Keepers of My Hearti.Keepers of My Heart2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you are in love with being in love
like you're caught on the train tracks,
tied down by want, waiting for that
insistent collision to
steal you away into the land
of concussions and self-medication
and hearts that barely heal
and stories confessing the notches
in your bedpost, the lines in
your smile. the sour note in your
liberally dissonant melody.
you did not want tangibility
cotton trees cascading and butterfly
innards, serenading clouds and
(until the sky came crashing down
and you reoriented the earth)
you did not want me
I am solid and as notable as
the ghosts sleeping in your ears,
their snores telling time as
the days blur together
I am not of starry kisses and
back porch promises-
I am the wrong kind of accident
on the train tracks.
I am broken,
(but not in the right way)
I am real
these are the things we carry with us:
a knife in the side and a
cramp in the lungs; a longing
in the mouth for words or tastes
or people or something m
I am trying to be honest,but I write so fucking floweryI am trying to be honest,2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it makes me sick,
rose scented stars & love.
Her: helpless as a lamb,
I want raw, aching
bone against bone
exploring the exposed, naked
poetry of her universe-
( warm, celestial hands
forging sandcastle ribs. )
Southern earth beneath her feet,
wanderlust burned like Apollo's touch
into her spinal cord, please awaken
the empty space between her skin
WherewithalOnce I met a girl who carved the world flat just to tell me I was beautiful.Wherewithal2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It went without warning, in the morning when we left our sheets and searched for a bed of leaves beneath my mother's apple-tree; I settled crooked as she leaned against my side, and even as my muscles cramped I wouldn't shift her burden from my shoulders even to walk a free girl again. I was the real Atlas, the true one so willing as to ask to bear the weight of the world on her back for all of time, and you wouldn't know it to look at a ghost like me.
August, I said to her, and when I waited for her calling voice to come back I couldn't stop thinking about the way the russet leaves were crumbling under our spines with every movement; it was like we were grinding gold dust, collecting fortunes with every breath that I felt her lightly shake against me. It seemed like a waste, all this precious metal for a kid too haunted to wear the jewelry that would slip straight through her neck, but I couldn't stop myself
Insomniacs and Insecuritesthe ground is a friend, feeble feet meet stabilityInsomniacs and Insecurites2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and never return. it listens, oh, it listens
with tiled ears and absorbs all your secrets.
fault cracks, your fears seep underneath
the pavement, someone knows
that you cry at smoggy nights and
run out of words when you stop to breathe
and you drown in your thoughts, no
one taught you to swim, your
stunted, stilted stature goes stagnant and
this is destiny. it was written in
the storybooks that the princess would find
an answer in the murky depths and her
prince would turn out to be the
desperate attempt at normalcy all along
plunging face-first through
loosely plucking stray
strands of sensitivity
and smothering the catalyst,
softly, as it sleeps--
deafening life like
being buried in a coffin
facing the earth; digging
and digging and only
eating more dirt
skin and stale sorrows
can't be processed by
these bedded beggars,
going home empty handed to
wonder under a heavy
home of hung humanity.)
Arise and Breathelittle siren girl, held up by fishhooksArise and Breathe2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and lines - you'll only be free when
they cut you loose.
still, they tell you: you will not fall
victim to swelling tides, you
will float. (you are a dead weight.)
you are something incomplete
like the forgotten house on the
end of the row, eating itself,
dimming day by day:
paint chips and chapped lips
have nothing left to say.
there are monsters nursing
deep beneath your flesh, with
threadbare spines and trembling
hands, they are afraid of their own
shadows. (you are only weak when
your eyes are open)
a new year waits upon your doorstep,
promising to take all that was ever [you]
the paper doll can finally sleep,
to see another day.
virginity is like an envelopemy mother said her mother knew.virginity is like an envelope2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i wonder if she stumbled home like i did,
fifteen and beer-loose
tied to the door like a thunderstorm with black lips
and i wrote a story about disaster,
a quiet two sleds long.
a box full of beads, i swallowed
fifteen needles, mommy. don’t
tell me i’m not sorry.
don’t call me a whore you bag of bones
you lock-loose suitcase do you even
recognize me look at my face my toothache skin
i am not the one with the knife.
my mother never slept with a boy
who didn’t love her never let a boy
sleep on her while she lay awake beneath
the shroud of his skin breathing only
when her voice-box gathered too much dust.
you have to know i didn’t do
it on purpose. he slid beers down my throat
till i felt like a landfill.
i was not yet a crescendo. maybe i was a polka-
you couldn’t tell. i got home
with my legs full of nightmare.
the doctor said xanax.
i said i am a ruin like the ones
we saw in peru.
a balloon in a funeral poem.
