let go, little bird--hope is the tired little bird at the bottom of your heart, the one whose tiny wings are broken and bleeding, the one that won't stop flapping uselessly at the sky, like it's going to take off, take off dammit, even when it's fading by the second and dying in a heap of feathers, and it breaks your heart to see the optimistic flame still sparkling in such innocent eyes.let go, little bird--5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i'm writing this to tell you that i don't know what i need. i'm writing this because i can't pull any fancy metaphors from the back of my throat to save my pride this time. i'm writing this to see the look on your face when you wake up and wonder why i keep running away.
hope is the thing with feathers, my broken baby bird. hope is the trust in those newborn eyes that makes you burst out sobbing although you never know why. it's the razor-sharp edge between happiness and pain, the line you try to fly on crippled wings, my little bird, just to save someone stronger from having to walk it for themselves.
for lack of a simile --every saturday,for lack of a simile --6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i scribble away at words
that have prettyyellowcolours, but mean nothing.
because if i told you what was true about the both of us, it would be:
we had something special,
but now it's gone.
because i don't have any clever similes about
magic and love and how fire falls into ash.
there's just me, and the page, and the stories
i tell you about how we are fire, we are the ocean
and we are the shore.
how it goesthis is how it goes; you meet a boy and you think he's cute and you hope that maybe someday you will kiss the nape of his neck. the ache grows inside of you like a tumour, you feel it pulsing every single day and there is a piece inside of you that hopes he likes you back.how it goes4 years ago in Emotional More Like This
then you start to doubt it, you start to think you're ugly and your chubby and your clothes aren't pretty, but then you realize if you want him to like you, you have to like you as well. so you start to like yourself more, you're happier and you think he likes you back, which makes everything so much better.
one day he walks you to the bus and you wonder how time managed to put you here, and you see his lips moving but all you hear is the sound of your heart hammering. you agree to go on a date with him, and you try hard not to maul him when you hug him goodbye. you sit on the bus smiling and miss your stop, but it's alright, because it's a breathtaking day.
things are beautiful for a long time, trees look like they
You found loveSly shoulders withYou found love4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
tiny bruises not
meant for lovers eyes,
Teeth and wicked collarbones:
You argued in the stairwell,
Fingers flirting with
that pretty dress of green
as you felt yourself asphyxiate.
Her lips, the antidote
to your wildest dreams.
if you want to stop hurting:i. i have swallowed down this 3am loveif you want to stop hurting:1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
like the ibuprofen i fed myself for my
swollen ankle that time in spain
when i pushed a little too hard and
let go for a little too long.
i have swallowed you down so many
times before, kept you like little embers
in the crevices of my chest, burning
holes through tissue and bone and
everything that i am - through everything
that i swore i wasn't.
ii. a few months ago,
i learnt that it's easier to breathe
with your throat open, to take it
down and let go gracefully,
like opening your palms against
the wind outside the car and inhaling
through your nose.
iii. if you want to stop hurting:
listen to them speak but do not hear their words, hear only their voice,
feel it reverberate against your spine and tell yourself -
this isn't a bad thing.
rebuild your body like jenga blocks. if somebody comes close,
hold their hand and tell them -
i trust you.
let the air rush between your fingers,
let the fire in your arteries sizzle aw
the breakers will always call us homedon't mind my voicethe breakers will always call us home3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in the twilight.
i am without shoes,
beneath my wings.
i was the well that fed the lake--
i [saw] your fingers touching the water.
where did you sleep last night?
we used to make butterfly handsYou told me that when I was older I would understandwe used to make butterfly hands2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and I looked up and saw the sky in paper planes and periwinkle blue.
I reached out and drew a line for you;
traced it all over the globe and back to your wise heart
so that when I was older, my head full of understanding,
I’d be able to navigate back to my place there
and touchdown, settle down with you.
You said that our worlds were too distant,
you with your job and bills to pay and me with my honey-sweet dreams.
I nodded and pulled back my flyaway hair
thinking that if we’re alive together, against all the odds and centuries alive together,
that’s close enough for me.
