InertiaSometimes, I feel so very sorry for
the letters that I write.
Born onto a blank page and
trapped there all their lives.
No new sites to see, no unfamiliar faces to meet;
standing in a lonely row
just to express my thoughts as words,
and yet, completely unable to express their own.
They lie paralyzed in their birthplace
lacking the ability to grow and learn.
Immovable to change for the rest of their lives.
And sometimes, I wonder to myself,
why I choose to be the same.
Human Nature When you are young,Human Nature2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
they will treat you with the softness of spring.
They will guide you through the winter winds and
over snowy hills, admiring the brilliance of your
midday innocence; pulling daisies from the earth
just to place them in your hair. And they will
whisper to each other of how beautiful you are.
When you grow older,
they will treat you with the indifferences of autumn.
They will urge you from the complacency of your own
fleeting fulfillments, and they will watch your
brilliance fade with the swiftness of the sky. You
will shed your fragile childhood with the colors of
the trees, and you will learn to face the winter winds
without their guiding arms. And they will whisper to
each other of how beautiful you are.
When you are grown,
they will treat you with the coldness of winter. They
will leave you bare and naked before the ravenous wolves,
expecting you to fend for your own forgotten brilliance,
asking why you've kept those wilting daisies in your hair.
Messsage in a bottleSometimes people cry out for help,Messsage in a bottle2 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
I think we all have witnessed it,
We watch them break,
We watch their tears,
And we see something in their eyes,
The last piece of hope,
The hope that as well could be a message in a bottle.
Who will ever know if someone noticed that tiny little bottle in the ocean,
Or if they did,
Did they pick it up?
I have seen a lot of bottles in my time,
And most of the time I pick them up,
But I notice quite a few times I don´t,
It is like they become invisible,
Even if they scream loudly right in front of you,
I think something is wrong,
Why do we leave the bottle in the ocean?
I clearly can see they need help,
And I see it,
I really do,
How can you pretend not to?
DebussyRestless under theDebussy2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
dreams quiver like
a long-lost muse.
No one would miss me...It's the same thing that drives me to suicide nearly every night,No one would miss me...3 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
It's the same thing that gives my enemies such evil delight.
It's the same thing that gives my lover such a fright,
It's the same evil thought that I am thinking tonight.
Even you reader, would you miss me if I left?
If I just stopped writing poetry, left this account bereft?
Would anyone, anywhere, miss me if I left?
If I left for good, because with a blade I am deft.
No one would miss me...
No reason to, no one loves me.
No reason to, no one even likes me.
It's just a fact that no one would miss me.
001 i am a whirlwind of0012 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
an aching heart
a regret that could
Clichedoes your poetry consist ofCliche2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
feelings nestled in ribcages
silent cries inside of a marrow
and the dull thunk of your heart
against my barely beating bones?
or is your poetry nestled in galaxies
shooting across well-kept fingertips
like comets lighting a dull sky
stardust of my hip bone wishes
literature universe coming to an end?
can your poetry play imagination
like a clever twist in a dream
where you kiss my shadows away
and teach me how to caress you
with love that burns passion away?
are you smitten enough to
run away with me
or are you yet to be blanketed
by these heavy arms of mine?
do my words weigh you down?
i havent met one so easily drowned
by the vast sea of my sunkissed letters
but as your velvet lips whispered,
always is there a first.
Alone in this world.Are you okay?Alone in this world.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Yes, I am.
Are you afraid?
Yes, I am.
Will you ever be afraid of nothing?
Will you ever be completely happy?
Someday all your feelings will stop roughing
All of them are becoming scrappy.
Being okay is not what it seems
"okay" is a word of sloth
it may be a word of dreams
but mostly it's a word of both.
Sadness and reclusion.
.when her love left, it left.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
the house empty
and she says
i hope one day it'll
come back to me,
cos i don't keep this shotgun
on my front porch for nothin'
Con AmoreCicada violinists,Con Amore2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and champagne flutes
an autumn concerto.
IcarusFledgling of theIcarus2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
(dawn is quiet
when the noose is
Thoughts of you.I could not think back to the time you looked in my eyes. You directly looked into my soul. Your soul embraced my soul.Thoughts of you.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Your smile embraced my body. I felt the warmth of your glance. And all I ever wanted was to feel your kiss. To feel your soft lips on mine.
Your hugs, your touches, the goosebumps on my skin.
And then I realized you were imaginary.
I'm Fine"Are you okay?"I'm Fine2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
That's all they say.
And I leave behind
These words in my mind.
I'm broken, I'm dying.
