melodie maker, thei. i knew the kind of girl that whistledmelodie maker, the2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to the birds in the morning,
and you better believe
they always whistled back.
ii. she hung me up on
a harp with silk strings
and tapped me a melody all afternoon
while humming honey and tea.
iii. used to kiss her at night and
she'd laugh and smile
but she still never sang me a lullaby.
so i whispered to her instead,
lots of bad goodbyes and pick up lines.
i could never make music like she could.
i believe in sherlock holmesHe wasn't a man of strong faith, solid faith, nor any faith for that matter. He didn't believe in a god or multiple deities or pray to the heavens for rain, no. The world was vast and vacant, abandoned by whatever had brought about existence. What other explanation was there for the hopelessness that plagued him day and night, that infested his thoughts and made him cringe?i believe in sherlock holmes2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
When he was a soldier on the Afghani battlefield, valiantly defending his Queen and country, any small remnant of faith that he might have cradled was shot along with his friends, his fellow comrades at arms. Seeing that much suffering, death, and despair damaged a person beyond words. He returned to the bleak streets of London a broken man, or at least he thought so. Something deep inside of him told him otherwise when he met Sherlock Holmes. (When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield.)
Sure, the bloke was incessant. He was always saying the wrong things, constantly picking out flaws and consisten
points of tangencywe're all just driftwood on this open seapoints of tangency3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
nothing more, nothing less, neither you nor me
struggling to stay afloat and longing to be
something more than the naked eye can see
we're all just miniscule seeds in the wind
parading through the breeze and wanting to pretend
that someday we'll be able to send
our own tiny vessels through the never-ending bend
we're all just stars shining in the sky
illuminating the world, at least we try
but with our demise coming by and by
who knows if our attempts will fall just shy
we're all just people in this crowd of faces
turning in circles in the daily races
though we imagine ourselves with dazzling cases
we find ourselves leaving little traces
we're all just souls looking for a home
some old, some young, some aimlessly roam
regardless, I do swear to you though
if you’re willing, there always is hope
OrangeWhen the planes hit the World Trade CenterOrange2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
on September 11th, 2001, I was sitting
in my grandparents' kitchen,
fluorescent lights flickering above
and the sweet smell of citrus wafting
from my hands. I was eating an orange, balancing
it between my fingers like a miniature world
that could come crashing down, catching
the drops that would fall if I squeezed
too hard. After the planes hit,
fire fighters attempted to catch
the people who jumped after their fluorescent
lights had exploded
out and the only brightness came
from the flames licking at the bones
of those already consumed, and the only
thing they could inhale were the ashes.
Sometimes I wonder if any of them were eating
an orange at 8:46 A.M. too. Maybe they had slept
in, hit the snooze one too many times
and the only thing they had time to grab
was an orange. Maybe
they weren’t eating an orange,
or even thinking about one,
but perhaps it was the last color
they saw as the blazing inferno engulfed them,
splintered in on it
What's That in Your Heart?months later and I'm still pulling pieces of you from my wounds;What's That in Your Heart?2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
memories are salt and you were the ocean that never dried out.
selfishness is the wear of the weary – I wonder, now, how much life
can you steal from a ghost?
my stomach still sinks, I've swallowed too many words. you were
the anchor that allowed me to drown. you were the siren that never
sounded sweet. when the noxious night comes I don't know who's in
the mirror (or what hollowed eyes mean.) am I the one or the nothing
that died out?
I tried so hard, I tried so hard to lose my shadow and forget myself
somewhere dark. I'm trapped between hell and a hard place,
trying to build heroes from ashes and saviors from sunken men.
