OverActive ImaginationLike verbal synesthesia,
in my head.
bang bang bang
and all I think are flashes.
Computer fans are white noise
and clicking keys a melody.
I sleep on piles of books
and tell myself bedtime stories
that never, ever end.
It's the same one, every night.
I edit, even in my head.
One color brings four hundred synonyms to mind
and the feeling of fabric is like a burst of light.
Looking at a photograph is often over whelming,
and all I want to do is know what
they were thinking,
not what I am.
It's a curse and a blessing,
on a wing and a prayer,
and a hundred other cliches
that will never go away.
Here's to the over active imagination
that won't stop finding the meaning in everything.
Missing Pieces.I am a missing piece. Something that someone needs.Missing Pieces.2 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
But at the same time, I feel so incomplete.
I’ve wandered way too far, wondered for far too long
Am I a missing piece? Or a piece that won’t belong?
Is it possible I’m damaged and not missing at all?
That I’m just as dysfunctional as everybody else?
Pretending to be perfect never softened a single fall.
But neither did admitting that you’re broken and flawed.
A broken missing piece. Is that all I’m meant to be?
There is no master plan that includes the likes of me.
Being all alone, it’s a hurt that will not cease.
A hundred thousand years from now
I’ll still be
Show me what the stars look like tonight.I’ve fallen in love with wars & darkness.Show me what the stars look like tonight.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The kind of darkness said to have made
shadow monsters of seen-too-much eyes
& the kind of war lands made of
desecrated, dandelion wrists.
I am the wind, the morphine pump
& I’ve carved my bones into stars.
I wear them around my neck
like outward sun marrow
warming my carotid pulse.
These little glow-in-the-dark blankets
aren’t enough to stifle the sounds;
but my anatomy never seemed to fit
together the right way anyway.
Wonder.Do you fear your own death?Wonder.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Is it hard to conceive?
Draw in your last breath, then-
Your last breath will leave.
Isn't it strange to think,
That there's a timer above your head?
A countdown you can't see,
That finishes when you're dead.
Don't you ever wonder,
What it'll be like when you're gone?
I bet the world will keep on spinning.
There will be another dawn.
But the harsh reality behind it-
We're all going to die.
There's no reason to try to fight it
Not even to question why.
It makes me wish that I could have a little more to give,
Because I'm not afraid of how I'll die...
I'm afraid of how I'll
A poem about loveLove consists out of painA poem about love2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Love consists out of desire
Love is what I admire
Love always fights against my brain
Love is despising
Love is passion
Love is not a piece of fashion
Love is always surprising
None of these things are untrue
Love is enough to make one weep
That is love as it seems
Yet when I think of you
I simply can’t fall asleep
Since life is finally better, than in my own dreams
NaPoWriMo: Day 6It’s hard enoughNaPoWriMo: Day 62 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to love her skin on good days,
to wide eyed strangers
as if to fill the emptiness
in her own gut;
she lives on a diet of sad stories &
you must shed your own skin
to save it.]
BloodI've got a filthy mouth,Blood2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
& a house of stars
thriving in my throat.
& I still have yet to tame
this grounded constellation
I call my temple. -Slithering
tongue hissing too many
"fuck you's" against my teeth.
I fear I will write myself hollow-
or until my bones are corroded away
& I am nothing-
an insignificant nebula
orbiting the wrong atmosphere.
But, my veins bleed sweet ichor,
& words are only words, Mother.
Better Left Unsaid.You'll be a lawyer-Better Left Unsaid.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'll be a writer.
You'll probably make more money but-
At least we'll both be doing things we love.
And we'll live on a farm,
Just like you always wanted and...
I want to marry you-
I can't imagine myself with anyone else.
But you don't know that.
We'd both laugh if I told you.
So it's better left unsaid.
I can see us staying up late...
Watching kiddie movies and eating chocolate ice cream.
And having candle lit dates on our bedroom floor-
Taco Bell, of course.
And on winter evenings, we'll curl up on the couch...
With hot chocolate...
As I read aloud to you-
From a book of my choice, of course.
But you don't know this...
You'd think I was weird if I told you.
So it's better left unsaid.
And one day we'll pick out a huge chair.
A chair for cuddling.
And when I'm sad-
You'll hold me in our chair...
And we'll both stay real quiet,
Taking each other in.
And eventually we'll start to talk-
Quiet murmurs at first...
