CrepuscularTo the girl teaching herself to fly,Crepuscular11 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
a hospital bird with soot in her lungs
and patchwork wings,
you only fly for a little while.
If you want to stop hurting,
learn to drift in the silence of the dark
between night and day.
We're all made from broken parts:
bird seed, letters addressed to no one,
things found in old coats,
brittle things like love.
Glass bottomed birds,
we used to make butterfly hands,
until moths swarmed into our throats,
like dancing butterflies; still
we choked on dusty wings.
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs,
the same smoke that you'll inhale.
Let go, little bird --
You were made for moonlight,
never for hummingbird lullabies --
Hummingbirds only fly in the sun,
and the sun was never a child.
We were not meant to be angels.
The nestlings, children of the stars,
we glide together on clipped wings
through the dark.
The Sum of InfinityI don't know if I'll ever tell my children about you.The Sum of Infinity1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
(I don't know if I'll even have descendants.)
A family was never on my to-do list,
until you came along.
You made me wonder if I wanted kids, just so I could say to them
"You know, the day your dad and I met…"
because I thought we could last forever,
and I'm still not sure if we have.
Our friendship endures, even as I fall asleep
picturing her arms around you,
and I wonder if you'll ever come back to me
but spend every day noticing the reasons I'm glad you left
and hoping you'll return.
Never intending to fall in love,
we were an item
before you knew my name.
She reclaimed you,
you still belong to me
by virtue of the ampersand connecting our names
in the mind of every person
who watched us walk,
tall & short,
monochrome & kaleidoscope,
yin & yang,
through the winding, leaf-littered pathways
that are our life.
Silencio"¡Pero no dije nada!"Silencio3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
TeeterWhen I wake,Teeter3 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
among the stars,
on the brink
between dreams and reality.
It’s so easy
to see through the
between waking life...
and the power of Imagination,
that same other world
in a sea of dreams.
november is callingI trace your ink-infused skinnovember is calling6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
with my wanting fingertips
and I remember the better
days. You were younger
once and I was sweeter
once, and we shared a
prison cell called love.
You are no longer baby-
faced and I have hair down
to my waist, and you smoke
cigarettes and you drink
whiskey because you want to
be a man’s man. You kiss me
sweetly for the fifth year
in a row, even though I
haven’t known what it’s like
to call you mine in four.
I can’t detach myself from
your wanting gaze, the way
you look at me when I shed
my skin. I can’t let go of your
laugh and your blue-green-grey
eyes, the way you smirk and pull
me close to your heat.
There is a tomahawk on your
arm and I trace its black lines
and the softness of your skin,
and I pray that it will not always
be this way.
HelpTurning away...hoping you'll chase me.Help3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
ImpossibilityWe meet before breakfast every morningImpossibility2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
just to get my quota out of the way.
She drinks steaming coffee without scalding her tongue,
while I blink the sleep from my eyes, sipping slowly.
Her scent hangs heavy in the air with the perfume
of sunbeams and birdsong
and the success of a thousand hopeless dreams, and
I don't know the colors
of the dress she wears, but I'm told
by the butterflies.
Our conversations are staid and brilliant
and can only be recalled
Her favorite activity
is herding cats,
but perhaps next week
it will be milking rattlesnakes;
Hers is the realm beyond paradox,
where nothing begins
before its own conclusion, and mirrors
only work in the dark.
We converse in our minds
about the state of the anarchy
as I pour another mug
and she thanks me through indifference.
She whispers pi
as she sits, idly tracing a straight line
Silencio (Version 2)"ĄPero no he dicho nada!"Silencio (Version 2)3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
In My DreamsIn my dreamsIn My Dreams4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I have you
I hold you
No need to
Ever let go
You love me
As much as
I love you
Nothing else matters
Nothing else really
Needs to matter
Not when you
Are with me
But that's only
in my dreams...
Am I Wrong?Am I Wrong?Am I Wrong?5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
I’m always wrong
In everything I do
I am wrong
Every little action
Each though I make
All my words spoken
Why do I feel like this
I can’t know why
Some deep meaning
I will never know
But I’m always wrong
For things I never have done
To people I never knew
In place I will never go
People try to save me
But my soul has fractured
Into millions of tiny pieces
And I can’t be rebuilt
I need to free myself
Break the cycle
I hate this pain and longing
Is it possible?
Is it possible,
That I am wrong,
About being wrong?
Artist Blue - If It's AlienArtist Blue - If It's Alien3 years ago in Sci-Fi More Like This
The old woman pushes the book across the counter, "There you are, miss."
A young woman picks up the book, a story of adventurous pirates, one of great fame: Treasure Island. She's never read the book before, despite her near obsession with literary works. She stares at the cover for a short period, the image of the pirate captain and the young boy approaching a beach speaks volumes onto it. She opens her tiled rainbow satchel and places the novel kindly between her school science book and notebook, which are surrounded by miscellaneous items placed in careless areas. She leaves the library, a light smile upon her gentle pale face. She pushes her blonde hair from her face as she steps down a small flight of stairs. The free hair brushes annoyingly against her blue hoodie. She grabs her hair and ties it up to cause less self-disturbance. The snow is finally melting in the town of which she resides, she walks patiently to her home, about ten minutes into this walk she pulls out the book i
Wherever it's Christmas (p.6)The Doctor, Amy, and Rory have decided to cook Christmas dinner in the Tardis kitchen. But the Tardis kitchen was built by Time Lords...Wherever it's Christmas (p.6)3 years ago in Sci-Fi More Like This
Amy handed each of them a sandwich.
