How You've BeenHold me close 'cause I can't seeHow You've Been5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
What these people've done to me
The sister who I'll never be
And Satan in my company
Loving, laughing, lying loud
Come on, daughter, do me proud
Standing in this lonely crowd
I'll love you, always, he has vowed
What I've done
What you've seen
What I meant
What you mean
Hold me close 'cause I can't see
What these people've done to me
don't you dare lie,because i know you love thedon't you dare lie,5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
attention just as much as you love
breaking my heart.
all the lost onesi.all the lost ones4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
we met on a sunday.
and i'd love to say it was some total out of this world, love at first site, butterflies in my stomach moment, but it wasn't. it wasn't because maybe that sounds just a little too cliché, and well, we were never the type for happy endings. maybe it was that, and the fact that i had no clue what i was doing that day, never mind going.
so here i was, gripping onto my leather shoulder bag for dear life and dragging my frail body through ten feet of snow. i never knew where i was going to be honest, i just knew i had to get away.
i had to get away from this town, these people, here. i just had to get away.
he was a hipster. and when i say hipster, i don't mean a try too hard thrift store hipster. i mean he was just so naturally hip. you'd stare at his shoes more than his eyes. they were old, the ratty old your mother would yell at you for because you wouldn't throw them out and the worn out old that just made you feel so completely comfortable. i'd al
viii. Audrey The moonlight was onviii. Audrey3 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
the water, & you made me want
to be a person.
and to tell you the truth,i always wanted to be a shooting star.and to tell you the truth,5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
raindrops and city lightsi.raindrops and city lights5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i gave up on being beautiful today,
i finally decided i'm never going to
be perfect enough for this world.
what's the point of making myself
beautiful on the outside with fake
smiles and lies laced with make-believe
perfection if i'm still going to be
broken on the inside?
i found out that if i stare out
into a world i'll never be good
enough for, the raindrops will
try their hardest to break through
the glass and save me.
i think they need me as much
as i need them.
i'll name my baby girl Raine,
after them. because maybe that
way i can repay them for all
the times they washed away my
tears by wiping away hers.
and when i tell her she'll
marry the moon, i can catch
her and keep her in my arms
when she misses and lands
among the stars.
maybe i'm a broken, fallen
star for a reason. maybe i'm
a star for her.
if i can't be beautiful,
i'll make something beautiful.
time capsule hearts"i never understood why you stuck around."time capsule hearts5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
"you needed me around."
"i didn't need you. i just needed someone."
"i wanted to be that someone."
"you were that someone. you were every fragment
of air that seeped into my lungs and every drop
of blood that radiated through my veins."
"and you, you were every string holding me
together and every note that played in my heart."
"but things changed."
"they didn't have to. i didn't want them to."
"they had to change. i didn't love you."
"you're a bloody fool if you think i'm going to believe that."
"i could never fool you, could i? even if i said the only
thing i ever loved was the thought of being loved."
"your tongues going to turn black if you keep that up."
"you're right. i'd still rather fight with you than make
love with anyone else in the world."
silly little sparrowi am burning, watching my skinsilly little sparrow5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
turn crimson and still reaching for
the shower handle, still turning it
until i can feel my skin melt because
atleast that way i'll know i'm still alive.
i am crying, letting water wash away my
tears as i hold myself. i'm holding on
because no one else can and no one else
will. you are two thousand miles away
or more and i'm starting to think that's
as deep as all the wounds.
i am screaming, gripping onto things
that can never seem to keep me up and
counting the drops of water that fall
from the ringlets on my hair to the
cold hard ground.
i am breathing, hardly holding on but
trying my damn hardest. i'm starting
to feel sick now and it's going to take
all i have to not double over and break down.
i am gasping, trying to block out all of your
words because i just can't seem to believe them.
A girl with no nameI remember that day when she broke your heart. I remember that day when I comforted you. I remember that day when you kissed me. I remember that day you took her back.A girl with no name5 years ago in Profiles More Like This
My name is Skye, and this is my story
I hated 3rd period. Not because it was math, or that is was 10 in the morning and I would much rather be home asleep than listening to Mrs. Mach drone on and on about destributing. It was because that was the class Matthew was in. I didn't think it was possible to love and hate someone so much at the same time but I did.
This was also the period his whore girlfriend, Rachel was in. She hated me... I wasn't sure why. I had more reason to hate her than she had to hate me. Whatever, it was done and said and she hated me and I hated her.
I brushed back my dark brown hair, just to sneak a peek at Matthew. It was sad, after all he put me through my breath still got caught in my chest. His chestnut hair resting slightly over his green eyes.
