Karma.The truth is
I have hoarded your words.
Made haphazard stacks on on the stairs,
on the grand piano
so I would not forget as well
or as thoroughly
as you have.
For now, new beds play host to the faded pages
of a notebook, the one I used to write letters to you
that I never sent, that spent so many years under the pillows.
Washed in the laundry, the ink leaves black stains on white sheets,
determined to exist,
There are ghosts beyond the shadow of the fabric.
In that place where poetry comes from,
they're counting the threads of our histories.
They intersected, I know they did:
You read it.
I wrote it down.
Flames lick the edges of the bound volume.
than leather --
But you knew that.
It burns faster.
I suppose you knew that too.
SilenceAs I suffocate in this empty noiseSilence6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Awaiting for words to follow your hesitation
I come to realise that for once,
Your silence has spoken louder than words.
Do you know?His hand found hers from the other end of the sofa, teasing her fingers until it finally settled on top of her small hand. For a while, there were no words. Even the greatest of poets and the most flexible writers of prose can't say everything with their art. Sometimes it's a touch that means the world, the contact of a hug or the comforting presence of a heartbeat. He used to listen to hers, back when he thought he deserved it.Do you know?5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Because it's yours, and it's there."
Her breathing became labored, indicating that she was forcing back the tears which she knew would accomplish nothing. It wasn't logical, anyway, to be sad. Everyone must part ways. Even the deepest emotions are nothing more than a farce, that's what she always told herself during those nights when her only comfort was found in tracing the lines of the ceiling tiles until she ended up back at where she had begun, anything better than watching the clock tell her time was moving without her. If the great thinkers of our
Your DaughterI chew cinnamon gum because it reminds meYour Daughter3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of the way you used to smell on average days.
I burn pumpkin and spice scented candles
so that it's your favorite holiday all year round.
My favorite color is orange because it's most like
the autumn sunsets that you love so much.
And I love these things because I am your daughter.
I choose comedies more often than not because it helps me
remember the laugh lines around your lips.
I cook too much food at dinner time because you always say,
"It's better to have too much than not enough."
I tell everyone who's never seen them that my eyes are green
because I want to believe they look like yours.
And I do all these things because I am your daughter.
I put family first, even before my own needs
because it's what you would have done.
I cheer for football and baseball teams though I'm scorned
because they were your favorites.
I only started writing these sad excuses for poems
because I found a book of your masterpieces.
And I don't know how to be any
God's Answering MachineLost and troubled, I dialled the toll-free number 1800-I-AM-GOD, only to hear an automated message from Gods answering machine saying:God's Answering Machine6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
You have reached the message box of the invisible man in the sky with magical powers. Unfortunately he is busy performing miracles and fulfilling the prayers of people he loves more than you, but if you leave your name and telephone number, he will get back to you as soon as possible.
So I left a message, and now, 10 years later, he has not called back.
The GoddessWhen she walks her hips sway like a hypnotist's watchThe Goddess3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
All the men stare and follow her lure wherever she goes
When she turns to them her perky breasts call out
Instincts take over, friends become foes before her
The men tustle to get their chance with the goddess
Standing before her gaze they see wanton eyes
Her lush lips say hello and ask their names
The men tell her all about themselves
There is little truth to the stories they tell
They must stand out above their rivals
They must taste her sex appeal
They must continue talking
They ask her nothing of herself
They feel they've seen all she has to offer
They'll never really know what's held within her body
That the heart behind her bosom is filled with love and poetry
TriumphMemories,Triumph4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
awaken when you close your eyes
even just for a second.
Your voice echoed across the canyon as you yelled out to me. You called me jaded, and I never denied your words. I thought that it would have to end this way, wouldn't it? People always tell you to play into cliches: storybook endings don't happen unless you will them to. But why do we want a storybook ending? After the 'happily ever after', what the hell comes next? My eyes drifted towards the sky, attempting to capture the silver lining that always used to be in the clouds. Your voice cried out again and I looked down to find you running around the chasm, just to get to me. I stepped forward.
When we first met,
I couldn't see five feet in front of me
My visibility was down
from a fog of anxiety
It's ironic how they call this the valley of hope: a series of rocks extends all the way into the middle of t
Playing AngelYou stare up at a strong, neutral being.Playing Angel3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A being who cannot help but love without condition.
Your pure human tears run down your cheeks,
Splattering onto the cold stone floor on which you kneel.
She allows you to cling to her skirts,
Bury your face in them and sob.
