You are not an islandI have been alone. This man is an island.
The cliffs of my shoulder blades
hang heavy with grief, ore, suffering.
I am draped with the permanence of gravity,
So do not believe that you cannot move.
Come to me, water babes fully grown,
Allow yourself to be swept in salt and ash.
Tumble with your brothers into my arms
and be at peace, at last, on the shore.
I too was once drowned, but I arose
and as the caps melt, all things will erode
For no man is an island alone.
fly.this is hard for the world around us to grasp:fly.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
these wildfires raging in our retinas
& the sins we wear like demonic similes
on our tongues- they are not enough.
& i am so fucking sorry of saying i'm sorry.
but, tell me,
what is a young poet(ess) to do
with veins made of kite strings?
A love letter to my devotedHear me read it!A love letter to my devoted1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
A touch without invasion.
† That ever elusive exhale of love in the skies.
The quiet stateliness
of fingers searching palms
† He held my hand.
A kiss without allusion.
† The constant thrum of light specks chasing sun rise.
The tenderest smile
of knowing, to be known.
† She held my heart.
The patient sun without intrusion
† Lit the world aflame through devotion in their eyes.
The Bone CollectorSometimes my breath catches in my throatThe Bone Collector1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
and the very stillness of an earth going
a thousand and three miles per hour
gets lodged there.
Sometimes these simple exchanges
leave me breathless, croaking on dust:
the unfiltered pigments of other people's skin
and blood and ash
but with my tarred lungs and itchy eyes
I sit and sift through charcoaled remains,
alphabetising them from c to c. I am lost
in a world charred brazen.
Many things I have loved have turned to ash.
Many people. I was naive enough to think
that there was some perfect nutritional truth
that could outlast hell-fire.
I claw through a world turned ashen
and know those dead embers collect in my cells
They are the harbingers of a truth
I do not want.
The skittish earth throws its skirts about again
to unsettle us all, and I am unsettled
Alone in the dirt, organising piles of bone-dust
he did not love, at all.
My FavouriteShe is my favourite.My Favourite1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
No siren song marks me deeper.
There is nowt but dust between us.
She is the herald of my thoughts,
The anthem of my days
She knows all my knowings well.
She is tense and bitter
when I must wear my Brave Face.
She weeps when I may not.
She pours her secrets, vermillion,
From ink to blotted page
So I may toss them aside, and breathe.
She is my favourite,
She who unmarvels me marvellously.
She who whispers in my tongue.
astronomerswhen we're togetherastronomers2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
dusk is containable; the moon in my palms
and the stars on your ceiling.
we lull the city to sleep
with our theories of life; my tongue curling
do you remember,
when Jupiter was a silver wick, lighting its countless moons?
you balanced a cigarette off your lips,
and I watched the vermillion flame burn life
as a newborn sun;
planets moulding and constellations snaked
above our eyes.
what it would be like to be curled
inside the embers creator and destroyer
so close to your lips.
KissingMy lips are still freshKissing4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
from our fevered kisses,
even after they slowed
to a steady flutter;
matching our erratic heartbeats.
My lips are still raw
with the urge to kiss again.
summergirlNow read aloud over here. Do give it a listen, won't you?summergirl1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
you are crowthroated and tumbling
through the aspen grove
hair on fire with sunrise, lungs
full of sky.
eyelashes like wildflowers
and every morning brings
a new spray of freckles
and a sharper curve to your collarbones.
the cornfields hold no shadows
for your lighthouse eyes
and there are no endings in that
ii. you have grown
autumn finds you with broken ankles
leaning on an oak branch
and watching the skies.
crow to sparrow--you are quiet.
summergirl, there is peace in silence,
fallen antlers in your hands.
you will come to mourn your deer.
keep them close.
iii. by winter you have paled,
and like the streams
your eyes have frosted over.
you feel the chill--
there is no need for sight.
