She PlaysShe plays the piano
Just like an angel
Taking strides of her own
With folded wings
Clasped about her skin
As fingers intertwine
And hands do not rest,
But instead move
Across the keys
Unlocking the doors
Of a child's heart
As she sways
Into the Movements
Of a woman
The intensity of
Eyes permeates the air
Even as they are
To the stepping stones
Where raindrops wept
A million tears
That spanned across
And forever flow
No matter how torrent
She eases into that
As her vessel
Until the door is closed
And the song has
Ended, and an easy
Voice, is able to
Exactly what was seen
What was meant
In the Depths
Of her Ocean.
Your Name's My Best ObscenityThe sweetest curses are sugar on lipsYour Name's My Best Obscenity3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
If I died this evening, you'd find your name
aflame- the words I last shouted in vain
lingering on my tongue like a toxic kiss-
revenge is addicting, venomous pain,
even spent on cries I know are mundane
No fixing up this unholiest tryst,
forged by two fools who believed in their lies;
or maybe it was I, eager for light
even in spite of the flaws I had seen
Can light be fake? Were your twinkling eyes
a mere disguise to make me ignite?
Aflame, in vain, impure light fuels my screams
Of snowShe knows the windOf snow2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Tangled in strands of hair
Better than anyone
She knows the way the sun sparkles
Across an Icy sea
She knows every color of the sun
Cast upon a face
To be painted
She knows the molecules
Against brightened eyelids
The shades of trees
From small to Tall
In the expanse
She knows the way rolling hills
Going down a slope
Can lift you up
She dances in shadows play
And makes color palettes blizzard
She turns reflections on rippling water
Into ice sculptures that animate
Through glimmering light
And most importantly
She knows the warmth
Flightless Birdoh, why aren’t you flying?Flightless Bird2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
amaranthine feathers belong to you, the flightless bird.
wings, calloused and frayed;
your body burning from sunlight, flames bursting from within
little hot-headed creature,
mad at the airborne world above him.
oh, flightless bird – why are you so alone?
once you were the sun, but now you are the moon;
you fell into its craters, came out the other side,
but who are you now?
(purple-red, turning azure.)
your bones have stiffened, cracking beneath your skin –
you are held back, lost.
you don’t know who you are.
if you could fly, you would leave this place, and
release yourself from the moon,
and once again
become the sun.
when a muse stands silentdo you know what a feather is?when a muse stands silent3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a whimsical quill,
drooped at the top
like a willow tree's branches
hang their heads.
the ink at the tip,
a tear on the corner of an eye
smudging a porcelain face,
a writer wiping it away with his thumb,
the rest of his fingers
cupping a chin,
and he chokes out whispers that embrace
his broken muse.
Fever DreamsHush now,Fever Dreams3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and close your eyes
against this vermillion sunset.
You feel so much, too much:
leave crescent moons on my skin,
calm the anguished crimson heat
of your own burning heart.
This war shall end, my love;
but what will you be,
if not red?
SkinI watch,Skin2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and I understand.
I taste stress in your sweat,
tension stretched on the surface,
in the landscape of your
knots in your muscles,
like pearls under
I'll untie the ropes
and kiss the blank
of your broad brow
and I'll write
on my chest,
things like silver lies
and soft secrets,
and wires of frigid truth
because the truth is
so kiss me back,
strike a pose,
be a body
and let our bodies
juxtapose like slow jazz
and your fragile ears.
take a deep breath
of me and
as you tell your
that I miss it too
Am I Worthy?Am I Worthy?Am I Worthy?3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Maybe I don't deserve all the views and the comments.
Maybe there are better writers out there that deserve acknowledgment.
Maybe I am not worthy of any recognition and attention.
Personally I don't think my work is even worth mentioning.
Maybe my words wont amount to anything substantial.
Maybe I wont make it in terms of a financial,
Atonement but can we just think for one moment
That maybe I write to express my thoughts on a page.
To release all the feelings held hostage in this mortal cage.
Maybe others can relate and reciprocate my words.
And to you this notion may seem insulting and absurd.
But all these favourites and feed back gives me an added purpose.
And for that split second when reading them, I feel like I actually deserve this.
That my whole hearted words are not dispensable and worthless.
That maybe I can actually make something of myself.
Give the people something real to purchase from life's obscure shelf.
