12-21-12The Mayans said it first, but
tea leaves said it second, her palm
said it third, and the boy
down the road, the one with the blue,
blue eyes, said it fourth.
The world was going to end and she
could not be happier.
Her affairs were easy to arrange:
money sealed into envelopes,
the microwave unplugged, and one
last kiss for the blue-eyed boy.
She called her mother,
and her mother did not answer.
(But she did not expect her to.)
That evening she hid beneath
a blanket with her dog and told stories
about the good times and the bad times
(but mostly the bad times, and how
now there would never have to be
bad times ever aga
neverlandi'm giving myself ten minutes to grow up,neverland10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
and with every minute that passes i am remembering
balloons and party hats and streamers
and the second star to the right,
straight on 'til morning.
every year i write myself a poem for my birthday,
but this year i think i'll write a poem about
peter pan and he'll die in the end and everyone
will be sad. i'll be the saddest though,
because there comes a point in your life
when you realize that you're not peter pan,
or wendy, or even a lost boy.
(how sad, i think, to be lost but not a lost boy.
it doesn't matter though, because neverland isn't
real and now look, i'm another year
NPR three minute story submission She closed the book, placed it on the table, and finally, decided to walk through the door. That low rumble had been Tom's temperamental engine; she was sure of it. The sound had tattooed itself on the inside of Anna's ears ages ago. Maybe he was sitting in the front seat of his car, trying to work up the courage to knock. Maybe his brows would knit together and his mouth would quirk and he would say, "I missed you, Sunshine," though he had never once called her by that nickname. Maybe she could apologize, and he would kiss the insides of her wrists, the back of her neck, her eyelids.NPR three minute story submission11 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Yes, she could hear a car door opening. If she listened
ScarringAt some point in my life I stopped posting pictures that included my left forearm. It wasn't one of those gradual things where eventually I noticed this to be the case and had to search my soul to figure out why.Scarring2 months ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
I didn't need to figure it out. I knew. My left forearm is covered in scars, and scars are not acceptable anymore. I've grown up and left behind the things that made me sad -- or at least I've told myself that I have.
It could just be that I learned that sadness lasts forever when it's cut into your skin.
That's the thing about scars, though. If you're sad enough or angry enough or empty enough, you don't care about forever, until
Can We Both Be Ugly? She's a diamond, while I am coal.Can We Both Be Ugly?6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
I am the coal, black and boring.
Set me on fire while I am alive.
Watch me burn,
Watch me die.
She is the diamond, shiny and attention-grabbing.
Lay your greedy hands on the whore.
She's there for the looks and money,
No real work,
She receives the perks.
We both wanted him,
But I bit my tongue.
What a fool I would be to ask for his heart.
He sees me as a footrest,
Only here for support and only when he needs it,
The demand for me is limited.
He lusts for her seductive nature,
Her glare blinding his eyes,
She's tearing him apart with her sharp edges,
It kills me to witne
Therapists, I don't like their taste.i.Therapists, I don't like their taste.2 days ago in Free Verse More Like This
in 7th grade
i didn’t know depression
until she told me her name,
carving forever scratches
along my limbs like
little love notes on the bark
of a tree.
she stole my rings
and left me hollow.
i had only ever met anxiety
in passing, until one day
he handed me power and told me
to hurt someone else with it.
with an uncontrollable
quivering in my fingers,
he whispered, “ to survive,
you must learn quickly.”
as i shoved the bevel of a needle
into a strangers arm.
so, if a therapist
could talk away my scars
like iodine disinfects,
guide the ships
life without youi watched you,life without you6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
battered and floral
suitcase in hand,
as your knotted tree-branch fingers
grip the doorhandle.
i watched you
before the door swung
i saw your thin skin
slip between pavement
and cracks in the concrete
your keys sunk through
the hole in your pocket
and are sitting at the
side of the sink,
your lunch in the bowels
of the toilet.
i watched your mouth
of broken teeth
spit vitriol soundlessly,
your tendons splitting
from your frame,
you have unravelled into nothing,
i watched you
pack your things and
The PoetThe Poet:The Poet6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
He smiles as he sees her sleeping
& gently covers her with a blanket.
He goes to the window and looks out
watching snow fall, ever so slowly...
He sees people in the streets,
Chatting, walking. Some happy,
Others sad. Hearts beating,
Hearts broken; some warm, some cold.