I kissed you and you told me I was great. Carousel great. Sandy-toes great. Smiles on a Saturday, belly-laughs great.
You snapped the string and flew away.
I’m older and I do understand
that dotted lines get tangled or just fall away completely and
you were right when you said that things aren't quite as pretty
as they are in my party-h
No Pictures Left to HangShe was three hundred school lunches, and one thousand, ninety-nine days of mooching off of her friends' snack packs, and four hundred more spent shushing her screaming intestines.No Pictures Left to Hang6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
She was one sick day of flu carried over from the weekend. She was two bottles of cough medicine and toomanyadvilstocount. She was her mother's free time spent mopping up puddles of fresh puke.
She was sick.
She was sixteen birthdays, fifteen Christmases, and one hundred ninety-eight presents all specially chosen for the smile on her face that was never there.
She was ten months of pregnancy and two months of getting there. She was twelve pills of Viagra swallowed with tap water. She was a trip to the baby section of Target and her parents' obvious beams at the checkout. She was a horde of pink things, now neatly folded and put away in the attic.
She was never what anyone expected, including herself.
She was a second glance in the mirror.
She is four closebutnotcloseenough friends, two supportive parents, an
for hummingbird lullabies--he is not the kind of boy who chases golden afternoons or dreams of things like bright red ribbons and spiderweb silence and love. he doesn't like metaphors because they never say what they mean and he doesn't like himself because he doesn't know who that is.for hummingbird lullabies--4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
sometimes he draws pictures in the sky with clouds and feels like maybe they mean something. but mostly he forgets to look up.
he likes things in neat, orderly rows. words that come in short sentences with two syllables and clear meanings, but really he doesn't like words at all. on his way home, he passes two shiny pennies, but he's not looking down so he doesn't think to pick them up.
'look,' his mother said one night, pointing at the sky, 'that's the big dipper, and there! that's orion's belt, and that's andromeda!'
but as hard as he tried, all he could see were stars, and so he stopped looking.
he doesn't believe in the magic of finding a quarter in the bottom of his pocket and spending it on gleeful gumballs in celebration; i
confessions of a misguided poetcertain things in my mindconfessions of a misguided poet2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
would be better left unsaid,
i. how I stared at a bottle of pills
for an hour as if they would slide down
my throat on their own.
ii. when I stepped out of the shower
with bloody knees and didn't bother
to put a band aid over them.
iii. why I can't keep a smile long
enough for someone to take
iv. who I wanted to be when I was
a little girl and who I am
right here and now.
v. where I tried to jump off a
bridge and landed in water
deep enough for me to swim in.
vi. what I wanted to scream at
you that day but I just stayed
silent and hoped you would forget.
no more pretty words and
today; just life,
the truth, and everything
that I never want to tell
. . . i dreamt you were a poetearly in the blue-blood-clot morning, i traced the varicose veins down my arm, following along my skin like a coloring book, but it only lead to a battery-dead end. like how id thought we were: a dead end. but we were nothing more than varicose romance twisted, coiling, unhealthily swollen.. . . i dreamt you were a poet6 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
were abnormal, ill admit, but my basement-low bloodpressure and your self-induced peerpressure arent exactly best friends. hell, theyre not even acquaintances! theyre nothing more than varicose fantasies intertwined in my mad-dog-wild imagination my hypersomniac mindset, where i pretended you wrote me lyrical, varicose verses.
when my closet head met my discomfort pillow and my lethargic lids met rapid-eye-movement, i unrealistically piloted my paper-mache-airplane from the movie theatre to the schoolyard restaurant, but the faulty jet engine on the elevator popped my circulatory balloon. i somehow
burning clouds for the sake of silver liningscontrary to popular belief,burning clouds for the sake of silver linings2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i would've been fucking
amazing for you -
licked the cold out
of your tired
ears, caressed your weight-ridden
shoulders and knees,
been the perfect answer to
your illiterate idea of
but you cowered behind a
reflection, a "too" instead of
trust me, baby, i've heard
too many lies
to know for quite sure, how
guilty you felt
when the fire in your heart
you're trying all the
wrong ways; keeping me
the way you shouldn't,
and it might just make me
better at filtering.