She promises to take care of you.
She is only playing Angel.
Inside she breaks herself to show care in her eyes,
For those who demand it from her,
Who think she is safety.
No one could imagine she could hurt.
You think she is the strongest you have seen.
Her love is without condition.
She is forever generous.
She is only playing your Angel.
In secret, her heart lies in pieces.
Her love is little given to those who seek comfort.
Though her care isn't truly there.
Angel is all she plays for you.
strawberrieswhen you are mine i sit in my mother's kitchen wearing polka-dot dresses, tangling my feet together and trying to remember what you told me about love. you keep what i've told you in the back of your wallet and i wonder if you ever read it. i will drink flat diet coke and sing to you on the phone and neither of us even mind that my voice is as flat as the coke.strawberries5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
when you are mine you play piano on the bones in my hands and you play guitar on my spine and your friends ask why but we both know you do it for the freckles on my shoulderblade and collarbone and for the auschwitz movies we cry over every sunday in my basement. your tongue slips on my coffee burns and you don't have to ask why.
when you are mine we have banana pancakes every thursday and you tell me about the plants and the war and your birth. i read to you from my book of byron and you say, it's so pretty julia, it's so pretty.
an attack that is massiveso,an attack that is massive3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
here's my hair
and my knees and legs
and even some of my shoulders
and they are dressed in purple -
don't ask me why though
an artist told me
purple was dangerous
'cause purple is red and blue
and red is fire
and blue is water
and i am red
and he is blue;
it doesn't matter now
''we'' is not me and him anymore -
here's your hair
and your lips
and your eyes, and just maybe
some of your fingertips
and you still don't have a colour
and maybe that's better
i'm a mess
and you're happiness
and you use
like ''phantasmagoria'' and ''ephemeral''
and you use
cologne that smells like heaven
red ink to write me love notes
every opportunity to see me
and you use
my name in every sentence
used to use
11:48A small group of people in a half-sober setting11:485 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
Congregating for an event, unlike a wedding,
With no visual cues to show that time has passed
But a clock on the wall to show that time has passed.
We can see
We can hear
She calls herself Invisible because she thinks she'll disappear
Into a setting where no one knows how much time has passed,
While we're regretting, that it shows: how much time has passed.
Twelve minutes of air left in a windowless room
Twelve minutes of a life beginning much too soon
Eighteen years completed in the blink of an eye
While the people who've fought for her allow themselves...
We can see.
We can hear.
Dependency on constants in a world that changes
Yeah we look above when what's below rearranges
Lean on the shoulder that's there girl, but when it's gone,
You'll have to put it behind you, somehow move on.
She can see
She can hear
He tells her that she's beautiful, because he thinks she'll disappear
Into an abyss where no one knows how much time has
CircuitryTired, I know when the word "earphones" turns to "elephants"Circuitry4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
That the elements of emotional imperialism
Are fading with the embers.
Tired, the image of audio-sensory pachyderms
Twists and squirms in the regent-governed chaos of my 3 AM
Mind. A divided house on sand.
Or something like that.
Where's the order in this free-verse? It's a cursed lost mansion
Disorder being the cost of one unskilled in scansion
And the more I think about how this art is supposed to be
The more I notice that the world is a piece of dropped circuitry.
