the sky had bled introverted colors of
reds and purples,
like some drunken painter had decided to
declare his independence.
you kissed her pale pink lips,
and i thought about why you'd love such a
the liquor was golden and gleaming
in your rusty
and your voice after you drank a glass
was grunge and grey and
you were different afterwards.
like someone had lacerated out your heart
from your chest and left it beating in my
you were combing through the bible like
an unread diary,
and i could see jesus's disapproving face from your
you were sinning and
you were also adam and i was eve
and we were both damned to
Clichei. true loveCliche2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
& you were that one famous line
of a love poem 1863 sonnet
scripted down your spine, verses
of sternum & shuddering heartbeat.
i remember the sheets twisted blue
as the eventide, your eyes like thelassia,
that species of ocean grass. we swayed
to the music of galaxies colliding.
our song was the day the tides
finally curled round the moon's face.
eventides, thelassia eyes, moon
great and heavy as that one lucky coin
that refused to land, to grant a wish
or let luck decide for us. there were
star crabs scuttling under your
oragami skin. & i never realized
all the ways that you folded
until the doctor came back &
you folded into yourself,
please don't tell me it was disease.
please don't mention the fact
that there was a constellation
blossoming underneath your skin
as if it excuses the metaphor
of your candle-eyes dimming.
i was there for the treatment.
you weren't, rag-doll girl. you
hung limp as wet clot
A Thousand Needles"Don't you think you're taking this a bit too far?"A Thousand Needles3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The corner of Will's mouth curves into a contemptuous smirk. "No, doc, I don't," he says.
"See? He just won't stop!" Nina's face is flushed and sickly from sleepless nights and crying. She's a pitiful imagewasted, tired, desperate.
And Will laughs at her, unable to control himself.
Dr. Willoughby looks down at the piece of scratch notebook paper before him, once again observing the gruesome image of the mutilated infant doodled upon it with the words "mommy no love me" scrawled across the top. He leans back against his cushioned chair, removing his glasses and touching his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. Then he sighs, weary. It's easy to see he's on the verge of giving up. After six straight weeks of morbid artwork, obscene language, sardonic jokes, and nightmares, he's about ready to seek a doctor himself. "How you can laugh at this is beyond me," he finally says.
"How you can say I'm taking this 'a bit
A(nother) letter to myself.You have grown.A(nother) letter to myself.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
You are not ten years
old and silent.
You've found the words
and you have made them
your sword and your shield,
your battering ram against
the walls you built when you
were too afraid to live.
And I know that some days
you feel like letting go,
That you wonder if it might
feel like flying if you spread your arms
and close your eyes and pretend you
aren't doing this to die.
You have stood on the edges
of rooftops and bridges
(To follow her, I know,
but you were not born to go this way.)
and you have climbed back down.
You will make it, my girl,
by the skin of your teeth.
And when you get here,
I will have built a life out of
the ashes of yours.
You will be born into me,
and I am strong enough for both of us.
The Meaning of 'No' and Where to Go From ThereFor my AP Language and Composition class, we were supposed to write an essay on a controversial topic. I chose Rape Culture.The Meaning of 'No' and Where to Go From There2 years ago in Personal More Like This
An important line that seems to be blurred when it comes to sexual advances and the act of sex itself is the idea of "when does no mean no". If a woman is blackout drunk yet still asks for sex, even though she might not remember it in the morning, surely it isn't against her will? Or if a girlfriend says no, maybe she's just playing hard to get, right? Wrong. No matter the innuendos and no matter the situation, 'no' does in fact mean 'no'. Regardless of how drunk the person is or what they are wearing, there is never an excuse for rape or an 'invitation' for sexual assault. But the question is where did this mindset begin and why is it acted upon so often and without reproof?
The catalyst and the enabler of rape is much more complex than just a man's lust: the crux of the issue lies in the idea of "Rape Culture". Rape culture is a society in which people of all a
a painting hung all wrong.in a dream.a painting hung all wrong.2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
we find him strung up in our garage
washing line taut. neck bulging.
i covered someone's eyes.
stopped them from remembering,
almost familar features
and blue blue blue blue wide open eyes.
where's someone to cover mine?
i mirror you with swollen throat
my voice thick with blood and screaming.
a painting hung all wrong.
