beneath birthThe world held the first few starsbeneath birth2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
as trickling chunks across a melting wall.
The singing moon's sweetest tune trembled and meadows broke
And still, still, the boy tried, eager but darker each time,
His body stood, crackling life.
With lower hollows, his sentences dripped,
I've galaxies, in and out.
dreadlocks.one.dreadlocks.6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
When you bought me a rubick's cube, I painted over the little squares in black.
'Why black?' you had asked.
'Now they're all the same, but they're secretly colorful,' I'd said.
I knotted my hair in delicate dreadlocks to hold myself together. When I took them out, my hair fell out of place and became tangled, and I assumed that I too, was truly tangled.
When I had told you this, you nodded.
'You're right. You're tangled up with me.'
I wrote a big question mark on my stomach and dotted it with a small heart.
You'd rubbed my stomach lightly; you needed no questions.
'I think I may know the answers,' you'd said.
You watched me sleep, listening to me talk about nothings.
'Purple waves,' I'd said.
'French apples,' I'd said.
'I love you,' I'd whisper before I'd fallen into my dreams.
'Mmhm,' you'd mumble into my cheek.
I'd fallen asleep to your hushed breathing, falling into dreams that were nothing compared to this one.
I'm Just Waiting for the RainHe keeps his umbrella close, but never opened. Storm clouds roll in and out of his life, but they never stop to even wet the ground.I'm Just Waiting for the Rain3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
He wakes up every morning at 6:15, stays in bed for another five minutes, and takes a shower that lasts eight and a half minutes. He eats two slices of buttered toast and a small tumbler of orange juice. He dresses himself in a blue button-down with a striped tie and shines his shoes so that he can see his face. If it's cold out, he wears his black trench coat and if it isn't, he just wears his sport coat. He carries his briefcase every day, along with his umbrella. He can't forget his umbrella. The train leaves at 7:00 and he is at the station by 6:55. He hasn't missed a day of work in eight years.
His career isn't exactly what he hoped it would have been. If he were to think back on it, he would realize that it isn't even close. Thankfully, he never does.
At 7:45 he goes for his morning coffee runblack with two sugars. Provided the line isn't too
ImpressionableYou left impressions in her skin and they sank straight down to her heart. You always told her that she was impressionable, but she never took it quite so literally.Impressionable3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
She was holding memories so tightly that her hands started to burn. Each day a layer of skin would char and crumble. She swept the ash off and carried on.
Sometimes when she felt lonely, she would take old blankets and wrap herself in them. They smelled like the people who used them before her. They have absorbed their dreams, their feelings, their hearts. She liked to hear other peoples' dreams because she never had one herself.
She never felt quite at home. She worried about getting caught in a gust of wind and tossed down in a field somewhere, but secretly, she hoped for it.
She missed you. She wouldn't admit it, but I could see it in her face and hear it in her words.
She lost her right shoe one night. She walked a half mile in the rain without it and arrived at the front door with a big smile on her face. Sometimes I
writer's block.one.writer's block.6 years ago in Other More Like This
'just promise me you won't write about this tomorrow.'
i nod as you unbutton my shirt.
my journal has been under my bed for the past week
and we've been on the bed for the past week.
my journal has been on my mind for the past week
and you've been under my skin for the past week.
'i just don't want to become another poem.'
i nod as you unzip my jeans
and when you fall asleep, i whisper into your ear.
['i just don't want to become another one of your girls.']
i used to carry a halo and the angels slept on my shoulder
but lately, you've been the demon under my sheets
and the inspiration for the poems i can only think in my mind.
you call me a shooting star because i made your wishes come true
but i'm really just a disappointing part of astronomy that's been breaking children's dreams.
my journal has been under my bed for the past week and i don't even mind
because i could only write about your experienced lips and looking up the cause of shooting stars
bipolar IIa week is spentbipolar II3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in throes of excitability,
irritation, unstoppable words,
and ideas with wings of their own-
they soar in their preternatural flight
without a second's notice
and meander along separate currents.
sleep is an elusive,
fought for so ruthlessly,
only to have it slip away,
mere hours later.
i am icarus, resin-winged in thought
and flying til my fingers can
brush the sun.
i am icarus, resin-winged in thought
and watching my feathers drop
until my body
is subject once more
to the relentless rules of gravity.
hitting the dirt
hurts more every time-
physics has no mercy for bruised bones.
refusal to meet my mother's gaze,
to speak when spoken to,
and to move from the cave of my bedroom
i know how the sun feels
when it sinks below the earth,
and the struggle of the moon
as it thrashes to rise.
the endless circle
from night and day
grows so tiresome that sometime,
it will just
Drug.one.Drug.6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
You had me at 'hello.'
