belongbring me freud, jung, piaget, neitzsche, dostoevsky -
i want to understand
this troubled heart.
mine? perhaps, not - i didn't ask it, it didn't say;
the mind, too, is duly uncertain;
tethered to the heart, but not, perhaps, kept by it:
existence is not conclusive proof of anything proprietary.
maybe it belongs to no one.
i belong to no one.
even phantoms, my lovemy love, there are things you should know about me:even phantoms, my love2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
instead of ribs, there is a birdcage in my chest
& locked inside is a sparrow that flutters its wings
against the bars every time you come around.
my blood is pumped by a metronome that
whispers your name with every practiced beat.
you told me that you like catching fireflies
so i trapped my soul in a mason jar for you
& i hope that you will keep it for years to come,
place it on a shelf where you can take it down
once in a while and blow the dust off the top
like a bottle of wine that you'll never open.
i wrote my love for you inside of a prayer
& the words knitted together to create bones
so i built myself on them one hallelujah at a time.
you described your eyes as the color of the sea
so i anchored myself in their blue-grey depths
and left my castle abandoned on the shore.
i am not a person anymore:
no, i am a collection of objects and ideas
that i have taken from you and used to
build myself into something comprehensible.
Orbiti think that if we were planets,Orbit2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
we would orbit in parallel -
side by side, but never quite touching.
we're both of us broken,
we don't "get" affection.
outward displays of love and happiness
are too much: just beyond our
limited scopes of capability.
we're kindred spirits, but
broken souls are no good to anyone -
not even each other.
almost, but not quite.to the boy with ghost hands:almost, but not quite.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
his hands are not like yours,
your teeth leave different scars.
love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs;
it only lasts a little while
where I end and you begin.
maybe you never belonged to me.
this will be the last piece I ever write about you.
to the boy with the butterfly tattoo:
you found love
in the bathroom sink,
borrowing the past
only you can prevent forest firesi wake on the edge of morningonly you can prevent forest fires10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
under frost-covered pines:
my fingertips are bitten, but
my lips are unkissed;
i bend to the earth
i lie on the devil's backbone
in the scarred ridges of his
fire-scorched spine -
the elements are unkind
to my limbs
and my heart:
i caught pneumonia and love
in the same breath.
I want to wake up and not be aloneI closed my eyes while I drove home tonightI want to wake up and not be alone1 year ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
I wanted to see if I could remember the curve
of your spine, your lips, the jut of your hip.
(if these walls could speak,
they would scream your name.)
dear mommadear momma,dear momma2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
do you remember the night I got so drunk and stoned
that I spent an hour just clutching the sides of the
trash can for dear life and whimpering for you to help me?
& you were so far gone yourself that all you could do was
watch me while you lit the bowl and took another hit.
that was how I felt the day you left my father
and I followed you out the road crying your name,
begging you to take me with you, not understanding.
& that was how I felt when I told you that I needed you
and you said "I know" and then just let it go at that.
happily ever afterall the good fairy tales startedhappily ever after1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
with once upon a time in a
far away land. so i looked on
a globe to see where far away
was, and started digging a hole
to see if i could reach it.
i dug a grave instead and laid
myself to rest, and there i
lived, happily ever after.
(the hole is still bleeding
because my heart
won't stop beating.)
leavingleaving is a can that youleaving3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
kick around in the street
because it's been a long day
& it makes you feel better.
some days you kick it
harder, longer than others,
& some days there just
aren't enough cans or streets.
but the thing about leaving
is that when the
street lights come on,
you always end up going home.
faces, spaces, placesallow me to exaggerate a memory or two:faces, spaces, places2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
when somebody says your name for the last time,
you let men lay on you
to keep the sleep away.
years go by like one day
here under the north star.
below the canopies,
lost wishes can be found.
cities sleep inside our heads;
a quiet sentinel.
the longer I lay here,
the most peculiar of places,
in the space where I can breathe,
I can't explain the feelings I get.
have I run too far to get home?
we are all astronauts in the dead of night.
when a poet's heart breaks,
an end is just another beginning.
