this for love. all of this for love.