The UninspiredThey are clockwork.
Such asinine machines,
you could pity them
so long as you pity them softly.
Our sighs catch on the ear,
and their empty eyes glint with loathing;
for all the world they'd
short themselves out
just to eat the spark we posses.
We, the possessed!
Our power lies in entities that
shake our minds when we
stumble on the worlds in our head,
left breathless and dumb with our brilliance.
We translate it to the world,
we are our own prophets.
They had the same gifts
wrenched, robbed, or broken from them.
And without the humming in their chests
their very bones turned to lead,
their minds turned to pistons,
and their spirits
It is not by chance we
inspire one another,
we provide the energy that
fuels each other and somewhere along the way
they walked out.
We tried reaching,
pulling them back
only to be snapped in half by
hands too harsh to create.
They are the unfairly abandoned,
and we bear their hopeless hate.
MetempsychosisLift your spirit to your lipsMetempsychosis2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and kiss it.
That's how words are born.
They fly into this world
messy and covered in
the dust of forgotten wisdom.
They are yours.
They move with you,
so gladly step
in the syllables of
every thought you've owned.
Treat them well.
For when your voice
turns to rust,
and your bones clatter cold,
when your name is buried
with the last man you knew,
hanging in the wind
are your words.
In some old dog-eared book
are your words.
And when its pages stir
in younger hands,
lift your spirit to their lips
and kiss it,
re-birthing you in
words their own.
Seven O'Clock on a Sunday NightIt's a pinwheel moment;Seven O'Clock on a Sunday Night2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
everything spins too fast around
I'm staring down Orion's Belt
and it's twenty-eight degrees,
but I can ignore
because the present
is melting in my mouth
and I can't bring myself
to swallow it down.
I feel all the world
like an empty field on a dark night,
so I close my eyes
and spit my pith at the stars,
because it's too quiet
to scream out everything I feel
when I shut off my sight.
TAKE ME OUT!
I want to call,
but it's a whimper
in the scheme of the universe,
and I don't think I really mean it,
And coal as dark as mine
turns into diamonds under pressure,
so I pull myself up by
bootstraps I don't have
and stumble back inside the house,
wondering why I didn't
lie down in the drifts and
shake myself out instead.
More Than KismetThe world was a quiltMore Than Kismet3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and we matched corners.
Somewhere in our patchwork
was the same thread,
It did not matter
that we weren't quite complimentary colors...
border to border we matched
and that was all we needed.
Wide-eyed MonsterDon't look over your shoulder.Wide-eyed Monster2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
You run the water in the bathroom
so they can't hear you panting
and you don't know why
you're checking in the mirror.
So you breathe like they told you
and you sit on your bed
with your spine against the wall
so nothing grabs you by the neck.
Knees to chest
chin to knees
hands to head
and you pace
on the rug.
(There's safety in rhythm
if it distracts you from
the shadow on your back.)
You try unwinding
but your heart's coiled tight
in a small steel ball
you can't untangle by yourself.
Call your love,
'cuz he knows,
and he worries like clockwork.
You feel bad that you can't
pull together for his sake.
Your portion of insanity
just comes in separate doses,
so you ride it out
and pray it goes away.
The RunawayMy muse left a noteThe Runaway2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in the frost on my window,
"Call me when your ink runs out."
I imagined her vaulting from the sill
into the freshly falling snow
cocking her hat just so
as she stepped into the East
before it iced over.
She leaves no prints for me to follow,
no re-imagined trail for me to trod,
and I could spend years
tumbling after her shadow,
only to find her
Two-TonedSepia,Two-Toned2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it's pronounced two ways.
a sleepy murmur drawn.
It reminds me of your patience
when you held me
as I sobbed into your scarf,
your voice leaving me warm,
brown along the edges.
A sterner picture
of soldiers long dead,
This is how you tell me
sharp as a bayonet,
the edge of your mouth
I could hold it
in my mouth either way,
and you are both.
I. VoiceI haven't told him,I. Voice2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but his name sits on my lips
as a psalm,
and if I say it too quickly,
I've taken it in vain.
And I find solace in his voice,
the cradle of a canyon.