Give my parents the life that they so justly
Bless the AngelsClouded with the swelling lightBless the Angels3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Of breaking summer dawn,
The sky is barely peeking
Through the early morning yawn.
Gladdened heights of tinted smoke
Lounge above the glade,
Watching idly all the ones
Who hum a hymn today.
The bells of silver and of brass--
They chime a tuneless song.
Reaching to the yielding fields
And calling home the throng.
There they go with books in hand
To slip through mighty doors.
They scurry over cobblestones
Like ev'ry week before.
They kneel and ask a blessing
From the patron of the day.
Then ask to be forgiven
For their callow, wicked way.
The preacher gives the sermon--
Sad and yet sublime.
But through the congregation
A person shyly winds.
A hand tugs on the preacher's robe
A clinch unto his tongue.
He bends and gives attention
To the speaker small and young.
She eyes the crowd of gazers,
And whispers in his ear,
a stretch of doubtful silence
which lingers on for years.
Then she hides behind the preacher,
Their fingers now entwined.
The preacher meets the
stop me if you've heard this one beforei.stop me if you've heard this one before2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
there is a man on the corner of my street
who gave me a bottle of bleach
and told me if i drank it, i'd finally feel clean.
but i gave it back to him, and went home to take a shower.
because i am almost happy,
and i do not want to mess that up by
chugging bleach or fingering knives or thinking too much
about that man who turned my insides cold
from inside of his car.
because this has to be happy.
this has to be what happy feels like.
it feels like god gave me a vodka bottle
filled with nature and people and oceans and deserts and seas,
cause see, it feels like i'm drunk on life.
i have this nervous habit of scratching holes in my skin
and my mother says it's because
i'm trying to find something beautiful inside me.
she said i need a psychiatrist.
my friend asked me if i needed itching crème.
i keep laughing about stuff that's probably not funny.
i don't want it to rain anymore.
used to, i liked the rain,
because if i squinted, all the lines would be blurred.
HomeMy grandmother would say it's because I'm restless and young. My dad would peel himself away from the TV just long enough to grunt, "Did you take your pills?". But downing the bottle could not keep these thoughts away. No matter how many books I bury myself in, or the countless hours I stay at the computer redrafting old poems. I could watch every show, every movie created until my brain becomes slop in my skull. But the fears and desires I so stubbornly keep at bay always find there way in on nights like these.Home2 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
The fear of oblivion, and the desire to run. The fear of oppression, and the desire for adventure.
I'm laying on my side in bed, all my limbs tucked in under the warm blankets and inhaling the fresh smell of clean sheets. The cat is curled up at the foot of the bed, purring as he begins to drift off. Everything is silent. My family is in the clutches of Morpheus.
But I can't sleep again. I want to blame this on the creaking that seems to echo from my wall, but I know why.
AThere is birdsong andA3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
sun-drenched long limbs,
sprawled across India green;
wet hair haloes and
a restless route scrawled
up arms and over hands.
There are blueberry smiles,
feet upon dashboards,
and city-light fireflies...
then there is you.
Always, always you.)
TrustTrust.Trust2 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
Hard to gain.
But easily lost.
The effects will always remain.
Unless we pay the cost.
Instead of abiding by the same
Sky EyesDesert hands tell talesSky Eyes3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of a hundred arid summers, but
you are no longer as cloudless as they
(there is a storm
creeping through blue, blue veins).
But tell the sky to keep her sorrow,
that grey cascade blurring against
eyelids and horizons;
and suppress her misbegotten
droplets, seeping into the sodden
for there is still sun in your sky eyes.
Of BlissKissing daffodils sway,Of Bliss2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
serenaded by the waver of
faces blushing bright
as the sunlight
FableMoon cloaksFable3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
(and you are)
left clad in only
the softest of
Love and LossIn these bright blue depthsLove and Loss3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Swimming with mystery
Memory upon memory
Rising to the surface
As I look into your eyes.
Deep in our history,
Each kiss bringing us closer
To the true definition of love.
Spiritual; our bodies and minds united
The morning light our only hindrance
The only shadow to our happiness.
But now as we stand face to face,
Our mutual presence
Sparking the same images to appear,
The same lines to be heard
In our pained minds
Old, forgotten words
Meaningless to others
But send us into a different world
A world devoid of happiness
A world filled with misery
Half of my heart aching in longing
Convincing my mind
That we were made for each other.
