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NaPoWriMo: Day 8I was toldNaPoWriMo: Day 81 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
to slice through the thickest
of scar tissue this evening.
Let all my inner demons
fall to the floor
& write them out
in my own black blood.
It’s not red anymore,
even though needles
& the bruises
laid out like war-lands
on my arms
say otherwise.
I don’t think it ever was,
honestly.
Therapeutic,
they said.
My mind is a mess
of free versed insecurities,
cat’s eye marbles,
& untamed forest fires-
but,
I still don’t have the nerve
to slice open my skin
& bleed for her.
NaPoWriMo: Day 10 Have you ever been so cold, Sweetheart,NaPoWriMo: Day 101 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
your knee's q u a k e d like that Jenga piece
that buckled just before your whole foundation
t
o
p
p
l
e
d
over?
I have.
& no matter
how many times
I've restarted your heart,
one would think
I'd grow tired,
eventually;
I'm still writing you in poetry
(in the most inappropriate of places.)
You forced yourself beneath my blades
& my fingertips,
Licking unst
Scorpion"Show me your bones."Scorpion6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
the atlas of her thighs quaked
as she misplaced her skin
in the backseat of his car.
"I'm a scorpion, you know-"
a messy promise
folded napkin-neat.
"Prove it."
& she smirked,
sure of her limbs,
her scars, & her teeth.
"I dare you to stake claim to this clavicle."
RepossessionYour words tore into my abdomen like vultures feeding onRepossession8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
the raw emotion their filthy wings stirred up from the dust.
My ribs cracked from the blow.
But, I think sometimes
of how these were the ribs
that should have chased you away from me,
quietly wondering how you managed to
slither past this cage of bone and flesh
to engrave your fingerprints into my marrow.
You were sweat & spice & scars-
Your eyes,
a thunderstorm of black and blue sex
jarring and devouring my insides,
shaped a faithless religion
through the cracks & broken shards
of my hollowed out womb.
(I want my insides back.)
FrostI am devouring chaos,Frost6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
chasing it down with winter's chill.
Spare me your fingerprints,
summer's lovechild. Those knowing owl eyes
have me second guessing the wild churning
in my bones. You are the sleep that sweeps
my eyelashes, drowning me in my own daydreams.
When was it...
that you plastered yourself to my ribcage?
NaPoWriMo: Day 3Today,NaPoWriMo: Day 32 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
I wanted to pluck my ribs
from out my chest &
hang them about my house
like wind chimes-
dangled brutality;
a taunt for hungry wolves.
I didn’t grab for sharp objects,
I just wrote about it.
I never knew
I wanted to be a writer
until I lost something.
I still don’t know what that is-
(my mind, maybe.)
But words,
they fill gaps
that had no stories
to keep them
from hollowing out
in the first place.
Her Musethese words are not poetryHer Muse9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
swimming liquid fire through ashes
of dead phoenix veins.
no, they are rough and callused
with over use, their own faithless artists
spewing black tar from their lungs
in the hopes to one day breathe again.
nothing moves her.
she would rather scribble her heart out
on physical manifestations of her own reality-
on skin and bones she worships like a temple.
"Write of me," he says, "right here."-
planting sun-stricken kisses
along the hollow of her burning throat.
"I want to be where your heart sleeps."
NaPoWriMo: Day 9More respectNaPoWriMo: Day 91 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
for hungry lions,
than man's
greedy fingers,
she really,
really
doesn’t want to write this poem.
As she forgets how to use words
(on most days,)
relying on curses
like casting some witch's spell-
with only ten dollars to her name.
The oldest daughter:
she’s still somewhere in the middle,
filed under
miscellaneous
because they had no other way
to categorize her.
Getting her first gravestone at three-
she prayed
not to the gods,
but to the lily stargazers
in her palms.
One day
she would become
She has the moon in her eyes.But, this body is a black hole,She has the moon in her eyes.9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
a hollowed out womb-
and these palms are sandpaper
thin and bleeding a silent stigmata.
"Not yet ripe to fall from her bed,
too young to understand her own limbs-"
She folds back July's origami skin,
wishing for the warmth of winters kiss.
She is a raven heart, thumping wildly
against the whispers of vintage lips.
Her bed is empty,
but the sheets are red.
'X' Marks The SpotI am a pirate,'X' Marks The Spot11 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
a ghost among the sunken ship
of your treasure trove heart.
Like the last bit of rum in the jug,
I enjoy the way 'fuck' rolls off your tongue,
as if you invented its meaning.
I try to articulate that one syllable,
match your way of speech-
You've never needed to dress your words-
dip them in ink or paint them in poetry
upon the exotic map of my sun-kissed curves.
I have drowned so many times
in the green sea of your eyes
that I am coughing up seaweed
& weak bones.
You tell me not to speak-
that such words sound dirty on my tongue
that my spine is made for beauty
and not for a bounty.
But you, you are a plague
A Gods DebtSutured together by artists,A Gods Debt8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
devoured blasphemy-
hallowed out, & spit back up,
( you are afraid. )
Hooks longing for her ribcage embrace;
god-hands that can't seem to keep to themselves
grapple the gargoyle exterior of her deflowered frame.
( spread your legs. )
Red-inked and trembling,
prosetry masked as screams
knots into her anatomy.
Lonely Gods"I wish my body to be a staircaseLonely Gods9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
to heaven." She said, "A conduit
of lonely Gods."—Swaying
pendulum hips, she, she
was made of stardust.- Scars sleeping
above a city of sweet bones, stirring
like sun-stricken scorpions during
hollow painkiller nights,
mistaking her redred burns
for Apollos kisses.
