block/headI don't write,
- any more
I don't think I remember how to
or how to take my dry-throat swallows and let them be birds
how to turn words into things that matter, or how you
wrap up your heart like a four-cornered blanket
like a bundle on a stick before you leave town.
I don't remember how to start a sentence with "you are"
and end it in anything besides "drifting away from me".
I don't write, any more. Not even to you,
I just sit cross-legged in front of a thousand screens
and I touch my palms to the keyboard like you'll feel the heat of them,
I don't write.
gratitudewinter:gratitude2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
he slides you a coffee across the table and says
the ladders in your tights look like rollercoasters
and the bottom of your stomach drops and you smile
because he has nice eyes and he bought you coffee
and you want to be a girl that wants these things, you want to be
a rollercoaster, and you take a sip of your new drink
even though he ordered one with everything you hate and you say
and you hope he doesn't notice that you touch the cup again
he hands you a picked daffodil from just down the road and says
your smile isn't half as bright as this
and you take it in your hand and you snap the stem gently near the bottom
while he kisses you smooth on the mouth and steps over your
doorway like a creeping root and you think about the way daffodils
and dandelions are both yellow but one of them gets to fly away
while one of them just shrivels up on windowledges and you say
and you hope that he is a dandelion that is nearly ready t
loving you nowloving you the way i do now is like a revolutionloving you now1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
bodies swarming back into the streets
flags and hand signs and guns thrown into the air
loving you now is thick ropes with sharp hooks
necked around the bright marble statues of you,
pulling and pulling and shattering,
loving you now is fallen idols in the streets
and the smell of sweet breads, and the sound of
hammers and nails and wood skeletons going back up;
loving you now is like rebuilding a city i nearly bulldozed
(loving you as a friend is easier than loving you as a god)
loving you now is so much better than loving you then
fox skinthe heat is rolling in like a bad omenfox skin1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
and i will be waiting on the doorstep
with my arms open wide as if for the rain
one day you will come home and i will
fit you into my palms like you were built
to cradle between my lifelines and crooked thumbs
to tuck into the folds of my too-tight skin,
like your lungs held air
even when i wasn't breathing into them.
summer means three things:
i. my fingers tangle like headphones in your pocket and i drop letters and don't care
ii. i would hook my hands into my neck with fishhook fingers if i could pull you out of me
iii. i choke on my own tongue trying to summon the words that will summon you.
you drag behind me like a shadow, nestle under my tongue like a scab,
i would pull-pop every muscle in my mouth and spit you out like blood
if i weren't so busy nursing day-old water
and waiting for your lips
remembered on my neck
to pass over me:
i am waiting for you to die in my heart, where it matters most
call me your coffin
as long as you do not ac
romance! death! i don't even know if i like you!nothing good lasts forever - so that's okayromance! death! i don't even know if i like you!1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
we'll be holding hands right into the apocalypse
i will rest by the river and bloomi have eaten so many cherries i have lost count,i will rest by the river and bloom1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
my fingers bundled up with their stems, my teeth aching.
with the fruit flesh still threaded around them, the seeds
look like little organs, little stone hearts:
i eat them all, every one. maybe they will hatch in my stomach
like bitter eggs, and a thousand hundred giant trees will
grow slowly though my bones and my bloodstream, maybe they will
burst up and out through my mouth. i will be a bleeding flowerpot,
a forest floor with shoes, an incubator. i will be the zombie
apocalypse of cherry trees. i will grow my wooden teeth through the roof.
my bad decisions will touch the sky.
cloudhandedthey tell you that you're strong and youcloudhanded2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
imagine them handing atlas the skies
and whispering the same thing;
you only wanted to put everything down for a few moments:
it is not weak to need to breathe in again, it is
not weak if your lungs cannot hold down saltwater
it is not weak
it is not weak
it is not weak
you're crumblingyou are a writer and you want to tell me a story but youyou're crumbling2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
are the worst kind of writer because you're too busy
scribing as you go to feel your heels catch the air.
you are a tailor walking down the street
and unpicking seams just to prove you know how.
i thought you were writing a romance,
until i noticed that you were writing a tragedy.
or maybe just a horror.
