Easter (and the space of you)At 30, I chaseEaster (and the space of you)2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
cola with chocolate
and tears, and I build
a new lifeline--
the space of you
not filling, simply
(17 years of echoes
could never erase you from me
and i still look for the man
you could have been
and the boy
you never were--)
because at 13, I chased
peace, wished for
the ending of you
and it came. I opened
a new wound--
Jesus dying on the cross
and you in his arms
instead of mine.
i am not splotched ink and tallied memoryiii.i am not splotched ink and tallied memory2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to all i endured,
unclothed, i wear (still)
ragged designs of ink
thrown at a canvas &
lines carved-- a prisoner's
tally of time.
stumbling over the
caverns and crags
of my skin,
your eyes travel
in halting progression--
[the crawl of a climber
down, down, down]
i feel your stutters,
a shivering- first
along one arm--
[almost a polka-dot
tap dance taking in
splotched ink and
then an intensification
of graveyard fever
upon the other--
[dash past the ink &
exhume the feeling
beneath the sleeve].
it is a shame
(and your loss)--
you cannot see the woman
beneath these scars.
this is not a suicide notewhat would change if i left?this is not a suicide note2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
would you wear your sadness
like a bullet-- raw and fresh and
slung, chafing, into solemn chambers;
or would you swallow it down
to poison your lungs,
steal your breath & dissolve
the remnants of me?
would you smoke yourself out,
a pyre of anger in one fist
smouldering with resentment--
unfueled but hot and bright and
burning our love to ashes;
or would you hang it,
trailing, coiled around your neck
where it will catch, untenanted,
on shards of me and tighten
to choke you?
would you throw in the towel
and jump, too, unfettered
without my soul;
or would you just breathe butterflies,
an exultation of relief and gratitude?
Composed Upon an Abandoned SofaWe refuse to wake; trapped in pharma-sleep.Composed Upon an Abandoned Sofa1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
This place is as worn as the clothes we wear -
Look at the beauty of it all laid bare.
Our flesh and limbs lay still, knotted in heaps
Of spit and blood. Our narco-coma lies -
We have nothing but red eyes, skin ice-fair,
Our thoughts are stifled by the blackened air.
We are helpless - scarred at the mouth and eyes.
Here we crash, together. In smog we steep
Our secret, buried away from the sky
Amongst the ash, the phlegm and comrade flies
We'll sleep 'til one of us, from the gloom, cries
That these beautiful things, their scent and glare,
Are too scarce to sate our thirst for the deep.
Naught but Words..Naught but Words..6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
There are naught but words
That rummage through my rattled brain
An attempt at madness so I may find an excuse.
Of solitary vicissitude that cankers like an open wound,
It festers with this ingrain of pain.
A light I hope, for one that shines.
A guidance that beckons all hope beyond the irretrievable.
And yet, in my longing - I become disillusioned
The mask upon my face is thick.
I cannot breath.
Like vines of weathered and twisted fate,
Im bound by this darkness that consumes.
As we all are, in terms of a degree and yet
The prison I am shackled within
Consumes as it does inhale,
And leaves nothing but dust.
If there was a wish. One wish I could have.
It would be to feel a love that cherishes the heart.
A cadence of decadence that would forever light my soul.
A chance at a truth
A dream that is beyond my grasp.
For I wake in empty silence,
That drowns me in its sordid pallor
And arms that no longer exist.
There are naught but words
That rummage through my rattled brain.
Found"You're nobody."Found2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Lost in worlds of 'no's and nothingness
"Something" to see inside
I looked back and found:
Daddy, you've drunk enoughDaddy, you've drunk enoughDaddy, you've drunk enough2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Daddy, people will laugh
Daddy, one question I ask:
Daddy... will our car crash?
I think you're too heavy, or am I too weak?
Because your weight on my arms, it's pushing down on me
And people look at us when you fall down on the street
I am ashamed, but I am still here
Daddy, why do you drink?
Daddy, is it because of me?
Daddy, did I hurt you somehow?
Answer me! I need to find out!
I feel so guilty, maybe it's my fault that I couldn't help you
Maybe if you had another child you would find a way to stop
I have dissapointed you, 'cause I'm not perfect
And it's killing me inside
Daddy, I know I'm a trash
But please, daddy, please, leave this glass!
Daddy, you're breaking my heart!
I'm so torn apart
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.
Carpe DiemTell me again:Carpe Diem2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
I want to hear about
the colours you carry
beneath your skin
and the way your parents betrayed
the promise nested
in your chest.
Tell me again that brokenness
skips a generation in your family-
that you are made whole
once the old generation passes,
and the way your mother decays
is an assurance
Tell me again that oaths sworn
will protect you
and the ways you've fallen,
a flattened souffle,
will stay secret--
when the evening breaks
and washes you clean,
still you will wear your sins.
Tell me again
and live anyway.