"Is this all we get?" Rory asked. It had been a long time since tea.
"We're cooking for tomorrow. Deal with it." She bit into her own sandwich and took a drink of her orange juice. She plopped down wearily in the console room chair. She set her glass on the floor and shucked off her old-fashioned shoes.
She massaged her toes while she ate her sandwich. Rory sprawled in the other chair and the Doctor perched on the steps between them. He was picking the pickles off of his sandwich one by one and eating them.
"So now what?" he said, running out of pickles and taking a bite of his sandwich.
"Don't tell me," Rory said. "More shopping."
Amy scowled at him. "Well, we at least need a grocery list."
"Nope!" the Doctor said. "This time the Tardis has everythi
Click! Hot Sex In Temple!A tidal wave of numbers in red. The notifications kept coming. There were none defending her in the comments, none calling out the abuser. All their words were spat at her. They’ve seen her whole and deemed her ugly.Click! Hot Sex In Temple!5 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
He had tagged her in the videos, but she wasn’t that girl anymore. That screaming virgin was gone.
Her phone pulsed with notifications. It was like his hands were still on her, groping, violating, piece by piece eroding her value as a woman until she became nothing. A snake nuzzled her cheek.
There was no choice but to leave this town and find a place to be alone. But first . . . she picked up her phone and channelled all the hatred they sent behind shields of anonymity. Medusa, with great care, took a selfie and posted it online.
A ClicheI wish I could sing you a love songA Cliche4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
about roses and stars and the rain
but I couldn't sing like the blackbird in spring
so I think I will simply refrain.
I wish I could tell you a story
about beauty and trust and my heart
but all I could say's what they say every day
So I don't even know where to start.
I wish I could write you a poem
'bout the birds and the bees and my bed
but all I would write's being said every night
So I wrote you a cliche instead.
The Boy in the CornerHe curls in the corner of the lit-up room,The Boy in the Corner3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
watching from the shadows
The women, they laugh, with pearls 'round their necks,
And men in fine suits sip from delicate glasses
Golden chandeliers hang from the ceiling
as society's elite mingle seamlessly
And the boy-
his face is unwashed, his hair unkempt,
but he watches, and he learns
and he sees
So he makes a vow:
Never be like them, the ones within the light,
the ones walking past his corner without a glance,
the ones laughing their polite, gilded laughs,
the ignorant, the ones never knowing
what it was to reside within darkened corners
That vow is kept:
the rest of his days is spent in the darkness,
lonely, bitter, not knowing what it was
to live within the light-
but he is never like them,
and that is consolation in itself
AloneCriticized and judged,Alone4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I stand here alone,
not knowing what to do,
or where to go.
Criticized and judged,
I stand here alone,
thinking to myself,
What did I do wrong?
Criticized and judged,
I stand here alone,
crying and shaking,
with a pang in my heart.
Criticized and judged,
I stand here alone...
I'll Wait by the WaterThis is the place where our memories began.I'll Wait by the Water2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A creek at the bottom of a canyon,
red cliffs on either side and a giant
pond dam to the north that wildflowers grow on.
Paths that we created through the woods
and up and down those copper canyon walls
while we pretended to be wild Injuns
or wanted outlaws being hunted by a posse.
You were on your knees,
in the middle of the creek,
when I found you.
A neighbor girl, trespassing.
I had a mind to chase you off
until I asked what you were doing.
You looked at me, smiled, and said,
"Catching crawdads. Come help!"
After that day, we spent Springs and Summers
building fort walls and chasing frogs,
skipping stones and arguing baseball,
sharing comic books and trading punches.
You could hit as hard as any boy I knew.
We had our own bridge to Terabithia,
our own kingdoms of knights and castles,
won the World Series with back to back homeruns,
settled the Wild West and discovered gold in the mountains.
My parents thought you were imaginary
until I bro
grief on an answering machinechemistry tells usgrief on an answering machine10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
matter cannot be destroyed
from one form to another.
i heard you today
on old voicemails;
the voice that kisses
the boundaries of being,
screaming the conservation of the soul,
tells me you are here
even when you are not
it is only a sound.
i have remembered a plethora of them; searching
for the moments i can remember your nervous humming, your raucous prayers.
but i only know the staccato breaths of a starting engine
i have spoken sotto voce into the mouths of unripe girls
i hear lawnmowers screaming in yards they burned down to build a shopping mall
i fuck a boy to the sound of passing trains.
these are sounds to throw away, sounds i do not need
but your voice is not one of them
mourning you is a second language
and i am stumbling through sentences.
i don’t know the word for ‘goodbye’
so teach m
Dear Universe,Can you tell 16 year old me that I'm 20 now and I made it out alive. She won't know what you're talking about, but at least she'll know it's possible.Dear Universe,1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This