i thought i was the vampire in your
universe, i thought you'd take your inky fingers
and put me down as interesting and sharp
carve me out of cobwebs and silently
fall in love with me
i thought you were writing about me. well,
it's too late now. i'm writing about me, and i'm writing
everything i can about me and about us. this is
my horror story, this is my doomed romance, and i
don't want to be the wispy starving thing i was around you,
i don't want to flex my fingers and know that
each join could crumble any second now. no, this is my story,
and i'll be my own monster.
i'm thinking harpy.
i'm thinking gorgon.
i'm thinking that
i swallow you like gritI am sitting in the back garden like my bones are reclining chairs and my browbeaten headaches will eb out like the tide if I only stare down the blues for long enough. The grass is sweet like lipgloss on a magazine page, rests with a coolness I cannot hold to wrap my lungs around while my lips taste like cigarette burns. My feet are in the light, in the heat. My toes flex like dying worms as they stretch out over the other half of this bench, nestled tight under the windows. Maybe I'm waiting for you to press your face against the glass and shout until I can hear you over my music, instead of in it. Maybe I am waiting for you to sit down beside me and complain about the construction work.i swallow you like grit1 year ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
We're building a barbeque pit; I think. The stonemarked hole in the border looks too big from here, but I sit up in the night until my bulbs blow out and I drag myself from darkhot hungry evening to exhausted sunrise on cheap noodles and boiling water. I sign your name on my wrist and stretch out my
weathervane"I would like to kiss you,weathervane2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
very slowly on the mouth
as soft as a sunrise."
I have a pen between my teeth
and this is all I have written to you
in shaking letters. I have plasters on my fingers
like my goal is to keep my claws in,
when they are really there to keep my teeth out
and I have not washed my hair in days.
I am the parody of the beast and my letters to you
are fumbled and dropped and bitter peeling
behind my teeth. jammed into the gums, and I
cannot write anything that does not growl with a lie.
I want, I want to kiss you, just once,
just one single time to know what your face feels like
under my hands, I want to swallow you up just once,
just once, but even as I write the promise I am crossing it out
knowing in my turning stomach that your lips are a firelighter
and I am a forest, knowing that you are the feast and I, I -
do not have the good in me to do anything
but call you messiah and drink your bones down,
do not have the soul in me to drag my fingers over your arms
peaches and cherries and usthere will be other girls,peaches and cherries and us1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
with bloody nails shorter than their tempers
in the lazy hours of the evening will compare you
and the creases of your stomach and the lines on your face
to the beach and the sea and the onslaught of a wave,
there will be other girls who will love you
like they are punishing themselves for something :
but they won't be me. if you are a beach,
then i will be landlocked; i am burying my past at
the bottom of my garden, six feet deep,
with a stake through her bitter little seed of a heart.
i am growing a tree through her throat, and eating
of the fruit, and i will never cast my eyes seawards again -
no matter how much i may miss it.
undoneDandelions make me sad.undone2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Sorry, I know I should tell you my name or my eye colour,
but I don't care. Dandelions will make me sad if my name is
Jess or Joss or Ross or Rose,
if my eyes are blue or green or grey.
Dandelions will make me sad for as long as they exist.
It's the yellow, see. They grow so bright like little
lionheads peeking out at you, they dapple and dimple and layer
like a bad haircut. Like there wasn't enough money
for a real hairdresser so they all lined up in the kitchen and
mother took some old scissors from the sewing kit and hacked
until their blonde hair rippled in the sun.
Dandelions remind me of poor children in summer,
throwing the back doors open and sitting on ice-cold tiles in sticky heats.
Dandelions remind me of being eight years old and running barefoot
in the dark of my front garden while all the adults buzzed about me and clinked their glasses.
And dandelions make me said.
It's still the yellow. Maybe it's yellow that makes me sad, or maybe -
maybe it's w
My mistake.I amMy mistake.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I love you, you see? I love you so very, very much.
And I will love you inside and out, through every hole and break and
hastily-patched addiction, and through every triumph and every
I will hurt you. I will love you and so to me, I will think
that I want you to love me back. That pretty smiles and
laughter and words well spoken are not enough, that I must tear myself down
for you to really see me. For you to love me.
