RepossessionYour words tore into my abdomen like vultures feeding onRepossession8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
the raw emotion their filthy wings stirred up from the dust.
My ribs cracked from the blow.
But, I think sometimes
of how these were the ribs
that should have chased you away from me,
quietly wondering how you managed to
slither past this cage of bone and flesh
to engrave your fingerprints into my marrow.
You were sweat & spice & scars-
a thunderstorm of black and blue sex
jarring and devouring my insides,
shaped a faithless religion
through the cracks & broken shards
of my hollowed out womb.
(I want my insides back.)
A Gods DebtSutured together by artists,A Gods Debt8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
hallowed out, & spit back up,
( you are afraid. )
Hooks longing for her ribcage embrace;
god-hands that can't seem to keep to themselves
grapple the gargoyle exterior of her deflowered frame.
( spread your legs. )
Red-inked and trembling,
prosetry masked as screams
knots into her anatomy.
Lonely Gods"I wish my body to be a staircaseLonely Gods9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
to heaven." She said, "A conduit
of lonely Gods."Swaying
pendulum hips, she, she
was made of stardust.- Scars sleeping
above a city of sweet bones, stirring
like sun-stricken scorpions during
hollow painkiller nights,
mistaking her redred burns
for Apollos kisses.
"Sadly, this body has whispered away
the last of my secrets."
Her Musethese words are not poetryHer Muse8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
swimming liquid fire through ashes
of dead phoenix veins.
no, they are rough and callused
with over use, their own faithless artists
spewing black tar from their lungs
in the hopes to one day breathe again.
nothing moves her.
she would rather scribble her heart out
on physical manifestations of her own reality-
on skin and bones she worships like a temple.
"Write of me," he says, "right here."-
planting sun-stricken kisses
along the hollow of her burning throat.
"I want to be where your heart sleeps."
Sometimes, you enjoyed being blind.Over 1,000 letters have found their waySometimes, you enjoyed being blind.8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
to the pulsating heart of my wastebasket.
You carried them away saying, "I'll use these
to fill the empty spaces of my universe."
You proceeded to tape them to your eyelids,
wear them like Augusts leaves along your limbs.
"I will be your voice and I will sing your words to the trees."
Slender spider fingers prancing across my misspelled scrawl.
WillowYour confessional arms are Willow trees,Willow8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
draping lonely limbs around an empty ink-jar heart.
Scars worn down like henna tattoos.
A night witch scrawling her incantations on blue moons,
rolling her letters into sentences like a curse.
But, it is in these coffee eyes you have found a home.
August Lover,I want to wrap myself in your air,August Lover,5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
hold your secrets between my
ribcage-embrace & just
Stephanie -Collab(I wrote us in free verse over every inchStephanie -Collab8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
of your tattered surface ).
you were the beatific grin
of a kindergartener high off oxygen,
mouth stretched wide as the entrance to hell,
black tongue bleeding virtuous sin like ichor.
(You taught me praying was for the weak
as I fell for your gypsum nails,
white teeth scrabbling over my chalkboard frame).
She has the moon in her eyes.But, this body is a black hole,She has the moon in her eyes.9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
a hollowed out womb-
and these palms are sandpaper
thin and bleeding a silent stigmata.
"Not yet ripe to fall from her bed,
too young to understand her own limbs-"
She folds back July's origami skin,
wishing for the warmth of winters kiss.
She is a raven heart, thumping wildly
against the whispers of vintage lips.
Her bed is empty,
but the sheets are red.
'X' Marks The SpotI am a pirate,'X' Marks The Spot11 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
a ghost among the sunken ship
of your treasure trove heart.
Like the last bit of rum in the jug,
I enjoy the way 'fuck' rolls off your tongue,
as if you invented its meaning.
I try to articulate that one syllable,
match your way of speech-
You've never needed to dress your words-
dip them in ink or paint them in poetry
upon the exotic map of my sun-kissed curves.
I have drowned so many times
in the green sea of your eyes
that I am coughing up seaweed
& weak bones.
You tell me not to speak-
that such words sound dirty on my tongue
that my spine is made for beauty
and not for a bounty.
But you, you are a plague
astrological.i. On some nights,astrological.5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
street lights guide
this lonely heart
to her lonely bed.
ii. In this universe of twilight skin
& mismatched bones,
I wonder just how many poems sleep
beneath the inkwell of her eyes.
iii. My body is a house of stars,
and her palms are black holes
sucking ( me ) into their vortex of
iv. She says, "Please—my moon,
please—give these bones a reason
& I am whispering lovelies
into the sanctuary of her heartbeats.
v. "Goddess temple,
sunset eyes, &
my windowpane love-
Let us eat the stars
Scorpion"Show me your bones."Scorpion6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
the atlas of her thighs quaked
as she misplaced her skin
in the backseat of his car.
"I'm a scorpion, you know-"
a messy promise
& she smirked,
sure of her limbs,
her scars, & her teeth.