The only thing prettier than your words is
But then, I guess you're a lie too.
Your parents always told me I wasn't
You never argued.
We curled together in you room during a hurricane and
we'd ask each other what one word meant to us and then look it up in the dictionary.
You asked me what 'love' meant and I told you, 'Love isn't a noun, genius. It's an emotion. It's like static electricity.'
But sure enough, you proved me wrong. You taught me that love is just another noun.
You told me I was like static electricity, just like love. I guess I just missed the sarcasm in your voice.
Maybe love is just a big sarcastic joke, I just don't understand it.
When we played M.A.S.H together, you were always my husband and I always ended up with that rocket ship for a car. When you asked me why I'd need a rocket ship when I have you, the secret was that I sacrificed my wings for you and I still want to be able to
Anxiety AttackI can't stand hallwaysAnxiety Attack3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I don't want to be touched
The crowds make my skin ruffle
I feel my heart rate speed up
Anxiety reaching it's hands around my throat
I shut my eyes, will the crowd away
I force breaths deep into my lungs
Willing my heart to stop the marathon
My mind betrays me, keeps in step with my heart
Thoughts race next to the blood in my head
Every brush against me makes me shrink a bit more
I recede back into the dark corner of my head
I have lovingly named Hell, sign painted in red
Fresh blood used like innocent finger paint.
Anxiety rushes at me, blurs my vision
I know what's coming, all I can do is find a place
And it has to be quick, my body gives up deep breathes
Betrayed I start to hyperventilate and my vision tunnels
If I make it to the end of the hall, I'll be safe
I can still feel people passing me
But I'm so far inside myself, it's like ghosts
I stumble. limbs starting to betray me too
My vision tightens and I'm gasping for air
My thought lock on a few phrases;
LiminalI woke after thirteen hours of sleepLiminal2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and when I looked in the mirror,
there were still bruise-purple
crescent moons beneath my eyes.
tired no longer comes from a
lack of sleep—it has reached a state
of permanence, engraving itself
into my bones. When you ask
how I am, I will now answer:
cold and tired.
It was later that night when I
tasted the liquor cabinet
to see what all the fuss was about.
Whiskey burns as it goes down
and settles in the cavity of the heart,
encompassing it with a hug
that a lover will never reach.
I now want to know if I will
ever be able to melt.
I used to close my eyes beneath
the night sky, as everything in the
universe was staring me down,
and beg that one of the
billions of beings out there
would make me smaller.
If that tiny girl
in a big open field,
beneath the big open sky,
who hadn't ever seen the big open sea,
got her wish,
would she even be able to see
herself in the mirror?
calender capsule.january.calender capsule.6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
the first day you talked to me and asked
"how do you feel?"
and I said
"totally fucked up."
you thought it was metaphorical. I feel bad for you because you didn't know what was coming, but I always wished that someday we could listen to our past and laugh. (just like in those movies you love. you know, the ones where everything magically works out even though they've had shitty lives.)
a few words sort of changed us and now 3 more keep me awake at night. remind how much you love me, because it gives me the dillusion that I'm not screwing up the world with my being.
(I just wish
words were emotions.)
you gave me a valentines card with red streaked across the front, along with shattered and stitched hearts. I opened it up to see one little message and no signature, just that sickening knowledge that told me it was you and just you.
pain is sexy
was written in small letters.
you press your cheek agaist mine so that your lips are beside my ear.
Bipolar II: As Seen On LithiumMy world is black and whiteBipolar II: As Seen On Lithium5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
no shades of gray
nor in betweens
don't speak, don't breathe
don't walk away!
don't leave me here-
don't let it all
end up this way -
just these flat, endless walls
of blank inspiration
interior windows giving sight to no directions-
graced upon by tender eyes
laced with Adam's gilded tears
lips whose pleading whispers
melt upon deafened ears.
There is no mirror to my Neverworld,
where laughter is drawn with pain entwirled-
just this simple rift:
black and white
all sense devoid.
I Think I Am A PoetI think I am a poet, or at least perhapsI Think I Am A Poet3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
could be; the serene
prozac-prophet with sad words and
a white halo of bees. I am told I am a woman but
I hold my smile too carefully, like cracked glass.
I tug at my dress when it clings to my hips,
and my frown is too bright. I know I am a kicker
and a screamer, feral slurred bird stuck on her soap-box
But I would so much rather curl up,
disappear quietly into the golden eye, never make
a sound again -- I know I am not a mother
When I spread my dead children fanned
across the soft tablecloth of my heart,
place them delicately
as if they could break; my precious tiny
animals for whom I am so sorry.
