.I beat my head into the glass shop windows – as if that would knock you out of me – clutching at my heart to assure this aching chest that I still live. Perhaps, in a way, it was the motivation I needed to keep punching pulses into my wrist. (I ache more acutely than any time before, or for any person before.).2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
I know this is a cheesy love-thing (one I thought I’d never write, and therefore can’t find it in me to name), but I can’t help but fill you into every single word and page - and therefore need to ink you out. I need to breathe you, need to tell you… tell you that sometimes, just sometimes, I can’t help but hate you – and love you – for ripping me open to bleed him out; and I’ve tried to grip at the scars that see him differently. But he will never be you, and I’m starting to doubt that I’ll ever feel whole, while I marvel over not why I still breathe, but how, when sometimes all
I am the WriterI am a protagonist,I am the Writer4 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
A minor supporting character
I am the investigator,
The prophetic narrator
I am your hero
Your forgotten sidekick
I am the writer
Gilbert x Reader - The Pub AccidentIt was Wednesday, and you were searching for someone to talk to. You were always alone; you were very shy and really sick of being alone all the time. But you knew you needed someone to talk to. You lived in a small apartment in the eastern part of Germany.Gilbert x Reader - The Pub Accident3 years ago in Romance More Like This
After a long time of thinking a lot of nonsense, you decided to go to a pub. You never were and never did go to one of these kinds of pubs. Shyly, you got into the pub. Pushing the door open, you see it crowded with men. You really didn't like it even for a bit. In a place like this, only the workers were women. You sighed then thought: *I will never find the perfect one... I will be forever alone with my personally murderous feelings... Loneliness...*. You inhaled then smelled fetid odors of smoke and alcoholic beverages.
You heard extremely loud music and it was like living hell inside. You really had no idea why you still thought of staying there. Suddenly, you fell on the floor. A man fell on you; you figured there was a fight.
FearWhat is fear exactly? an illusion of the mind?Fear11 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
a simple feeling felt when the future's hard to find?
I've heard of fears of spiders,snakes, and even death.
Some symptoms felt are quivers, and some shortness of breath.
But really, what is fear? No matter what its from?
I think that fear itself, is a fear of whats to come.
I find it really odd that fear's a fear itself.
If its a murderer in the night, or a spider on your shelf.
What happens if he shoots the gun? or the spider jumps at you?
What happens if you choose to run? or to kill it with a shoe?
Aren't these questions what makes us scared? What triggers fear inside?
I feel these feelings are the reason we have to run and hide.
Its simple yet it is complex, a spinning mind parade.
Is it possible to make these awful feelings fade?
Maybe yes, and maybe no, only time can tell.
But the fear of falling's not so bad, after you've gone and fell.
But then, the fear itself, is not what we so hate,
its the future that might change, that makes
An Incomplete UniverseHere lie her highest highsAn Incomplete Universe5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And her lowest lows.
Sometimes a freight train rumbles by
And messes it all up.
She lies in the grass
Tracing her finger over her lip
With her brow wrinkled
She is holding her head in her hands
Not physically though.
She calls him a leech,
But in the end,
She knows it's her fault.
had I wished for sight.My wish-on-me star,had I wished for sight.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
whose ears I filled to secret’s brim,
whose implosions I hemmed
still layers deeper:
I’m sorry I wore stitches
and scabs with try-agains.
You sacrificed paper dreams,
Crumpling and sending airplane
answers until my skies were
Apologies have sweetened
on tight-pressed lips—
a thick and sultry wine—
but you’re now constellating
apparitions, in city skyscapes;
and my vocal chords
are coarse sand
Falling for an introvert (is hard on the knees)i. People tell me you are quiet, that you don’t say much. And when we meet, I realise they are right – you confine your tongue curled behind the curve of your teeth, treat words as if they are fish-hooks trailing up your throat. Instead, you learn to communicate in blinks, in glances and your cornflower eyes hold mine as if they are made of precious porcelain.Falling for an introvert (is hard on the knees)10 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
You don’t believe me when I tell you that I’m glad I met you.
ii. In the silence, where my gaze wanders to the thin line of your mouth, the twitch of a restless muscle behind your cheeks, your own flicker back and forth, a Morse code of ‘I’m sorry’ as if you should be apologising for the lack on the end of the phone, the stretched quiet moments, the railway tracks scissored inside your throat that haven’t yet healed.
You don’t believe me when I tell you that you are interesting.
iii. Instead, I fill the gaps with sound, an endless waterfall of quick hands and senseless words.
SeaSea3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Her love was bone white,
[ but never like diamonds. ]
Truth then became water to
pruning fingers and splitting lips,
while she drowned
in the mouth
of a liar like me.