I close my eyes and am
I have no desire to return,
for this is home.
Between the CreasesFolded in the bathroomBetween the Creases2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
is a note in the shape of a bird.
I’m convinced you’d miss me better
if I up and sailed away;
my body a paper crane.
Hanging from a string
In the bedroom.
Little wings dangling.
Cut me down.
The Caged Bird ScreamsIt depends on the day.The Caged Bird Screams2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Like the weather, it changes
and in my brain, a little man stands
before a green-screen and tells me
the average of highs and lows.
"And today we're looking at
your daily morning low,
followed by forced optimism at noon,
quite possibly plunging into
a long shower later today,
where things might look better
and now back to you, Jim."
Simple as that,
with my feet rubbing on the carpet
and my hands clutching the bed like
it's all that's keeping me tethered.
I open the blinds and know
there's more than this.
I'm just caught in a cold-snap,
and I'm not really myself,
I'm just in there somewhere,
yelling myself hoarse,
'cause this chemistry has
turned me deaf.
Smiling happens genuine,
but is also muscle memory and
while it takes more effort to frown
I look sadder with a straight-face--
that's according to friends,
and it breaks my heart to know that
I appear to grieve for something
even when I am relaxed.
Film NoirPaint me greyscale.Film Noir2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Words hang thick like
cigarette smoke and slow jazz.
Turn your collar to the rain
and follow me into a 3 AM cab.
Give me your gritty romance,
Eyes flickering like
half past the red-light district.
Oh, you can touch,
my dear detective--
just don't leave any fingerprints.
Post-ApocalypticHePost-Apocalyptic2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
over the waste,
what the haphazard winter had left him.
soft thoughts idly
passing through his
memory, sharp as January winds.
the way her scarf
seemed to catch, crimson, on the crescent moon.
crumbled to dust;
now the world was a wasteland he wandered.
prior to this,
unable to breathe through the senselessness.
her cold there,
and he never
understood what had happened before dawn;
that he was
alone for now,
and he could cry as loud as he wanted.
her, and much
like the former
world-that-was, she was so suddenly lost.
Stranger than FictionAll my mind speaks of fruitless unions,Stranger than Fiction2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I am left with needing you but
embracing solitude instead;
staring at the wall
as if I could summon you there...
but you won't come.
I am terrified that we will vanish into
ink and yellowed pages,
become characters who never meet but
brush gazes and swear by everything they have
that it will never be enough.
I could ask you for promises you don't have,
times and dates you can't find,
anything to bring peace to my trembling heart
because sometimes I drown in the space you leave,
choking on your absence.
Burnt EdgesCrumple like the letterBurnt Edges2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you threw into the fire.
Curl up at the edges,
you feel the ash inside your chest.
You ache to ember
and glow into an open flame,
but your chimney is too dirty
to give your smoke away.
So you burn her out of the picture
but the memory is a phoenix
and it roosts inside your hatred
of everything she represents.
You curse every broken matchstick
that left her gazing from the frame.
And did it always look so grey
Before the fall?
Level with the SwordI am a pen cap with the end chewed off.Level with the Sword2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Gnawed to a stub,
pocked and bent,
stabbing into pockets--
And perhaps my ink has burst;
blotted and blotched on my person,
smearing what I touch in black and blue,
rorschach patterns on my palms.
How do I breathe as a broken pen,
when all my voice is dried and leaking?
Self-MedicationThey say sad songsSelf-Medication2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
aren't good for the sad soul.
Cathartic theories state otherwise
but I know it to be true.
The best therapy lies in happier harmonies.
So I abandon distress for the day,
to lose myself in lyrics that taste like
Earl Grey on a morning where
all the world is a snow-globe,
twice shaken and turned over.
I'll hold the mug to my chest,
literally warming my heart before
I set it down to haphazardly dance
to rhythms I could've imagined.
When it's over, I softly say
"Settle down sunshine,
hold onto you your head,
and ride this out again
Month FourYou were standing in the kitchen,Month Four2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
washing dishes that your brother should've
and you talked in funny voices
meant to make me smile,
and the pride in your eyes when they did
And I don't mean the
because we both are,
We do strange math,
figuring out the caloric equivalent
of a Girl Scout cookie overdose,
wondering how people who
are geographically closer in love
have lasted half as long and
why you don't like omelettes
(but you should!)
