last season's mix tapesin every story, there is a plot.
this is called “what happens.”
what happens is usually someone dies and someone rebuilds, someone buys a wedding ring and maybe she says yes.
what happens is we lose touch.
what happens is we stop at the laundromat, and i don’t know if i am inventing the men smoking cigars on the porch, or if it is really thursday. what happens is i am nine and you are a few years older and we are in the laundromat with three baskets full of clothes.
what happens is my parents are waiting in the car and we have quarters weighing down our pockets and we are grown up as we press coins into the slots on the washing machines. we giggle because we are the youngest occupants of the one large room lined with washers and dryers, and we giggle and we wait for the buzzers. we grow unsteady, confused, younger as we realise that we have been wrong. suddenly we are infants and we glance around the room and we feed more quarters into the
the better thingsthe better things4 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
1. break the bones that burn under your skin, but believe in the blood that warms it. we are forever changed by the sweeter songs of the stars we fall from.
2. i won't look at you, or you, or you, and i know tomorrow when i sing for her you will all trip over the tile and your tongue but nothing will change outside of you. or me. we might miss each other terribly for two seconds, but we will be the same and i thank god for that
3. winter treats you well, orange ash boy. vermont expands your diaphragm and the girls are aching to fill it. (i am aching to fill it.) your freckles are there and not here, and i realize that i love you
4. i was cleaning out my car and vacuuming the backseat when i noticed a cigarette burn on the floor. and i thought, "how did this get here?" and then i thought, "oh." and i thought about all the people i don't talk to anymore, and it was okay. it really was
5. it was seventy three degrees friday when i was driving and i know it's not economically-conscious to
the one you think is too transparentyour eyes are a cavernthe one you think is too transparent3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
or a crevice or a gash in the belly
of the fox laid out
under the wheels of a car that always looks like the one you drove
over me, around me. we were best friends
or would have been & we wrestled
ourselves to sleep
& we cried alone in front of
mirrors & spread the stomach skin of foxes.
your eyes are an operating table. i had everything
taken out of me. your eyes are bubbles
in a jack & coke, the careful folding of your heart
around a corner.
your eyes are your mouth, scripted
over words you've had memorised since your first woman.
i am a paper dress & i interrupt your cheekbones with
your eyes are not coming to bed.
your eyes are
in the paper dress
of a fox dilated in the street & (it wasn't your car
but every car looks like yours &) when we crawled
into her caverns we found
a child & uprooted i
two separate thoughts: our children and our deathour kidstwo separate thoughts: our children and our death2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
are going to look back at pictures
of us when they were babies.
when we were holding them
with wooden arms and silly eyes.
when we held the half-lings that
made the two of us into a single person,
for the first, or maybe second,
or maybe tenth time-
they're going to say, "god,
they look so young."
and they will be older than we were.
we will die with our hands knotted
together like the roots of the
we will die with wobbly knees
and eyes like grass, wet
with willow dew.
we will the both of us
die. each of us drawn
to the silent parts.
we kiss the ground
goodbye and we
the noblest of crimesi have a mentalthe noblest of crimes2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
list of songs
that i would kill
and with each song there is a-
how, a where, a when, and a why.
the most recent horror i inflict
upon myself in this shitty second-rate
cinema of an imagination is cushioned by
What a Wonderful World,
and i'm sitting in my car on the blue ridge
parkway completely stoned, my mother's handgun
on the passenger seat
mama bought it to keep the devils away
little did she know it would incur them through my own hand,
and Louis Armstrong lays heaven delicately on my ears-
the absolute purest knowledge in the world
is the Beauty of it-
and even at that moment, i do not deny it-
i am not a fallen solider, nor a coward
or a thief,
i am a creature rattling the bars
of her cage, i am the sparrow rising above the
fog to settle
Things I am scared to saylaying in bed with you is like: ready to die, I need nothing more iThings I am scared to say2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
need only to lay here and die, not alone like a dog but here with you, I
am a girl in love and I am weak as a kitten you could cut me open
stuff me with poison and i would still come back for kisses, tender
and open you make me but I'm not scared.
