biopsyput me under, cover my face, stuff my lungs with your chemical lies.
if they were to take me apart,
slice open my chest,
peel back the skin keeping me whole,
they would find:
a. one heart, slowly ticking.
(they would not find anything,
but they would have to say they did.
after all, girls can't live without a heart.
they forget that i'm not the first:
a score of girls walking even though
they should have faded long ago.)
b. each rib curved so perfectly,
a shield around my lungs.
(a cage, keeping my breath from bursting
out of my skin. know that this is just me,
held together by nature,
unable to lose control of myself.)
c. two sacs of cells, nestled beside each other.
(no first-hand smoke here, no sir.
only second-hand dust, only
things i could not get rid of,
only bits of places i've been,
caught in my body.
postcards of memories i can't see.)
d. a skeleton, still and alive.
(sleeping, with blood cells being produced
in the hollows of my curves.
the rattling of my bones cannot
the little things.The night caves in.the little things.4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
there are no more pretty words on my lips.
the stars fall like planes in a tailspin.
and there is no more beauty in my pen,
only the self-loathing that shadows my mind and the blade on my skin.
and he's seafoam in the drain,
as out of place here as the seashells inhabiting the dresser in my room.
its not poetry anymore,
and the pain in my chest is so real i can taste it like cold steel.
his toes at the edge of the precipice as he burns the night down. your lungs are filled with flour and your eyes with ashes.
its the little things that break you.
so i'll swallow the emptiness inside like a bitter medicine. bite my cheeks until they bleed out my insecurities. i'm rotting from the inside out, but i can't let them know it.
too afraid if i set the rot free it will destroy me completely.
but maybe its already destroyed me.
the acid in my veins has laid me bare and defenseless. the bile and unborn words in my che
cadavershe was born with arctic lipscadaver4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and overcast skin.
her hair fell like fresh snow
and she was far too thin.
her bones in locked closets,
joints creaked and shrieked
like a rotten floorboard
under gossamer feet.
So I amI feel deadSo I am4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and the tree outside my window,
says I am,
so I must be.
I like lillies to bloom in winter
and for the sun to live in the clouds,
so as not to burn my skin
or leave me in the cold.
This morning I forgot to breathe,
as I woke up, I choked.
It was not unpleasent,
I was just surprised.
You could not feel the moisture
on my face
as it began to rain because,
I feel dry
and the weatherman said it was,
so it must have been,
so I am.
Missing BonesWe spent our nights star gazingMissing Bones4 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.
a chinese paintingi can't stop comparinga chinese painting4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
your thin arms to the tree branches haunting me outside my bedroom
the aloof night sky
painting itself into a summer's confession against
my frostbitten windowglass
the same one i gazed out into endless dandelion fields
what are we ?
wasting days without end, in our sleep
the scent of a burnt rose rising from a mountain peak
with your tree branch arms over my spring blossom tattoo.
a yellow bird peered in,
but only saw ivory waterfalls
of factorymade bedsheets,
i'm becoming the yellowbird,
exploring my tree home. your hair is my nest, afterall
home is where the heart is
hurricane eyeit's the suicide notes tucked into her coat's lining that you have to watch out for.hurricane eye4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
she keeps them, you see, in case of an accident.
once, she was the hurricane's eye,
alone in that raw insanity
that we call the world.
around, everyone passed her by,
leaving her behind, a pocket
of peace. dangerous peace.
it's near impossible to be surrounded,
cornered, besieged, and not crumple.
and then the storm ended,
she was free.
she was never free, never released from the claim
of that fierce, raging wind. now she goes through life
knowing what is on the other side.
now, she is part of that hurricane, a just-in-case note
slipped under her tounge.
and she wants to warn the next girl,
struggle is never as glamorous as they make it out to be.
then, she wants to curl up in a ball and be torn apart by the winds.
MusingI'm too young to spend my lifeMusing4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
running from the thunder,
staring at the kitchen walls wondering
how life would be different
if they weren't the same color.
missingyou wrap me up in ocean water-born smoke of the midnight aegean seas, the misty wisps suspiring into my ears as your sweet serenade fingers trail sonata whispers down and around my ribcage. these shoulders of hundred-mile journeys should suffice for the safety of the norway fjords. your fingers trace the trembling arteries down my arm and linger at the mass of veins at my wrist, sweeping sadly over the harsh remnants of selfish black nights.missing4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
some days, i wish you were heartless too.
life is supposed to be good; i wish i could make yours better. december nights are for people together. you are warm but sometimes it's just hard. i push you away, walk to cool corners, and allow myself to hug me instead.
none of it is fair; i know you'd jump canyons just to steady me but i just can't get better for you.
your silk jasper fingers free tangles in my hair and i talk into the air, "why do you bother? it'll only tangle again." the world seems a never-ending circle of showers and powdered
little white liestissue paper skin and barbed wire spineslittle white lies4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
"i haven't been sleeping well."
butterfly wing smiles and porcelain bones
"the medicine will help."
sparrow hearts and rose petal hair
undersea eyes and sailboat stomachs
"these things pass in time."