Bipolar DisorderI am a victim of a shadow named fourteenBipolar Disorder2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And a little girl, my old best friend who turned into a demon.
Fourteen human figures without a face… they attack my soul
And everybody’s staring at me without an honest reason.
I am a victim of the people of the world
Who only want to hurt me, and my innocent family
Terrified of the ones around me, even those I love
When a nightmare becomes my reality.
I can’t take a shower without peeking outside the curtain
And I can’t close my eyes when I wash my hair
Because I’m horrified, afraid that when I open them
I’ll see somebody with a bloody face angrily standing there.
Sometimes I unlock the doors and then lock them again
And to be honest, I’m not completely sure why
And I can’t go upstairs at night, because what if there’s a fire?
I won’t be able to make it out in time.
I am a victim of a shadow named fourteen
And a little girl, my old best friend who turned into a demon.
And somehow, ou
Storybook EndingHer ink-stained lips have kissed too many a forgotten page,Storybook Ending2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and phoenix down]
And her Prince Charming has yet to come,
shattering like stars]
So all she can do is gaze out her tower window,
concealing poisoned apples]
Clutch that corroded and timeworn blade,
tearing down castle walls]
Toss her childhood fables to the waltzing of the moon,
[even broken wings
wish for happily ever afters]
[once upon a time
there was a girl who became her own hero.]
Words HurtWords HurtWords Hurt2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Hit me one more time
Hit me again
Push me around
On the floor
Down the stairs
It hurts less than your words
So kick me
Bruise my skin
But don’t call me names
It causes too much pain
I love you I really do
I’ll take the abuse
And be your punch bag
But please keep your words
My head can’t take it
My mind won’t survive
It destroys me.
WritingDifficult to master,Writing2 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
But worth it in the end.
NaPoWriMo: Day 9More respectNaPoWriMo: Day 92 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
for hungry lions,
doesn’t want to write this poem.
As she forgets how to use words
(on most days,)
relying on curses
like casting some witch's spell-
with only ten dollars to her name.
The oldest daughter:
she’s still somewhere in the middle,
because they had no other way
to categorize her.
Getting her first gravestone at three-
not to the gods,
but to the lily stargazers
in her palms.
she would become a bird,
& never come back.
She doesn’t want her death
laid out like a fast-food
how does she begin to explain
cultivating in her breastbone?
Ways to conquer heartbreakDance with fistfuls of roses, shred their petals one by one and wear their thorns like armor.Ways to conquer heartbreak2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Write your secrets between the folds of paper cranes and tuck them safely between the empty spaces of your castle ribs.
Open your broken heart to hummingbirds, allow them the warmth and shelter of your arms.
Rebel. Tape poetry to your limbs, Cummings and Sandburg and Sexton.
Take a walk outside of your skin for a while, run with wolves.
Extinguish that forest fire that’s been curling too long in your lungs.
Be that lionhearted girl those snobby poets always write about.
Allow that cavern of stars in your throat to speak your truths in uppercase letters, in free verse yet to be proofread.
Write about wars and victory.
Be the hero.
We Are/You Aren'tWe are the unwanted, the brokenWe Are/You Aren't2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The ones you forgot about.
So don't be too surprised when we
Start to scream and shout.
We are the living, the dying
The ones you all put down.
But you'll know who we are when we
Run this goddamn town.
We are the corpses, the maggots
The ones you all despise.
But you'll be the ones scared when we
Expose all your lies.
We are the hunted, the lost
The ones you all spurn.
But you'll cry for our help when we
Leave you all to burn.
We are the losers, the winners
The ones that you deny.
But you'll be the ones damned when we
Hear the angels cry.
R.I.P WordsDo you know what it feels like?R.I.P Words2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
To feel something, but...
be unable to express what it is;
to be silent;
to fight it alone.
I know how much it hurts,
but I don't know how to show it.
Poetry used to be my refuge,
a place where I could be alone -
express all my emotions,
without being judged.
I'm losing it.
I can't connect to poetry.
Everything sounds so stupid...
Everything I write sounds stupid.
I have to erase all my feelings,
because they don't sound right.
The words aren't real.
They don't show what I feel
And maybe this will be the last.
Maybe I'm gone:
lost of all emotions.
I'm truly alone...
I used to have poetry.
Now I have nothing.