Indefinite Tidesshe speaks in vinegar riddlesIndefinite Tides2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and bides her time in shipwrecked
ticking off days for the boy
with stormy eyes who promised
he'd be back in a season or
two. he, who was
crafted from the leftover bits of the moon
and the meandering sky with runaway
stars lurking deep beneath his ribcage,
waiting to fall whenever he spoke
like a saint, whose divine sacraments
parted land and birthed lives; like a
sorcerer whose words launched a
thousand sunken ships but
now, she pops pills like reminders,
stabilizers that last 4-6 hours
depending on her ability to forget
and she's lost in herself
again, among faltering brainwaves
and wavering heartbeats and the
whimpering echo of her own worst fears
like: he's gone and he took all
that's good of me with him,
my weighted bones and my bated breath
and my lingering hope, too
that thing with feathers that
cries when it's plucked clean,
skeletal and bare and smooth
enough for me to rest my weary head on.
see, the ocean cracked and regurgitated
Maybe I'm A SirenTomorrow I'll renounce myMaybe I'm A Siren3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Citizenship, go out to sea,
And belong nowhere, never
Set foot on land. I'll shed
Every bit of skin that has touched
The world, I'll be coated in salt and
Crack when I move or breathe or blink, when
I scream the waves will scream and
No one will hear either of us. I'll
Learn how to forget navigation by stars,
Forget navigation, forget stars.
I'll own nothing,
The rains will wash the deck clean.
I'll wake up in the morning
Drenched and the world will be pristine
With no reminders like sweeping
And coming up with all the dirt your life
Has amassed. There will be no dust.
Two weeks in I'll give up being a
Vegetarian and eat gulls and
Fish and the ocean's pain. A
Year and a half later I'll sharpen
My teeth and eat the waves cresting
On the sides of my boat. I'll
Eat songs and shipwrecks and whales
And pollution and messages in bottles.
I'll eat all the hunger there is
They Also Serve Who Only Stand and WaitI don't know when we first went underground. I don't even know if it was one mass exodus, a swarm of mankind trickling through the earth's crust so vehement we carved our own caverns by the force of trampling feet, or whether it was a gradual process, perhaps even a repetitive one, a family here, a neighborhood there. For all I know, the echo of the damp subterranean machine has always reverberated off the cave walls, created long past by the Angels, who think of our well-being even while they shake their heads helplessly at our flaws.They Also Serve Who Only Stand and Wait2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
They say that those who remained on the surface were raptured away in a great flash of light, like a million suns converted into raw energy all at once. While it was rumored once that the flash was our doing, our own horrid creation, we all know better now. It was the Maker who brought it forth from the void and cast it onto the earth's crust, as though shot from an immense sling, taking only those who were brave enough to trust in Him. We, who live in t
A letterLast I walked here I saw the chthonicA letter2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
crafted into selflessness
and you were telling me about a string
you had set inside the walls, poised at the borders,
tore it out; the house collapsed,
spirituality hummed inside the suicides.
This would speak to us: to be fluid
before the dynamic ultimate, and comfortable.
I wanted to save you from the reaching
but my sickness digs channels before me,
the carnage: a neatly linear causality. My
gut feeling is that we're at the end
of something beautiful,
earthy but self-indulgent.
too narcissistic to swallow the
fear building up in the corners of my mouth, writing poems.
To the same degree, there would be no greater thrill
than to throw this to the sea in pieces.
The pressure: cycling, and the cursive: running easy.
You should have been able to stop it.
The emptiness never taught
you how hard it is to love nothing but power.
When I get caught, I won't be a dove thrashing in
a net spun from the finest yarn because
last I w
My Scars Prove You Wrong (original song)Scars on the surface, on my skinMy Scars Prove You Wrong (original song)1 year ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
Look at the wounds to know, where i've been
Throwing me against, my own walls
But I've learned to fly, when i fall
And I know my scars are only on the surface
And I know that I, I, I am not worthless
No matter how they break me, i'm unbreakable
No matter how they hurt me, i'm invincible
You know a heart
Keeps on bleeding
When it breaks it goes on beating
I, I'll keep on keeping on
'Cause my scars prove you, wrong.
lub-dubThere are loverslub-dub2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I will never be able to
crawl out from underneath;
I’m caving in, lungs
no longer able
to exhale lovely things.
However hollow, I’ve got
these artist hands,
these god hands of mine
that can save lives.
