on leaving it behindi still
this might appall you
or agonize you but i do.
i remember still evenings
with little to exchange besides
heartbeats and breathing patterns.
i remember soft afternoons
with my back raking against the carpet
leaving sporadic scars and stitches of memory.
i remember dark roads, and darker rains.
i remember a longer faith and a shorter pain.
the wounds are not as fresh, they do not sting,
but they ache and the few times i hear your voice
wedges your fingers in my brain and i can feel the cake
of neglected cum stains and i can hear the desperation in
the small whimper of my name and the way it was hard for your
breath to escape and my mind is running on thin rails, paper train,
and all i ever wanted from you was a home, not a place.
you would finger fuck me in the movie theater
and i would squirm and you would laugh because
i am not so good at keeping quiet. and all it would take
was a look from me or my hand up your knee or my lip under my
teeth and your eyes would
sleep, as an elephant1.sleep, as an elephant3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it is strange to see you
older and out of love with me
it is similarly strange to see me
younger and out of love with you.
i want to
throw my arms around your neck
thank you for
leading me to believe in love,
thank you for
showing me what the cock does
when it crows and summons the morning.
thank you for laying in my bed,
breathing my breath.
thank you for laying in my bed,
with your head on my breast
listening to the fluttering
bird in its nest.
thank you for staining my bed-
with your salt, it was blessed.
thank you for leaving my bed,
giving my dreams to its next.
thank you for, out of all the rest,
choosing me as the first, remembering
me with the best.
thank you for june,
and then june again.
thank you for december, and
thank you for the time
that helped me break my body in-
thank you for two ticks
on the wall of not-forever.
thank you for june to june to december.
in a few years,
when you are older still and i am
getting even younger, i want to take
on 'proper' datesyou're wearing that white t-shirt, barelyon 'proper' dates3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
tucked in and see-through-touch-me thin-
it reminds me of that one time
we grew up and dressed all nice:
we took straight shots of vodka
and you took me to green valley grill,
which makes me think of some lush
vineyard or dairy farm on a hill
with fat orange moonrises and
sweet milky sunshine all the time,
all the time. and maybe even bare-chested
women serving endless kisses and wine-
we walked in, my arm through your arm- because
god almighty the world is done, over, if
i can even walk in high heels sober-
and fuzzy vodka-winged daydream fell
and shook like a dime on the ground.
every male: prototypical 40+ with
a woman half his age (double the bust)
and a fat salary, 100k+, and a dick so shriveled up,
that the girl's gotta be drunk and he's gotta
over-thrust for her to feel a thing.
we just thought the whole thing was funny
and the bread was fresh and you rubbed me
under the table, hand on knee, hand on thigh,
from two months earliertake me, swing me, breathefrom two months earlier3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
and buck beneath me,
words purging nerves, and
nerves slurring slurs, each
attempt at magic
is the spell, is the curse-
i am entranced. your
voice your ticks your hands.
cool me calm, call me
quiet. paint my shadows
white in private, watch
them slowly become silent.
what is time? i said
to you long ago, 'time aches,
and time is slow, there was
never a better time to go.'
you were drunk and it was
only a whisper, 'all i think about
is you when i am with her.'
love is fast when the summer blisters,
all i think about is you when i am with her.
on walking with your lover half stoned and deaddo you remember-on walking with your lover half stoned and dead3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
all those summers,
different loves with
love was quiet
it was not a
word. it was not
something to be said
or heard or understood.
remember the glances?
the ones that stuck and
held and caused a swelling
in the soul that surfaced in the
eyes and the bite of the bite of the mouth
on the thighs and the drunk and weary restless
nights where salvation was dead but hope was high
because love was not a word, or a scream, or a cry
but a look and a touch and a moan and a sigh
remember those first glances?
before the love, predating love, existing
outside of it, tugging one body to another body
through delirious crowds and clothes and existing
thoughts and ideas of what is and how it works. that first glance
that denied the mind its reasons, denied the earth its seasons,
because this was something outside
remember those big eyes?
the naked ones. fully undressed
but most naked in the eyes. little
secrets were passed through sets of
teeth and the only wo
case eleven'can i come in? oh, please Johnny. for chrissakes, Johnny. just open the goddamn door already. i'm running out of cigarettes and i have places to be.'case eleven3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
it's funny that she says this because she has absolutely no place in the world to be. not a heart, a pair of ears, or a broken box spring is waiting for her. she could go home and open the windows and talk to herself out loud and curse a lot. she always talks, always curses. she had an unreasonably average childhood. her father and mother worked in the same building, even. they had dinner and argued over which program to watch. christmases were even worse. Aunt Tilly from 'goddamn New Jersey' always came down and she had this 'stupid, arrogant mole' on her face. it was like she was almost a beauty but her eyes were too small and her mouth was too big. she was just really mixed up, is what she was. anyway, so the lady outside Johnny's door had a horribly middle class, Americanized childhood. she often chased the ice cream truck and she fo
how do you sleep, prickskinny stoned bitchhow do you sleep, prick3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
is standing up now, tryin' to do this thing with her hips. standing in front of the mirror
with her bare back breaking bum-ba-bum-bada-dum-da-dummdy-dumb
standing in front of her ghost
her ass in the face of this ghost
i have, too, seen you, somewhere-
and he says miss you are mistaken.