riding the train with you is like:
being hung like market meat I am swinging naked raw and free,
sprinkle me with kisses like salt and hold my hand a little tighter,
shift your body again when strange men walk by I am
yours yours yours and no one can touch me here with you;
no one can touch me I am infinite and I am you and you are me
and we are riding the train.
art with you is like: the paintings are crawling out of their frames,
coming out to hug you and talk to you, explain themselves like i have,
the stories are here for you; and I am lucky enough to watch, to see
your beautiful eyes study the paper and paint and gold leaf and chalk,
watch your handsome brain understand
the lotus-eaters.do you know what i mean when i say i just want to fall,the lotus-eaters.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
like the leaves and the sky and the numbers under my feet?
i have to let you know i'm not good enough
so i tattoo it in my freckles and write it on your walls.
my hands smell of sulphur and clay
and no amount of soap makes it fade.
it's like a tangible version of you,
soulless beast roaming my mind.
i find myself reaching for you
in my sleep, waking with a start
and revulsion in my arms.
i've carved birds into my wrist to keep me happy
because things like shopping and counting calories haven't.
every time you leave me,
every time i say i love you
and you leave me with silence,
i want to become this godless girl
with an empty heart and no love;
to bleed like it's what i was born for,
and not be the least bit sorry
for any of it.
i am eighteen and i garner pleasure out of very legal,
very counterintuitive things. i am a sick puppy
and i don't mind it but my mother does.
the unsettled look in her eyes like the
hunger of a lion, burni
what are tearsit is monday and i am tremblingwhat are tears4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in sadness and hunger and reminiscence
the moon is not out and the air is too cold.
it is here the line between you and him is blurred.
every hour you spend silent is another word from my pen,
pressed onto paper and equally of the cancerous loss of my
heart, and the uncomfortable absence of its stitches.
this is when i feel the ground fall from beneath my feet.
this is when i forget if i am looking (you) up or down,
if i am in love or in hate.
this is when i need you most, a solid set of arms
to steady myself as i am wrapped inside,
a body with a hot heart burning behind soft skin.
it is now that i can't remember that it hurts
more to never know than to know and be damned;
to hold my breath for three weeks in hopes that the
breath of your butterfly will come to me again
instead of the written resignment of
his beautiful sorrow.
here is where i look at you and see his eyes.
here is where i see his lips and find your jaw.
here is where i need
the first poem i wrote since i told you i love youthe star-soaked stainsthe first poem i wrote since i told you i love you2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that covered our nudity
gives way at last
to a tequila sunrise,
so low in the sky;
it's still bright enough
to sting my eyes,
and yet i can't bring myself
to hate it.
your body next to mine,
every effort is made
to move a heavy limb
because any space
is space i don't want.
i am sometimes humbled
by my feelings,
the way they swell
in my throat
just how the ocean
tastes the shore.
there is always something new
to find hidden in my heart,
summoned by my words,
or the salt of your skin
wearing like wind on shale
i don't think i can ever tell you
i love you enough.
if i could, i would never get dressed
so that you could never be sad-
a rewind every time
my clothes touch the floor,
never anything but nude, not naked
because with you i can be bare
i can let you see my entirety
and leave my arms uncrossed,
i can let you in
and not fear that you will break me,
or force my inner things out.
i can love you with open arms
and my lip
on leaving it behindi stillon leaving it behind2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
this might appall you
or agonize you but i do.
i remember still evenings
with little to exchange besides
heartbeats and breathing patterns.
i remember soft afternoons
with my back raking against the carpet
leaving sporadic scars and stitches of memory.
i remember dark roads, and darker rains.
i remember a longer faith and a shorter pain.
