communication issueswords fall short ofcommunication issues7 months ago in Scraps More Like This
what I really mean
their arrangements are just
that escape me
and in the end I worry
more of how I failed to speak
than have my heart
on my sleeve
different lipsI spent hours trying to finddifferent lips7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
the moment it all fell apart.
I drew maps and diagrams
and pieced together memories
with string and whatifs.
Didn't it start on a
cold night like this?
But it ended with different
sometimes I am certainsometimessometimes I am certain7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
I am certain you are not solid
and your lack of substance is
the only reason you've managed to
squeeze past my atoms and
settle yourself in my brain
rewiring my neurons
and firing them off in
cheap imitations of love
I need a name for this chapterAm I suppose to narrate this? Okay.I need a name for this chapter6 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
Pew pew pew the bombs explode and frzzzttt the shields of the front cruiser is heavily damaged. I turn, I shoot, I score 60. All is welcome to the temple of my marksmanship. Alien cannon fodders decide to do dogfighting, giant laser beam goes boom and...
THAT LASER BEAM CAME FROM BEHIND ME. That... just, if that was meant for me, I would be vaporized since I wasn't moving for some reason. looks like I need not much moving at all. look at that! arrowhead cruiser, 12 thick white beams just destroying everything!
Some brave fighter pilot managed to land a bomb on before being rather cruelly shot at by all 1
Read me a story won't you please?Read me a storyRead me a story won't you please?7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
won't you please?
The world is growing dark,
and I can't see very far,
won't you please read me a story?
Read me a legend,
where a quest is taken,
and challenges are conquered,
and the world is born.
Read me an adventure book,
where the hero is brave and strong
where he fights off the bad guy
and the hero always wins.
Read me a mystery story,
when the great sleuth seems to be stumped
and the facts just don't add up
but in the end he finally sees the pattern.
Read me a fable,
where animals can talk,
and justice is fair and true,
and a lesson is learned in the end.
Read me a poem,
where the words sound like honey,
re-interpretation of maniamaybe you are notre-interpretation of mania2 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
studying to be a doctor.
you might instead
be standing on
the guardrail of a major highway,
rearranging the lyre-strings
that will play
over the wreckage shifting in your skin
until they break.
will you still come home
flustered and rosy
in a whirlwind of slammed doors?
forever the violent & reflecting city sunset
who breathes me
against the wall saying
i want to love everyone
in the whole world
getting into stanford can ruin your lifei would have been your surestgetting into stanford can ruin your life2 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
polysomnographer if you had let me. i would have
closely supervised your brain as it
scanned cosmic badlands for its next
post-traumatic nightmare sequence,
but being your trigger for mania meant
that i had to sleep on your ex-girlfriend's
hickory floor and she is just
as conscientious a host as she was a lover,
and she still wears the jewelry that you got her,
a gold necklace carved from your stomach
lining, a meteorite ring you stole from heaven
with your homemade spacecraft before
it came down in flames over
the west coast of australia, like
your other straight relationships.
hello, it's a new anxiou
the four faces of the year.i.winter was shy,the four faces of the year.7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
never had much to say
and stumbled over dirt
because she only knew
how to walk in snow.
she wrote in cursive
but spoke in chimes
and her cheeks were
forever the color of
a weathered cabernet.
she only loved once
and when she did,
she lost her heart.
the boy used her
in the night
and left her in the day
and she was content.
she resolved that
deserved more love
and were therefore entitled
to take love from those
who were less worthy.
(she loved a boy
who would never love her back.)
ii.his name was spring
and his voice dripped nectar
into the ears of virgin
Queen of Oblivion She tells them thatQueen of Oblivion5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
is where she'd like to stay.
Weaving webs for those around her
and tangle themselves in.
Webs of gossamer tears,
stitched in seams of
and shattered promises.
moving pieces in a game of
Setting pawns for the fall
in the protection of her
All-powerful but wary
of her own trappings,
watching her plans
falling into place from
5.Someone asked what I thought about5.5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
when I look into a far off place
and cannot be reached for
hours at a time. I said that I
I am lost in your head, the big
caverns of words you've said
Trapped in your cocky smile
and the way you hold onto
the steering wheel of your
mother's car with one hand,
Not So OverI thought it wasNot So Over8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
I thought I could grieve
and I should have know,
I should have seen this coming.
I got comfortable
in the mourning
let down my walls
thinking he'd never come around
like nothing had changed
I thought it was
But it's not.
It's a bus ticket, a duffel bag, and a few regrets
away from over.
And everyone is telling me
It won't make me feel
I'm setting myself up
for a bottomless bucket full of hurt.
They are right.
And I hate that they are.
Because what is
and what I
ExploreI want to get to know youExplore8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
not your likes and things you don't care for
I want to see your expression when raindrops hit your face
do you crinkle your nose and open your mouth?
inhaling new scents that are elegant like smoke, tea, nature, flowers, or the smell of our bodies after we've made love.
i want to know your eyes. of course they are brown like fresh espresso, but do they
dilate in new situations, fear, closeness, pleasure, and joy? and
do they scan me up and down looking for the same things?