And if that isn't love,
don't tell me what is because
things are great how they are.
II. EyesCaptivating.II. Eyes2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Spin me 'round the world,
I will not find such colors,
Look at me;
my breath will hitch
as it catches on your gaze.
I am entangled in your
blue-green, golden love,
twisted in joy, befuddlement, sorrow,
blessed to be so
head over feet,
Little Black CouchA half-hearted stare at the zen gardenLittle Black Couch2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
has me wondering
"What're you doing here?"
I am an oxymoron,
the clinically depressed optimist
who cries with frustration
when her shadow overtakes the sun.
It's the same color as
the little black couch where a
bespectacled Buddhist with a Ph.D
quizzes me to the tune
of a white-noise generator,
but all I can focus on is the tissue box
and the prayer beads 'round his wrist,
how prayer helped a little,
and I'm terrible for killing so many trees
with my tissues,
those beads on my rosary.
And it makes me wonder
When I started playing Jonah;
feeding this fish until it
swelled into a whale,
swallowed me whole.
I had this,
had this covered until
it began covering me.
My parents swear they've known
since I was little,
but damn them,
this is news to me,
and I wish we had named
this god-awful monster
before it got to the point where
I could barely hold my shield against it
and just hope its wordless figure
would leave me alone.
The First Thunder of JuneI could tell from the wayThe First Thunder of June3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the truck barreled down the road,
how its motor revved and caught on the air,
that a storm was coming.
The dog shook,
his twelve-year hips aching with the effort
of tucking his tail between his legs
in the hope that such displays of submission
would appease the weather.
They did not.
The sky turned feral and spat on the house.
While my old-hound panted
with his panic-wide eyes,
mine filled with awe and lightning.
Kitchen HeartI am the center of your home,Kitchen Heart2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
so much traffic through me,
words words words
fill me up.
Toss your flour in the air,
it hangs and lingers in the sun.
Pretend it's remnants of some
fairy dust or
ancient ashes in your lungs.
Stir me up,
catch my drippings in your pan
the silent thoughts that never
fell all the way into my mouth.
And clean my inner ovens,
with all the fire you've got--
'cause I work best when my brain is clean,
and better when running hot.
III. LaughTumble out!III. Laugh2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
This feels like dancing,
you weave a tapestry,
you paint it gold as your grin
broadens into sound.
The DreamingDraw me into a five year kiss,The Dreaming2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
we are dreaming.
As reality crawls by the digital clock,
you are barely tangible--
though barely is better than nothing at all.
I am content in the six o'clock light
until you vanish behind my irises.
My eyes dilate in the dark,
and you are gone.
A Darker Shade of ReminiscenceI half-convinced myselfA Darker Shade of Reminiscence3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that my soul only played in a minor key.
I remember smiling at that thought
and feeling I should be guilty,
but I left all emotion with my heart
as it rested by the soap dish.
My world was black and white
but I thirsted for color like an addict,
I was so convinced
they didn't make medicine
for that brand of sickness.
Every time I breathed
I could've sworn I was exhaling in slow motion.
I recognized my mourning,
though I vowed my cries were empty noises;
Still, I wore that veil,
though it broke my neck,
though it owned me.
when I left its gauzy haze behind me.
I made myself a promise by the sink,
while I held my gaze in a mirror.
No more staring down the wall,
or feeling like a thief in my own home.
I gave myself grace,
rather than my former ultimatum...
Now the pills are just for headaches
and the razor just for shaving.
SingularityI am content with my individuality,Singularity3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
my current level of solitary self,
but hiding in the corner of every imagined future
is the image of being someone's dream-girl.
Some days I ache to write love poems again,
written in my cursive,
every syllable aching for a kiss.
And other days I revel in playing house,
smiling at thoughts of domesticity.
I cook better when caught in romance,
which carries a flavor all its own.
Perhaps this is to teach me patience,
to make me a greater person
before I become a better lover.