If The World Is a Book I Want to Read Every Page
If The World is a Book, I Want to Read Every Page.
Let me memorize each dotted "i"
of moonlights freckled face
Trace the silver ripples
of a seashores wrinkled page
Count the auburn stanzas 'tween
the depths of trembling trees
Ride upon the vessel
of a sun-kissed simile.
Open sky-stripped windows
to the sigh of cursive clouds
Shuffle through the metaphors
Awaking through the ground
Slant the sails of poetry
toward continents of sea
Deep into the jungles where
the verses lace the trees.
Catch the winds of free verse
Or the open waves of rhyme
Sift through ocean ballads
where the sunset greets the tide.
Study drops of scripture
as it clicks against the street
Sleep between the pages
of departed poetry.
ImpatientIf you talk to anyone who waits at red lights or cares about fashion or owns a gun, they'll know a thing or twoImpatient3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
about all of us; all of humanity. We are all flowers, we are all little universes, we are all the underdog future.
And maybe this is completely true, and maybe some girl pierced her ear in the 8th grade bathroom, and maybe you
have sand in your shoes from that visit to the beach last week. What does it matter, is this an absolute?
We are all pieces of God, we are all forgetting about Heaven, we are all waiting politely for death to break in
through the bathroom window. You can ask the stains on the sidewalk, the birds who refuse to build nests, the
faded black hair on the barbershop floor. They will tell you that this all does matter, and if you care about your
children, it's an absolute, too. Sometimes I run through traffic lights, wear half-unbuttoned flannel and scoff
at the glory of firearms, but you can talk to me whenever you grab my shoulder and take a moment to stop s
Hear You SayI just want to hear you sayHear You Say3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
That you don't know what you'd do without me
It doesn't have to be every day
But just enough to make me see
I just want to hear you say
That you miss me sometimes
Maybe turn my skies from grey
And get me through these hard times
I just want to hear you say
That you'll never forget
When our paths went the same way
But I guess nothing is set
Glossi.Gloss3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
This is a poem
for lip gloss
and the pre-teen
who wears it
and the old woman
This is for
sparkle and stick.
For bodies like
For all the boys and girls
who would breath in
when the wick turned black.
Before their hair
turned grey with ash,
and their eyes fogged over
from the naked heat.
Before young love dies
and is buried in a shoebox,
with a little pile of rocks
to mark where it was.
This is for
the scared little boy
who spent all his time
While pretty girls
lay on autumn hills,
and even the crickets play
in major key.
With their noses
face down in the soil.
With their discarded jackets
on the grass, limp-
and making angels.
FriendsDeath,Friends3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Such a strange person.
So fearsome and yet so relieving.
Lately death has become a friend of mine,
He and his pals have been close company with me.
Silence is the only person I really like talking to,
The ring of her voice is so soothing.
Isolation is the only company I need,
He holds my hand and guides me around.
Depression is a great friend to me,
She is always there giving me a hug whenever I need it.
These friends are the best ones I know,
I have other ones but they aren't as great.
Happiness for example is always leaving.
She is great when she is around but she doesn't like to stick around.
Outgoing is such a social guy,
But he doesn't seem to have time for me,
Always out partying with someone else.
Sound is just plain annoying.
She never knows when to be quiet,
Always blabbing away or making noise to drown out Silence.
Now these are all just friends of mine,
My best friend who I mentioned earlier is Death,
Who gets along with everyone.