If you're ever at the bottom of the sea...You cut me like a landscape, the kind with cresting hills, which rise into tsunamis.If you're ever at the bottom of the sea...1 year ago in Emotional More Like This
You disturbed me in a bump; something, about a boy, who sings his heart in damper peddles. But it was I who sustained this love, one melody, of life and pain rolled into mornings of stage lights and an incessant itch to crawl into the dark. I never knew I could find another person so shackled by the past. (I’m relieved and strangled.)
I miss you in those Everest waves, wishing your eyes would ghost over me just once in a ripple of remembrance. I wish I could bend these hills down to be like her plains, so you could walk in me, and hum, and touch the leaves of trees and not worry about where your soles step next. I can be better, but I cannot be her… though you grow tired, you say, and irritated, you say. I don’t think you even know what you want.
But... these valley-winds feel lovely, and the sight from jagged peaks just may be worth the heartache.
comets in my head againThere are bruises on my legs again.comets in my head again2 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
Maybe I tried too hard for the stars - struck hemispheres of dreaming too big - while I count one, two, three, four, five shiners on my legs, ten lookers on each arm (your jointed peals of rage) and, probably, forty-four on my heart – though it’s not like I ever counted the number of times you beat me down, before.
It never did matter if I was enough for the 16 years - or for the Escitalopram - because I was never a star jumper that could trade in comets for the cratered, disfigured life of meteors.
There are bruises on my legs again, and I think I should stop dreaming.
the boy i used to write poems aboutTHIS POEM IS NOT ABOUT LOVE.the boy i used to write poems about2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you took the posters off the walls for the first time yesterday,
moved the bed back into the corner and stocked up on that tea
you love but i’ve always disliked. opening
the blinds used to be a sin but now they drown the room with sunlight,
causing your hair to turn that ugly dirty-blonde color i absolutely hate.
last night, i heard from a friend you got the job at that fancy newspaper
and you’re finally going vegan - don’t let me forget to tell you your risk
of heart attack will double, maybe triple.
i haven’t gotten an email in twenty-four days. oftentimes,
you don’t realize you're falling apart because you're in the process of falling apart.
my mother came over to help me move into my new studio.
we pushed the bed (mattress, you claimed the frame) into the middle of the room
and put on new sheets. these don’t smell like you, not that
i could even smell-taste-hear-see-feel these days.
you stole my heart and bed frame an
MotheatenIt's louder stillMotheaten2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but you don't hear it
(and that has to be okay).
Darkness holds me close again -
so safe like warmth and
I am hypothermia
Then it gets louder.
My ribs overflow with moths
they devour all my light.
It is the fearful thunder
shooting down my arms,
too uncertain for one place.
It vibrates blood and scars
until my fingertips are earthquakes
cracking open famine soil, and
I curl them tightly -
control the fear.
Then it gets louder.
It starts small -
the little things -
stabbing away at the vitals
of what ifs and could bes...
it's always just the little things.
sheepskinYour love smells like snowsheepskin1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
in the deep of August, sucking
me like mosquitoes and you.
damn, you always had a talented
tongue, knowing just what to say
to roll me between your teeth and
keep me there; and I was hoping—
no, trusting— I’d not be crushed.
I should have known when
you raised your bones against me,
when you clattered your molars
together but never bothered hiding
the truth below your belt.
And a part of me says
I was in love with you.
blujayHer spine is crumpling into origami cranes, left in jars beside a dreamer’s dresser (I childishly hope they stretch bone-wings to heights, little Icaruses, as they tempt the gods in flight).blujay2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
I don’t wish to be nomads, wandering through the birdhouses of “if”s and “when she dies…” for I’ve been a gypsy of apology, ghosting through sterilized rooms and bed-feet, as much an apparition as Reapers; and because I could not see Them, I learned to say “goodbye.”
I do not wish to make my nests of broken bottles and her flattened dreams.
collapsei.collapse1 year ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
“You’re winter… someone unknown—unfeeling,” I am told by the inferno minds of mothers, poison ivy-handed and strangled by a sorrow far deeper than blue trenches… and perhaps, then, bruises are truly meant as warmth for starving hearts.
When you browbeat desolation with the same fist, I drown and sob in nailboards, your absence pinned within my throat.
“You’re nothing but deserving,” I am told by stainless steel and death, angry and hidden alongside pillow-roofs and prayers. And maybe I don’t believe in god as I believe in it, directing midnight shadows through the intersections of scar tissue. I am only known by five white walls.
weightless and dizzy-faced, they are the only true friends: iron-lipped and stable.
“You’re too pretty to be so shy,” I am told by a man with fishing hooks for fingers… so I sing and sigh in song, like sirens ‘neath his boat.