lost, but never foundsince you're gone,lost, but never found1 year ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
i have become that one girl:
too much of not enough,
she only goes out after dark,
morphing through time
to the end.
who am i to shine?
what am i?
burn scars and washing machines,
the sound of an approaching train --
off the map,
a soft and fickle heart.
it's all the same
stumbling around after the storm.
these feelings cover me
like summer in Paris;
i see drops of Jupiter
(they are called fireworks for a reason).
my birdcage boy,
outsiders don't understand.
you are foreign even in your skin;
too busy for life,
playing the suicidal king of hearts.
so let's pretend it's 9 pm instead.
burn with me; take two.
you're a subliminal message,
a crown of thorns.
let's play murder,
by your hand is the only end i foresee:
we're both drunk and always have been.
cannibalism: the art of eating my heart and souli. there are some things that you tell to no one, not even the pink-furred easter bunny who knows all your secrets and shares your bed at night and sometimes watches when you touch yourself in desperation.cannibalism: the art of eating my heart and soul2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
ii. no one will ever understand that you don't always have to be asleep to be having one of those nightmares where you open your mouth to scream only to realize that you can't force a single sound past your waiting lips because what kind of freak are you, anyway? you should have -
iii. it's impossible to explain to someone that you might be in love with your best friend who is also a girl but you aren't sure because you're afraid that the only reason you think of women in that way is a reason that you can't tell them.
iv. this is what you have done to me: locked me up inside myself and eaten the key.
to an errant loveri have painted my loneliness white;to an errant lover4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
make no mistake.
it hides itself beneath my skin
and if i try very hard i do not see it.
only in the quiet moments.
you are a teacher
in the art of forgetting -
already i have forgotten
how to breathe.
air is as nothing.
you are in my blood.
i need to sleep to wake up but i can't.
you promised to return -
when? when? when?
i miss you.
i saw you today
and the words in my mouth
blew away with the leaves.
you whispered loving artifice
against my skin in the stillness -
"¿soy una puta, verdad?"
"sí, eres la puta más linda del mundo."
and i am yours beyond all doubt and reason;
only say that you will return.
i will wait here
so that you may seek me
if only in the quiet moments.
the suicide hotline was unavailablethere are pill bottles cluttering up my bookcase,the suicide hotline was unavailable8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
multiplying at such a rate that i begin to wonder
if they've somehow learned to reproduce.
they take up the empty spaces between
Wilde and King, Grimm and Pierce:
(the spaces between my lungs and my heart,
my fingers and my toes, the vertebrae
of my neck and spine; all the gaps
that you left behind when you died.)
it's 9 p.m. and i am finally waking up,
wishing that i could stay unconscious just a
little bit longer, only another ten hours or so,
buried away in my foxhole of a bed trying to
escape the war that's taking place inside my mind.
i thought that if i carried you on my body,
you would always be with me when i needed you.
instead i found that i needed you more and more,
and felt you with me less than ever:
the groundskeeper is getting tired of seeing me.
ocean angelShe's a dancer; you can tell by the way she stands,ocean angel3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
with her chin held high, slim shoulders thrown back.
You can see it in the way she runs; on the balls of her feet,
light as a dandelion seed, ready to fly far, far away.
She ties her hair back in a tight little knot at the nape
of her neck, but three little tendrils always manage
to escape and frame the delicate frame of her face.
The back of her leotard is covered in sand;
her leggings are pulled up to her knees.
She follows the coastline as though it is the long path home,
swaying with each swell and ebb of the tide.
Gravity is nothing and everything to her. She pauses
to examine the horizon for secrets, and is bathed
in golden light. Laughing, she twirls; faster, faster, and
faster still, until even the sun becomes dizzy and falls out
of orbit, and the moon is afraid to take its place.
Somewhere, on another planet, perhaps, a voice calls to her.
She stops spinning, but does not fall, and her eyes
shame the stars when she smiles. I
fakemy mother wraps herself in liesfake11 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
to hide from bitter truths.
her face betrays no secrets,
but her hands have more to tell,
and I flinch to see that my hands
are nearly identical to hers.