"I dare you to stake claim to this clavicle."
Collection of poetic nothings.We were opal Tuesdays,Collection of poetic nothings.5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
tattooed into the
rose garden curve
of my vertebrae,
gliding me through this wild youth.
But, like Icarus—
I was a sky conqueror
& these silk wings
touched the sun.
My inhalations are heavy,
like the earth he bruises
beneath his fingertips
as I chase silence.
"You've got a tongue
made for words." He says
against the arrogant thorns
of my briar spine.
"Learn to love yourself."
How do I say I love you
without saying I love you?
"I want to replace my heart with you."
You are spider silk woven
into my harvest moon
limbs traveling this road map
fly.this is hard for the world around us to grasp:fly.5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
these wildfires raging in our retinas
& the sins we wear like demonic similes
on our tongues- they are not enough.
& i am so fucking sorry of saying i'm sorry.
but, tell me,
what is a young poet(ess) to do
with veins made of kite strings?
William,If I am nothing but an actorWilliam,5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
on a stage in this dust town
of rose torn bones and washed up
stars, why is it that the galaxy sculpted
crescent moons in my palms
Post MortemI am a walking, talking universe of dead poetsPost Mortem7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
who tattoo their stanzas into my flesh
with ghostly, typewriter fingers.
I live and breathe their worldly disasters
like a nicotine addiction I've never had.
Drowning in their scribbles
I kiss their shoreline romances,
envy their Annabel Lee's,
& carry their hearts in my heart.
I am 7am coffee on Sunday mornings:
a half drunk, hungover limerick
waiting to happen.
I am jealousy:
nothing more than weak words,
& a tongue-tied cliche-
but death becomes me.
AryaShe is a wolf in her dreams.Arya1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Sitting upon an iron throne-
Woman of an old Greek myth,
A woodland Goddess
with a fire spirit sleeping
in her veins, a hyena heart
thrives within a ribcage embrace.
This lovely girl steals the hearts of kings,
assassins, and lowly blacksmiths.
Lacking honor, brave little shoulders shrug-
She whisperes, "My heart beats for no one."
TigressShe is the kind of girl who smothers herself in astronomy,Tigress11 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
New Age philosophies and coffee shop poetry.
All fire and dragon scaled-
She hides her tiger stripes behind bruises and ink stains,
living her life by way of verse-
throwing Hemingway around like insults.
Writing her letters to the moon,
she hides her heart underneath her own floorboards,
folding blank paper birds just to set them free at 3AM.
But, it's the lipstick stained collars,
the rose thorned fingers,
and the dead stars in her chest cavity
that tell her- even a tigress can bleed.
N o v ai.N o v a9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
This distance between us
is devouring my lungs.
I'm left here gasping,
trying to suture back together
all the broken nights-
the cigarette burns in my bedsheets.
I'm tracing maps on my limbs,
and I'm painting black holes on my palms,
pressing them into letters
left on my nightstand
untouched and unread.
I keep telling myself
none of this is about you.
But I'm reaching for empty galaxies
as I try to remember what it felt like
to be one of a binary star.
Light-years away, and I'm here-
just another nova on your ceiling,
searching this vast universe for you.
Mabonthere are dead leavesMabon7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
sprouting from her amber spine,
reaching with child-fingers
to devour the sun.
her skin is freezing,
seeping winter through
the whiskey tongues
of godless boys
wish to decipher
the atlas of her thighs.
counting the sleepy fireflies
alight in her lungs- there is
wanderlust churning & warming
her frostbitten heartstrings.
swinging pendulum hips,
"I am the tease of autumn flames.
I breathe in mint sunsets,
& gasoline dreams."
NaPoWriMo: Day 8I was toldNaPoWriMo: Day 81 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
to slice through the thickest
of scar tissue this evening.
Let all my inner demons
fall to the floor
& write them out
in my own black blood.
It’s not red anymore,
even though needles
& the bruises
laid out like war-lands
on my arms
I don’t think it ever was,
My mind is a mess
of free versed insecurities,
cat’s eye marbles,
& untamed forest fires-
I still don’t have the nerve
to slice open my skin
& bleed for her.
NaPoWriMo: Day 9More respectNaPoWriMo: Day 91 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
for hungry lions,
doesn’t want to write this poem.
As she forgets how to use words
(on most days,)
relying on curses
like casting some witch's spell-
with only ten dollars to her name.
The oldest daughter:
she’s still somewhere in the middle,
because they had no other way
to categorize her.
Getting her first gravestone at three-
not to the gods,
but to the lily stargazers
in her palms.
she would become
NaPoWriMo: Day 10 Have you ever been so cold, Sweetheart,NaPoWriMo: Day 101 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
your knee's q u a k e d like that Jenga piece
that buckled just before your whole foundation
& no matter
how many times
I've restarted your heart,
one would think
I'd grow tired,
I'm still writing you in poetry
(in the most inappropriate of places.)
You forced yourself beneath my blades
& my fingertips,