Don't Write While You're Highwhere the scenes
blend too seamlessly
to the next glance:
our twoselves soon rising
up-through white fibers—
from the thick of reality:
oilslicks slipping up-along
when later looking back: the lost
incompatible with water but—
we sought fewer thoughts
blood typethere is something haunting about the way blood flows.blood type1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
just think - all that crimson coursing through you,
scribing calligraphy inside your gut.
through your arms, through your heart.
it paints promises across the canvas of your innards, saying:
i promise to take time, to give you as much as you need.
i promise to stay warm even when chills tickle your spinal cord.
when blades threaten to sharpen themselves like buffers across your skin,
i will flow slowly, giving them a chance to see the light in your bones.
i promise to stay powerful.
i promise to stay abundant.
i promise to stay holy.
i will weave through your veins,
craft myself into a villanelle to savor your breath,
so that if you ever decide to drain me by your own 2 hands,
you can read my words and know that you are not worthless.
Midwestern Roadmapsi.Midwestern Roadmaps1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
are what brought us together;
with a stir of paint chips and skin,
we made clumsy love on the concrete
of a condemned factory,
moving in the shadows of machinery
that loomed like winter trees
or judgmental Gods
who still stopped to smell the alcohol
in our pores.
"will you pass me a cigarette
and along with that sign your lust
on the paper that will gray in a flicker,
bitter acrid and addictive
like the first high of tobacco—
a euphoric quiver
that lasted only a minute,
gone when you inhaled your second
seeking the same."
indiana is the land of crossroads,
where the wind blows
to find a better destination
and the tired rest in restless homes
with wheels that creak
beneath the hardened earth;
you said you were meant for something
better than a bible belt,
sought my eyes when you whispered
i paid for your bus tickets.
i wondered if love was letting go
or knowing that you never loved me
as more than a first.
on people as placestw,on people as places1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
the elementary school playground
i still sit on the swings
you were the house i grew up in
and grew tired of,
so very familiar;
every secret door revealed
every hiding spot
i couldn't help but linger
long after it
you are the forest
i have been too afraid to wander in
so beautiful and inviting
so full of poisonous
you were the last car
on a train: temporary,
in transit and moving
nobody can travel
the dusty hotel room
i got comfortable in for
a few days, the one i
found love in
but hotel rooms belong to no one
and i shouldn't have been so
surprised to find that
someone else had been
you were the
girl down the street's
littered with red solo
and not much
you are the back room
of someone else's
the one i've come to hide in
when i can no longe
drunken sinners1.drunken sinners1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
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
Feelings with no namesi.Feelings with no names1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The feeling you get the day after sending a letter, and you know there is no possible way that the recipient has received your message yet, let alone formulated time to write a reply, but you still get just a little hopeful when you hear the mailman drive by and rush out to the postbox a little too quickly and are disappointed by the pile of free coupons, bills, charity flyers, and a late Christmas card from Grandma Moses.
The noise of a faraway car driving late at night, or perhaps early in the morning, in that sleepy place somewhere between consciousness and dreaming where everything is warm and vaguely fuzzy. The remote sound of tires on asphalt speaks to a sense of curiosity – where are they going? Why so early? – but the blankets are so heavy, your eyes are so heavy, and before you can wonder anymore, the car is long gone and you are long gone, carving out a hollow place to rest in just a few hours more.
A sudden awareness that occurs during funerals that y
Eighteight.Eight1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
i felt most violated
when you denied it—
evidence may have mounted
in the mouths of other victims
but i haven't spoken—
even in the wake of certainty,
family and loyalty
forked my liar's tongue—
maybe it's enough
that you know what you did—
because i can't bring myself
to hate you.
your son's beautiful—
you were my first
and i don't regret that—
in your arms,
i realized myself.
it wasn't my fault—
i received the letter
years too late
has never been sympathetic
in the eyes of those
who suffered to live—
yet, i write for you,
remember your face acutely,
long for the night
we bathed together
and you told me
God hated us.
i wrote a poem for you—
it was long and vitriolic,
full of anger's energy but—
i realized you aren't worth it—
have a nice life,
long and unfulfilling.
you hid food under the bed,
said we were bad children,
did everything in your power
to make us f
terminali.terminal1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
we landed in oklahoma
and drank cheap martinis in the terminal;
you carried my guitar and fell in love
with my voice but not my tongue,
not my hands.
there's a man with a garage
that looks like a plane because nothing
meant more to him. will you make a model
of that bar? will you make a model
of my red cheeks? or will you live in a townhome
with her and three children?
the problem was you're not gay.
the problem was there was feeling
but it wasn't for us. i had you but
it wasn't for us.
i'm not sure if i resent you,
but i remember that bar and every pockmark
on the stool you sat on while i played
the song that parted your lips;
you remember every pockmark in oklahoma
like they were ours.
growing out the pain.your fingers read like brail the tallies sunk too deep in my skingrowing out the pain.11 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
like a map you read my scars.
you translate the manifestation of my pain
and whisper it'll be alright.
and i'm blind, in need of a cure you cannot give
broken, in a manner you cannot fix.