I am not a mother but I am
sorry, so sorry
for all the wine and whisky.
Writing.Writing is not art's plainer sister.Writing.6 years ago in Other More Like This
I think that maybe
writing and art are just
twins, like you and me.
They're identical but art is much more showy.
Art likes to speak in appearance, beauty, and lust
whilst writing likes to speak in whispers, dreams, and silent words.
You drew in oil paint
because you knew it was
washable and could fade away.
I wrote in sharpies
because it made my writing thin, like
fine glass and delicate details and it made
permanent, because who I am is permanent.
I won't change because someone wants me to.
Writing is like the soft thumping of a heart
or a star during daylight hours; We're aware
that it is there, but we choose not to hear
or see it.
(But then, maybe art and writing
are one person,
and maybe they have multiple personalities.
They've just never met each other.)
MorbidTonight seems fitting for a wicked endMorbid10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Pen a new requiem for my epitaph
As hatred and solace in my mind now blend
With arrogance and bitterness as means to my wrath
To die as I live and to live as I die
To cast myself unto the Reaper's scythe
To face Death with a smile and spit in His face
No heaven nor hell, just human disgrace
I roam through waste in search of beauty
The bittersweet bliss of self-destruction
Apocalypse God loyal only to cruelty
And without this cruelty I am nothing
To die on my feet, 'tis a feat just to die
To rob life of pleasure, to all sins invite
To serve only One and to never repent
To the death I shall go if death to me's sent
So stand proud and Morbid and fear not your fate
For death comes too swift and life much too late
Eternal blackness shall steal life from all
Stand proud and Morbid and fear not your fall
"He who doesn't fear death dies only once."
"My death....guides my life!"
~The Crown "I Won't Follow"
bipolarmy emotions are likebipolar6 years ago in Other More Like This
spilled paint, flooding
the streets with an array
of manic colors. the fumes
rise into the air like the
angel-sweet smoke from
a stick of incense, and my
peers are getting high off
my mania laced with misery.
[they'll never forget me after
i'm gone, my epitaph
depicting my fame].
i'm staring at the city
skyline from the edge of
a cliff, questioning my
existence yet falling in love
with the incandescent lights
under the midnight sky,
reflecting in my midnight eyes.
i try to refrain from leaping
off, slowly letting go of my
education, my enemies, the
memories that haunt my
head like wailing poltergeists.
[i spread my arms, wondering
if i'll fly, but the stars hold me
they're all watching my
neurosis, laughing at my
journeys back and forth
between grandiloquence and
melancholia. i'm a pawn in
this game of psychotropic drugs
and therapists with plastered-on
smiles, a game i'll be playing
until the end of my days.
i shut my eyes to the remarks,
the expectations o
Slam poetryWhat is this, Slam Poetry? An excuse to scream and get angry, vent your anxiety into profanities, hide your lies behind a microphone stand? Your attempts at literacy played with a back beat, be careful what you pass off as poetry.Slam poetry5 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Angsty limerick with less precision than a drunk mans hand at darts. Tell us your story about a man in his forties, who didn't know your name, but knew the colors up your skirt.
Remind us of the time when in your pre pubescent mind, the guy you used to sit behind, meant something by that valentine, so you undressed and tried to play it off as "all his fault" He wont remember you, but you still claim he broke your heart.
These irrelevant tangents have no depth to them. No demands on your intelligence, your rhyming your text messages. Your lack of relevance may impress the masses, yeah, Obama, Israeli, Jesus. You are NOTHING but your references. Broadcasting sexual preferences, minority status, political correctness. Politics are not a[valid] substitute for sub
A Hippie Like MeI'm a hippie.A Hippie Like Me4 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
I wasn't born in the 60's.
But I wish I was.
I'm a hippie.
I'm not dirty.
I wash my hair.
I wash my clothes.
I brush my teeth.
I cut my hair.
I'm a hippie.
I am a stoner.
I dont have to be.
I dont have to smoke.
I dont have to do drugs.
I'm a hippie.
I send out love.
I dont take in hate.
I send out peace.
I dont take in war.
I'm a hippie.
Just trying to make a difference.
I want to change the world.
I want to leave my mark.
I want to start a revelution.
I have millions of conspericy theorys.
I beleive them to the core.
I'm a hippie.
I like to walk around barefoot
I like to feel the earth beneath my feet
I like to listen to grovy music
I like to dance
I like to hug trees
I like to go to conserts
I like to drive my vintage bug
I'm a hippie.