Inside, I'm crying.
There are wounds beneath my skin.
There are trials I face within.
There are things I just can't say.
There are people I must betray.
Beneath a smile, I feel pain.
Behind the sun, there's always a little rain.
And beneath these words I hold in my head...
There's always the thing I say instead.
I leave the truth behind..
So when they say, "are you okay?"
I always say, "I'm fine."
SundropoSundrop2 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
rise and rage
with a new year
untamed and glorious,
pulling the years together
with a snap of your fingers.
but some days you are languid,
stretching like the summer dusting
of freckles along your forearms, the
slumberous strands of hair shuttering
your sky-eyes from the morning light.
on these days, I think the earth spins
slower and the birds sing a little
quieter. on these days, I look
at you and I think:
ApsaraFind me sunken into theApsara2 years 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.
ElsewhereNights like these I stay awake watching glass shardsElsewhere2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
shine in heaven-light, and my mother says that I should go, Elsewhere.
Rain doesn't stop for the little losts—underwater at one o'clock;
still the streetlights blaze like midnight suns, and whale song drifts
past parked cars.
Nights like these I am waterlogged, wandering, and I don't find
Atlantis just a sofa downtown where the whale lovesongs are raindrop-borne,
slipping through the window and dripping onto hands. I remind myself I am
only alone, though missing—the weight of my cat on my feet and my
sister's soft sleeping.
I want to forget names,& faces,I want to forget names,2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I want to forget their veins,
fingerprints forever burned into my eyelids;
wrists I can't look at
without longing to tear apart.
Spine full, and spiteful:
I want to cry
roses in my midnight tea
for these star collapsed lungs.
I want to cry for her
& for me.
she wont allow me the courtesy.
fly.this is hard for the world around us to grasp:fly.2 years 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?
I am trying to be honest,but I write so fucking floweryI am trying to be honest,2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it makes me sick,
rose scented stars & love.
Her: helpless as a lamb,
I want raw, aching
bone against bone
exploring the exposed, naked
poetry of her universe-
( warm, celestial hands
forging sandcastle ribs. )
Southern earth beneath her feet,
wanderlust burned like Apollo's touch
into her spinal cord, please awaken
the empty space between her skin
PeonyAlone, but forPeony2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the red boots marching
cathedral heart: I
am beating echoes
in this city of the
stepping little girl's
dreams, I visit mama
in the night; but
flowers and wine won't
pay for her light.
SehnsuchtOctober again;Sehnsucht2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and the curtains billow
with broken glass echoes and
Mendelssohn's bride waltzing
to better times
She becomes the rain,
and breaks her own heart as the sound
right through us.
wishbones and flowers I think it’s selfishwishbones and flowers1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
how I have compared
every other kiss
( After all-
good things don’t
invite themselves into the lives
of little girls who categorize
their disorders by the scars
on their wrists and who
allow strangers to hang them
from their necks like wishbones. )
But, no one’s hands
have ever staked claim
to this scavenged wasteland
not even my own.
And it’s hard to forget that;
please forgive me.
As you will always
be the one who taught me
that it’s okay to be sad.
AutumnAutumn2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Welcome to the golden road,
With amber and copper cold.
Carpet of warmth,
In the icy kiss of the wind.
Let the bronze towers rest,
Watch the topaz packages
For life's sigh.
The citadel above,
Ghost of summer,
Leaving an aura
Without the weight of sweat.
The dome turns grey,
And down comes the diamonds.
The sun sleeps,
As we watch alchemy turn gold
Cradles turn to pools,
Coffee prints melt to the road
And we are left with beauty.
Angel of ice, Angel of fire,
On the branch
one thing at a time'Everything's fine with us,' she replied,one thing at a time2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
closed the window and threw the tea down the sink.
Routines are made of tiny revolutions.
I wait perched on my convictions,
a sated hawk,
and she goes and turns the kettle on, again. It won't make the noise of the tv die out,
but the table is full of half-eaten crackers,
and all the noise in the world will not dull her thoughts out,
but as down is for the dying,
she goes and lights herself another cigarette,
turns the kettle off,
and it's monday again.
She's a monday girl today, sorting through
appointments with the hairdresser's and
old grocery bills.
It all has to pass.
My claws encase a piece of advice I'm not letting go,
I'm all bird ears and spring compassion;
dear, I think, you don't know what love is.
If I can predict her she'll stand up,
dump the old coffe on the potus,
pretend to wash her teeth to hide a sob.
She's the kind to trade a sleepless night for pink enemel,
the kind to talk hours with the tv on
so that she cannot hear her own