Of Love Letters and Cracked PorcelainShe writes to him. Every day she writes to him thousands of letters, scrawled on lined paper, lunch bags, the backs of her homework assignments. Whole books, she writes, entire epics, tragic love stories.Of Love Letters and Cracked Porcelain4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Her fingers are perpetually stained with ink.
She doesn't begin every letter with "dear", though that's what he is to her. She knows he knows. Knows she loves him. Knows he is wanted, needed, cherished. Her one and only, forever and always. She tells him about her days, sends pictures of her sister, her mother, herself. She loves each letter to pieces, so it's wrinkled and stained and torn a little by the time it's finished.
They were childhood friends before they were lovers. He was a year or so older, an inch or two taller, an older-brother type for the first thirteen years of her life, before he grew into his body and she into hers. Relics of their combined childhoods clutter her bedroom, piling up on the bookshelf, the desk. On her walls hang the crayon drawings, fifteen ye
satellite boyyou always told me,satellite boy4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to never be like you.
to not be faithless, blameless,
you told me,
you had a satellite boy,
who guided your way home.
you told me,
he fell from the heavens.
you always told me,
you were just trying to find
someone whose heart wasn't beating,
because that way, they would never
once, you made me promise,
to never swear on my own grave,
for a friend going insane.
a siren's song.her ribcage burst into flowersa siren's song.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
as her lungs swam to sea
and the world was silent
-like a film set on mute-
as it watched her dance
into her coral grave.
she grinned and laughed
and all you could hear
was the metallic scraping
of her tongue on her teeth
as her coppery laugh
fell into the ocean-
like a penny onto concrete.
her hair was a tangle of seaweed
drenched in brine
and adorned with salt flecks
that caught the sun in waves
crashing along the shoreline
in the treble notes of symphonies.
ensnared in wanderlust,
she ran towards the current
in hopes of finding herself
among the lost.
she wore fish-scales
on her clavicle
and sung her way down
to the bottom of atlantis.
the ships out at bay that day
only remember one thing:
she sunk like the titanic,
her bones tearing at the seams
and all that remained of her
were two hands
(whose knuckles were mountains
and skin was land)
receding into the curls
as the earth drowned into the sea.
and there was nothing left on the horizon
the ocean doesn't comfort me like it shouldthe water looked like angrythe ocean doesn't comfort me like it should4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
hands, clawing at the sand
and the wind screamed
like an angry voice i couldn't hear
and the seagulls didn't dare
and my lungs, i think,
froze a little bit
because the stormy sea and
the screaming wind and your voice
the desperate waves
and your fingers
i went to the ocean the day you left
and all i could see was you.
Biology (In Defense Of Free Verse)The heart has four chambers:Biology (In Defense Of Free Verse)4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
two muscular atria and
two ventricles that alternate
between relaxing and
throughout the body.
This is one of many processes
that occur whether you
want it to or not.
I can sense your flesh and
when I breathe you in like pollen
or particles of smoke.
You are a part of my lungs
before tiny capillaries carry you
sleeping or intoxicated
to my heart.
Then it seizes up-
pumping little bits of you
through my veins like nerve endings
and I feel you
from my waist to my lips and
inside my brain.
The primary cause of love
is the chemical phenethylamine
that is released by eating
chocolate; or more importantly,
by feeling you against me
and nobody else.
Proteins are given purpose
through tender shaping
into a perfected form.
This can be observed
on a larger scale
It is said
during academic dissections,
that structure and form
But try and tell me
that this freedom before you
I miss you, and i can't say i'm sorryI miss you4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
because these slender, spider fingers
ache to trace the curved letters of your name tag,
emily. i notice you write everything in caps.
( have i ever told you
how much i enjoy saying your name, -EMILY. )
you are screaming to the world, quietly.
but we, we are mid-morning whispers
over stale, back room coffee,
silent eyes, and window pane love.
these hearts were runaways once;
hitchhikers on a trail to nowhere.
you shared pieces of yourself with me then,
emily, between beats and bathroom stalls.
you were a gargoyle under the heat
of july summer. evenings were our playground;
rose garden beasts lingering in feverish night.
wishboneone.wishbone4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
if i could move
i think all my dreams would
hold a star in my hand
and watch the starshine
[leak] out from
between my fingers.
across my skin so
that i may read
my favorite books
[anywhere i wish]
letters, addressed by hand
stamps, from places across
the sea, where stories
originate. letters, written in pen,
iced tea in street corner cafes.
a day when i can
do whatever i would like.
for you i would do
for you i would
climb into the stars.