I will put my hands in my hands, peel back the skin and pluck the nerves
and sever each touch. You will say
look at me, see how it hurts
and I will tear out my eyes and will not see you. You will say
listen to me, hear me cry
and I will dig my nails into my ears and twist, and will not hear you. You will say
feel me, I am here, stay with me when I need you
and my nerves will burn out, and I will not be there.
You will say
and I will be bones on the ground and I will not be enough.
These things lurk under my skin, and I do not know how to h
science saysScience says that one day there isn't going to be any time left.science says2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Science says - it does, I read it, on the internet
or on the back of a newspaper left on the bus
or I heard it on the radio come zooming by through someone's car window
(although why you'd listen to that and not music, I'm not sure,
so maybe it was the bus, or the internet, or someone at a party)
but science says that time is going to scrunch in like
gravity around a black hole, that time is just
one day not going to be there, and that
we won't notice when it starts to leak out of the world
like a broken radiator or a bottle in your bag
with the lid not quite on, science says that
we will simply all slow down
as one, until we
So anyway, I was thinking that if we are all doomed, according to
the newspaper - the internet - a car radio - a friend at a party -
I was thinking that there are worse things I could do
(have done, if we're being honest, I have done much worse things)
than being the person you have holding you
throati am breathing in smoke and breathing out letters,throat2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
hands claw-bent around a cigarette
i am breathing in snow and breathing out hurt
holding my hands out like a sacrifice
our bodies are brick, our bodies are mortar,
our hands are spead out and utterly hollow
human dams, pushing back the rainwater,
fighting against the first shivers of ice
everyone thinks their pain is the first,
that they alone have been hit by the swirling waters
that their fingers are the only ones crooked with cold
i do not care if i am predictable:
i miss you
support groupyou're playing ticsupport group3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
on a chessboard
you're carving letters on the white squares and i'm building my castles and creating my kingdom
on the darker side of the table
call yourself the influence, an addiction
like you're proud of that, like you
aren't something to be quit and fought and resisted
tell me that words don't matter but
we're speaking now and i can back you into a corner and you
can't fight back because you don't have the words you never thought you'd need
postcard from the roadside ditchIf my nerve endings could bud and flowerpostcard from the roadside ditch2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I would pick you a bouquet,
I would make you a wreath
I would still not be able to love you
the way you think I do.
a lover's observations.when you asked me to define love,a lover's observations.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
i answered with this.
i. a collection of sighs
by remembered dreams
and rapid heartbeats
ii. fingertips on knuckles
and the hugging of thumbs
iii. making silverware
on the mattress
in the company of the stars
iv. exchanging dialogue
with our mouths shut
and our eyes open
v. cheekbones and crow's feet
vi. turning every what if
into a reality
when i asked you to describe love,
you took the answer from my mouth
with your lips.
we will live longer than i will(it's winter and that means thatwe will live longer than i will2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
all the trees are hard and sharp
like flint, like spears growing up at the sky,
ready for war, built to shatter.
it's winter and i cut the fingers
off of my gloves to make room for you.
it's winter and
i already wish it was over.)
(it's winter and i'm burning my fingers
on cardbord coffee cups,
shuffling foot to foot in the show
with my bus money in my hand,
pulling the curtains closed and
sleeping with shoes on. it's winter
here and it's winter where you are and
i don't know how i feel about that.)
(i want to be warm beside you.)
(i want to see you shivering first.
i want to see if the cold in your joints
will splinter or if you're braver
than the air and the ice. i want --)
(it's winter, and i don't want
anything from you any more.)