she said your eyes are gone, have you gone gun shy?
fun, sly, pun shy, and he is lying. to her
she can't think with this fucking song!
turn off the fucking song!
she screams, almost shyly,
slyly, and highly, i have loved you-
and i have seen my body
admit this anomaly
more readily than i do. you arms were bare,
your skinny arms surrendered to the depths of the stars,
i am this depth. i have loved you-
i did... love you... you know...
he looks down. she feels more and less stoned. then the song changes and her
hips outdo her, his eyes are the way they were
when he met her.
please just stay. just this once.
he is surprised to hear him
on prosetryok. can i be honest with you? i wanted to be an alloy. i wanted to be a mixture of two imperfect metals that made something completely different, completely radical, completelyon prosetry3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and you were the imperfect metal to my imperfect metal, this is: nerdy girl mantra take one, and i can even dance for you while i sing it, if you'd like- you are the imperfect (hip tilt) metal to my (lip lilt) imperfect metal (hair whip) and the heat of the summer (panty slip) binded us together- (irish jig) and for the ever-present pressure (eye flit) that would have crushed us separately, (tongue flip) it would have only held us, (shoulder bit) closer, (forehead kiss) together, (mouth to mouth shit) forever-- and i did that all in one take, second in class, cute southern piece of ass, but i'm not that cute, and i'm only really southern in the summer or around my grandmother, and i don't have much of an ass. but you get the point. and i was quite a catch- and us being an alloy and all, well me bei
on being driven mad'i can taste you on my lips andon being driven mad3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
goddamn, girl, i'm turned on by that
i can't get you
out of my head
the bones under them
especially your clavicles
the look in your eyes when
i go down on you
that thing you do with
mirror, mirror please don't fall
when he fucks me hard against the wall-
well i'm at a loss
which is rare.
and i'm considering
dying my hair and running
far until i've left my body
behind and all that is pulsing
is the passion i am pregnant with
and the love i made that was counterfeit
when i asked the man to give me
my change. he said i'd have to
give something to demand its
well i can't sleep for
seeing your face. and i can't dream
for being awake. and i can't move
without losing my place. and i can't
write save your salt in my veins.
new year'sgotcha all loved up on pillsnew year's3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
your hair feels sexy and my
eyes are thin and filled
with jelly. you go as deep
as my belly and then go
deeper. i say 'you can be
the steeple and i'll be the
preacher.' i say 'you can be
the football and i'll be the
bleachers.' somehow i was
trying to tell you that you
can have all the glory, you
can read my palms and create
got me all fucked up on pills.
my body eats pain and pukes up
thrills. the thing i like most
about it all is pills or no pills,
frills or no frills- you're still
my sweetheart. and i love you and
god couldn't have made you apart
bwhen we first had our firstsb3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
my hand was dark against your white chest,
brown-skinned girl like mud dripping,
sliding, winding down your body parts.
weaseling my way into your deeper
they yelled at me from the wires
they hung like headless chickens
all bumping into each other and making
a ruckus about what they didn't know about.
i paid it little mind because i had you
in mind, sweetheart. and that was enough
at the time
they said bitch and whore and cunt and
i just told you to tighten your grip
around my neck when you fucked me. you held
me close one night and said, 'stop asking me to
fuck you like i hate you. stop asking me to fuck you
as deep as you hate yourself. let me make
love to you
without destroying you'
or something like that. and since then
i've been different. the way you love me
feels like peeling my skin back and stuffing
sugar in my veins. if they cut me i would bleed
like a stuffed cat. i'd keep my form and smile on
stupidly because they couldn't cut you
bastard and the beastwe were in a room full of chinabastard and the beast3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
just you & i
and i said hey, don't you go anywhere
and there was a low growl fornicating in my stomach
your eyes flashed bright on me
and my eyes narrowed on you and
it wasn't about my friend
or the murder
or your psychosis
it was that you left me
with my own psychosis
sagging heavily from my shoulder
and i hated you
and we were in a room full of china
you & i
your skull felt sweet along my knuckles
your blood tasted sweet on my hungry skin
my honest nature with an angel's head
and a mouth full of slobbering sex
i mounted you
i was moved by your defeat
my eyes sang salt and salvation over
my bare and bouncing breasts
and i shattered your body against the glass
and i hated you
just you & i.
