The Victim of SmilesYou see me now,The Victim of Smiles3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A victim of a hundred worthless smiles.
False faces I've seen before,
Never realising the pity I know,
Until they've succumbed to all their petty lies.
You see me now,
A victim of a thousand gentle sighs.
Misery masks hidden from afar,
Forever locked in this insanity war,
Now they drown under a swarm of flies.
You see me now,
A victim of a million pointless stares.
Eccentric eyes of hope is all I convey,
Ever to believe in those games they play,
But here am I tearing out these pale hairs.
no"what's it like to be drunk?"no3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
"the wind nips at your skin,
an eager puppy with razor teeth,
every edge is a blur, the world blends,
and you are whipped around in it,
a shaken martini, gulped down,
brains sending signals of
'thump thump thump'
as if your cells are knocking from under your skin
let me out, they cry out to you,
your nails picking at your skin,
making sure that your nerves have not fallen
in a drugged sleep."
"and when you talk, your voice floats away from you,
and you can't catch it,
your voice swims into nonexistence,
yet you speak,
words that you scoop up like dry sand in a fist,
slowly flowing out through the small space
between your curled pinkie and palm
they become those grains, joining up, matching to whatever they touch,"
"you are one with everything,
and you feel the sun through your stem, warming your petals,
you feel the salt water in your beak, a fish, or maybe a crab flopping about,
you feel your branches snap in the wind, falling onto your long, raised roots
the song of a roamerAnd darling, I've been gone for a long, long time. Your eyesthe song of a roamer3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
are still that steely gunpowder blue, but your hair has grown long,
and there's a softer curve to your waist
and freckles on your shoulder I don't remember,
and I think,
What have I missed?
You tell me about the weddings
the divorces. You tell me
about the babies
and the losses, and how last year
your dog died--easy, in his sleep--
and there is a hollow lack in you,
a space reserved for things that won't come back.
Long ago, was there a space like that
When did it collapse--when did it
fold in on itself
under the weight of things that matter more?
I tell you about Cambodia. I paint
the jungles for you, breathe the crushing wet heat
of it into your lungs. I tell you
about the kids in Africa
and how the heat is different there--
belligerent and fierce.
I tell you how much you would have liked Barbados,
and how much you would have hated Rome.
And I remember all the things I
can't tell you--all the things I don't hav
Always the CoffeeParked in agony, he spent his time looking in mirrors and staring into her absence. The reality of her departure was almost bearable, but the loss of her ideal lay in far deeper waters than he could ford.Always the Coffee3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
All inanimates seemed to lose their liking for him: toast less crisp, pencils harder to sharpen, and socks never stayed paired. Toilet tissue was now undoubtedly too thin. He would swear that the traffic lights, in their now longer phases of angry red, blamed him for her absence and were determined to let him sit in his own poisonous fumes at every intersection.
His misspent hopes of a child, one who would have his temperament and her smile, filled an empty second bedroom he didn't have.
It was when the coffee lost its perk, falling between bitter and listless, that he began to formulate action. He gathered change for the laundromat, found his best clothes, and cleaned them up. After a shower and shave, he donned his be
23. SilenceIt wasn't the silence of grief or reverence, a kind of muted din that breathed with life and sound even in the stillness,23. Silence3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And it wasn't an awkward silence, heavy with anticipation and a lingering feeling of discomfort.
This wasn't the kind of echoed, throbbing silence of something waiting just out of sight for an opportunity to strike.
Nor was it the hollowed dead silence of a place long forgotten, untouched for millennia.
It was a new and sacred silence. The purest form of silence, yet to be filled with all other silences.
Anxiety Held closely in the arms of fearAnxiety3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
It runs its fingers through my hair
Leans closer; whispers in my ear:
"You're all I ever wanted."
Satin AshesPurple ashes of spindled satinSatin Ashes3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
play with the porcelain gales -
plastered upon the
painted picket boards.
Skipping through the trees
and smiling upon the valleys;
by the canyon's moaning throat.
But when the wind blows slow
she will drift away in a coffin boat
all the way to her far off -
Chesslet's play a game of chess.Chess3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
are the pawns,
movements to take
time i speak
by crafty pawns.
to anticipate all your
you got me in checkmate.
Foolish DreamerFoolish DreamerFoolish Dreamer3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Countless thoughts in my head
As I lie awake on my bed
Hopes, dreams and wishes I hold
As I lie awake, alone and cold
Telling myself lies
As I close my eyes
Soon the sun will rise
And another dream dies
How many more days will it take
How many more wishes must I make
How many more dreams will be fake
And How much more will my heart ache
Waiting and hoping for that day
That the wishes only stars hear me say
For these dreams to one day come true
The day you'll say...."I love you too"
DistanceLaughing with you in the car,Distance3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
still giddy from
too much sex, with your parents in the next room;
you stop me with a simple,
"Love, will we make it?"
meaning when you go away--
it was enough to make me cry,
but I told you yes, we would make it.
"Promise?" I breathed through
my tears, and you continued to drive through the rain,
I'm just afraid for us,
for what might happen.
I love you,
and I don't want to let anything come between,
but I worry."
It's all you can do,
the rain slipping down the windshield in clear magnifying specks of
to sit and
half pray he doesn't hear you crying, half
pray he does
and he finds some way to stay--
but you've been through that, too,
and it's only for a while.
