001 i am a whirlwind of0012 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
an aching heart
a regret that could
awake from my dream state.it was a leap of faithawake from my dream state.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but i wish someone had pushed me
so i had someone to blame
072i ached enough that day0722 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to salt the atlantic ocean
three time over
calamity.the poor boy got a lecture from deaths secretarycalamity.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
"deaths busy enough as it is without walk ins"
"but it was urgent," he stutters.
"it couldn't wait, it was now or never"
he was simply told
"take a number, and wait over there with the rest
who 'couldn't wait' "
starsi pray that someday soon, in a lonesome winter, your bones will cease to ache.stars2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
regrets will no longer break your morals like glass figurines,
you will not ask God to pardon your sins.
you will forgive yourself.
i hope, for your sake, that your butterfly-flutter eyes
will only be dampened with tears worthy of shedding.
your glory will shine out of those 2 crystal windows
and you will finally know what freedom feels like.
one day, in the midst of a dreary december, i wish for your wings to open wide
and carry you to heights far past any you have ever experienced.
your lungs will become blooming forests
with snippets of poetry carved into the tree trunks.
you will no longer be broken, but instead, crack into miniscule pieces
of yourself until all of the grace & goodness
buried deep within the crevices of your flesh
is soaked up by the atmosphere.
i am awaiting the day that i can finally lay next to someone i call lover
and point up at the stars to show him
fragments of you scatte
dissipationdissipation2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
sometimes she wanted to tear the skin off her arms and dip the bared bones under water
and see if they still swelled and grew into logs rather than the twigs she craved.
it was as if there were little sandbags under the surface and they were delicately lined
and the water would sink inside them and grow and bulge and drag her under
(sometimes she does, sometimes she considers herself the bird in the bush:
dewy feathers doing nothing but chilling her to the bone; and she floats, head hung,
waiting for the currents to make her less than the nothing she considers herself to be)
but the weight is invisible, and despite its insistence
and the grey she feels all over, her feet won’t reach the bottom;
her toes are the only thing losing feeling--
she painted them red. cherry red like summer’s lovechild even though winter
had already found its home beneath her bed; red and quiet and refined like
the paper women she’d seen in magazines. she wore spring blouses with flowe
003its easier to say0032 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
"i'm fine, just tired"
than explain the water rising
when really they just asked out of politeness
and don't -actually- care.
pressure.she was cracked in places only she could feel, and where the blood could only be tasted, and not seen.pressure.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
her lips, fingertips and inside her chest. she learned that there are certain body parts prone to being cut or bruised, and her white laced knees could attest to that. but there comes a time when cutting your leg on the coffee table or pinching your stomach with your belt buckle, isn't an accident anymore. its something more, and you know it is. but you can go so long without ever admitting it to yourself, and even longer for anyone else.
bad days.on my bad days,bad days.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i open notebooks like bibles and hold pens like lifelines.
i keep opening the book of my memories
just to see if it still leaves a bruise.
i am covered in the bruises of your hand
your ghost is in my bed. i can't sleep there,
again i find myself miles from home
wishing on stars i can't see
and spitting memories into the ocean like watermelon seeds.
i sit on my longboard like driftwood and send my shivers into texts
like letters i never should have mailed.
on my bad days,
i wear cuts like ropeburn,
like i just don't know when to let go.
i get lost inside the sadness and hold tea thats long since gone cold
as hours escape like small birds set free.
i forget to open the blinds
and paint my fingernails black
and stare at the too-big numbers aligned on the scale i can't stop stepping on.
fast-forward through the goodbyesthis is the beginning of the endfast-forward through the goodbyes2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
“i know you,” he says.
and he looks defeated, he looks sad, he looks like
he's a boy who may one day realize how much
he cares for you, so you cut him off and say,
“minus all the secrets i don’t tell anyone.”
“well, yeah, minus those.”