I tried so hard, and I lost myself again.
what's that coming down? the ground is littered with pieces of me,
the most painful part is remembering;
it's time to let it all go.
zeroi sworezero2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i would never number the poems
i wrote about myself because that
would be like ticking off the days
until my breakdown;
i was a moth, unapologetically throwing myself
at any gleam of hope; wasting my wings
on industrial promises
colors always felt much more
appropriate for the purple boiling
beneath my heart and the pallid
purposelessness of my head,
but i was born into a colorless world--
no one sees me behind the metallic scars
of my skin and iron grating of my voice against
the grain; no one sees me as more than
gray regret or monochrome mistakes,
no one sees me but
all i ever wanted was for a
fallen god with feathered heels
to believe in me: to pray upon
the monuments i built for
broken dreams and to baptize me
in his tainted tears,
i just want him to be real. more
than anything, i want to be real, i want
to be more than an imaginary friend
to various mental limitations; i want
to trade my liquid skin [evaporating]
for a chance to be
i am a moth and you are the lighthouse
after you diedi.after you died6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
they asked me if there was something
of yours that I wanted to keep
to keep your eyelashes, your breath,
I said this, and they looked
sad, said they meant did I want your
clothes and possessions, your things
I didn't know what I wanted
cradling my head with my arms and
quietly saying no over and over
dry with the taste of morning sickness
and old seawater
a month later, I wanted all your clothes
I was scrub-faced and tired
of the walls hurt my eyes, buried in wet
towels, sleeping naked on the floor every
I fucked somebody else
after the funeral
"somebody else" sounds wrong now
as if you are still alive, kissing
my shoulder in the morning
I'd taken cocaine
and it made a sound in my ears like a hummingbird
like someone banging on a door or just that tiny high pitched scream
that someone starts to make when they have grown tired of crying
your mother was fixing my hair in the kitchen
a bobby pin tucked
susurrationvertebrae like rough marbles down my back,susurration2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
clacking back and forth as your finger
strikes each in a row, coaxing
a constellation from the
fissures of my fresh
(he made a home in a gap between two of my ribs
and sometimes i feel him laughing at my heart murmur)
fading awaythe disharmonyfading away2 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
of the city is fading
of sounds being swallowed by
the din of Silence
Musings from a Grim Reaperi.Musings from a Grim Reaper2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Ridley was a girl
with coal at the bottom of her stomach.
Her sister told her eating it would make Santa forgive her
of her trespasses,
but she led herself into temptation, you know.
She filled a Coca Cola bottle with gasoline
and downed the whole thing in one gulp,
savoring the sting of the aftertaste because it made her feel alive.
Her sister cheered her on.
The matches came next:
lit, sharp and angled, burning knives down her trachea
and she wanted to set herself free like a phoenix, but
I think she forgot to resurrect.
Clichei. true loveCliche2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
& you were that one famous line
of a love poem 1863 sonnet
scripted down your spine, verses
of sternum & shuddering heartbeat.
i remember the sheets twisted blue
as the eventide, your eyes like thelassia,
that species of ocean grass. we swayed
to the music of galaxies colliding.
our song was the day the tides
finally curled round the moon's face.
eventides, thelassia eyes, moon
great and heavy as that one lucky coin
that refused to land, to grant a wish
or let luck decide for us. there were
star crabs scuttling under your
oragami skin. & i never realized
all the ways that you folded
until the doctor came back &
you folded into yourself,
please don't tell me it was disease.
please don't mention the fact
that there was a constellation
blossoming underneath your skin
as if it excuses the metaphor
of your candle-eyes dimming.
i was there for the treatment.
you weren't, rag-doll girl. you
hung limp as wet clot
You lo(i)ved inside my chest.We made loveYou lo(i)ved inside my chest.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
(once, twice, and
I stopped counting the
in the middle of winter
and pretended neither of us were
casualties when we collided,
a heart-on collision,
I keep the room you rented
from me empty,
I don't think about you anymore,
but I don't think about you
confessionalthey say sad girls change their hair colorconfessional2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and forgive their monsters.
i change my morals
and become one.
This is a Love PoemI must admit to less than innocent thoughtsThis is a Love Poem2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
about the lithe lengths of your frame
and the mysteries crowding in your eyes,
clouded over with ecstasy (or affection,
that word in the English language
forgotten in place of more life-threatening
controversies, taking value over the
fire-warmed embers of necessity and want).
We cannot be ephemeral, not when life
is the longest prison sentence I’ve been
inflicted with, and I still remember the scent
of your surreptitious skin when we
renamed conspiracies as derivations from
our [single] definitive state of unliving,
an ineffable defiance of
misery’s inevitable subjugation.