(because maybe you are too).
i'm the expiration date,
set to implode.
winding to a stop.
a nuclear leak,
i'm the fixer-up thats not worth the money.
(can't you see?)
but that night we spent on your living room couch,
your fingers wrapped tight around mine
holding them captive from tearing out my hair.
letting you in is hard for me,
your arms made me feel safe,
even when it scared me.
even when it was hard not to feel his arms instead.
you were the first one i trusted with my blades,
and even though i can feel the panic rising in my bones, and my fingers regret it,
my heart doesn't.
is this how you choose recovery?
its been 7 months and i'm still learning to let go.
Belated Valentinehe bought me a typewriterBelated Valentine1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
and said, "i can't write,
so write me something
beautiful; your words are
sometimes sad but always
AnatomyI cannot be the backboneAnatomy1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
of your moral affirmation;
set aside the scalpel,
burn the phonebook if needed.
starsi pray that someday soon, in a lonesome winter, your bones will cease to ache.stars1 year 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
wastelandthe difference between alone & lonelywasteland1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
was one of them needed me.
i recluded back into the embrace
of someone who didn't deserve to
trace the wings in my lungs into
butterflies, all because of my
selfish desire for solace.
see, i am not practiced
in the art of loneliness.
or maybe i've wrecked enough
solitary canvases to stretch
me all the way back to the
fallen leaves of last october
when his arms constricted my mid-
section; a noose for my stomach.
i wanted to forget
how it felt
to be left.
so i let him stroke my shoulders
in an attempt to rebirth necessity.
september's winds brought
whiplash & slick hands.
he snaked in between my
2 good legs and robbed me
his eyes half-smiled with
permission & lust rolled
into 1 smolder.
i am still heavy with sin.
even though i want to,
i will never forget him.
the similarity between alone & lonely
was i wanted both of them.
snapped."you willsnapped.11 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
be my books
open on my bed
with freckled words
bound to your
with stories tucked
into the chapped areas
of your lips, open
your spine crooked
holding your body
to a collection
of sodden bones, like
the soggy pages
of all the stories
you once told me
in the nights so dark
we couldn't read,
above the beating
of the paper and ink
in your chest
where you said
the thing about
what you see
and feel and be
does not have
and the best part
is the stories
will be there
into the pages of
Drink DeepWe are not yetDrink Deep1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
dead, but the
have you believe
that we are dying.
We have rehearsed
the methods of our
We make muses
from nature and
from each other.
We assume, like the
canyon's high-water mark,
that the floods
will not come.
Who am I
to say that
this is false,
that we have
that hold us apart-
(we are ever so slightly
levitating off the ground
and from each other.)
And the streets protest
by rehearsing the methods
of our end.
When our blood
turns to alcohol
and the first thing
they see of us
is the white
of our bones.
just a thoughtdon't let your sadnessjust a thought1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
carry you. you can look at it-
and rock it to sleep in your
arms and let it melt in your
hands, you can put it out
on the windowsill for
the cats. they know
how to kill fast-moving,
blow it out with black dreams
and the sky will eat it,
she will cough in 200 years
but she will eat it. you can
digest it in a concrete pill
that you can't snort, but know
that the sadness will come for you in
the morning like the motley hawk to
the long-dead doe who thought sleep
would offer some peace, but no-
you thought relief would offer some peace, but no-
the sadness will come for you in
you will carry it, dragging it loosely
by your ankles behind a pale body. if you carry
it, it will wear down, sometime. it's got to go,
sometime- just don't let it carry you.
i would say my father is a wari would say my father is a war horse but that is a failed symboli would say my father is a war1 year ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
because he has been dragged through the dirt as many times as this metaphor
i want to write in abstract like in a book of
contemporary poetry i bought over the summer;
it was all syllables and lines of 'talk talk talk' repeated over and over
i want to write something that describes how i feel without saying a word that describes it -
dust and ache and tired and bone and overflowing and lonely and fuck and .