“then you don’t know me at all.”
and then you tell him,
i love you. but you don’t use those words
because those are taboo. are jinxed.
are knock on wood three times fast.
instead you press him in a hug and say,
i’m sorry, knowing he won’t understand
that this is the first time you ever cared for something
enough to try and fix it after you hurt it.
you hope he doesn’t ever realize what you’re saying
and his response will always be ‘what for?’ because
if he figures out he loves you nothing changes.
he’s just going to be in love with a corpse, a memory,
a pair of trigger happy hands,
unlovenot all self harm comesunlove2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in the obvious form of lines up arms or down thighs
of throwing up insides and self worth
into toilet bowls with the sounds
that make you wonder how you're not dead.
she picked at her lips constantly
cracking and splitting
peeling and bleeding
more than expected
and it bled
more than ever anticipated
even after she's been doing it all day
she drank her tea that was still steaming
still made her hands flinch from the
far too hot porceline
but she parted lips
and felt it force it way down
burning and splitting
her lips and throat
like molten in her
ash filled stomach
pulling on skin
making underneath it
her blood like water colour
exploding and spreading
and mixing over
thighs and stomachs
no-one thinks to notice
pale blue.no-one should ever have to spend so much time focusing onpale blue.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
trying their damnedest not to self sabotage.
but the ache of january was too well known to ignore
even when it wasn't there
for years in a row
it still lingered
in the way of old bruises
and silvered scars
that she thought of tearing open
to see if something was still trapped inside
something to unleash.
even if it would destroy everything
cause the ocean leaves traces
of wherever its been
with salt haze
or dark lines marking depth
but she was okay with the salt
and naturally cleans
so even if she chokes
and stops breathing
it won't hurt.
The OptimistAnd with the gloryThe Optimist2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of the rising sun,
a new beginning.
But the spaceman claimed
it was just
another world revolving.
trembling and weighted.i tried to peel away the anger and the pure white noise and get to the center, the calm that i hoped was still there. but its not as good as it once was, its an ill fit, and i know i'll just give up on it in a day or two when the chemicals wear off and the cold settles a little too deeply into my bones to just be a winter chill.trembling and weighted.2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
but i'll never admit to anything, because i know its the first step but it doesn't actually solve anything in itself. most of the time it hurts more when its out in the open and you can see it in the light of day in all its ugliness. and its always worse than you thought, and despite the inherent human desire to think we're special, as a singular person you're alone and no-one wants to hear or see your inner uglies. they have they're own their trying to decide what to do with.
so i'll peel away my skin and remember that nothing calm could ever be within this pent up and irrational form i've found myself in. i'll poke at the demons and tell them to crank it all
alright, its okay i guess.she said she wanted to find someone who would be able to read the semi-tonesalright, its okay i guess.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and breaks inbetween her breathes when she is holding back that sadness that leaves bottom
lips quivering and the oceans of eyes suddenly grows and swells and flows freely down faces.
she wanted to find someone who could read these tones, and find the ache like a map
and poke it with the right tenderness and break it apart and let it disperse to other parts where
they can sit and not weigh so much.
someone who could take the music out of her ears, and know what each song a band means
her heart was feeling. that what sarah said mean she's falling apart but not really sure about
whether she has the energy too. or that bright eyes means she's just a big pile of uselessness
and that her insides are far too heavy for her to sit up straight right now.
and watercolouring is bad.
not all humans go to heavencock itnot all humans go to heaven2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
april 23 2008
“bye mom. i love you so much, i swear
i’ll be home soon.”
“please, you’re only eighteen, you have your
whole life ahead of you, please
don’t throw it away.”
“i’m going, mom. i’m going overseas
but i swear i’ll be back before you
miss me. love you!”
most nights he shakes himself awake
with the vision of bombs and fire and bullets
still imprinted on his eyelids.
he doesn’t know what to call them.
the dreams, i mean.
what do you call bad dreams when
you’ve already lived the nightmare?
his therapist says his problem
is he thinks he’s not normal, that he doesn’t fit,
that he’s a special kind of monster.
she tells him that the key is figuring out the ways
that he’s the same.
so when he’s alone, or worried or stressed
or tired or hurt or wishing he were dead,
he traces over his collarbone and says
confessionalthey say sad girls change their hair colorconfessional2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and forgive their monsters.