I am skinned from the sea three
EmbryoI choked back the crumpled dreamsEmbryo2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
clogged in my throat like paper wads
of useless poetry
while the ocean continued to eat at me,
one amethyst toe at a time;
I sank like the anchor inked on my back,
and loved of my bones a heavier guilt
to sink and sink, beneath sorrow
and joy, and the shoreline graves.
What’s meant for salt
is meant for tears
but I was never a creature meant
wailing through crooked pipes
rusted and creaking from the summer heat
and a silence so well kept
that the dead would stare at me,
and tongue tied.
(You’d always said that drowning me
was poetry in itself)
Bone-danceMy skeleton is nightBone-dance3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
ever the drifter
in powdered skies and
These red rivers
stir and breathe
for a width and stretch of slumber.
Kisses give soul to
and my bones,
(oh, what dreaming bones):
they dance no more.
feari. i remember long, lonely nights when i was younger;fear2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
before i knew writers' block and artists' heartbreak,
where the moon hurt and the stars
left pinpricks against my eyes.
ii. i met the sun on a fall evening
behind a broken bathroom door
in liquor locked lust;
his hands were warm,
pleading treaties with my skin.
iii. the atmosphere held promises like a dam
about to overflow,
filling with emotions and anxiety as quickly
as an artist filled their canvas.
iv. and while revolutions would continue,
the stars still made my heart bleed;
they disguised all my scary demons
and made them strangers with pretty smiles,
trying to snuff out the sun.
Sleep Well My AngelI didn’t become a mother when I saw the two pink lines,Sleep Well My Angel2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
But something changed.
What I had suspected for weeks was true,
& in a moment of fear, I realized my life was forever changed.
I didn’t become a mother when I saw you on the ultrasound for the first time,
But something changed.
I saw you wiggling around, only about the size of a peanut,
& I fell in love.
That was the first time I realized how much I wanted you,
You were mine, and that was never going to change.
I didn’t become a mother when I felt your first kick,
But something changed.
You wiggled and kicked me at least a dozen times that first night,
I was completely enchanted & I fell a little deeper in love.
I didn’t become a mother when the doctor showed me that you were a boy,
But something changed.
I was so surprised; I had sworn you were a girl,
But I was wrong,
But then again, everything about you was unexpected.
I didn’t become a mother when I started getting stretch marks,
But something cha
another morning, another nightMaybe ingesting youanother morning, another night2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
wouldn’t be so bad:
my terms, my pace..
but dear, this is a thunder-belly,
filled to brim with watered tears
and static light –
cumulonimbus ten drops away
from the greenstick fracture
that comes when you’re pushed
in from two
Him. His. Mine. Yours.
I’ve been invaded – degraded –
until scum were these veins
and I kept losing hands in
Well I’m tired of poker
(of thieves after pearls
and of pearls begging thieves)
so please let my heart remain
undiscovered — a child’s lover—
a psychologist to the lonely faces
inside the lonely morning
Though I be oceansIf I push you away, do not leave, for I am probably in the chasm of a pain so wide, it swallows me in days. It’ll spit me out eventually, and dear I’m sorry if I hurt you, but I hope you’d be there to tie me down. I still do not know how to love without being broken and splintered in so many places, that I’d hope you’d be forgiving, despite the stakes I aim at us.Though I be oceans1 year ago in Letters More Like This
If I throw those broken ‘me’s at you, please lock them back inside of me… and know it was not you whom I was remembering. Know it was not the present I was lost in, but the past, and give me time to reinstall my gravity. I trust and love your prints, but my brain stumbles over fingers: They can be used as hooks, and I was a fish once before, but lord never again.
If I forget your touch within the memories of another, please sink your fingerprints into my lungs so I may breathe nothing but you and ‘now.’
If there comes a time when I forget the ‘now,’ plea
Black Dog SinI am an old house,Black Dog Sin10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
paint chipping and the
bed more scared
than hard, joints popping
with every wayward wind,
and I thought we were fine.
I thought you were
happy in the shell of
my Amygdala, worshipping
my Hippocampus like a
but that was one bone you
quite swallow, love... though
you swallowed the moon
(against all judgement) and
in the damnable poison
of my happy, go-
I opened my mouth, too.
I choked on the dust
resting in the
rafters of memories,
the collision of
universes too loud to
ignore, and I burnt
out with comets before the
star of Emmanuel, the irony
being the alter I plagued,
the smell of smiling apple
trees violent enough to
scare the lambs away.
So the wolves
came out to join your song,
and I trembled and tried
to scream in a pitch that
wouldn't shatter my lungs,
three broken dreams too
far, but I ended
up breaking, anyway.
No one picked me up,
and I grew to
think I was okay
in the daily cut