For two years, and a lot can change in two years,
but you've loved someone for four before,
and you didn't love that person even half as much as
so it's possible, right?
But you don't want to spend
nights falling asleep on webcam hoping
maybe, next week, or the week after
you were the butterflyhe tiptoes like a ray of sunyou were the butterfly3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
rests quietly on your skin,
his lashes flutter - the wings of a butterfly
that tickle your cupped hands
so that your fingers can't help
but clamp down
on those notorious flapping flakes
so he runs, a thunderstorm,
his eyes, wild clouds, showering the desperate flowers
with no pollen from the butterfly
whose slimy blood gets under your nails,
like you crawl under a big branch of a tree
sheltered from his useless tears,
tickling the soil with your curling toes,
so he grabs the branch,
casts it down,
you are that butterfly,
flapping pathetically with your last breath.
you are that butterfly, that dreamt it was
Love Me LoquaciouslyLove me loquaciously:Love Me Loquaciously3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Seduce me in the spill of words,
In the erudite glimmer
Of gleaned vowels
And parsed pronouns.
Give me syllables
That taste of springtime and persimmon.
Drizzle my tongue
With leaping verbs and arching adjectives.
I ache to be kissed by a mouth
Which whispers love in cadence,
In the sensual rise and fall of poets,
Which twists metaphors around my skin
Like winding sheets.
I want a heart that beats
The pitter-patter of perfect meter
That sweetly slips
Past tactile symmetry
And rises cerebrally.
Vulgar WordsShe is worried aboutVulgar Words3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
sex and love
and qualities of the mind
while he is busy
We have seen this all before.
Now listen here:
Poems like this
would be best if
they were honest
His children would
rush to the door like puppies
when he came home exhausted.
Her husband would
just to surprise her.
Orange juice and eggs are
and twice as delicious.
But instead, they are
Even in each other, alone.
Searching for meaning
in a seedy motel room
that smells like cum.
Still, it is poetic,
the way lower case letters are,
the way vagueness can be, like odd
punctuation is sometimes poetic
and using old English
is poetic; hell,
trying to be deep
I Don't Want A BabyMy hands are sticky stingsI Don't Want A Baby3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Leaving patchworks down your
Flustered cheeks patterned by
Fingertips sliding off your voice.
You leave my toes dancing in
Moonlights to rhythms of distance
Sorrowing their traces on broken locks
Clogged by your careless lust;
It was only a fantasy that entranced us
Feeding us pills of misshaped hopes
Your family bred too often and too soon.
The DreamHis shadow looms behind you,The Dream3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
His hands are stained with red,
If eyes are windows to the soul,
I guess his soul is dead.
The extremely short storyI once heard the tale of a man who had the whole universe inside his throat.The extremely short story3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"Was he a giant?" someone asked.
I thought for a second.
"No," I said. "He was a storyteller."
haiku- morning afterBedsheets gone, he smokes,haiku- morning after3 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
she sleeps with hand on his thigh
and dreaming of fire.
Smell Your HairThings I've told you in my lettersSmell Your Hair3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
That I'm loath to tell another,
Such secrets in your smiles,
I would suffer it to be no other
Not now or any other day
And though close I know there is a rift,
A chasm lies between us,
I don't know if you'd find it strange or offensive,
But I want to hold you and smell your hair,
I want to walk with you in the fresh air,
I want to lie by your side with bodies bared,
But there's a chasm between us and it's not fair,
And I wonder if I had the chance would I dare?
Still I'd love just to hold you and smell your hair,
Walk arm in arm in the fresh air,
Lie down side by side with bodies bared,
But there's a chasm between us and it's not fair,
All I want is to show you, not say that I care
All I want is to smell your hair.
A Letter to my FatherFather,A Letter to my Father3 years ago in Letters More Like This
Today, It has been nine months and nineteen days since I left. Three thousand kilometers of distance. This is the longest period of time that we have been apart. I miss you, I remember you all the time. Suddenly, I remember things I did not think about before, suddenly they all keep jumping in my face, so many memories, some warm, some cold, some tough, and some just beautiful.
Do you know that I can remember the days you were teaching me the Arabic alphabet and the French Alphabet. Whenever we have a guest, I run to them and start shouting " A,B,C,D,E,F......." They smile and ask me who thaught you all this, I run to you, I hug you and I say " Dad taught me".
You took me to the beach, you taught me how to love it, this is why now the beach is where I find my soul, where my heart feels at home, where I feel a very strong sense of belonging I dont quite understand. We went to
Birdshe holds a torch.Bird3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
strokes it with a gentle brush,
silky fingers waltzing through
the coarse splinters,
clingy spurs, hungry for the soft palm that meets them with a smile.
(hello, hello) they say
shining teeth on the tips of the nails
(hello, hello), and the splinters stab, (you know)
like little ants digging their teeth
into giants that run away
at the thought of their tiny legs
skittering across their pores.
so she held the torch, brushing at its creases,
the dirt defining the curves in her fingertips,
(they looked like deserts, and if you were a cell,
those curves would be sand dunes, the dust would be
nine feet thick, and your feet would sink as you,
a phagocyte, engulfed a pathogen, pleading for mercy,
slicing off its tiny head, [help, help], it would scream.)
She stroked the torch,
touching the deserts to her temples
leaving beaches near her eyes.
the torch wouldn't light
until she ate the fire.