i want to write poems that have meaning without being cliche i want poems
that defy grammar and space and time because when someone reads them, they become me
i want someone to read this and know
it is approximately 12:04am
and my ears are itchy and my eyes -
my eyes -
i feel a deer prancing behind my eyes, his heavy antlers pushing
against my forehead and i should name him athena because i've got an olympic-sized headache
but instead the deer yells WANNA GO?
and he says it like an angry, unde
starvetoday, i don't hate myself enoughstarve1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
to deny the hungers for -
a cup of coffee that will treat me like sin dancing to the pulse of my bloodstream
the absence of guilt
cracks in personality
screaming poems silently at my reflection
today, i will gorge
on the things i vowed to give up.
today, i will break vows.
today, i am a glutton
for relapse and binge cycles,
for starvation and changing reflections.
tomorrow, i will wish
i could be the skeleton that
hangs in my closet.
[ leave the tears where they lie,
take the fallen stars and ripped up wings,
do not regret spinning circles
around vices. ]
dismantled pygmalionwhen the sun collapses unto itselfdismantled pygmalion1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
and listless wombs grace the palms of this earth
heavy with child, bearing the soft progeny of chance, abandoned
to cover the land-
you will teach me how to reverse this network
of clockwork dreams, how simple mathematics can be
when calculating the degree of loneliness and countered white
virgin affairs- crippled calligraphy. show me the distance within these
isolated cells, obsolete. reflect the solar ticks
of all that is and was you and me. oh stranger of these quiet tides,
project all that is within, and sear your star-death breath bright into these
tragic north pacific atmospheres: release. give way to this orphaned soil
we crawl forth from, and submit yourself to the oceans
of my unplugged misery, cortexial tyranny. bear witness to this stellar grief,
the way you have always proclaimed yourself to be
a veteran of my love- absolute and complete.
truthsi.truths1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
there are 2 things that not even the most
forceful of rains can cleanse me of:
sometimes, i feel like a caged lion.
only with a lot more impatience
and a lot less resilience.
i have yet to discover what it means to be content.
i am either too stagnant or too fluid.
no middle ground.
i have mastered the art of leaving.
it's the idea of moving on that still haunts me.
i fear that the light in my eyes is so dim that it will burn out
before even i have a chance to see the world with it.
i am not as clever as i pretend to be.
someone needs to teach me that
i don't need reassurance; i need self-assurance.
that someone should be me.
my greatest fears are loneliness and cancer.
the second because all my beauty is in my hair.
the first doesn't need an explanation.
i am still discovering what it means to be a woman.
everything is confusing me.
i am secretly afraid of massages.
feels like i'm being stabbed.
we all know how that is.
slingshot words.there are a million worlds living in your headslingshot words.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
begging to be wrapped around your tongue and released like a slingshot
into the heart of some stranger you may never meet.
furniture dustthe curves of my lips have memorizedfurniture dust1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
the knife of your tongue - chop me to
i am furniture dust
in a house that you never called home.
i swore to all my deepest insides
that i would never again weave words about you,
but i was fucking lonely.
i made myself your prostitute
swore to cling to you while you pressed
your ribs into me, pointy.
the hum of memories in my guts
played me the symphony you wrote
into my lungs without even thinking.
the parallel marks on the inside of
my forearm whispered your habits
and reminded me that you are more
than just a set of teeth & smooth skin.
you manifested yourself until you were willpower
and i regret that my lack of control
comes back to visit me
like the ghost of my childhood
whenever your scent lingers beneath my nose
just strong enough to fool me into thinking i want you.
remember: i am furniture dust.
you don't need to auction me off again.
this time, i will own myself.
confessionalthey say sad girls change their hair colorconfessional1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
and forgive their monsters.
i change my morals
and become one.
mind over matterdear matty;mind over matter1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
sometimes i forget who i am
as i am buffeted by a milling sea of bodies,
some of them come up like waves
and push me against others
that are sharp like rocks
they cut my skin and burst
my blood vessels and i bruise,
right down to my very bones, i bruise
seasickness forces my heart to my throat but
the anchors in my stomach remind me
to always swallow it again
they're there in the words
i kept behind closed eyes and
they're there as i pass
you by, thinking that each of us are thinking
that the other doesn't think
you don't still ring in my veins
it's just that sometimes i just forget
and matty, sometimes i remember who i am
in the deep of the night, wrapped
in a shadow that felt like your arms
there was a moment
of clarity like a crystal bursting
in the back of my skull and you know
that it felt like nothing
it could have been the cold,
but the cold is sharp
like knives, which you would know
if you were not impervious to it
i can barely allow myself to consider