the only silverwhitelilac
making me wiser.
to the boy with ghost handsdear boy with the ghost hands.to the boy with ghost hands4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you are in my bones, sir.
waiting beneath my pale skin
inside the charcoal grey
leaving me to feel you
send morse code vibrations
throughout my entire body
leaving me speechless
my bones are asphalt grey
but with a hopeful
but with you here
it never stops raining
and i now know
what drowning feels like
but you still wont leave.
even with these raging waters.
you float and carry on
though to another part of me.
just re locating.
please, the rains getting
to heavy and my lungs are collapsing
and i cannot breathe.
from the girl who cannot let you go anyway.
i don't know if you remember, but i doi don't know if you remember, but i do.i don't know if you remember, but i do2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i remember the way i felt when i went to go meet you for the first time - how i was the non chalant type of nervous but i went out with you any way, and you bought me ice cream and picked me a flower, and kissed me under the stars on the hood of my car infront of the most beautiful view of the city with the blanket that my grandmother knit me for graduation wrapped around our shoulders. i remember the way you shook hands with all of my friends and smiled and said hello. i remember the way you drove eighty miles over the speed limit all while holding my hand and asking me about my family. i remember how we saw that couple fooling around in their car and we laughed and pulled over and did the same. i remember the coy look i gave you when i pulled away from your lips to make fun at you for unhooking my bra. i remember the way i invited you to stay the night when my sister was out of town and we curled up in her queen size bed and started to watch a
you are indigotoday i wrote a story about us,you are indigo6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but i crumpled it up and threw it away.
today i cried three buckets of tears,
one for me and two for you
because i feel you deserve more than i do.
today i didnt see you, but i wanted to.
i used to smile because i thought it made you smile but
shortly after meeting you i found out that
the only reason you ever do
is because you are constantly .
will you ever get tired of living a life of over-doses
and nights you cant remember
faces you cant remember,
hangovers you wish would go away.
one more hit of acid and you're legally insane.
i havent touched you
i mean, really touched you
in so long and
if i could go back in time i would.
now i tell you how you cause thunder and
lightning in my heart but all you do is
smile that drunken smile.
(you're not making this any easier,
but i dont think easy is what you want.)
you remind me of indigo,
the color in the rainbow that everyone overlooks
and i cant keep p
i left my heart in haiti.and so iti left my heart in haiti.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
[like everything else.]
was torn down,
shattered on the
i bought seven
cans of hope, and bet
them all on horse number
[like everything i've ever put my hope in.]
decided to fail me
i broke out of
your loosely colored wall
treason, so i
[i was never good at taking orders.]
and i swore nothing
could stop me
try to tear
me down, but we
both know i'm
[other then obvious.]
liar, and that any
sense of truth i
left at baggage
The Only Things I Read These Days Are TitlesBooks feel like strangers now;The Only Things I Read These Days Are Titles2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I am alone in a room with four hundred souls,
sleeping quietly amongst
the heat of their bodies, turned
They have watched me too many times
pulling myself from my skin
through a hundred tiny
I do not blame them for their silence.
The people who know me are silent, too.
The gradual decline of my ability to speak
begins with my inability to separate
and ends with my reluctance to
continue producing proteins
for you to use,
to draw from my mouth with your tongue.
Seven years of recycling cells will never
remove the chaos of you from
the quintessence of me.
I will never separate
there is a song for thisthere is a poem on the skin of scratched graffiti.there is a song for this4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it is called "a collection of tuesdays" or
"what are you willing to remember?"
and i don't know if i could ever forget
the area of her hips or
the way she always spells
the word tomorrow wrong and
i wonder if it's on purpose.
there is a name for this.
it is called "bicycles on the sidewalk
without wheels" or
"the song of collapsing telephones".
who would you even call, and
is there anything anyone fears more than
a diseased bird?
there is a will for this.
it is called
"boy digging through garbage at
three in the morning" or
"metal stop sign rusting behind
the faceless naysayers of
torn chain-link fences".
i see it gathering the night
and its edges say alone,
because who but the alone
would stop to watch the
errors in manufacturing,
the empty cathedrals beneath cities?
there is a song for this
but i don't remember what it was
going to be called,
and the stoplights are bleeding.