Hardwired, I look at the world as folders and right-clicks
With each of us ending up a processor of pessimism
And fading with the black-outs
Hardwired, every poem is a frayed USB cable
Between me and you- played and portrayed as an unstable download
Buffering with indemnity
From your demands
Where's the love in this electronic wasteland? I refuse
Every piece of rubber-insulation blowing the fuse
And the more I think about how this world is
A Writer's Block IICountless thoughts moored in my mindA Writer's Block II6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Ravelled in knots of suppressed emotions
Unable to be untangled into lucid words
As I quest for the coffer of inspiration
For Ive fallen into a literary black hole
With my creativity trapped between barricading walls
Unable to escape from this mental confinement
My mind tries to grasp but the words withdraw
Though an unshared poem hangs on the tip of my tongue
The taste of bitter frustration lingers on
I stab this feeble page with the pen in my hand
Hoping to transform spontaneous fragments into a poem
But still, no words emerge into my consciousness
To fill these blank pages that stare back helplessly
Its ineffectual whiteness, a reflection of emptiness
Silently echoing the void of my creativity
Numerous words, lost in its transition from pen to paper
With no light of hope leaping its way onto this blank page
A veil of sheer stupor drape over my thoughts
As my mind tries incessantly, to concentrate
But Im distracted by the grating rhyth
The LampI threw that lamp away today. The tall, floor lamp with the faux brass finish. A dream-catcher and a cat that loves feathers just so happened to spell out its demise in a violent dissonance of shattered glass, cat yowling, and the pounding of my own heart in my ears. I just find it strange that, of all the times it's fallen in my room before and though it landed on carpet this time, the etched glass bowl chose now to break.The Lamp3 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
It made me remember that day. You know...you remember, don't you? Dad and I had slaved for days painting the walls and putting up that wallpaper mural. It wasn't until after we had finished our task that we realized none of my old bedroom things went with my new, more mature décor. I had grown out of the pastel hearts, and lacey pillows, and teddy-bears. I'd moved on to Italian vistas, and marble pillars, and rich wood. I slept that first night beneath the pink and white striped bed covers that I had used for the last twelve years of my life, silently bemoaning
emptyshe thinksempty6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
one day the wishes will crawl all over her bed
and creep down the curls of her hair,
all the little thoughts that tumble around in her mind
maybe if she pulls petals off enough flowers
or maybe if she replays the scenes over in her head for long enough,
when she asks him why he loves her,
he'll answer with something poetic that'll make her heart race
(because it's hard to paint about something when all they do is smile and kiss your fingers)
while her paints dry on a chaotic pallet
and she stares at an empty canvas, she thinks
maybe if she goes through the whole stupid lovesmelovesmenot game
one more time, picks out the right question, he'll tell her
something that will set her cheeks on fire.</i>
staring at her ceiling, she counts the seconds until she sees his apricot eyes next
she plans it in her mind with closed eyes and steady breaths;
she'll run towards him and wrap her legs around his skinny waist
and he'll whisper in her ear that he loves her more than anythin
Os(Iris)Your eyes are like a cityOs(Iris)3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
filled with pedestrians and over-
Schoolboys hopping fences
as soldiers return from war.
There are tales of love
and loss to be found here,
between the Parisien cafés
and Dutch bicycle paths.
Down desolate alleyways
I found you again and again,
buried beneath the ruins
of old monuments;
I hear you sighing as you
rebuild them, piece by piece,
muttering only the word
If only you could see this city
and the landscape that surrounds it,
the sprawling vistas and
You would know the
heartache of being and
the beauty of living.
You are all that is known
to man and gods alike
and this city is a fortress,
a testament to you
and the unending power
of your love.
Given UpGiven UpGiven Up3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
This paper has never been whiter.
This pencil has never been sharper.
This pen has never been so functional.
This garbage bin has never been emptier.
This garbage bin is as empty as my head.
But sure, I'll still try, right?
I've tried writing.
A thousand times I've tried!
And for what?
I'm done with the dissapointment,
My hopes, trashed.
My dreams, dead.
I give up.
I can't do this anymore,
Trying to write when I clearly can't.
I can't do this.
The False HeroI lean back against the doorThe False Hero3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
As I watch him take a deep breath
For a moment or two it looks like he isn't sure anymore
But soon enough he steadies his breath
I have known for a long time I'd live to see this day -
The day I send him off to war
As a child, he kept telling me about how he wanted to become a "hero", like the ones in all of those glorious stories.
But as he grew up, he found out that those kinds of "heroes" didn't really exist.
Yet, he foolishly did not give up
He still wanted to be a "hero"
Instead of being someones knight in shining armor
He settled with being some nations` puppet solider.
I couldn't help but think he was out of his mind
But looking into his eyes I saw a hardened resolve
A resolve which could only lead him down a dark road
Going to war meant protecting some people, while killing others
Whether it be right or wrong...
Then again, that to him was the definition of a "hero"
For it, he would do what needed to be done
Still, he was not doing it for any man or
PathsIf a single embrace could outlast the worldPaths5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Would the two of us cling
to be sure
but lightly enough
to be pure
If a sentence made of hopeful thought-paths
Could bind two lives for good
to be sure
but lightly enough
to be pure
Could. We. Take. It?