FeverI like pretending I mean something to the ghostsFever2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
who wreak havoc on my bones-
impaling these masochistic butterfly wings
on railroad spikes
between heartbeats and bedsheets,
I got a heart in New Orleans,
palms engraving names like
Juliet, Alexandria, & Christine
on the seats of greyhound buses.
& I'm offering up 102 degrees of skin to a godless moon
as I breathe in her night scent.
when writers cryAwake on strong, black coffee drinkswhen writers cry2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Words on paper, liquid ink
Dreams of pen tips, future lies
Tragic stories, quotes of the wise
Nights have carved their dark, deep valleys
In the hollows of my eyes
For you see, my friend, when writers cry
There are no tears, their cheeks are dry
But ink dipped fingers, worn out wrists
Chewed up nails and bloody fists
You see, it's strange when writers cry
Their hearts are true, their words don’t lie
They mourn in silence for a few days
Of paper cuts and tear-less haze
Of coffee mugs and smoky paper
Liquid spills, and water vapor
Sorry dreams and wasted hours
Putrid smells and dying flowers
(Torn to pieces from inside
Tears are hidden by our pride)
State of WonderMiraculous, wonderful,State of Wonder2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I´m awestruck, really
This caught me off guard
I know, it might seem silly
For an outsider to look in
To see what´s inside
He discovers new depths
We desperately tried to hide
As he stand there, big eyed
His mind starts to ponder
When the fog starts to lift
From the state of wonder
Poor Man's GoldHush the youngest children, for the demon in the skiesPoor Man's Gold2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Treasuring the very thought of anyone's demise
Glitter fades to black and shining moonlight fades to dust
Every cruel man's wonderland is built of poor man's trust
Tragic, empty melodies and blood beneath the air
Fearlessly escape the wind and drown without a care
Treasure death as platinum, as silver and as gold
Every cruel man's wonderland is built of poor man's gold...
AbusiveGrip my neck tight and don’t let it go.Abusive2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Forgetting to let me breathe.
So I can taste blood, as I bite my lip.
Today is the day I please him.
With my innocent body.
“Admit you like it”
Rip my heart out, and drink the remains.
Then chain me to the bed, a neck with scars.
“Oh my oh my, you've been such a naughty girl”
Pitied by the daytime, it’s when vampires like you sleep.
“Oh my oh my, you've been such a naughty girl”
I just want to rip out your wicked heart.
Please forgive these tears running down my cheeks,
I swear I’ll devoid myself of all emotion.
Ah, I will moan when you command.
Listening to every will.
“I love you”
It hurts so much, the whips and chains.
I hate being tied down like this.
“I love you too.”
The ^Artist^There's something kind of intimidating about a blank piece of paper.The ^Artist^2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Needing to fill it, but the fear of sharing
makes it nonsense.
A misplacement of happenstance thoughts,
that any number of people could share.
(Something) exhilarating about an empty sheet of paper!
Wanting to share your thoughts, feelings, inspiration, but...
That incoherent struggling.
A war of the mind and soul against themselves.
All the "what if"'s
the "throw yourself under the bus"'s
to see if you can survive the impact
of reality to skin deep sensations.
Voices chattering around your torn up shell.
Chatter Chatter chittering away
on a cloud of chalk dust,
from your cashmere sweater.
Of course, no one knew
the artist inside that broken up,
half eaten bagel of a person
had been struggling,
coughing up their heart into a black abyss,
a sea of emotion,
that barely a passer by would
One stitch, two stitch...
embroidery on my sleeve.
They say beauty is only skin deep,so hand over that defected scalpel in your bloodless handsThey say beauty is only skin deep,2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and watch carefully as I peel away this tainted skin
to make way for my blackened and corrupted
And everyone can finally see
the grotesque monster that lies deep within
this soiled excuse they seem to enjoy calling
If beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
then why is it that I can't stand
gazing upon my reflection
every time I pass by a mirror?
Decisions DecisionsDECISIONSDecisions Decisions2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
They split the path before me
Daring me to venture either way
Neither wrong Neither right
But the choice changes life
Do you jump off the cliff's edge,
Faith as your guidance, only to
Break across the jagged rocks?
Or do you take the HIGH road,
Ignoring the cliff's call, only to
Regret not exploring those uncharted waters?
It's just another game of
We hope to God that Lady Luck's
On our side,
Though we still wish to feel
The bullet's s t i n g
Lefts and R
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?