Brittle things like loveIt is my birth-month,Brittle things like love4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the twenty second year
curls on the nape
of my neck, fat
rather limply there.
I am composed, now,
of a history of mistakes,
leaving kitchen shears
on the counter,
tripping my baby
up the stairs,
saying shit in public
or something else
just like it.
I thought that one day
we would marry,
against a garden,
hydrangeas in my long brown hair -
thinking too often
of things I don't
like soulmates and kitchen
because they always
fill with spoons.
I'm so perfect in
a crisis -
so used to being
ten million little
car wrecks under my wrist,
that when my grandfather
went into hospice
care, I didn't blink,
just helped my mother
pack a suitcase
so that she could watch him
So that when you let me
become a dusty
prom picture in a drawer,
so that when you threw out
a lock of hair you'd kept
since last June,
I don't stammer,
certainly don't cry,
because I was made for this,
made for wri
shoot a blackbirdshoot a blackbirdshoot a blackbird5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and take down the stars
crush them pearls
and mix them with your teeth
rotting and slowly tick tocking
your way to a dream you wish
you could dream
wish your way to a wish
that could have happened
but not in our lifetime.
not when you're not sure whether
you're dreaming or not
and i don't know whether i'm
living or not
he asked me if he could make things
and i tried to say 'maybe'
but i choked
i handed him what i had left
and told him to piece it together
i can only trust him
but if he breaks it
i'll be just as fine as i was
Glass Bottomed BirdsHe says,Glass Bottomed Birds3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
"I'm thinking about realist and
of the diplomatic correspondence
of the Amarna age",
and I want to say something that sounds
like the way the stars make us weep
with the realisation
there are messages in the heavens
that we will never hear;
or how thoughts, in a poem become
glass bottomed birds;
or how the eyes lead to the soul
and back again.
I'm thinking about monkeys.
Tiny, tiny little monkeys,
and things that are
rather shiny, like Firefly--
and the way it made me laugh
when I realised how unconsciously
I adopted their phrase;
how unconsciously I added that
to my repertoire for performance
in this every day life
half a world away.
And I'm thinking about brine shrimp;
the sea monkeys that are swimming,
riding each other-
and did my brother explain
that one's lazy, or
did he tell her the birds are
a little too friendly with the bees
And also, I'm thinking about you
boys who own birds/zero.boys who own birds6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
she has always secretly been in love with the man on the moon. she's determined to see him one day. she makes 11.11 wishes, but she makes 11.12 and 11.13 wishes, too. she never wishes upon stars, though. she says their far too unpredictable and that she wants to see her wishes all day long.
she always tells the walls what she wished for, though.
she breaks mirrors and paintings in her spare time. she believes that if she falls asleep thinking about emeralds and oak trees she'll wake up with pretty eyes. they'll be the colour of walls covered in clibming ivy and they'll be the colour of grass left uncut for too long.
but she's always had insomnia.
she wants to start a conversation with a man wearing a black suit on the train to the city in the morning. she'll stare past his dark glasses and ask him questions like 'do you ever feel as though you're becoming redundant?' she'll explain to him that she's just on the
stars fade to blueit was past 2 am when i came up with the linestars fade to blue4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
[2:25:08 AM] Vie: i should write a poem about my favourite hater
she typed back
'You should. You really seem to have a lot to say about him'
what he does is what he does
now that i think about it honesty is what he does
i like making excuses for boys i like
because i want people to like them too
but i never was one for making excuses for him
he may be a bitch, but he doesn't lie
he's got baggage, he loves blondes,
gotta thing for drugs and has short
affairs with sleep
there isn't one person he's nice to
for too long
just because of his own insecurities.
writer's block got me facing off against
all my demons. i don't even have my words
to fight with. the past couple months have
been tick-tocking torture for sake of
biting my tongue and holding my habits.
i can't write fancy unless i'm in love.
so the only ink i spill is truth.
i live like a poor princess on the edge of town
somewhere between classy and trashy,
feigning the problems of