Because he is always around whenever
expired warningsI hate to break it to you but we're all betting on the day whenexpired warnings3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
your nightmares will swallow you whole and you won't
remember how to open your eyes. we forget your voice,
it broke and no one buried the pieces. we're giving you up:
secessions (your ribcage is a civil war, your heart is the victim.
there will be no memorial; there are only red flags)
obsessions pick your bones dry, vulture needs, vulgar
mortality argues at least you're not alive
at least you can't see us anymore, counting the knots
in your neck and catastrophes in your mouth. in
your summer cage you were a soggy butterfly bearing
a cumbersome cross. now, we leave you naked and
seizuring on winter's doorstep as the little lamb who
never loved enough.
they haven't paid you for the dreams you pawned years ago
in exchange for a little sleep, no, they tied more rocks to your
ankles and begged you to fly - they said they traded your
misformed hopes for something a bit more fitting, a solid
dose of reality with a hint of self-h
While the Fireflies Sleptthe city breathesWhile the Fireflies Slept3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
lavender against the horizon;
a pollutant glow of
watching the silver-lit clouds drift
overhead. it clings to
the day in such a pretty way. drowning stars
twine their fingers in your ember hair
and kiss your neck with shy
lips; hiding away
from the smog
in your stardust freckles.
sigh, my love, like
the cool night air washing
over skin, like a sky that
is emptying itself of light.
but there is no dark relief to be found
in the glow of the insomniac horizon,
slammed like eyebrows
over cataract pupils that
watch over the bay
where you stand
wrapped in bloody uterine shreds
of night's ripped open womb. the waves lap softly
at your feet- phosphorescence
seeps from the decaying
litter that kicks
against your toes.
are you still waiting for the rain,
the rain there must be
like quicksilver around your soul
and beheading the unsuspecting flowers.
everything in the city
is dead, but
it could give dead a b
Paperback SpineIn stories,Paperback Spine3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the lucky ones
have their lives changed
by one little moment-
one dandelion puff
between your palms.
And the author stresses
this moment, how tiny,
that seemingly unimportant
into a novel.
You have to be
My eyes have gone dry
and my lungs are about to pop,
and my tongue is oversaturated-
i am october's love letter to novemberhopeful,i am october's love letter to november3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
so the same and stretched out like skin over bone,
but different because one means everything and
one takes everything away.
i am not used to this kind of way,
the way where scratches don't heal and bruises grow bigger.
i try to focus on the bass and let the music pulse through me,
allow it to remove the nerve endings to my thoughts
because i want hair that's made up of bass clefs and double stops.
i want the world to come crashing down at my feet
so the ocean fuses with the burning salmon sun-drops that are molding under the collapsing sky.
it will look like citrus fruit bleeding onto royal blue flowing skirts,
it will taste like a cold copper penny,
it will smell like ripe coconut milk braided with kerosene,
and it will feel like you've been bathing in hummingbird nectar that's been set on fire.
then again, how would i know what music tastes like,
it's not like you can lick vocal chords or bite into someone's vibrato,
everything fluctuates and now i don't even know
Someday I'll Understandthey all speakSomeday I'll Understand3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
small talk slithering from their tongues
i wish i could be revived,
amputate my desire to speak.
maybe someday i can truly
why so many people wear colorful masks.
Ink GravesLetterless words and pageless books-Ink Graves3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and ink blots on the flowers;
Ghosts scratch their heads and tap their pens,
all across the hours.
Winds can howl and cease to be,
by one twitch of my pen;
I spoke of writing a poem tonight,
and by dawn I've written ten.
Emily sits aside nobody,
the Raven, above, waits;
Frost dances in a yellow wood,
among the long lost dates.
A tall, well spoken willow,
looms over the grave;
Protecting every dated word,
and every thought they gave.
I crumple another masterpiece,
with thoughts I'd thought to save;
and as it strikes the baset bottom,
it rests in its ink grave.
Dreaming OfDreaming ofDreaming Of3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The moon lit night
Stars dancing in time
To Earth's heartbeat
Your hand in mine
As we watch this show
In the dark of twilight
A scene so beautiful
With snow white roses
Twirling in the sky
We join in
To this enchanting ball
It never ending
Still we must wake
And go on with our lives
But inside we're asleep
Our moon lit night
Dancing under the stars
AsphodelA beckoning:Asphodel2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
watercolour sky shrinking,
too late, teeth fall; pearls
from a broken string.