(it's winter because everything has died,
because the world is bone-brittle
and sleeping. it's winter because all
the warm blurs or autumn are long gone,
because the gasping breath-bright hope
of spring isn't coming for a
schadensomethinggod, do i miss -schadensomething4 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
and i level the words against my shoulder like a shotgun,
weigh the thought out on my tongue like teeth
- well. does it matter what i miss,
when none of my shots have ever hit the dead
of their plush-pumping targets? i miss, i miss,
god, do i miss. god, do i always fucking miss.
shaky fingers, if you ask me. weak wrists and hollow elbows
and wire-boned shoulders and broken ribs and rattling spine
and, and, and, and, and.
i've tried writing about people who aren't me for so long
that sitting down and pressing probablymy keys to the
letters feels as fake and scripted as it always has. i've
tried writing about people who aren't me for so long that
i've become yet another person who isn't me. i've tried,
and god, do i miss. pull up another target, paint the old
bulls-eye on, cover your ears. maybe this time -
maybe this -
maybe, maybe, maybe. and, and, and
i tilt whatever fake metaphor weapon i'm holding
up and under my chin like your fingers
(because of course, of
i said i was leaving (again) - i lied (again)1.i said i was leaving (again) - i lied (again)2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
rehab is for quitters. you told me that joke once and i laughed, because
rehab is for quitters. that's the point, that's the point
we make a circle with our quitting but i can't quit this
i guess the difference is that when i'm sitting primly in this circle you don't have to see it.
i wanted to make an entrance, to drink all the whiskey i don't have hidden and kick in
spin on your heel and keep your balance and boot meets door
stumble in and kiss someone
i pull my jumper off instead because church halls are hot and not the distracting kind
and i think kiss me, someone
because i'm the worst kind of whore, i'm the attention kind,
i'm addicted to your eyes on me and as long as i exist there will be eyes on me
that's why it's called suicide watch
when we were children our teacher hugged her bible and said god was watching us
but the thing is, watching isn't enough. watching isn't thinking.
this is my story and i'll be the antagonist if i want to,
hate me so much you can't look
et tuYou are the second hand on all of the clocks, andet tu3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you are the first.
I hold this pen and I reach for words when all I want
is to curl my fingers into yours.
I left, yes, but I came back.
If you prefer, I can dress it up and break it down,
a play-by of our lives, but that is, in the end
all there is.
If you wanted, now, I would
scissor and incision myself open, break my ribs
like a flower opening, and you could sit
in my chest
Is that odd? I'm never sure, with you. I would walk
over hot coals and broken glass for you, but
I don't think you'd like that.
I think you'd prefer me to stay with you, and not
and keep my promises.
I'd rather walk over the broken glass. My feet know how to heal,
but my heart does not know how to love.
I will do the best I can with what I have, until that
is not enough.
And then I will kiss you once, and only once.
And then I will leave.
I know how to miss you well enough, I have been doing it
for longer than there have been stars in the sky,
5mgTalking to you reminds me of the time5mg2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I got a flesh eating infection.
Okay wait, that's not how it sounded -
I was eight, and I was a nail biter. I was
eight and I was still exploring myself with my mouth
and I developed a slew of awful childish habits.
I bit my nails, but not the ones on my hands.
So I was eight and it was summer
and I cramped my half-bleeding toestumps into sweaty shoes,
you can fill in the blanks.
just listen I'm not done yet,
that's not what reminds me of you, love.
Talking to you reminds me of what happened afterwards,
when I had a bottle of medicine in the fridge
and it tasted foul. Talking to you reminds me of five times a day,
kicking and screaming because I'd rather
have my legs eaten off for my chewing sins
then put another spoonful of that stuff in my mouth.
Looking back on it I want to slap myself,
want to hold down eight year old me and empty a bottle
all over her face and into her mouth,
want to tell her that it's better to taste bitter for a sec
there is a furnace where your hand should bethere is a story i want to tell,there is a furnace where your hand should be2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and like all good stories,
it starts with a death.
london is built on the bones of itself
on the ash and char and time-swallowed screams
on the hollowed out rafters of was
grief is built the same way. there are hands
that are not your hands, there are hands
that are not your hands and that carry the body away
like barrels down the river. your hands are empty,
your hands are shaking and shoved into your pockets
and wrapped around burning hot cups of tea and
clutched into stained cloth that you never intended
there is a story that i want to tell but it isn't
my story to tell so i am going to lie and tell you about
november when the fireworks in the garden
caught the grass alight and there was a black streak there
for every year until we left, that stayed though
snow and rain and packets of seeds, of rosebushes
planted right down in the dirt under it
there is a story that i wanted to tell and like
all stories it is about loss, and losing,