'X' Marks The SpotI am a pirate,'X' Marks The Spot2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a ghost among the sunken ship
of your treasure trove heart.
Like the last bit of rum in the jug,
I enjoy the way 'fuck' rolls off your tongue,
as if you invented its meaning.
I try to articulate that one syllable,
match your way of speech-
You've never needed to dress your words-
dip them in ink or paint them in poetry
upon the exotic map of my sun-kissed curves.
I have drowned so many times
in the green sea of your eyes
that I am coughing up seaweed
& weak bones.
You tell me not to speak-
that such words sound dirty on my tongue
that my spine is made for beauty
and not for a bounty.
But you, you are a plague
light-years at sea
and I am finding the ocean
& salty siren lips.
of history and poetry.your kissesof history and poetry.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
are the radical starlight
of starfish washing ashore.
are starving, aching magic,
kaleidoscopes colliding over my skin.
who speaks in punctuation
instead of words,
who writes history into poetry
in attempt to take back the past.
who speaks in circles
through my silence,
who dwells the poetry of history,
Remarksi. I like the way you call meRemarks2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and always hang up on the second ring
because you know I get the shakes and the shivers
and sometimes, but not always, my knees fall off
and I have to crouch down to find them.
ii. I keep thinking about you.
and your ten-thousand tans
and your lack-luster smile
gaping open with colloquialisms.
You and the way you say
"you're pretty and thin"
as if one more label will be the gunshot
and I'll finally escape that dream
in which I'm running, but my feet are melting
through the sidewalk and my arms are
casting impossible shadows.
iii. It reminds me of how inarticulate words are sometimes;
how they flit through me every second and yet
I tend not to write them down around you
because, every time, I wake up and
forget why I am.
How your words mean next-to-nothing to me
because you throw them around
like ping-pong balls, and
I prefer to sip them like sweet tea.
iv. You say things like "I love you" and
it reminds me of how I will never be anyone.
How I me
Southern DecadenceBucketfuls of gosling rain pour down on the neighbor lady's plantsSouthern Decadence1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
as I fiddle with the rawhide bracelet you gave me for good luck.
It's ironic because if there's anyone drowning here, it's you,
struggling to breathe in the notorious deep end.
Darling, my throat tightens every time I see you
holding hands with the transfer student from Biloxi, the one
with sunny hair and a cruel wasteland grin.
He knows I'm jealous so he takes advantage
of the celebrations in the French Quarter,
pulling you into his noose and water embrace.
It's strange how you're so artistic and creative,
yet oblivious to his masked wickedness and harsh flirtation.
Darling, why do you let yourself go blind like that?
I'm always pretending to read in the library when you're near,
rubbing my arms and picturing that fantastic
moment when you'll run away from him and tell me, "Thanks for
saving my tiny bird-on-a-wire heart and imitation pink sanity."
We meet in New Orleans, the city of bone debt sin.
the dying star of your memoryupon returning homethe dying star of your memory2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i unzip my weary skin
and push my hands deep
deep into the startling bloom
of my intestines
where each calamitous minute
minute gems of doubt
piercing my bowels
of course, I remove them
only to fix each damning diamond
into the ceiling above my bed
a constellation of regret
and i am an early-morning cosmonaut
the dying star of your memory
astrological.i. On some nights,astrological.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
street lights guide
this lonely heart
to her lonely bed.
ii. In this universe of twilight skin
& mismatched bones,
I wonder just how many poems sleep
beneath the inkwell of her eyes.
iii. My body is a house of stars,
and her palms are black holes
sucking ( me ) into their vortex of
iv. She says, "Pleaseómy moon,
pleaseógive these bones a reason
& I am whispering lovelies
into the sanctuary of her heartbeats.
v. "Goddess temple,
sunset eyes, &
my windowpane love-
Let us eat the stars
the clockwork liari. we dusted dreams off people like the first snowflakes of the season. you'd take one and rest it on the center of your tongue because you hated the taste of ice cream and wanted to reset what cold tasted like to you.the clockwork liar2 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
you taught me that the cold could be bitter, and so could people's dreams.