I sighed and turned my head. I knew I wouldn't be
Heart WormsI am rigid and real,Heart Worms3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
thundering myself against the walls
to try to wait it out_
fumbling myself in circles
to try and catch up
before my vertebrae coalesce, and collide,
and cause my mouth to burst open
like a volcano and do what volcanoes do best: destroy.
But my knees are just too loud.
they're screaming for sunlight.
I'm banging my fists
against the piano
to feel my bones ricocheting,
writhing on the floor,
griping, gripping my clothes
to rip or to clutch, i. don't. know.
My tongue tells me it's a seizure,
but "it's just a heart worm,"
Just a hole boring itself slowly
through my abdominal muscles
and my nervous system
and rearranging my organs to its
kidneys up front, beat-boxing;
lungs in my head where they'll do
I can feel the foreign languages
melting in the frontal part of my brain
where there are no trees to grow_
swaying and smashing on the counter
like those crystal glasses in the cabin
Think About It.I'm being ruthless with my writing again;Think About It.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
slitting open lines like tissues and transplanting
them onto paper plates,
cradling nouns gingerly in my palm
as if they were someone's heart or kidneys
(hot and still [dimly] pumping).
I'm a writer, not a surgeon:
I may not be able to clear ventricles and
but I can preserve the people I love in the pages
of my notebook, press words like decaying flowers between
I may not be a surgeon, but I can save people.
They called me a pretentious bitch;
a nerd without even the common courteously to
wear glasses (so I can at least look intelligent.)
Apparently, formulating an atypical lexicon and
utilizing a dictionary makes you a freak.
They hate that I know the difference between breath and breathe
off the top of my head (one is a verb and the other is a noun, idiots.)
I'm sitting in a lawn chair watching the rain pour
beyond the edge of my shelter;
drawing a shivering hand through my hair
and breathing out a hot b
darling,please, tell me how you can lovedarling,5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
such a god damn fuck up like myself when
you're so utterly fucking perfect.
(because i just can't seem to understand)
The Invisible PeopleFor the "invisible people",The Invisible People4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
because it starts with one person caring...
It's my birthday next week,
but I don't want a cake.
All I want is a heaping pile of vitamins
fresh from the bottle,
their sickly sweet orange aftertaste
convincing my mind that I've already eaten.
I just want a nice steaming cup
of coffee (hold the cream and sugar)
to curb my appetite,
poured into that little half-cup
souvenir I bought in San Francisco.
All I want for my birthday
are the things that money cannot buy.
I want to be tall and slim and gorgeous.
I want ribs stretching against my snowflake skin
and razor-edged hipbones slicing through my palms
(a nervous habit of burning calories through friction).
I want double-jointed elbows with all the joints showing
and legs that the ocean could wade through
(eroding away that nasty fat).
I want triple-zero Levi's cinched two holes tighter,
and a pair of Dobby socks (mismatched the way he likes them)
to keep my toes warm in the frigid summer.
More than that,
Nameless ThingI've sat at this café so long that the waitress is starting to wonderNameless Thing4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
who this strange person is at table six who puts creamer in her
coffee and then forgets to stir it every time.
[She knows when it's time for a refill because that last sip
comes with a wince and a snarking-back of cold coffee-grinds.]
The cook's been out twice to catch a glimpse of this mysterious customer
who only orders condiments and utensils, and writes
synonyms for "synonym" in the window haze,
watching the I's cry.
I lean my chin in my hand and watch the world;
listen to the click of heels on linoleum,
the slamming shut of windows and descending-swish of blinds.
It's all just so mundane.
I wish to hear the music again; the metaphors and anecdotes:
babble translating to verse.
The man at the table next to me knits;
the muscles in his arms throbbing to the drone and jumble
of dishwashers and air-conditioners.
Music notes lay buried in his fingertips,
inked into his flesh, most likely, during a bout of
147When I was younger, it was like his lungs simply spread wider. He had a stronger, firmer chest, a filter between his lips: backwards straw and cloud billow and patterns in the sky.1474 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Now it's as if he's grown taller, wider, but shrunk within -organs wound tighter, hollow piano-player ears- spun too many times through the dispenser and tumble-dried. Shaking fingers cannot pour the alcohol that lays him out flat, but somehow he manages and he's babbling. "You're a real piece of work, honey. You're a real piece of work, and you really should gain some weight."