Faminei told himFamine3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i wanted to spend
paying my dues
to the circumference
of my spine, to the size
of my stomach,
that was not in it.
of my constant need,
in a voice like cold coffee.
the way you are."
i don't care
i care about hunger.
loneliness & starving
sisters. and i want to know
if the hunger that turns you
is anything like
her god reeks of whiskey and stale tobaccoshe speaks in monochromeher god reeks of whiskey and stale tobacco2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
stringing together words in every shade of blue
she choked on the sea.
syllables crashed against her teeth
wearing away the enamel
and carving out monuments in honor of all the things
she never meant to say.
tiny birds with oil-slick wings
and salt-stripped throats drowned in her esophagus.
she prays to a god that reeks of whiskey
and stale tobacco;
his eyes are as barren as an arctic tundra
but he loves her
like he loves the lichens growing on his spinal cord.
compared to the vastness of his embrace
her pollution is nothing more
than a prism of color after the rain.
her veins took root when she was still in her mother's womb;
the vague tree branches under her skin remind her of home.
she speaks in monochrome
but the black and blue shades never seem
quite as pretty as when the sirens begin to whisper
the toxic spill leaving her susceptible.
and her tiny birds and tree-branch veins
and monuments and lichen-covered gods
i want you like no one else shouldi want you.i want you like no one else should2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and those words purge
from my lips
like fluorescent moonbeams.
are darker than they seem
and something was different
in the way you
it's been a year or so
but the hymns of the air
and my tank top
is hinging onto your
but i don't know
if the melody is on
and ash is spilling
from your lips
even though your
told you smoking is
a breeding ground for
will your skeleton hands
you were speechless but full of wordsyou were speechless but full of wordsyou were speechless but full of words2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
as i cracked your spine and fondled your
you were full of desperation and angst;
sprinkled with glitter of hope and feigned
you were a tragic love story
i ran my fingers over you, apprehensive
of what the next few chapters would hold
but in my heart i knew you would be worth all
the pain in the end
CursorYou have always been in beat with my pulse.Cursor2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
As you blinked, I pumped.
You spelled, I lived.
Don't fail me now, Dear.
dead starshe told her once that her eyesdead stars3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
were burned out galaxies
the light in them
already dead but fading
and that her pupils
were like black holes
liable to pull
you in and never
never let go.
and all she said was
we are all just dead
dead stars in the end.
deflourgod'sdeflour3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
got a thing
for women in white dresses,
legs broken and
like the knot
of a dead man's
stop me if you've heard this one beforei.stop me if you've heard this one before2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
there is a man on the corner of my street
who gave me a bottle of bleach
and told me if i drank it, i'd finally feel clean.
but i gave it back to him, and went home to take a shower.
because i am almost happy,
and i do not want to mess that up by
chugging bleach or fingering knives or thinking too much
about that man who turned my insides cold
from inside of his car.
because this has to be happy.
this has to be what happy feels like.
it feels like god gave me a vodka bottle
filled with nature and people and oceans and deserts and seas,
cause see, it feels like i'm drunk on life.
i have this nervous habit of scratching holes in my skin
and my mother says it's because
i'm trying to find something beautiful inside me.
she said i need a psychiatrist.
my friend asked me if i needed itching crème.
i keep laughing about stuff that's probably not funny.
i don't want it to rain anymore.
used to, i liked the rain,
because if i squinted, all the lines would be blurred.
remember thisGemini, i've found it -remember this2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the missing weight from my every
valley, that was pulled from me while i was
unborn. "Abducted," i'll say,
travelling back through spirit-lands
to watch our beginning, to witness
i've fallen into lightless quiet.
As i begin to breathe, i feel a pressure
released from my ears
and i can hear a cadence of
concurrent blooms. A gentle buzz
hums along, carried by the scent
of begging blossoms' celestial seed, and i
dare to look; removing one finger, then two,
then ten from my prying eyes
to see us there.
We are feathered and flowered.