i change my morals
and become one.
on drowning, swimming, and the difference thereintwo girls are swimming in two lanes, separate with a timer overheadon drowning, swimming, and the difference therein1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
counting up their seconds. it’s a race to first, to the end of the lane,
to the medals and the glory and the place where water turns into land
and the dry hugs that wait there. it’s a race and
there’s a winner in the pool right now and it’s
either the girl with the red swim cap
or the one whose goggles fall off as soon as
she hits the water.
they are both in high school and they both do not know the other’s name.
the girl with the loose goggles is the crowd’s f
little bird.his head was filled with fluff and his heart wasn't warm enough to care about much else apart from himself in the overwhelming set of school and corridors that were filled with strangers whose eyes said so much without the help of lips. classrooms were never the right temperature and he think they purposely made the desks too hard to comfortably rest your head on. stupid boy with nothing of any real concern and no reason to be troubled. doesn't mean he wasn't trouble. his eyes wandered from the board and his teachers words and landed on her, with birdnest hair and ocean blue eyes. he laughed at her strange clothes or the book she clutched so tightly to her chest, like a lifeline or a extension of herself. bell rung, a rush a blur of people flew out doors and into the yard, and he followed her, the girl with the heartbook. he wanted it, it worked into his small little mind and he wanted to see inside it. with the worst intentions though. he walked up to her, and points over at somlittle bird.3 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
O FevraleWitching hour, welcomed with a sigh,O Fevrale2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
bare-breasted and ink-stained in the night.
Half in love in this half-life half-light;
pisat O Fevrale navsnryd, dreaming
of the gods. Wanderer, today I died and
died again, and whispered prayers
to clasped hands… until the nestled
droplets fell away like sunrays at dusk;
and when moonrise came, I sang again.
eight things that hurt more than a broken boneone,eight things that hurt more than a broken bone2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i have never had broken bones,
but i imagine it would snap,
splinter, pierce my skin.
i imagine it would be
the pieces i cannot put back together
scratching their way out of
this body bag.
i imagine my demons would
not rest until my arms are torn
by the claws of my inside.
i'd imagine broken bones
would not hurt as much
as broken confidence,
(my lack of it.)
fluctuating positions in life.
the backbone of a dreamer
who finds nightmares her companion,
the fingertips of a mother,
pressed against feverish foreheads.
the lips of a teenage girl,
forgetting what truth sounds like.
i cannot remember the last time i did.
knotted hair pulled out at the roots.
nail polish remover spilled into wounds.
lips chapped red.
burned at the stake
dying on a scaffold,
unable to speak.
numbers on the scale,
tick-tack-toe on my wrist.
every blistering insecurity
that sends me spiraling.
what you bring to the tableyou know, today i read that humanswhat you bring to the table2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
are made out of stars
and i found that really interesting
because we all look up to celebrities so much,
like they’re sent from the heavens
when it turns out,
we are too.
your mom gave birth to you and
i think that’s beautiful—
the way one living thing can make
another living thing
and the second be completely different and unique
from any living thing that has ever lived before it.
but i also think it’s beautiful the way
you are made up of things older than
you can dream to be and it doesn’t define you
and it doesn’t break you and it doesn’t really change you—
you could have been a dwarf star or someone’s sun,
but now you can be anything you want and if you’re lucky
someone’s world can still
revolve around you.
worship yourself. love the bend in your spine
when you’re carrying a backpack full of your future,
the squint in your eyes from staying up too late,
your feet that without
quietly.i lost track how many times i told you those damned things would kill you. that they would set your insides on fire and burn you alive. or the smoke would seep into your blood and bones and stain you with the faintest taste of lingering death. but god dammit i don't know why i didn't notice it earlier, that was the entire fucking point of the, wasn't it? maybe not in the beginning, but the 5th year in, or after he skipped town and left you speechless each one was a tiny suicide, a quiet, unseen death. each packet held 10 days off your life, maybe more, and they're so much less conspicuous than a gun or a sudden addiction to painkillers.quietly.2 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This