I just nod, because that's what good daughters do. I smile and hug him one-handed, kiss his scruffy cheek even though one-sided affections make my thumbs bleed. I want to make it all go away, I really do. All the nights under the covers, uncertain footsteps on the stairs, irate voice, Mom on the phone, my shoes laces and how I couldn't tie them. All the cigarettes and the way you sucked them dry, bedtime stories intermingled with wisp
play me like a lieyour tongues turned black,play me like a lie4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a charcoal mess
she need no desire
your words are false
she's the chess piece
your game will require
your love is fake,
she's the broken puppet
stringed along with fire
her heart is shattered,
your bloody lover hangs
with a noose of barb wire
conversations with a mirror"you can never really be ugly, you know."conversations with a mirror5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
"why do you say that?"
"because no matter how many people call you ugly or no matter how ugly you see yourself, there is atleast one person somewhere walking on this earth that thinks you're the most beautiful thing they've ever seen."
"well in that case, you can never be beautiful either can you? i mean, if it works both ways there will always be someone in this world who thinks you're the most horrid thing they've ever seen."
A FortioriI write too much about the shredding ofA Fortiori4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the removal of self-civility (self-sufficiency),
and the dissociation of the simple-self:
mind, body, and wishes all disentangled
-déjà vu splitting into repeating synapses once more:
No other denunciations of worth,
By now, how many words have been wasted
on synonymous syllables of silken-hatred and
the animosity of the person(a)?
This diluting of artistic fragmentations
needs to reach a faltering end.
I need to feed the growing urge to splendor
--not to be splendid, but
to simply delve into the ambiguity of
existence - and accept
that not all fact is truth,
just as not all fiction is fortified
by the imagination.
Sometimes the strongest things are
what we are afraid of showing.
I am not perfect, but--
I will fill these blanks with sparking altercations
of spite and
No longer moving forward, but
1901, Somewherei. I submit to you that perhaps we do not need a miracle.1901, Somewhere4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
ii. Kneecaps never meant much to me. For half a year, I found myself in the spaces between slabs of cement. Sneakers meant escape, and breathlessness was one step short of invincible. God, I loved to breathe until my body became my lungs. I thought that if I could beat the clock, then I could beat the world and, for once, gravity would be the one laying flayed open on the ground, screaming for a taste of atmosphere.
Sometimes I wonder if I ever even beat myself.
iii. There are days when I want to descend into weather patterns and just exist. I want to succumb to tsunamis and drift like a bloated cadaver, to look a hurricane in the eye and let it twist me [break my legs and perhaps my
fuckinguseless writing arm.] To step knee-deep into the ocean and topple backwards, arms outstretched, the water reaching up like a maw, ripples chewing, pieces of me settling to the bottom.
There are mo
talk_The car isn't in the drive,talk_4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and the first thing that comes
to my lips is:
"they're probably still making out
on the sofa."
eye contact descends,
silent hopes and dreams
ping-pong off the windows,
quick and easy
in the closet_
metal rod and
say the words though
"Mom, Dad, I'll--I've--I'm--"
Verbs are the hardest:
and the gender is unforgivable.
teardrops in the oceani.teardrops in the ocean5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i lost you today, somewhere
between the cracks in the sidewalks
and the empty boulevards, or maybe
the wind picked you up for a waltz
among the stars when i was too busy
counting the scars across strangers hearts.
maybe it was in chicago when i
was too busy watching the pebbles
skip across the sea, or in new
york when my eyes were sneaking
glimpses at the skyscrapers reflection
and wishing i could see something
that beautiful in myself.
i lost you today, and that's
all i really know because i can
still hear my heartbeat ricochet
off the walls i've surrounded myself
with every time i hear your name.
maybe my trust started slipping
away when your lips turned black
because i know if they tasted like
nicotine i'd beg my heart to run
away before it shattered again.
i think your laughter sounds like
silver bells and if i asked you if
you loved me you'd tell me your
heart got lost in the miles between
us and finding it is going to be like
finding teardrops in the ocean.
if i let y
the most beautifuldon't you ever dare love a poet,the most beautiful5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
because the way she'll caress
every curve and the way she'll trace
every scar on your body will be
the most beautiful thing she'll ever write.
poets in nowhereland"why is a raven like a writing desk?"poets in nowhereland5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
"why is a raven like a writing desk? that questions haunted me forever."
"a raven isn't like a writing desk, there is no answer."
"but there is."
"but of course, every riddle has an answer."
"then tell me, how is a raven like a writing desk?"
"simple. they aren't alike at all."
"but that makes no sense."
"ah, but it does. you see, a raven and a writing desk are two entirely different things. they are both different in every form possible, which also makes them alike in every form possible."
"i'm not following."
"the answers simple. a raven and a writing desk are alike because they are both different. they are both so entirely different from eachother that they are alike. they are both different and if they are both different, then that makes them have something in commen, now doesn't it? that is how they are alike."
"i think you've gone mad."
"maybe. but the best people are, aren't they? i mean, maybe