I am Me. Who are You?I am thirteen years old.I am Me. Who are You?2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I am not typical.
I am not average.
I am me.
I have been in two mental facilities.
Both times for thoughts of suicide.
I am not emo.
I am not a freak.
I am me.
My mother attempted suicide about six months ago.
My sister attempted suicide when i was eight.
But, I am not a victim.
I am not tortured.
I am me.
My father had a heart attack just over a week ago.
He was hospitalized for nine days.
He recently returned to the hospital for kidney problems.
I suffer from Bipolar Disorder with Psychotic Features.
I have hallucinations.
I have delusions.
But I am not a disorder.
I am not my difficulties.
I am not my troubles.
I am me.
Painted SkinPainted Skin:Painted Skin2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
He smiles at you, as you enter the office;
Wearing eyeliner made of contempt and disdain.
His cheap cologne invades your nostrils immediately
And you quickly suppress a cough.
"Yes, yes, indeed we have to review this...er, many things are involved."
His face is powdered with a layer of self-importance;
Lips reddened by the polite harshness he spews.
His forked tongue flickers as he prattles on
And you're really getting quite tired.
"Oh I'm sorry! Of course, of course I understand; but my way is much better!"
You're getting really bored now, so you take a look around the room.
The expectation is to see it bedecked with acolades;
Yet bare walls, cold and empty, are all that greets you.
"Are you listening to me, I'm telling you why this isn't good enough. LISTEN TO ME!"
You take a look at the cup of coffee you were offered,
Cheap and lukewarm; you narrow your eyes.
"Is there a problem? I'm being honest, this is for YOUR OWN GOOD!"
Mind, oh MindSmiley face, smiley face, can't you ever see?Mind, oh Mind2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
So much to be sad about, so much that could be
Going wrong for everyone, going wrong for you.
Smiley face, smiley face, don't you feel it too?
Sad face, sad face, can't you ever tell?
So much could be going great, going oh so well
Sad face, sad face, can't you ever see?
Life is spend much better when your thinking thoughts of glee.
Mind, oh mind, why can't you agree?
Thinking everything at once is slowly killing me...
A Short VisitIn the country,A Short Visit1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
the scarcity of humanity,
our ability to stand outside and be alone,
holds an undeniable appeal to me.
Even in the cold, the quiet can be
a great friend. The sun was out today,
pleasant on the skin. The wind had subdued
from last night's blowing. I sat in my
great-grandfather's metal lawn chair.
He kept this one outside the barn.
Told me once how he found a meteorite
in the chair. Said it hit the barn
and bounced right down to sit a spell.
Said it gave him a little shock,
a space-spark he called it,
when he picked it up from its resting spot.
How old was he then?
My age? I only recall an aged,
bald, weathered, cowboy who still preferred
to do his business in the outhouse
instead of the indoor room with water
from pipes. He told me
he knew when I was being born
because his knees itched from where
I would sit and his hands stung
from where he would spank me.
He and Granny shared a small house,
blown by the horrid western Oklahoma wind,
on a hill that overlooked their pond
Ottumwa ShamanIn Iowa, weeping willows dream ofOttumwa Shaman4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Tigers, born in pagan fog, their
Coat of stripes singing shaman
Songs; shrill symphonies of grief.
Heaven tilts, crashes, and we race
The dirt to get away. We drink the
Earth with bullets of air and grow
Dizzy, light-headed from breathing
Some far off flame. Perhaps a poet
Who braved the fog of Ottumwa, and
Caught fire. Every cowboy has his
Six chances before high noon, before
The fog forms wispy jackals to take
Them home again. Every son inherits
An empty gun, six voids to fill with
Answers, skimmed and guessed from the
Covers of books their fathers used
To read. There is no other way.
In sleeping, I have been to Iowa,
And I learned where wiccans go
To make their bed. I do not know now
If I had dreamed the weeping willow,
Or if it had bent low to dream of me.
In Iowa, there is no such truth, only
Depth, and the shaman's song of grief.
never thought I'd be like thisI never thoughtnever thought I'd be like this2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'd be like this,
with broekn smiles
and scarred up wrists.
No, I never thought
I'd be like this
back when my world
was filled with joy.
I would cry so much,
and have to remember
faded out scars.
I never thought
I would feel alone
when I was a little girl.
Back when days were simple
and cooties still existed.
When I'd smile and play,
and had such big dreams.
of reaching for the sky,
of singing on stage,
and becoming president.
but it never crossed my mind
that I'd feel pain,
and cry so much
and that my pleas would go unheard
I thought the world
was a happy place,
for me as a little girl,
and I never thought
I'd be this way.
all torn apart,
and hoping to be fixed.
never thought the
pain would last
I thought there'd atleast be someone there,
someone who loved me
and cared for me.
but never as a little girl.
had I thought
those dreams would be
and I'd be here
left in pain.
no I never thought
as a little girl
that i'd end up
the way I am...
shhhwe are lurking too close to jesus,shhh2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
on the empty edge of a lightless stage,
curved nails digging into the skin of our pale palms.
he asks as an afterthought
do you believe in something holy? and i think yes,
i think this is what i believe in.
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.]
Moving: A YaduWe keep a homeMoving: A Yadu3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Of unknown hums
And lonely cats.
The sky cracks but
He lacks a raincoat.