we were in a room full of china
when i murdered you.
catharsis IIhave you ever climbed a mountain? in the summer where the trees keep you a little cooler, but you're still sweating and you're out of shape and you stop at every bench for a cigarette break. you look so thin, he says. and your hair is so long. you think you're never going to find the top and you packed sandwiches for the two of you. honey and peanut butter on white bread with water and granola bars. then you turn the corner and there it is! you can see for so many miles and you're not really sure where the sky starts and the gentle green ocean stops. he turns on music and you close your eyes and he grabs your hand. that is all you need in the whole world, to be at the top of it holding another person's hand.catharsis II4 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
have you ever told a lie? dived into bed with a failure while making another one of your own. you hear your phone ringing, that familiar ringtone, all those nights with that song swirling around your head and infinite synapses stinging you into a contented sleep... but you ignore i
dalliancethis is an afternoon affair.dalliance4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
complete with sun slanting
through closed blinds
and an awful awareness of age.
she's fumbling through piles of clothes
talking about shit i don't care about, no doubt.
and all i can think about is fucking her. so i call her over to me
i am conscious of her body
beneath me but i am fucking
myself more than anything-
i dig and i dig and i dig
and i know it's hurting her,
i can hear it in her desperate doe moans
but i don't stop because there's not
any other FUCKING way to feel better.
she loves it in a broken way
but hell i just hate it. it's not
even sexy anymore. her lips are too soft
and she knows it too. she feels inferior
and jesus christ
i've never known her to feel anything more true.
and so i am seventeen and i feel every
inch of it. i realize that i am straddling
an italian style isthmus between peace and freedom.
you can never have both
(i love you so i won't bother
you with the truth. that would be
a selfish thing for me to do-
to fuck he
case ninealice told me you cried when you fucked her not too long after you & i split up. she said it was the most awful thing she'd ever seen and it made her want to chew straight through her tongue. i'm not sure how to feel about this so i just don't.case nine3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
last night after she told me i went straight home and relived the whole fucking thing. she told me every dirty detail. she told me how she saw you on the subway and she asked you where you were going and you said nowhere. and i would have known what you meant but that dumb bitch didn't. she said that doesn't make any sense. you said nothing. she asked you how you'd been. and i know she was probably wearing some dress that left her raw, pale legs naked. and you probably stared at them like an asshole. you said, god, alice, i don't know. i've just been. and she just looked at you with those stupid, sluggish eyes of hers and said something smart. she said well, john, that must be nice. and you looked up at her and said yeah. it really is. the perfe
on the smell of smokethe scent of oldon the smell of smoke3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and unhidden smoke
smells good to me.
'and me,' says she.
'it reminds me of the comfort
my father used to be.'
'and me,' says she.
'it reminds me of my mother
and the love she made for me.'
it is a comfort-
but a bitter one.
the only thing i miss
is laying heat-stricken, sweat-slicken
cigarette stench sweetly floating-
my naked body carving
your hollows and responding
to your echoes-
the nicotine you sweat out
while you fucked me.
during the post-fuck cigarette,
sleepy-eyed with cum,cancer,glory.
your arms both saved and trapped me-
your love was a burnt
and shitty offering.
on skimming the surfacedear ex-lovers,on skimming the surface3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
dear ex-friends, dear little brother,
i have taken all the posters down and my room is a skeleton.
i wonder why you are sad and i am not.
i have taken time and care to grow into these walls
to plant memories here, first fuck
first sleepless night, first question of suicide,
i have collected bones-
here see them in my closet-
i have broken them all.
love was not strong enough to keep me here,
and love is not strong enough, after
on getting to be honesti wonderon getting to be honest2 years ago in Letters More Like This
if you were really drunk or not
when you called me. if that was
just an excuse when i asked you why,
if maybe that made it somehow
seem less strange after all this time.
if you were telling the truth
about keeping everything i gave you.
except for my paintings, which you
admitted that you destroyed. i wonder
how often you take my poems out and
why you asked me what my
warmest memory was of us.
i'd often dream of having
this conversation with you
a year ago, but it was too soon
and we were still in love but
we hated each other. i would have
said, 'the best memory i have of you
is you leaving.' which of course isn't
true. i threw up in an old hotel in
new york city when you left me. i wandered
the streets with a $14 pack of cigarettes
and wanted a man to see how lost i was
and talk me into selling my body, or giving
i didn't answer your question,
but i had the answer, in my head.
i have written poems about it.
you said, 'do you want to marry hi
on being scatteredon being scattered3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i hate the people who say 'jesus saves'
on their shirts or on their bracelets
or on their blogs or on their faces.
i hate the people that jesus actually
saves and all i want to do is call you
up and tell you how much i want to fuck you,
and how wrong i know that is, and how much
i don't care, and how much i think about it
when i'm fucking myself, and how long it's been
since passion has owned me-
my passion is untapped, hanging loosely,
flowing bluely under my skin.