Our thorny bird-bones have no gaps
and our mahogany-skin is unblemished, free from
lovers' daggered-hearts and taloned-touches;
none has made their home of us -
we are not hollow,
are not gutted.
"Remember this," God whispers -
pushing us between his lips and palm,
imprinting secrets on our heart and bones.
His chest begins to heave as he rips
our ocean-veins apart. A scream
wavers until it breaks and becomes
keep calm and don't blink1. right between the eyeskeep calm and don't blink3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
beware of flying iphones and crashing
police boxes and bright blue suits.
every friday finds the physics room whispering
tonight's the night,
and your brother always looks exactly like you but you manage
to be similar and different at the same time,
and you steal his shorts even though you hate him--
that is absurd.
we all had happy childhoods didn't we, and
this is when we're supposed to be growing up isn't it
we have conversations in panera about the mechanics
of lucid dreams and cloning mammoths
but we run from stone angels and we run
through car dealership parking lots and we make scenes
in public places and that is absurd too.
2. let's paint our walls with faces we read about in box-shaped diaries;
paint them portal blue and funeral blue and sunset-after-the-rain blue--
draw our hands on the sky that you're flying through,
don't forget to pack the smell of my skin the the back
of your mind and remember to meet me in all your stiff-
Damaged goods.Sometimes I tell them thatDamaged goods.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it's a birth defect,
that when they dragged
me from my mother's womb
they broke me,
that my mother left the hospital
with a cheque in hand to make up for
"the accident," of course.
Sometimes I tell them
that they said,
but it'll hurt her."
Because I live and
it hurts me and I don't know
how else to say,
"I'm sad all the time
and I can't get out of bed some
days and I've considered that
not living might be
beneficial to my survival,"
and as they try to work
that out I'm heading for the door
with my head down and
my dignity scraping along on
now it's just dirt under my fingernails.Novak carried an umbrella with her everywhere for nine years. And when he asked her why, she told him, "Ever since my dad died, sometimes it feels like the sky is falling."now it's just dirt under my fingernails.3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
That was six months ago, and he still catches himself checking for cracks between the clouds when it rains.
He likes to remember her eyes. The left was blue and the right was brown, like two people in one, and faded, like old photographs.
But then he remembers that old photographs are the only things she exists in now, and his office will get so small that he needs to go outside to breathe.
He wanted to be gentle, even if he couldn't think of a way how. But things were already ruined between them, and he knew that long before he ever sat her down in his parlor.
"If you have to hate me, I want you to," he said. Her face was deadened by the weight of her pain. "As long as you feel anything for me, I want you to."
She shook her head. And she kept shaking it when he followed her, his bare feet
starspunobserving the romanticismstarspun2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of hooded cemetery kids,
smoking cigarettes pretending
they are not dead.
you were always so sure
about my uncertainty,
all my pick up lines
we built the heat
of the evening from the solidity
that two teens at the park
is the stuff of teen novels
(cliches dim on
our leaf-gold horizon)
your eyes darted
from the gray expanse
of the churchyard & wandered
i wanted to ask you
if i could follow. shove
the words aside &
remember that i came here alone.
i remember our innocence
in the static b e t w e e n
about how youth without you is th-
awing out the lines in my whittled-out eyes.
look to the hooded
wonder what we'd have been like
if we grew up as nothings,
like them. teenage
nothings with chiseled
marble in our
out of our parents' adulterated
lies and the excitement of alcohol.
i settle for a star.
it's almost as luminous
as the after
starvationas dearest emily once said,starvation3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
hope is the thing with feathers.
well, darling? aren't you ready to
start your new life out your bedroom window?
(i think if i whittle out my insides
i can make myself hollow as birdbones
and i can leave behind the loneliness
of the ground and live in a castle in
and you'll stare up at the sky at me
and cup your tiny hands around your tiny
mouth and yell, haven't you found
and my grandmother will say, she
was a smart girl with no intuition.
if only, oh, if only.
people in the street will point at me
in awe and gossip about the girl
who fancied herself a bird and
carved her way to flight.
no, dear, i haven't quite.