[ <3 ]
her little hand in mine,
with starry eyes
looking into mine.
my flesh and blood and bone,
happier than i
will ever be.
[an end to this relentless cycle
of fighting and dying and winning
history is written by the winners
so who knows that is real?]
my very own happy
the last rain"Did you ever recognized that pomegranates just look like round malicious brain tumours?" she asked me, then she took four of the stones and ate them. Her mouth was a dark, reddish tunnel with white, hard edges.the last rain4 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
The hollow shell of the red fruit laid beside her on this old brick wall.
A disemboweled torso.
My own head sunk backwards onto the stones, I stood there, both feet nailed on the ground. She was up in the air. It wasn't just metaphoric. It was real.
[She was next to the pomegranate and I was down there, unable to sat beside her as normal friends would do. As we used to do.]
And she smiled bright with red teeth, like a vampire child.
"No.." I answered slightly, "You took four of them, you know what that means..?" Of course she did.
Meanwhile, the sheep clouds passed by over an innocent afternoon sky and I tried to imagine her heartbeat.
[Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. It was the ticking of a clock. Almost Secure. Constant.]
Leonard.his graveyard skin reflects the darkness as heLeonard.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
sighs his winter breath into my hair. I found him
in a forest of lonely one day, where we would
both hide between conversations. I tried to be
summer, with a pattern of sunray on my skin
and ice cream eyes and warm evening bonfires on
my lips. he was winter, with limbs like frozen
branches and melancholy breath.
we would entangle our bones and together hide alone in
our forest of lonely. I'd seek his cool when passers-by
threw their cigarettes at me and my dry summer skin
caught fire, and he'd seek my warmth when the frost got
the best of him and his branches started to break.
I'd cringe at the snow falling from his eyes and he'd
sigh at the sun coming up in mine, but we'd close them
and hide ourselves in the crook of each others neck.
And I will Always be the MoonWe have gotten so attached to these days and these months,And I will Always be the Moon4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but a deer doesn't know a Tuesday from a Thursday
and a caribou can't comprehend that it was born on a September afternoon,
but they can understand this instant, this moment, this breath,
only now, no longer the past, and only the future when they get there,
there's a healthy lack of awareness in that,
escaping the fear of death but thriving off the instinct to live,
everything so primal and based off gut reactions,
I guess you could say ignorance is bliss,
but ignorance only actually applies when it comes to humanity,
oh I would like a life like that,
one that is organic, tangible, and ripe with bloody berries,
one where carnal creatures run rampant,
one where we rise from the dirt with muddy thighs
because we were bred into these earthly bodies
to hold seconds in our palms like newborn children,
and to throw our heads back and howl against the awareness that we are dying,
for oh this skin is only our host,
sweet nothingsand the knife whisperedsweet nothings4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
sweet somethings in my ear that night.
( i was too weak to resist )
the pills danced
in my eyes, promising blessed
nothings, a fine line
between greatness and failure.
the world is watching,
so don't you dare fall.
you have the hopes of everyone
resting upon your shoulders.
there is no cure
I used to miss her, but I used to do many things.I used to trace lines from the tip of her toes to the crook of her neck, and paint her tummy with my tongue. I used to fold her bones between my fingers and keep them hidden in my pocket. I used to build her castles from blankets and unspoken wishes inside of which we could entangle our limbs and breathe each other's breath.I used to miss her, but I used to do many things.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
But one day she was gone,
I woke up with an empty space between my arms where she used to be. I woke up with her voice in the back of my head and her scent between my fingers. I woke up searching for her, chasing her footprints over my skin to find that they skipped from my left hipbone onto the mattress and down onto the floor and out of my room and into the world.
I used to miss her. I used to miss the conversations we didn't have, sitting wordlessly besides each other, asking questions with our fingertips, answering them with our lips, or eyes, or kneecaps. I used to miss chasing futures together, and exchanging body parts, and smelting the ends of our nerves to
My Winter GirlShe had eyelashes of snow.My Winter Girl4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I saw her as a winter girl, cold and sharp and sometimes unfeeling,
and she lasted like a tree in a blizzard:
laden down with ice and snow, crippled by the frost in her very bones,
her branches crack and splinter.
Every girl comes crashing down at some point
but she wore brokenness as if it were a cloak, shielding her from other
tragedies that may hunt her down and stab her
heart, leaving her frantically trying to scoop up the blood
and pour it back in.
you can't break someone who's already