And its what I'm always gonna be
just want to live life as me
Play my guitar for free
Live life with happyness and glee
seven truthfultruthseven truthful4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
is ladies sipping vodka out of teacups
wearing lace-trimmed gloves and smiling.
are torn paper hearts and scribbled notes,
forgotten Valentines and tattered poems.
is a child's word, in reality gambled for
sex or love and happiness or lust.
are graffiti on the insides of the walls we have
constructed to protect ourselves from the world.
is tattooed on our wrists and hips, so that we
may not forget its charity, yet no one remembers.
are always wasted on the stars that will
not grant them. even so, we try in vain.
is butterfly kisses and cigarette smoke,
so why has it become synonyms with sex?
Suicidal SecretsNo one was supposed to knowSuicidal Secrets2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
They weren’t supposed to tell
That night was meant to be contained
I didn’t want people to talk
They came home to a dark house
Couldn’t find me anywhere
Looked everywhere, called out my name
I was discovered upstairs
Unconscious in the bathtub
The water stained with blood
Too much blood, I was unresponsive
His strong arms reached under me
Soaking his shirt he lifted me
She was distraught, screaming my name
Sent to dial 911 as they looked over my body
Deep cuts up my arms still openly bleeding
He grabbed the first aid kit holding gauze to my wounds
Paramedics arrived and rushed me out
I woke up in the hospital
An IV giving me a blood transfusion
A nimble fingered nurse stitching my wounds
I broke down in sobs, everything was worse
I was a failure again, a suicidal freak
Sentenced to two weeks locked in a crazy house
Where I belong with the rest of my kind
No one but my family knew
No one else should know
No one was supposed to tell
peace protesti can't help but imagine him as a soldier.peace protest4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a slight limp in this left leg
hat tucked down low over his eyes
sword strapped to his waist
he'd bear metals of courage and honor that he'd all but deserved
wounded in action
would read the silver-lined speeches
bronze coated in a led-based paint
they'd whisper in his ear
wind-chapped lips and sultry red tongues
would make him forget
would make him remember
would make him forget to remember to forget
uneven steps down
arched cobblestone lanes
lead endless paths to dead ends
to low-cut answers and denial
of the mumbled words
forgotten phrases that shine old light on new awakening
used to shake when he got nervous
but they don't anymore
because nervous means death because death means
he uttered syllables in deep throated tones
love unrequited like the rose thorns
tattooed like serial numbers
along the backs of his arms
like the ones he hid from
prying eyes and fractured explanations
do not love me?my dear good sir,do not love me?4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
do not think of me
as your equal.
treat me like a rag doll,
paint bruises on my arms
and sew me up with stitches.
do not love me,
do not love me.
cringe at any sight
It's Forbidden for a Reason.Alchemy--It's Forbidden for a Reason.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
We took something so very small
And transmuted it,
Into something new,
Into something that grew.
The transmutation went unknown,
A single spark
that would grow
into an uncontrolable flame,
A miniscule mite
that would wax
into a shining, compacted brick.
The transmutation circle was drawn,
just mei tripped on coincidencejust me3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and hit my head on reality.
it put me in a coma for a few days
because i didn't know what to do.
i'm out now, but i'm left scarred,
charred, bruised and beaten down.
the doctors told my parents
i had been diagnosed with insecurity.
they gave me medicine
that made me cough up fewer excuses
and be more self-conscious.
my remaining symptoms include indecision,
and writing a lot.
but my rhyme has begun to disintegrate,
my rhythm has become fractured.
words elude me shamelessly,
and the ones that stay have a grinding quality
that makes me want to cover my ears and scream.
it's hard to be a poet when
you're trying to get better.
poetry is easiest when there are blood drops on the paper,
ink stains in the sheets,
tears smearing the eye makeup
we use to make ourselves look scarier, more mysterious,
i am weak and you used to make me strong
but we both go through love like a pack of cigarettes.
i try to coddle boyfriends like they will break if i mi
Pagan PrideIn the darkness you paint us, but we will not hide.Pagan Pride7 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
We're the light of the country in which you abide.
we're fearless and strong, the protectors of life
hidden in shadows, we conquer all strife.
We come from the old ones, our lineage secure.
We rise from the ashes, we always endure.
It's time you remembered that we were here first.
We healed your sick, yet suffered your worst.
From time immemorial we've woven our lore
cunning folks, healers, benandanti.....there's more.
We're black and we're white. we're brown and we're yellow
We're woman and children, and mighty fine fellows.
We're Her hidden children, the angels of light,
our task is to teach, and to help set things right.
We conger and cast, and whisper and pray
so you can enjoy your freedom each day.
We've long been your army, protecting your back
when you are in trouble, in secret we act.
The Mother is watching---- She hasn't missed much.
She's gathered her magick and given the touch
to Witches and Pagans and Druids and such!