the wounds are not as fresh, they do not sting,
but they ache and the few times i hear your voice
wedges your fingers in my brain and i can feel the cake
of neglected cum stains and i can hear the desperation in
the small whimper of my name and the way it was hard for your
breath to escape and my mind is running on thin rails, paper train,
and all i ever wanted from you was a home, not a place.
you would finger fuck me in the movie theater
and i would squirm and you would laugh because
i am not so good at keeping quiet. and all it would take
was a look from me or my hand up your knee or my lip under my
teeth and your eyes would
Actually, It SnowedIt was raining copper today.Actually, It Snowed3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
You were lying under piles of pennies,
shame like a dagger parked into flesh,
pious in prayer; you were streaming
hot music through your ear canals
as if you believed that happiness
could somehow be scalded
The fight scene was set in the kitchen.
Pots and pans skidded across the
kitchen, a rush of gleam; you
ran but her voice nailed
you to the linoleum floor.
Metals jangled rudely and,
my god, you were so sick of making your
way through life like a catfish with
the barbels sheared right off.
You wanted desperately to reside in
New Zealand, sending postcards and scraps
of love to your parents once every thirteen months.
You wanted to be a kite gone rogue, a fugitive
hiding among the island sheep, an unmanned
Lately behind your eyes there is always
the ideafriendly and facelessbeautiful as
choir bellsof immigrating into a new life.
i don't believe in jesusno one celebrates losing virginity like they celebrate losing teeth.i don't believe in jesus1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
i don't get a dollar under my pillow for having sex with my boyfriend.
there are no doctors smiling at me when i tell them my cherry has been popped.
i am a whore for having premarital sex.
i am a tramp for loving someone enough to open my body to them.
no one celebrates losing virginity like they celebrate losing teeth -
but i slip mine under my pillow anyway, and in the morning when i wake,
there is a quarter and a tiny folded note:
"you are not a slut."
on sitting across from a stranger at davis libraryi wonder if anyone has ever saton sitting across from a stranger at davis library2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
across from you and wrote a poem about you
even though they don't know you.
i wonder if anyone has ever done
this for me. i hope when you go home
you don't wash your hair. i like that it's messy
and long. if i were a ladybug i would like to sleep
there. i would tunnel just beneath the top layer
and shudder my wings to a close and have dreams of fields
of wheat. i hope you can see how this is a good thing.
and i hope you don't change your clothes. i hope you wear
a sweater everywhere you go. i like that the one you're wearing now
is brown and without a pattern. its not ambitious or pretentious. if i
were a flea, i'd perch on your shoulder for company until i got hungry.
i wouldn't bite you and wouldn't know why in my tiny insect mind.
i hope you never wear contacts, and i hope sometime you fall
asleep with your glasses on. i hope you never talk on the telephone
except once a week to your grandmother. i hope you never peel your stickers
off your laptop, no
the last poem i will ever write for you.last springthe last poem i will ever write for you.2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
(after almost a year)
you lost me when
you fell into a venus fly trap.
there was even a sign saying
'THIS IS NOT A VENUS FLY TRAP'
and i believed it. i am so
sorry. you are a rose.
and what you couldn't say,
you spoke with your blood-shot
eyes leaking blood-clear tears
and i believed you because
you meant it.
i painted you turtles.
you pulled my hair.
we wasted gas and blew money on cigarettes.
we fucked like we breathed- erratic,
and savored. you held small
secrets that only i knew. we
promised to get married and
hump each other senseless.
we went hiking
and before we left
you had to have me on
your living room floor.
i had not seen you in a week
and all the messes we made were
cleansed in a semen-salty bath.