What’s the point
when I’ve got little
& no one can ever seem
to find my pulse?
summergirlNow read aloud over here. Do give it a listen, won't you?summergirl2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you are crowthroated and tumbling
through the aspen grove
hair on fire with sunrise, lungs
full of sky.
eyelashes like wildflowers
and every morning brings
a new spray of freckles
and a sharper curve to your collarbones.
the cornfields hold no shadows
for your lighthouse eyes
and there are no endings in that
ii. you have grown
autumn finds you with broken ankles
leaning on an oak branch
and watching the skies.
crow to sparrow--you are quiet.
summergirl, there is peace in silence,
fallen antlers in your hands.
you will come to mourn your deer.
keep them close.
iii. by winter you have paled,
and like the streams
your eyes have frosted over.
you feel the chill--
there is no need for sight.
wet scribbles, tattooed tragedyI am shedding my skinwet scribbles, tattooed tragedy2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
like the poetry that bleeds
from your ink-cracked lips
onto the bare bones of my
Unfold these moon-shy limbs
that chase silence
& beg stay-with-me.
For you are the only verse
hidden within this labyrinth
of scar-damaged flesh.
I miss you, and i can't say i'm sorryI miss you2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
because these slender, spider fingers
ache to trace the curved letters of your name tag,
emily. i notice you write everything in caps.
( have i ever told you
how much i enjoy saying your name, -EMILY. )
you are screaming to the world, quietly.
but we, we are mid-morning whispers
over stale, back room coffee,
silent eyes, and window pane love.
these hearts were runaways once;
hitchhikers on a trail to nowhere.
you shared pieces of yourself with me then,
emily, between beats and bathroom stalls.
you were a gargoyle under the heat
of july summer. evenings were our playground;
rose garden beasts lingering in feverish night.
Death of a Noodle (Everybody Tells Me What to Do)I click through web pages on my computer. I’m having a little Internet Time. I spot something that catches my interest. I smile. I click it. The title reads How to Be a Writer. Beneath it there’s a list of instructions. How fascinating. I read on.Death of a Noodle (Everybody Tells Me What to Do)1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
1. Go to the beach
2. Lick your friend’s eyelashes
3. Make pee-pee in a pot plant
I scowl and close the tab. Surely these things won’t make me a writer? Sighing, I begin a search for something more practical. I type away.
A link appears before me. It’s a little thing sitting on the left side of the page. I hold my cursor near it indecisively. How to Be a Poet. I click.
1. Drench yourself in anxiety
2. Seriously, drench yourself
3. You’ve gotta do some sports-drink-advertisement worthy drenching right here
4. Also bathe yourself in woe
I scroll through the list, getting more and more desperate. Where is the part about writing actual poetry? My heart is racing. I feel the
Here's the problemHere's the problem, I'm trying to create a dialog, a narrative, a story, I don't just want to shoot pretty girls, in bikini's, IHere's the problem1 year ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
want dirty, dark, hurt, cut, deep, rough, cruel, nasty, full of attitude, because what I want is for people to look at my work,
and be moved, to tears, to lust, to contemplation, to thought, and that causes a problem, because not many people can open
themselves up to cause such mayhem on film, to let themselves go and look terrible, but it's what I want, if you can cut
yourself open and expose the dirt inside your soul, I want to talk to you because we have a book to create.
Player versus PlayerPlayer versus Player:Player versus Player1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Elemental artisttry, as lightning weaves through the air.
I see the bloodthirst in his eyes, the hunger for victory.
A demand to be recognised, yet soon to be silenced;
Perfect and perfunctory - my opponent made defunct...
As I stand above this dying creature;
The flicker of life soon fading from their eyes.
I smile and whisper a word of parting,
For the fool who fell where he lies.
-Unfinished piece by Chen Yuan Wen, 10th April 2012
she had a habit of making stars cryprobably could've settled forshe had a habit of making stars cry1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
less than mine, but there's
a tongue-tied night sky
crying to the moon and
its narrating defenses
against my remarks, comments
never too dark to notice the spark, dead
shooting stars have been
trying to prove. to me, it takes
more than will to move
the north to the south, no field will
help you, no power will allow you,
no words will let you.
should've stuck to rhyming for
catharsis and, let the night cry to
a fraudulent sun and
found comfort in anonymity to
hang on some more; should've quit
being a witness before i
fell to the floor. should've opened
before popping those pills and let
drag reluctance until it
swam into ripples too perfect for
the moon, and stayed to hold the
stars when they fell
into our lagoon.
probably could've lied about
discovery and the Nile, probably would've
granted every wish worth the while. could've
said the day was too dark for the
night, could've stopped the moon from
settling to surviv