I must admit I don't know how this works
How it moves
How it changes
How this should feel
We are young, stupid, and reckless
But (the magic word)
If the world could completely ignore us
Would we have time alone
to be sure
but just enough
to be pure
If money grew on trees and ripened quick
Would we have enough then?
to be sure
but just enough
to be pure
At the end of the day I'm trying
sixty-three chancesforty-one deep breaths i takesixty-three chances7 years ago in Scraps More Like This
before i say hello
but really, some were staggered
and i think i lost my count
ten thousand thoughts of you
what a frightening number
i counted every single one of them
and smiled when you did too
nine hundred days i have known you
but i still don't know you yet
time is passing too quickly
i scared it may run out
fifteen years of living
is that good or bad
some count up the years
while others count them down
sixty-three chances i was given
but sixty-two i never took
is it too late, now that i know
that i was wrong to let you go
one heartbeat quickened at the sound
of your lovely voice
one heart broken when you told me
I'm A VaseI'm a vaseI'm A Vase4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
With a beautiful, porcelain face
etched in gold.
But I'm cold.
And I yearn to know life.
Instead, I'm an urn
meant but to hold life.
Bound with chains of impropriety
The sculptor's hands never gave a damn about me.
I sit on a shelf, hoping for a chance
to be held, to be loved.
Instead, just a glance
to make sure the flowers haven't wilted yet
is all I ever get.
And these flowers, these flowers
they knew life, once
I'm mud and I'm clay and I'm earth all at once
and that's never been enough
Not for you, not for anyone
So all I can say to you is
I'm sorry I can't be a flower.
Frosted WalkwaysWinter.Frosted Walkways4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It's the color of your eyes. The color of sorrow, despair, and regret mingled with a dash of solace in solitude, but they never looked that way. Rings of gold lain upon a foundation of dusty cyan gave off a sense of happiness, of hope found in memory fragments. Your eyes would brighten with the sun, and shine with the moon. Y'know, the sky is starting to turn rose...it's the start of dawn. You loved the colors of the sunrise, I used to love the colors of the sunset. Now, it just reminds me of you.
Remember how you used to wake me up at five AM on weekdays, just so that we could dance on the balcony while watching the sky?
The way your fingers danced smoothly over the small of my back as we laid there together at the end of the trail. You used to glide across the fields, as if you were floating on the sunflower seeds...there was even one time when you convinced me to dance with you,
Pictures by youYour heart may be splattered onto the wallPictures by you3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
But the strokes are far to long
What kind of picture are you trying to make?
The lighting in your room is too bright
But the shadows are connected to the light
What kind of picture are you trying to show?
Many paint buckets of colours are scattered on the floor
But not a single drop had touched the door
What kind of picture are you trying to find?
There is only one face that I can see clearly
But it is only an outline apparently
What kind of picture are you trying to finish?
Create your heart out until you feel alive
I can see your eyes sparkle with ambition
Make all of those precious colours collide
Draw out your soul, make the world witness
This is your creation, it is your whole.
It's a place to retreat to
When there's no where to go
Bring a new thing onto this earth
Something that belongs to you
I can't wait to take a peek at it
Show us all the truth
Enoughyou used me, you knowEnough3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
took me by the heart and swung me around as if I were a rag doll
as if I couldn't feel anything
as if it didn't even matter if I did
but it hurt, my god did it hurt
it ripped at my chest and pulled at my skin
and I hurt, I hurt so bad
but at least I knew that I loved.
I knew that I loved you enough
because it broke open my insides until they were a bleeding, broken mess
and my cheeks were stained with tears and makeup
my eyes were puffy and so, so dull
and you called me beautiful
you said I looked so beautiful like this
empty and vacant and battered
so I let you do it again and again and
you called me beautiful and once again I was putty in your hands
pliant and moldable and a copy, simply a copy
there was nothing left of me as a person
I was your rag doll
your prized possession of soft skin and skeleton
sitting cross legged and beautiful on your shelf
decorated with smatters of purples and blues and yellows
you called me beautiful
and no one else would ever
Emptysunken eyes and a hollow heartEmpty3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you're longing for something to bring you home
for something to save you and hold you and
tell you that everything's going to be okay
but nothing's okay
nothing's okay about the way your chest aches
or the way your bones are brittle and weak
because you haven't slept properly in months
and you haven't uttered a syllable for even longer
you keep pretending that it's alright
but you don't have anything to keep you sane
you're drowning in your own horror
and you know you should stop it
you know you should get up and swim,
just get the fuck up and swim,
but it's not as easy as it sounds
(because you've tried, my god how you've tried)
but nothing's going to get better
because you don't want it to get better
you're sick and twisted and cynical and
if you get better you don't know what's going to happen to your heart
everything that's making you 'you' will disappear and
there will be nothing but a dull void
a bitter emptiness that'll suck the heat right o