(please, god, give me the strength
to live in the cold light of reality)
tonight is not a night i can spare myself.it's been awhile, hasn't it?tonight is not a night i can spare myself.2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
these are not fickle times:
even the moon is vengeful.
this is about forgetting saltwater veins.
drinking vodka like it's love,
i don't see myself when i look in the mirror,
and sometimes i forget how to breathe.
i left my heart in haiti.
a cherry pit dog heart is best served cold.
there are chicken necks under the bed
and i dance with the devil;
we've never been experts on anything else.
it could get lonelier here,
but i just don't have the energy anymore,
and hatred is a sweeter thing.
three cheers for teenage sex drives.
you left me nine weeks due
with old photos in my hands,
tithing to my biology textbook.
by now the bathroom tiles are stained.
criticism leaves an aftertaste
like your cigarette smoke:
some secrets you just keep.
you've got pestilence written on your fingers.
the trembling of her lips matches yours,
and the invention of loss makes it filthy.
forgive me, for i have sinned.
i have tried to make it right,
sold my heart for stones,
transition--ingi am -- transition:transition--ing3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
lingering here --
feelings i can't seem
let me burn,
light up the midday sky
driving in the middle
of the road
when i'm alone:
i'm told, defined:
getting -- sorted -- out.
i am -- transition:
Athazagoraphobiai love the sound ofAthazagoraphobia3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
your voice brea king
against my skin after
your seventeenth cigarette
(even though you swore
that you would quit)
(you live for the addiction)
you have a way
of pouring salt into
and leaving me stranded
with the ocean tide
rising up to pull me down,
in the blue of your
damn lying eyes.
bulletdepression tastes like diet colabullet2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
and cheap vodka at two a.m.
it reeks of stale cigarette smoke
and faded incense that doesn't
quite cover up the stench of vomit
lingering in the kitchen sink
it looks like your arm around
her shoulders and feels like a ball of
lead in the hollow of my throat
where your lips once touched
but most of all, depression sits like
a ton of unspoken words
on the tip of my tongue until it
spews from between unfeeling lips
if only the rest of me were as numb
alcoholics anonymousI swore that I would never fall prey to youralcoholics anonymous11 months ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
thirty-pack-a-day habit, which was easy
when I learned that even the smell of beer
could turn my stomach, but no one warned me
about the dark allure of Jack or Patrón,
or the sweet and easy sips of wine coolers
with dinner (and afterward, late into the night).
I know that I am my father's daughter
when the whiskey starts to taste too good
and one drink turns into four or five or seven.
I lose feeling in my cheeks, and then my knees;
when I leave the bar at last call,
my foot is too heavy on the gas pedal
and the lines on the road sway like the sea.
AsphodelA beckoning:Asphodel2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
watercolour sky shrinking,
too late, teeth fall; pearls
from a broken string.
Blink and the moon ignites—
but the sheets are still
wrists that roarmama sayswrists that roar3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
pull down your sleeves
they'll see, they'll see
but no-one's even looking
i say mama
tigers are proud and strong
and tigers show their stripes
so today i'm a tiger
and who says
i can't be a tiger
when razors made me fierce
and secrets kept me lonely
i can't tiger-roar
when everything unsaid
ripped my throat raw
i made my stripes
with tiger-claws and tiger-teeth
so damned if i'm not a tiger
and damned if i won't roar
mama, i'm a tiger
mama, hear me roar
nothing lies forever & ifnothing lies forever2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it's because I can't
among the grassy ribbons
of your old zeta ego
& if I miss tongue,
teeth and cheeks
let the pavement carve
new mouths into my tights
she writes an another
poem about cigarettes
her east coast
anamiaribs are seductive bones:anamia3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
misery invites strange bedfellows.
fingers trace ridged planes
beneath forgotten breasts.
flesh is passing, less is best -
beauty is only skin deep:
there is no room for fat.
hips and cheeks protrude sharp,
thrust forward in prominence
to be showcased; trophies.
push, grind, hold each other close -
lips, tongues, teeth, and bones.
together, we are alone
in miserable beauty.