on the mountain-
we stopped at every bench for a
cigarette because we were out of
breath. we never made much sense in
the first place and i went down on you in the wilderness
because at that altitude you have to go down
somewhere. you hel
catharsis IIhave you ever climbed a mountain? in the summer where the trees keep you a little cooler, but you're still sweating and you're out of shape and you stop at every bench for a cigarette break. you look so thin, he says. and your hair is so long. you think you're never going to find the top and you packed sandwiches for the two of you. honey and peanut butter on white bread with water and granola bars. then you turn the corner and there it is! you can see for so many miles and you're not really sure where the sky starts and the gentle green ocean stops. he turns on music and you close your eyes and he grabs your hand. that is all you need in the whole world, to be at the top of it holding another person's hand.catharsis II3 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
have you ever told a lie? dived into bed with a failure while making another one of your own. you hear your phone ringing, that familiar ringtone, all those nights with that song swirling around your head and infinite synapses stinging you into a contented sleep... but you ignore i
just a thoughtdon't let your sadnessjust a thought1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
carry you. you can look at it-
and rock it to sleep in your
arms and let it melt in your
hands, you can put it out
on the windowsill for
the cats. they know
how to kill fast-moving,
blow it out with black dreams
and the sky will eat it,
she will cough in 200 years
but she will eat it. you can
digest it in a concrete pill
that you can't snort, but know
that the sadness will come for you in
the morning like the motley hawk to
the long-dead doe who thought sleep
would offer some peace, but no-
you thought relief would offer some peace, but no-
the sadness will come for you in
you will carry it, dragging it loosely
by your ankles behind a pale body. if you carry
it, it will wear down, sometime. it's got to go,
sometime- just don't let it carry you.
sleep, as an elephant1.sleep, as an elephant2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it is strange to see you
older and out of love with me
it is similarly strange to see me
younger and out of love with you.
i want to
throw my arms around your neck
thank you for
leading me to believe in love,
thank you for
showing me what the cock does
when it crows and summons the morning.
thank you for laying in my bed,
breathing my breath.
thank you for laying in my bed,
with your head on my breast
listening to the fluttering
bird in its nest.
thank you for staining my bed-
with your salt, it was blessed.
thank you for leaving my bed,
giving my dreams to its next.
thank you for, out of all the rest,
choosing me as the first, remembering
me with the best.
thank you for june,
and then june again.
thank you for december, and
thank you for the time
that helped me break my body in-
thank you for two ticks
on the wall of not-forever.
thank you for june to june to december.
in a few years,
when you are older still and i am
getting even younger, i want to take
nightlife.the heat rises and setsnightlife.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
under the black elm silhouettes
it is you
and it is me
and we are painting ourselves
against the sky.
the days rain melts
itself from greyed rooftops
and drips like the songs
of summer and ice.
night is only so dark with
writhing demons in its
cyclic rise and fall
when the stars are afraid to
open their eyes, to
look down at the sadness
the world has become;
it is hot like infection as
the poems stutter against
sad and empty bones,
sad and empty homes,
the nests of mother robins
barren too early in
i promise you,
under the bowing bodies
of the elms,
in the way that i feel
small in your arms,
that i will be a perfect human.
you tell me with a
flutter of lips on my humid skin,
'there are too many ways
for a human to die.'
bwhen we first had our firstsb2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
my hand was dark against your white chest,
brown-skinned girl like mud dripping,
sliding, winding down your body parts.
weaseling my way into your deeper
they yelled at me from the wires
they hung like headless chickens
all bumping into each other and making
a ruckus about what they didn't know about.
i paid it little mind because i had you
in mind, sweetheart. and that was enough
at the time
they said bitch and whore and cunt and
i just told you to tighten your grip
around my neck when you fucked me. you held
me close one night and said, 'stop asking me to
fuck you like i hate you. stop asking me to fuck you
as deep as you hate yourself. let me make
love to you
without destroying you'
or something like that. and since then
i've been different. the way you love me
feels like peeling my skin back and stuffing
sugar in my veins. if they cut me i would bleed
like a stuffed cat. i'd keep my form and smile on
stupidly because they couldn't cut you
new year'sgotcha all loved up on pillsnew year's2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
your hair feels sexy and my
eyes are thin and filled
with jelly. you go as deep
as my belly and then go
deeper. i say 'you can be
the steeple and i'll be the
preacher.' i say 'you can be
the football and i'll be the
bleachers.' somehow i was
trying to tell you that you
can have all the glory, you
can read my palms and create
got me all fucked up on pills.