He looks back at her, as she stirs in bed.
A yawn from her, brings another smile to him:
"How cute," he chuckles as he strokes her head.
He runs his fingers through her hair and is content.
Yet, even if he is happy here, again -
He is drawn to that window and finds himself
Staring out at the street and watching;
Marveling at the disparity and wonderin
My Perfect MistakeAs he drew,My Perfect Mistake7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
His pencil slipped,
Leaving an undesired mark upon his canvas.
Erasing leaves shadows,
And the mark he left was far too heavy.
He began to think to himself.
Something familiar was there,
Something he simply could not shake.
He had seen this before,
He had seen it and forgotten.
This particular memory was destined to be lost forever,
Forever lost in the depths of his mind.
He then started to think deeper.
How many "mistakes" were thrown away?
There was something quite incredible here,
And he was seconds from tossing it aside forever.
Fate had given him another chance
To reclaim this gem that had been tossed careles
Thank You, Slater.I used to go to the nearby campus coffee shop in the early evenings, armed with a pen, a blank notebook, and writer's block. The sense of loneliness was unspoken but well accounted for.Thank You, Slater.2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I always shared coffee-counterspace with the same boy, who never smiled or talked and who had a penchant for bedhead and argyle sweaters. He liked to lean back on his stool, balancing precariously as he read novels, and I liked to pretend I wasn't watching him watch me. We coexisted in quiet companionship, thrived quietly under fluorescent lighting which sometimes caught his thick-framed glasses.
His novels changed while my notebook remained the same; his do
Mid-Life Crisis"Mid-Life Crisis"Mid-Life Crisis3 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Everything I am is a testament to my mediocre life.
I never felt a sense of pride and achievement
Because I smashed the few trophies I earned for fourth place.
Mister average is what I call myself; just standard issue.
I'm not talented at much nor did I start young.
I'm nothing special; honorable mention at best.
I don't blame my parents, my friends, or people I love.
I blame myself for never trying
Never pursuing more; never trying to be better than what I am
Never getting out there more; never taking risks.
I have so much unfulfilled potential.
Potential that I'll never know what could have been.
Perhaps I was scared of f
DryingThere is a book of matchesDrying1 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
on my floor here,
somewhere behind the
shelves of paper and wires
coiled in the corners.
And it always smells a little bit
like smoke and ink in here
especially when I open the window;
put myself on display
for a street where
only strangers walk by.
I am an old, tired zoo animal
and the kids don't even tap
on my glass anymore.
fog.have you ever driven throughfog.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a fog so thick that you can part it
with your fingers? a fog so dense
that you stick your hand through
the car window and watch it disappear?
these special fogs press
heavy on your eyes and ears,
fill the dips of your collarbone,
quiet the murmurs living
inside your throat.
before i drove through this mountain
and through this fog there were bills
to pay and children to teach, people
i hated and people i loved. there were mental
disorders and electrocardiograms. fears.
now there is only the positioning
of my hands. a steering wheel. a whisper
in my ear that says "drive carefully."
a cliff a
nervosa, cute devil'thin thin thinnervosa, cute devil5 months ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
it doesn't matter what i
am wrapped in as long as i look
apple? 55 calories. i will be
as small as my mother's salary
(she doesn't work, yeah ) 55 of 200
for the day if i even allow myself
i keep thinking of pat and the
way his bones stuck out like spider legs
when the cancer came. i keep thinking
of the swing and the way we swang
under trees with stars for limbs.
the way you held my small southern
wrist when you sunk down south to lick-
good kitty kitty. eat up. eat while
i am still enough. i keep thinking of
how mommy didn't say anything for months
when she walked in on me bare-assed
choking on stom
GlassI always laugh when you refer to me as glass.Glass8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Not just because of the way you say it,
Or because I know it's a crack at my fragility.
Glass is pure.
I am like granite -
my body nullified from too many clashing traits.
Glass is transparent.
I am like clay -
illegible from all the plastered smiles.
Glass is unyielding.
I am like chalk -
easily broken and scuffed away by meagre things.
Glass is hung up on walls and in great cathedrals,
tinted for enhancement, but only ever painted on by fools.
I am hidden behind keypads and camera lenses,
coated in a thick paste of deceptiveness.
No, my love,
I was never glass. (Despite
Ballad of the JitterbugI am so sick of trembling.Ballad of the Jitterbug2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This