ApathyLifeless, in arms of dreadApathy6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
That sink and pull toward a pit so deep
Ether of its pallid gaze,
Shifts in momentum to slither hope.
The gargantuan leap to where no resolution lies
A fading figure of null, in void.
Lost and aching
Misguided by a reality no longer in vision
A pain so true, it goes unheard
To where a rose withers to naught.
A petal of dust, destined for shame
In where she lies, within the realm
Of blurred sensation that numbs a soul
And envisioned bouquets of hapless moors dance.
In silence she has become
In death she has lived
And in life, she had decayed to where a solitary vision
Unique to her own
Pulls its strings and guides her to the distant shore.
While a laden heart, in weight does tug
The tides of strength beyond her duty.
Wallowing in a depth of darkness
And grasped by hands of time
Toward the emptiness of her truth revealed.
Where love does die,
And thoughts of him dissipate
Like dust on the wind
And a bitter taste not resolved.
Bury Me (In White)"I'm living backwardsBury Me (In White)2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
so bury me
I will reclaim
The funeral is a small affair, ungarnished and over early. There mainly out of obligation and the need to be seen doing the right thing, the mourners are a motley assortment of relatives who are quick to kiss cheeks, and even quicker to take their leave. None of them felt the need to dissect this empty place in our lives that he once filled, and after only 2 hours, the only people remaining at the gravesite are myself, my sister, and the empty cage of his decaying bones, buried deeply beneath our feet.
Her fingers are swollen, like her face, and we both know she will soon follow him. "When it's my turn," she whispers, "bury me in white."
Her curls damp against her face, my sister adjusts the baby without stopping. Her feet are always in motion, as though she can build safety for this family as long as she never stays still, and all that's left for me is to watch. She is 14 years old, living her life backwa
in the bathroom sinkan island,in the bathroom sink4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you've built your own world here
a shelter, insignificant and
light, white and
ready to evaporate,
feet in the bathroom sink
reading books of boys in love
and soft, deep eyes
like wells and
the bottom of the ocean.
floating thirty thousand feet above yourself
your island is a bubble about to burst,
words in the wind,
hide from the sea
and you hide from yourself.
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.
ClosureMother, I remember you that late nightClosure7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
in my first one-bedroom.
Your sudden urgency when I phoned
about the lacerations --
my own flux and reflux, growing
steadier and more sure as death
and the darkness grew --
shocked my distrust, and I left
the front door unlocked.
Of course I meant I wouldn't
stop until you came to me
and sopped the grieving pools,
sanguine, from the tile,
the carpet, my bare arms and legs.
Your firm, easy touch stopped
rivulet and rivulet again, the cuts
deep enough to require pressure.
I like to believe you would have
sutured them shut, had the gaping
wounds continued open.
Deal with itWe have D.I.D.Deal with it3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
We are not fake or made up.
We are not a set or a cyborg.
We are a family.
We just happen to share a head.
Yes, that means we don't have a clear past.
Yes, that means life isn't all flowers and rainbows.
Life isn't always nice.
We aren't mad.
Dissociative Identity Disorder is how our brain chose to deal with our past.
So you deal with it too.
Writing mental illness (a short guide)When incorporating mental illness into a piece of literature, the most important tool you need to use is research. This is true whether you want the mental illness to play a large part OR a small one, and it is true whether you know someone with mental illness or not. In fact, it's even true if you have the illness yourself, because no two people are the same, and your character may display different facets to you due to contributing factors like experience and personality.Writing mental illness (a short guide)2 years ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
That said, research is not the first thing you should do, because before you get stuck into that research, you need to look at WHY you want to include mental illness in your literature. If you think it would be cool or fun, you might want to rethink it unless you're prepared to put in a lot of work because living with mental illness is not either of those things (generally) and what you're doing for a bit of fun has the potential to negatively impact someone else's life in a big way because stigma & misrepresentatio
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.
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
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
the last piece i ever write about you.it's ironic, y'know? i started going to therapy in april because of you. i thought you were going to leave me. no. not even that. i thought you were going to abandon me. i thought you were going to just pack up your shit in the middle of the night and just walk out that door while i was still sleeping.the last piece i ever write about you.2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
so i stopped sleeping. but that wasn't healthy.
so i started sleeping on the couch with my head in your lap. you couldn't leave if i was holding you. right? but instead you would just wake me up in the middle of the night and usher me back into my bedroom.
so i started sleeping with my door wide open. i thought i'd be able to hear you packing up your shit. i thought i'd be able to hear you leaving. i thought i'd be able to stop you.
and now, it's february, and i'm staying over at his house, wrapped up in his arms, pressed against his chest, laughing and kissing and coyote fingers trotting down skin, and i'm not losing my breath over when things don't go my way anymore, i'm not crying any
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--4 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.
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.
the breakers will always call us homedon't mind my voicethe breakers will always call us home2 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?