Blink and the moon ignites—
but the sheets are still
instead, instead, insteadi can't remember the last time i saw you.instead, instead, instead4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
instead, i trace your name
along my arm:
goosebumps like braille, raw
the soft side of my wrist
you've never touched.
i know me better than i know you
and i don't know me at all.
i can't remember the last time i spoke to you.
instead, i erased your number
from my phone:
i'll miss your static, my poor
pretending to have nothing to say.
you never guessed that i was penning novels
beneath my tongue.
what i do remember is
the last time i was whole:
my hand and yours
now i'm left with splintered palms and
ghosts between my fingers.
dry-erasei exhale in long, unbroken paragraphs.dry-erase3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the sky is never symmetrical on nights like these. the stars don't align perfectly on earth's axis, and you don't hesitate to point it out.
you examined the celestial bulbs, and screamed. you curse the sky & i string out each of my hopes on a winter breeze, and the wind stirs my bones. my skeleton freezes over & you notice. you reach out for my hand.
indifferently you sigh, and i inscribe my worries on my skin, pen scrawling over the expanse of flesh.
you lean in & smile. with the intimacy of tapeworms you breathe hot tiger-breath down my spine and try to exhale the hypergraphia from my flesh.
my words stumble. "that's not okay."
your smile descends into gaping anger. "don't be such a fucking freezer."
and that was it.
i started for the lake & didn't turn back to face you this time. frostbite warmed my limbs as i took my pen and wrote on my arm and the words lingered there.
and i slept in cold august waters, singing fervently to the frogs, d
ParanoiaParanoia.Paranoia3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
I don't want to be this way.
But I can't help but feel this way.
No matter what you do
Or what comforting words you say.
My over active mind will not allow me to believe it.
My weary blood shot eyes will not allow me to see it.
Even though my attentive heart is able to receive it.
My thoughts and my imagination will corrupt and deceive it.
And that's why no matter how much I love you.
For some reason I will always feel cheated.
So please don't blame yourself because you have done more than enough.
You have proven yourself and have provided me with so much love.
There are only so many false accusations you can take.
There are only so many false promises I can make.
There are only so many times I can make that same mistake.
Until I foolishly recognize what is actually at stake.
How long will you have to accommodate my insecurities?
How long will it take for me to completely trust you?
Until you begin questioning my emotional maturity.
There are only so many times I can say "I a
breaking open.you made me want to break open like an eggshell over concrete: a messy affair, no clean edges or neat corners.breaking open.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you made me want to fall in rough zig-zag chalklines like we drew when we were young and fresh-flesh and unbroken. when life was yet untested waters and we were the new leather of of gloves over eager fingers.
you made me feel dirty like the red-blood-oklahoma dirt that clung like piss to our skin and under our tired-grit-eyed lids and beneath the hairline of our unshowered heads.
invasive, like a contagion; a wildfire in my limbs.
my own revulsion:
a knee-jerk reaction set to keep forever reliving the day i let you set the course for the empty air above the seductive gleam of a lake.
i wanted to inhale you like smoke into my polluted lungs, so that maybe as you dragged yourself back up my throat in jagged coughs, maybe you'd understand just a little the insides of me.
the truth is,
i started carving gills in my skin
so when his hands come for m
SilenceSilence.Silence3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
A language that everyone speaks.
But one that we are not able to hear.
A place where emotions and abandonment meet.
Of which we are forced to confront our buried fears.
There are no more lessons that the agents of society can teach.
An infinite amount of words expressed through a solitary tear.
People dish out advice but never practise what they preach.
A language with the same traits as a hopeful prayer.
A society where people judge others, as they sit back in their self proclaimed seats.
They can no longer understand you and they aware of the darkness that draws near.
Many lives led but we are all accompanied by the same drumbeat
Maybe you don't want to be heard but people will forcefully lend an ear.