you drank out of out-of-order wells because you believed they still worked and that the government was keeping it all to itself.
i never realized how insane you made me before i wrote this all down.
ii. i wished on the sun because i ran out of shooting stars.
and just to spite me, you began wishing on raindrops because you believed that they were so many, one of them was bound to remember you.
but we both ended up laughing hysterically with protruding knives on a bloodstained floor, didn't we?
iii. i talked to clockwork towers and told them to lie because if they stopped for just a while, all the time in the world would seize.
one human, two human
ApsaraFind me sunken into theApsara1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
lotus field, bathing skin silvergreen,
waist-deep and pink
in sunset, and we will cry:
for three-faced elephants,
for the dancers threading grace
between their fingertips—
until I dress in the heaviness,
a sarong of heat.
UnrequitedShe lived, died, and never knew.Unrequited2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Astronauti.238,900 miles awayAstronaut2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the Earth gleams in the darkness.
A cat's eye, opalescent blue
flecked with terra verdant,
fifty-two cream colors
Under a heavy lid of night,
it glares. Angry.
As if to say to the Sun:
I was dreaming
of all the fish
in my seas.
As if to ask why
it had to be woken.
Thoughts are protozoan here;
with glass-thin skin
transparent as the first lie
he ever told as a child.
I didn't steal that candy bar.
He can see the mechanics,
They divide like dreams,
Whole and unbroken
as they tear apart. If
he could stretch far enough,
he could pop his home planet
like soap bubble.
he's too small
to make much
of a difference.
238,900 miles away,
there is a small click.
A tiny latch
as his 14-year-old daughter
slides her seatbelt
She's learning how to drive,
and how to feel a new kind of terror.
of collision. Of bone
or brick breaking,
Honestly, LarkinThe antique gold leaves swirl eerilyHonestly, Larkin1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
in the courtyard and I find you sitting
alone on a stone bench near where
the children like to play cup and ball.
But they can't see you, Larkin.
I'm the only one aware of your presence.
Decades of being sneered at
have made you cold to most humans.
So it was shocking when you
decided to open a window and
let me catch a glimpse of
the frightened boy inside.
You are a walking tragedy
in dapper clothing;
all the misunderstood pieces of
dark past coming
to life in the flickering gaze
of your shamrock eyes.
"Beaten to death,"
you said in regards to
the rips and amber
smudges on your shirt
and autumn plaid scarf.
When I asked why,
you looked out at
the frozen mulberries,
then brushed a hand
along my flushed cheekbones.
"Because I loved
the wrong person."
And the words hung
in the air with
the scent of cigarettes and
Larkin, you haunt the village
of your youthful escapades
because there are plenty
of people to blame for
AzraelHe was just standing there, by the graffiti stained walls of a ghetto parking lot. It did not suit him at all, what with his blanca skin and raven lashes. This man was like a Roman god painting, dreadfully cut and paste unto a poor man's parking lot.Azrael2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
She was six and thought him to be a man of twenty two, just like her eldest cheerleader sister. Teddy bear still in hand and mother still busy searching for her car keys, she stood there, gaze steady, in awe of the young man's beauty.
It came as quite a shock to him when he noticed her eyes sparking, bright and full of life, looking at him. He let out a deep sigh and curled his pointer finger to signal her to come close, and she obeyed.