what is needed is a small scratch,
a tiny prick, a sharp slap-
it would flow and
belong to you.
i want to be provoked.
i want to be reminded of the unbridled
fury that was flowing through me always,
i want to be reminded that
i feel nothing.
i need your body to purge my body
so it remembers how to hate itself,
because even that's not as bad.
on having moved oni sit in my caron having moved on3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and it smells like you
or maybe i've been driven so mad
with the mania, mischief, malady of desire
that i have taken to imagining
things that aren't there.
in fact i know it is so-
i have long been tossing in an empty, sleepless bed
feeling the fever of your fingers on my forehead
i have long been wishing for your
quiet, absent madness to well up
and take me between a southern sky
and soft porch lights. to rip my panties down my leg,
to revel in a rocking rhythm in the darkness between them-
to touch me with less dignity, and more delirium,
drunk off mango rum and the kingdom come
beneath my clothes-
i told you
"you are too good for me."
i told you
"stop thinking. i am here. i am right here. and i want you so bad."
you stuck your tongue in my mouth. i had
convinced you of the thoughtlessness you doubt
i smoked pot and got horny pt. 4738921748yeahi smoked pot and got horny pt. 47389217483 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
walking toward me all slim and sexy
lean into me when you press against me
can't stand up with your head in between my legs
can't moan with your fist in my mouth
oh god get it out out get it out get it out
you know what i'm talking 'bout
that growl in my stomach that comes when i cum
and i sink down
into the depths and you pull me back up before
i soak there and drown
this isn't progress, because you're irreversible.You were never meant for me.this isn't progress, because you're irreversible.3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I knew it in the most obvious manner. It was in the way you had a subtle sort of comfort in your own skin a quiet and humble confidence while I struggled to make sense of the prints on my fingertips and the way one of my eyes crinkled in the corner more than the other when I smiled. You felt safe with yourself while I was always warring with my own reflection. Half the time, I didn't know who I was. A quarter of the time, I still don't. You would call this progress if you were here to see, but I just call it sad.
When you miss something for long enough, you start to forget the exact way that things happened. Or the exact way they happened to fall apart. For instance, I don't remember the first time you didn't call, but I do remember when you told me you loved me but not enough. It's never enough, is it? The point is you were gone before I could even say goodbye. You were gone before you were ever really here, but somehow I let myself bu
the dirty mirrori will run in tothe dirty mirror3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a kid who sold me pot
when i was sixteen-
he will be-
a devil in a magazine,
a flu-struck hand of January
name? the same, but
a commodore of industry
a peaceless bastard. green-graced sleep
the trivia of time-
has fucked me from behind
i will search, but never find
and dream... but nevermind-
will reach, but cease to climb,
will fight, and lose my mind
will look, but see i'm blind-
and i will burn.
but never shine-
on mish mash/bacardi smashedi couldn't really appreciate how sober you were at the time, because i mean i was far beyond fucking sober, and the only thing i wanted in the whole world at that instant, i swear the only thing, was a drink in your hand. like everything i had ever hoped or worked for? fuck it. i just wanted you drunk. i wanted you warm and slow and slurry, tall and strong and blurry. i can't really recall the progression of things, i mean like the in-between things, the times when we were still and quiet. maybe because there weren't any. i remember wolfing down my cigarette, and pacing the concrete floor of the back porch, and it was so nice, it was so fucking nice, really. because here were two people who i admire the fuck out of, and they're sitting next to each other on the floor of a screened-in porch. and it was even raining a little. i hear it was cold but, warm or cold, i didn't really notice it. and here were two people that i love the fuck out of, and one is sober and one is not so sober andon mish mash/bacardi smashed3 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
After Late Nights with You that Last Well into theI have never peeled an orange. I watch you do thisAfter Late Nights with You that Last Well into the3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
often. Eyes slim with sleep, the sun forms slits
on the wall and you cross your leg over your knee
across the table with your body tilted away from me.
The harvest moon is angry in your hands.
You make it twirl and jump and dance, and dance.
You smile. You have made a fool of the moon.
Tall puppeteer, it is too bright and too soon in
the morning for me to make these haughty metaphors.
You stop your jilted juggling and toss me a glance before
you gouge the orange with your fingers and
dirty fingernails. Elephant skin falls then
darkly to the floor, the limp heart lies unbeating
and deformed in your palm. You smile at me.
Your teeth plunge into summer, sunlight, heaven.
Spit swims with orange juice, dripping down your chin.
I burn my tongue on coffee. You read
the newspaper. I look out the
unopened window and sigh. Just an hour ago
there was no orange, no coffee, no
tongue to burn. No government unrest
in Syria, Bosnia, Egypt. There was