The other half crying out
Trying to be heard
Over the passion of the other.
Wary and cautious;
Urging me to step backwards
And seek out
What drew us apart
All those years ago.
IntimacyI asked to be slapped—Intimacy2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and your palm met my cheek
with constraint, cupped to lessen
the ensuing redness, the responsive tears
that welled but only in my left eye.
There are things like tealights
and dinners after midnight that we agree
to be romantic: that we consume
through antique filters, lace
between our fingers, but your palms
sweat when we hold hands
and I've never liked skin webbing,
nor the catch of calluses—
So, I propose to rewrite
a definition: mostly for my sake,
but also for the sakes of others
who have found themselves wondering
if they might be a-something
because they don't like to be touched
softly on the skin
or loathe surprises of any sort,
who would like to make love
then smoke a cigarette,
go for a jog without meaning insult
to the man in their bed—
Because when I asked you to slap me—
I meant to say I trust you,
003its easier to say0032 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
"i'm fine, just tired"
than explain the water rising
when really they just asked out of politeness
and don't -actually- care.
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
NightingaleSweet Nightingale,Nightingale3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Will you not share your tale?
With a song of such passion,
With a voice with such compassion,
A voice so soothing,so calm, so kind,
The most troubled spirit is sooth in mind.
Such beauty in both moonlight and sun
And such other beauty, there is none;
Your eyes that glisten in the night
In darkest times, you always glow bright.
Sweet Nightingale, you are my all;
So long as you stay, I will never fall.
And yet I find myself with tears
Which shall shed for a thousand years
Your beauty incompared
Can sadly not be shared;
Together we cannot be,
For you are apart from me.
Caged, loved by another,
Your voice I see belongs to no other.
And yet I still wish to hear you sing,
I wish for you, sweet Nightingale; I beg you take wing!
So beautiful and kind; how I mourn there is another.
For I love you, Sweet Nightingale; you and no other.
Storybook AddictionsI want you to love me as much as you doStorybook Addictions2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the thorns in your side; seeds planted and
forgotten and bleeding cyclically.
when the swallowed night drowns and
drains darkness like a trickled lullaby, I want
to be the last thing in your dreams.
I want to be your mistake East of Eden, your lack
of redemption; when they tear apart your paper
flesh with metal claws, I want to be the one you
come crawling back to with bloodied knees.
[right now I am an empty vessel, unfulfilled
and metaphorically obsolete. I want to clear
my throat for once, without seeing the ashes
of my disease.]
I want to love you like a swansong;
breezes make your bones ache and
I am always cold-- no one wants the
wind: it bites and they identify my
prickled flesh as its invitation.
[I wish I weren’t the pendulum
around your neck, counting the days
until you’d finally leave]
I only ever wanted you to love me.
starvetoday, i don't hate myself enoughstarve2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to deny the hungers for -
a cup of coffee that will treat me like sin dancing to the pulse of my bloodstream
the absence of guilt
cracks in personality
screaming poems silently at my reflection
today, i will gorge
on the things i vowed to give up.
today, i will break vows.
today, i am a glutton
for relapse and binge cycles,
for starvation and changing reflections.
tomorrow, i will wish
i could be the skeleton that
hangs in my closet.
[ leave the tears where they lie,
take the fallen stars and ripped up wings,
do not regret spinning circles
around vices. ]
she got me warmvoiceshe got me warm2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
vanilla cinnamon pine
cares for me in
snippets of audio
quiet conversation sounds
like the tap of keyboards at
stuttered scared to scarred minds
who was spotless, tangerine girl?
where's this eternal sunshine, rocking chair boy?
we're just squinting at all the
awkwardness; the graceful poets
don't know how to strut
their tongues so full of
sound and fury
but mouths so full of sincere sympathy
and I feel it; I feel a healing touch in your
vanilla cinnamon pine palette painting
embraces across my brokenness
and my gratitude is deeper than I can reach
to give you so far down your song has sunk
into my aching bones
as it fell, i fell with iti saw a shooting star for the first time on friday.as it fell, i fell with it3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it was unearthly, so unreal above me,
skidding silently across the sky.
if you had been standing beside me, i would've
slipped my hand into yours and
[maybe] made a wish.
but it didn't happen -
my eyes were too weak to follow it into the dark,
the distance between our bodies too great,
my trembling, yearning fingers
"what does it matter?"
you said later. "it's only a meteor."