Lips fused together, unint
Not My SocietyOutcast,Not My Society3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Forever looking in,
Steeped in immoral sin.
Stood alone in a cluster,
In lifes gutter I muster.
Drifting place to place,
Not fitting in has a face.
Acceptance is what I need,
Cut up and left to bleed.
Understudy of a Prop GirlOdessa dislikes the spotlight. Always blinding her when she stares out into the audience to deliver a love letter in song, always tripping her when it swoops down at her feet at curtain call, it is the only thing that may tempt her back to the grand piano in cold Ms. Merola's living room. But she will not go, not unless Beethoven's fifth returns to her mind intact, untouched ebony and ivory.Understudy of a Prop Girl3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
She is a performer. When she describes herself as such to strangers, she tastes the irony sour in her mouth. It is a taste that stays there when she returns to her solitary school lunch table with a program for A Streetcar Named Desire, and it doesn't leave until she chases it down with apple sauce and warm bottled water.
Odessa entered the Stage Life as a prop girl. Her first play on the job was one of which her parents own the Hollywood adaptation, Death of a Salesman. In some ways, she felt more like an actress in those days, scurrying out when the lights dimmed or at intermi
The Blank WallIt's a wall.The Blank Wall4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Seriously, that's all it is. Just a plain, boring old wall in my room.
I know that I'm supposed to stare at this thing and see what thoughts come to mind, but let's be honest. Is this really supposed to inspire me?
Is this really what I've been reduced to? Literally watching paint dry to boost my creativity? Well, technically, it's been dry for years, but that's not really the point. See, I thought that this kind of stuff was below me. I thought that I didn't need to deal with writer's block.
I kind of figured that I was just too creative for that.
Apparently, I was wrong on all counts. In any case, back to this stupid wall.
It looks whitewashed and stained with a couple of years of dust and soot. From the looks of it, this wall seems to be pretty old; at least a couple ofyou know what? I seriously need to wash this wall. I mean, I did
Being HumanYou could be anybody.Being Human3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Everything has a right to live.
But it all is made of the beholder because it can't be made out of something else.
"People are funny toys for me.
I know how to rule them very well".
An ordinary writing for a fifteen-year-old with a spiky bracelet and black lipstick.
"I may be Another..."
"People are grey mass!"
"Vampires, werewolves, wizards, boom, boom, bobobobobooooooommmmmm..."
Being human is not in fashion now.
Of course, every thought creates a new world somewhere away.
The world has very own ideas, but we can't reveal them.
"What did I do that everyone treats me in such a way?!
I am too soft, I forgive everyone!
I must be stronger than them!"
Being stronger not obligatory means being stubborn and deaf.
Changing the world doesn't mean alien invasions or that.
See it yourself and forgive.
Forgiving is so simple and so hard.
But - simply do it.
It will mean you're a human.
Not a machine made for creating its twins.
"He wanted to be alive?! He didn't
Bleachingi.Bleaching2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
So far beyond black
there has been a whiting
Ten arrows shot
and the moon blew out
Took my color as I
took her heart
Do not be surprised
when night follows
Puts his shadow at your back
and tugs at your ankles
I will be at your neck
a finger trailing
I rarely give thought
Her pale too stark
for my black
Her pale now paled
Did I love her?
No one holds an orbit
No one; she told me
black was much the same
I'm willing to wager my pale
if you'll wager in kind
It tastes like love.I could speak of her in riddles,It tastes like love.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in aged, anatomy textbook terminology-
but, I wont.
You see, I cuffed this angel to my bedpost.
I sank my teeth into feathers she wore like a cage
and asked if I was dreaming, because Love,
you're not holding me. If you only knew the you in my head,
every night--tearing with these heavenly fingers
at the cracks in my sanity- you would allow me this!
Her tongue tastes my tears; nails clawing, clawing, clawing-
she takes away my pain,
but she doesn't belong to me either.
"We are but wolves.
Tell me, what does my blood taste like?"