Fueled by smoke and
Words he lands on
A branded street,
Knows the sweet rage
Of meeting too soon and late.
This town belongs
To a song man
And wrongful ghost.
He is most sure
The coast will fade their remnants.
It's all about her,-I had never wished to know the moon,It's all about her,2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
or the burning gaze of her lover.
I am merely a forest of silences,
old dogwoods & untamed hair.
-But, I made a promise
to a bone collector once.
He could have my spine,
my kneecaps, &
one flowered rib,
wrapped & bowed-up
like a present
-if he could fall in love
with things that slip through his fingers:
-“It would be a sin to love you,
my dear sweet wolf;
you will always cry for the moon.”
Open Heart SurgeryI've got ink throbbing through fissured veins,Open Heart Surgery2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
poisoning every atom of my soul.
"Bite your tongue," they say.
How I'd love to chew the damn thing off
and suck down every filthy syllable
just like the rotten bone marrow it is.
They'd all watch as my body spontaneously combusts
and becomes nothing but convoluted karma.
And so I wrote,
Teach me the ways of ripping out a human heart,
and stitching it onto ink-stained parchment."
The answer that came was rasped from a cauterized throat:
"Read your future in the collapsed palm of the stars;
find the abandoned pulse of your lionhearted muse;
steal their conformed scalpel and make it your own."
Illuminatedyour the light that carried me away from the darkened world that i live inIlluminated2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you flew in illuminating the dark hallway filled with broken photos, the floor filled with puddles of blood from scratched wrists,
gashes on the floor from alcohol dragged nights,
you walked closer un-aware of the dangers around you
somehow you got close enough to place your fingers across my skin
moving towards my neck and then my chin
soothing my cheek as i looked straight at you
i couldnt help but shyly smile for the first time
as you lifted me up from my state of anxiety filled depression
you wrapped your tender arms around my shivering torso and escaped the darkened world with your
of a hug..
despondenti.despondent2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"are you sleepy today?"
"but you were sleepy yesterday."
she stirs her pomegranate green-tea until it turns from clear to purple
setting it on her bedside table and climbing back into bed again.
her fingers follow the bluer-than-usual constellation veins on her wrists and down
to the freckle on her forearm and then the scar on the inside of her elbow
crossing the tendon as if it were crux.
and then she remembered that God hasn't been with her lately.
today is long and sunny but when she steps outside the humidity creaks her bones
and her skin starts to inflame.
she assumes that if getting the mail is a struggle, having a child would be too.
often times when she sets her tea down she remembers that her Bible is in the drawer beneath
along with the crucifix necklace that her mother made her.
her husband comes home late nowadays and she never questions why that may be
because she knows.
she would do the same too if she had a wife who took four different
The Finest Casket (Complete Story)The chandlers, grocers, butchers, clothiers, and every other merchant in Chantsville was yelling in the streets outside the shop where I was studiously working. Their ruckus combined with the bleats and squawks of livestock wandering underfoot, creating a bustling racket that would drive the unfamiliar ear to distraction.The Finest Casket (Complete Story)2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I was used to the noise, however, and I was so engrossed in my work that I would have sworn the world was silent save for the sound of my chisel biting into the cedar box before me. Delicate curls fell from my worktable, collecting in small drifts upon the dirt floor.
I stopped to wipe sweat from my face. The pause gave me a moment to step back and survey my work.
Yes, the casket was coming along beautifully. I had mitered the joints meticulously. I had planed it smooth as glass before tracing out the panels on each side. I had spent days, chisel in hand, carving the scenes into the wood, and the entire workshop smelled strongly of cedar.
It was almost done, and the c
i'm not an artistwe do not belong in boxesi'm not an artist2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and bags and books or
and we do not sit contently
in wordsworth and shakespeare
and blake, burns, and brownings
or in the cold stiff bones
of raleigh's of long ago;
detect, and re-select
a virus--a disease,
a germ in every verse and line;
the first signs of
foolish waitings under
bridges and scolding parents
and nothing to signify at all
we are the blood of nations
and the heart of men
and the love of every
rhetorist and sentimist
we dance through the ballrooms of
the age and chat with
we shake hands with heros
and the homeless, dirty
type that gum over 'hello's
we are and aren't and will be
silly verse and
naive philosophers and sweet oxymorons
waving hello from the shore;
forever onward and never ending
like the stars in an
We Poets Are Frustrated...We Poets Are Frustrated...We Poets Are Frustrated...2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I am sure that you have all experienced this feeling:
A masterpiece eclipsed by the baying of a brat!
A raucous rhyme, so emotionally raw;
Shadowed by a child's melancholia...
Alone in the darkness, you lick your lips and growl.
Your anger, so evidently understandable; yet you forget your own abilities!
In despair, my dearest sibling, you have forgotten — yourself
Why fear an obstacle so easily overcome?
Why shred your works with such heavy tears?
Have you forgotten that we are the original craftsman?
Our tongues birthed as our chisels and axe!
We need only take these simple themes
And corrupt them with all our twisted fears...
This hatred inside of you, this bubble of frustration and anxiety —
Let it swell like a pus-filled abscess of anger!
And with your words unleash this vicarious plague!
Take the unblemished works that have scorned you,
And inject them with the very darkness of your soul!
Let bleeding lips,