my body eats pain and pukes up
thrills. the thing i like most
about it all is pills or no pills,
frills or no frills- you're still
my sweetheart. and i love you and
god couldn't have made you apart
cut me offpeter crying on the phonecut me off3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
still a little drunk
"i fucked up so bad. i'm so sorry"
yes darling you did sweet sweet peter with the blue eyes
like little doves.
i just wanted you to love me, i wanted you to touch me.
the tiny prayers of your fingertips across my body that would somehow make me better
or at least that is what i told myself.
peter kissing me in the staircase
tasting like coke and freedom. the bruise coloured
feeling of wanting you.
peter tapping on my knee
peter crying in my arms
peter yelling at me
peter without me
on being scatteredon being scattered2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i hate the people who say 'jesus saves'
on their shirts or on their bracelets
or on their blogs or on their faces.
i hate the people that jesus actually
saves and all i want to do is call you
up and tell you how much i want to fuck you,
and how wrong i know that is, and how much
i don't care, and how much i think about it
when i'm fucking myself, and how long it's been
since passion has owned me-
my passion is untapped, hanging loosely,
flowing bluely under my skin.
what is needed is a small scratch,
a tiny prick, a sharp slap-
it would flow and
belong to you.
i want to be provoked.
i want to be reminded of the unbridled
fury that was flowing through me always,
i want to be reminded that now
i feel nothing.
i know that i feel nothing,
but i cannot feel it.
i need your body to purge my body
so it remembers how to hate itself.
because even that's not as bad
Tattooed in My Tear DuctsI don’t know any big wordsTattooed in My Tear Ducts1 year ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
and I don’t drink tea and I haven’t read
all the classics and my hair is a startling
shade of ash blonde, if you’re being
generous. I would call it grey. I will not
impress you. And maybe that’s impressive
enough. You will always get an honest
reaction from me.
My mother drinks tea though,
earl grey, and chai and chamomile,
she thinks it will heal her, make her
sleep. But sleep and healing are not
the same things.
I have run from monsters
to find them in my sleep, and by run
I mean get high, and by monsters,
I mean me. If sleep is a mirror
we are all doomed. I’ve seen myself,
eyes red and raccooned, reaching
for some comfort and I had to explain
that my lips swell when I cry. All I wanted
was for you to say that I look pretty when
I have come to realize two things:
one, that everything I want is not good for me and
two, I am not the worst things I ever did.
I am not the worst things I ever did.
I want this tattooed i
airskinny boy kissed meair3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
kis,ses l,ik,e c,ommas , ,
breaking the waves of my own selfish sadness
o god skinny boy (willow man)
if I am worth something let me know. reasons 1,,2,3, , (4,5,6)
fingers curling over the top knob of
My spine (your spine is tall and proud
skinny love blue-eyed boy godless heathen /while You have no god I find mine in my own blood wide grin kid who is
, ,,, , , , ,,,,,,,,, , , ,,,,, ,,,,,,,
on being free, chained, and whatever's in betweenhey, it's me. it's christmas eve. and well i know you know that, but i feel like if you save this message, it will be important to know that it's christmas eve or something. i'm alone and it's christmas eve. all i can do is move the way the music moves me and i feel like i need to be oiled. i'm not moving the way i want to be moved. i'm not really saying i need to be fucked or anything i just need a body to remind me what joints do. or i mean how they're supposed to feel. something like that. i don't even want to be in love. i don't love you anymore. i don't know who you are. i knew you once in the summer and in the fall and in the winter and in the spring and in the summer again and a little in the fall too. i knew that you were an untameable fire on a rampage but i did not expect you to burn your own body and you burned me too i'm not even sad i'm just so mad at you i'm so mad at you and i'm a little drunk and i'm a little fucked up and i'm not even sad i swear to you i'm not sad.on being free, chained, and whatever's in between3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This