I want to know your flesh. upon my flesh, or alone. the way your bones stick out
like an outline on a sketch, the many freckles dusted up
Mad DogI've always wonderedMad Dog8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
how poets do it
I can't tell a fucking story to save my life.
I just have memories.
Like waking to the crashing of Thanksgiving's leftovers
the noisy clanking of silver forks and knives falling
on the floor
while you slam your dead body weight
into the door frame
because you can no longer stand
or walk straight.
Your nose, it starts bleeding
because the blood cells,
too soaked with alcohol,
can no longer clot in your veins.
I imagine they must look like sponges
trying to soak up all the ethanol that you've spilled inside
your mouth to destroy them.
It's 4 in the morning.
The fearI'm so very afraid.The fear8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
I've become so cold
and I need to you warn me
when I can't see clearly
and have lost all my wit
and am feeling like shit.
You need to be there
to help me recover,
Just as a friend
but maybe a lover.
Could you let me know
Why you wanted to go?
I'd do anything for you,
Just stay! I adore you!
I can't handle this life
when you are my death.
Don't give up on me, love
I'm trying my best!
I can't move on
when you tell me it's fine
and until I can,
I'm tearfully dying.
something that happenedmy grandfather's brother lost both of his twin daughters to suicide, one at 17, the other at 20. every year on their birthday, he used to climb this hill behind his property and tie ribbons around the two trees that stood there, that he had planted the year they were born.something that happened3 weeks ago in Personal More Like This
i happened to be visiting on the day that would have been their 58th birthday. he had suffered a stroke during the past year, and his mobility had been weakened, so he asked me to climb the hill and tie the ribbons while he said his prayer from the foot of the hill. i can't forget the image: these two mature trees, so close their branches mingled, trunks wrapped in ribbons, most frayed and loosened by years of wind, some decades old, colorless and fallen on the dirt around the bases of the trees.
this was the first time i thought about how the years of someone's life might look when left behind. it took me forever because i was so nervous. when we walked back to his house, and he was wiping tears out of the corners o
s e a (spumeocean theme feature for the end of Marchs e a (spume2 months ago in Personal More Like This
Cupping RiceShe collects the rice after weddingsCupping Rice2 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Looking for prophecies in her cupped palms
Searching each grain for a story.
She thinks of the children they ought to have
And their names with deeper meanings:
Against birth, defender of man.
A blonde girl
And a precocious boy
Who she knows will one day learn
The language of suicide
Their starfish hands
Never to be the pickers of rice
TributeShe came back to me undone, brazen & alone & alive, awash in morning light, with mockingbirds braided ‘round her ankle, with her soul cradled in the arc of her foot, & took me outside. She came delicately, barefoot through the days I had sat alone, hush-hush through the grass & gold, came & laced fingers through my mind & called to me, down through the years & the hallways of my heart where the dust of you had long lain undisturbed: "He is no longer here, but I am.”Tribute2 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
I have found the voice that left with you.
between our astral projectionsyou got your first letter from the department of justicebetween our astral projections2 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
today. i tried
convincing you to pay them off
but you weren't listening,
just eating raw chocolate under
a dying palm. intellectual property isn't real,
you explained, so
enforcing laws about it's
like using a fishing hook to catch the sun
and i try to stop
i see it. then you fell
asleep with your freckled jaw nudged
into my chestbone and
on your epidermis was pure
illusion. still we made it
the sun-whipped canyons of desiccated
exoplanets. when i get the next letter,
you said, we can move
to that desert cabin made
your heart was a broken sailorThere's probably a reason why I can't say that I've known you since my elbows were just dimples on my arms. And that may be simply because the sky exchanged hemispheres four years into your birth but we're just on the opposite ends of a conventional compass. Though distance is a mixture of coarse wave and rugged land levels, there have been more in our union than the planet can already decorate on its face.your heart was a broken sailor2 months ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
The international date line has a sharp, pungent sense of humor that gives and takes hours all at the expense of fuel on the plane you're on right now. All I can say is that you have the power to give me words and no control over when to
immersion.immersion: dipping into a pool of thought, one toe at a timeimmersion.3 weeks ago in Free Verse More Like This
slinking into the liquid with careful, cautious intention
the fluid rises and touches hip, laps over the lower back
mouth opens and breath shudders out—air pluming
the water nibbles at my shoulder blades now
my fingernails are virgin moons under pale oceans
I remember them stained a salty, metallic crimson
I remember them crusted with flesh, ripped with desperation
it reminds me of winter mornings with red knuckles
the phone had been cold but the voice colder still
“what did you honestly think would happen?”
teeth bites lip and silences thoughts; static on the ai
of the ground-of the ground1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
It was Sunday night when Geo climbed into my room from the fire escape. I was painting my toenails and listening to the sounds of the city: police sirens, pulsating bass, the kids in my tenement running guitar riffs back and forth with the street musicians on the sidewalk. That was the year I turned sixteen and took a two-month vow of silence to honor the death of autumn. A premature snow had robbed the season of its delicate warmth and color, forcing the maples to weep their leaves into the gutters. All that rainwater, all that decay. How could anyone create when October was dying outside their windows? Pete and Jake practiced acoustic th