As she was walking closer, she noticed two more things: first, that this man had radiating white wings and second, diamond-like tears were falling from his eyes. When she asked him why he was crying, he answered, "I'm the person you go to if He finds it is time to bring you home, not just the person who pla
all poets are used to deceitare you still savoringall poets are used to deceit2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the taste of deceit
off the edge
of your limerick tongue?
you know what i mean
you "poet of unusual sorts,"
chaotic green eyes
and skin of pale misfortune
leaving scents of sweet seas when oceans
begin to spite you.
yes, your silent panthers,
loyal only to the sound of sonnets
of broken piano chords
and keys and torn six-strings.
those slithe things will
prove to you
that betrayal is just eight letters
of pleasure undercover.
it's these little beauties that
will make you see;
every liar was an artist
and every poet was a whore,
just till the point
they owned you no more.
every limerick was a trap
and every stroke a cry;
and my every little breath,
sweet deceit strolling by.
Justifications and Salted Smiles"I don't think I'm holding on any longerJustifications and Salted Smiles2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'm diving in.
I wish that you would see,
there's a magical land at the bottom of the ocean
where waterproof lungs let you be
everything you've dreamed.
You can bury underneath the sand
and not be found-
it's the land that's been promised to me
in late night whispers
and burnt tears
wasted on things that don't matter.
I know it's real,
broken minds can't lie
and I can feel it in my bones-
there's something more.
What other reasons would we live for?
They say you inhale saltwater
and exhale enlightenment.
The waves pour over you
and finally make you clean (pure)
No one knows where you are
so your problems don't follow
and neither does time.
It all fades away
until you disintegrate
like your worries.
You can only get there
with a heart that doesn't beat
because humans' empty brains
You need to be all the way gone
I want to go and find myself
and live the dreams I never had.
I swear, it's not that bad-
to a womanYou see it coming from the men.to a woman2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
You see the ways their eyes linger on you
When they're looking around the room
The way their bodies brush yours when you're walking through the hallways to class
The way they stutter and look away when apologizing for the accidental contact of skin to skin
You see it coming from the men.
You never see it coming from me.
God, was the world not complicated enough already
Without causing me to notice the interplay of textures in her hands
The calluses like mahogany mountains carving ridges of stone
Into her palms softer than Impressionistic sunlight?
I'm not supposed to feel this way about another woman. I'm not supposed to sit here
With a star around my neck and daydream about the way her tongue could taste like cinnamon,
Like my grandmother's home, like gingerbread cookies and the dawn of Christmas morning
These words are blasphemy, so I call upon God to give me a reason for my emotions.
Wasn't the world fucked up enough already without this?
Cut the coff
The DirectiveMy name is Syra Twelve and I am in isolation. What some call the Pit of Despair. But it is not the punishment Skymaster means it to be. I am not afraid of my thoughts. I am not broken though everything I have; the one that I love and the few things that I have valued have been taken from me. This punishment cannot compare to the one that came before.The Directive2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
He will not look at me. I wait, not daring to call to him. A glance that was all I needed. A single glance to let me know that he is still with me, that he still loves.
I watch as he mounts the platform, my gaze devouring his face and figure. He has been washed and dressed in a new tunic but I know that there are fresh scars beneath the garments. I can tell by his gait that his physical pain is great. His shoulders sag and his bones are prominent beneath the skin but his body is whole. I cannot yet feel relief. I need to see his eyes.
I watch as he kneels before the seat of penance, listen as the Prayer Maste
CigarettesMy New Orleans muse smiles;Cigarettes2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Bourbon Street quick-grin.
Mona Lisa Lolita; she splashes
through the stained-glass
of oil-slick puddles
wearing combat boots dark
as a Halloween new moon.
Her machine-gun lips are
half-drawn around dusk.
shimmering green jade eyes.
She can see through the clouds
if she casts them herself.
Dragon mouth against paper;
the serenade of the skeleton.
She burns stripped phalanges,
swears she's sucking down
Red wool, a bonfire;
she breathes all the warmth
she has never known.
Lungs of the phoenix,
breath full of gray ash.
One day she will wake hacking,
spitting poison spiders.
Tonight she inhales summer;
mouthful of fireflies.
She tilts her head back,
cat eyes triumphant.
She'll never be a constellation,
but she's stolen Orion's left foot.