"Sadly, this body has whispered away
the last of my secrets."
NecromancyShe thinks there are nebulaeNecromancy1 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
in the rough of my gutter bones,
some stargazing sanctuary
for lonely outcasts to lay their heads.
I am but a car crash,
spellbound
inside eyelids,
& red inked corrections
on crosshatched skin.
Made up of moans,
the clutching of bedsheets;
I am contemplating
ripping my ribs apart
& proving
I never had a heart at all.
But my moon shy love;
she is determined
to try & wake the dead.
I'm talking myself in circles,I screamed,I'm talking myself in circles,1 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
"There is nothing
wrong with me, not a damn
thing.”
I wanted to believe
the big dipper on my arm
meant something more
than sun marks & kisses.
But, how can I trust words
that slip through my teeth
as easy as breathing
when this star
has only ever learned
how to f
a
l
l
?
Battle CryI write poetry to ghosts in my dreamsBattle Cry10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
awakening with ink stained sheets
from nights I can't remember,
meaningless phantom words upon my flesh.
And this cigarette between my fingertips
taunts me,"Hey baby, hey—catch me on fire
and I'll burn you away." I laugh, hollow—
unafraid of flames & smoke & shadows.
I've felt it all before.
I'm washing away the ink with homemade
remedies. Like it never was;
Like I never was.
But there is love on my arms now
smirking and itching away at me.
I'll claw it out a hundred times over
because remembering you—
that is worse than self-inflicted injury.
I am trying to be honest,but I write so fucking floweryI am trying to be honest,4 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
it makes me sick,
rose scented stars & love.
No.
Her: helpless as a lamb,
I want raw, aching
bone against bone
exploring the exposed, naked
poetry of her universe-
( warm, celestial hands
forging sandcastle ribs. )
Southern earth beneath her feet,
wanderlust burned like Apollo's touch
into her spinal cord, please awaken
the empty space between her skin
& mine.
Collection of poetic nothings.We were opal Tuesdays,Collection of poetic nothings.5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
mosaic butterflies
tattooed into the
rose garden curve
of my vertebrae,
gliding me through this wild youth.
But, like Icarus—
I was a sky conqueror
& these silk wings
touched the sun.
-
My inhalations are heavy,
like the earth he bruises
beneath his fingertips
as I chase silence.
"You've got a tongue
made for words." He says
against the arrogant thorns
of my briar spine.
"Learn to love yourself."
-
How do I say I love you
without saying I love you?
"I want to replace my heart with you."
-
You are spider silk woven
into my harvest moon
heartstrings, spider
limbs traveling this road map
of s
fly.this is hard for the world around us to grasp:fly.5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
these wildfires raging in our retinas
& the sins we wear like demonic similes
on our tongues- they are not enough.
& i am so fucking sorry of saying i'm sorry.
but, tell me,
what is a young poet(ess) to do
with veins made of kite strings?
William,If I am nothing but an actorWilliam,6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
on a stage in this dust town
of rose torn bones and washed up
stars, why is it that the galaxy sculpted
crescent moons in my palms
ache?
BloodI've got a filthy mouth,Blood6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
& a house of stars
thriving in my throat.
21 years
silent
& I still have yet to tame
this grounded constellation
I call my temple. -Slithering
tongue hissing too many
"fuck you's" against my teeth.
I fear I will write myself hollow-
or until my bones are corroded away
& I am nothing-
an insignificant nebula
orbiting the wrong atmosphere.
But, my veins bleed sweet ichor,
& words are only words, Mother.
Dear Poetry,I might be dangerously on the verge of being poetic, but-Dear Poetry,5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Sometimes I don't feel me in my own skin.
I am too many breaks between pulses,
& a heart still living in the autumn of 99.
I'm telling stories about a girl.
A soul made of ink & godly metaphors,
too much for a non-homeostatic body.
There were once fireflies in her smile,
alight between the gaps in her teeth.
A rebel,
love letters carved into wrists
she never sent.
Poetry,
She is Porphyria, & you are her lover.
GravityAutumn wanted to learnGravity6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
how to
fall.
So, the galaxy of dead trees
coiling in your lungs
devoured her spine.
Your gifts,
a lifeline wrapped around
her neck like a noose;
an orange and red
assisted suicide.
& you said "God bless your
heart." like some divine
higher power could forgive
her for loving you.
ConstellationShe is dream dust,Constellation6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
too bitter or wise
for her own good.
A timeless dragon's soul
somewhere inside a
scaled shell, burning
the silence in her bones
alive, honeysuckle sweet.
She collects fireflies only to
set them free at 3am,
crying to an uncaring moon.
& she's begging for the stars
to take her away,
make this house a home
rigged in the sky.
To me,
She is already naked fever
swimming through the cosmos
& I orbit her.
NaPoWriMo: Day 2sometimes,NaPoWriMo: Day 22 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
i have this
sudden urge to cut
my hair.
most of the time,
i just wish I were anything
other than me.
a rocket ship, a bird-
the sweet flavored smoke
I promised my girlfriend
these briar patch lungs
would not in.hale.
instead,
i have fallen in love
with the strangest of things-
eyes that intimidate
godless boys.
the way my scars
play hide and seek
with her hands. -
the love letters
that start and end
with kisses
pressed against limbs.
i make promises
i know i can not keep.
but if i were a liar
i would say i was tired
of writing to the stars.
Sta.sh
