are my words poetic enough for you?maybe not.
because i will never be the fire-hearted girl with remedial stardust lips,
dancing with the astral wolves that hunt beneath her moon-kissed skin,
with the courage to plant wilting lilacs into every crippled soul she finds.
but what if they were?
then i would be the ink blots coating the archives of humankind,
the fractured jewel tucked away in a catastrophic dragon's chest,
and the lyric every mismatched bone engraves into their marrow.
skinwalkershe was a vicious prion,skinwalker7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
anomalous & infectious—
my fractured mind was the
perfectly unsuspecting host.
i was so ashamed of life
& you had all the answers.
"don't let me go,"
she hissed each night,
coating my flesh in a
(it was just too damn easy
to grasp your viral hands.)
i know my ribcage is almost on empty
& my heart is converting to toxic waste,
but i still have a feverish serum in my veins
& a voice not yet conquered by broken bones.
your plague of malevolence
shall never govern me again.
pretty little poet fingersfabricated gods rest between thepretty little poet fingers6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
languid crevices of
her fingertips, scribbling profanities
all over her skin.
she's just mismatched bones
& blue bruises, telling of forbidden
love through archaic letters.
a tongue made for
wanderlust, & eyes made
for the stars,
even the devil fears her.
Last night,I broke every bone in my bodyLast night,8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
so I could have a reason to drown
in the isolated ocean inside me.
when my dilapidated lungs finally caved in,
I swam ashore and crawled across the polluted sand.
Only glass-edged skin
and salt-licked eyelashes
can help me now.
wild thingsthere are days iwild things5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
want to run with wolves.
to howl at the stars because
the moon has never done
anything for me, and swallow roses
like their thorns never
but this cage -
it seems there's no way
and i fear it's
for anyone to hear me.
life is just a zoo full of
all our monsters, and
[it's our fault] we
In ruins I sat playing crack the sky with wolvesI haven’t changed since the last time we spokeIn ruins I sat playing crack the sky with wolves8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
At least I don’t think so
Because my knuckles are still rusting over
And I can see you still have those lovely diamond lips
Sometimes I glance over at your cloak and dagger collar bones
Remembering how they would hold galaxies in them
While I rambled on about cabbages and kings
And you’d laugh and call me a child
Even when I wore skirts and dresses and heels for you
I’d still run past you and the stars
Chasing the sun in order to burn out my lungs
So I don’t have to breathe you in
And remember the taste of your synapse vowels
I don’t know why I still talk about you in my insomniac spiels
Of wild type written pages and cups of black coffee
But for some reason I can’t get you out of the hollows of my jaw
You've ingrained yourself in the valleys of my veins
And refuse to be carved out
ashes to ashesi am the girl withashes to ashes3 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
more faith in myths than in
there are more dead bodies in this world than the living.
and if that doesn't frighten you, then i
don't know what would. i guess you could
say that graves are just the closets in which
we hide our skeletons in.
there are ghosts all around us.
and i think that maybe,
i'd rather take my chances down in
the underworld with them than up
here where the earth is slowly
all because of the living.
SurrogateI stopped using his full titleSurrogate9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
because it started sounding too formal,
and it’s hard to be standoffish with someone
who swaps albums and memories so generously,
who loves German chocolate but hates the smell of oranges,
who knows me by my boneless,
drowsy form on the couch and by my words.
And maybe one day he’ll ask
me to drop the title altogether and call him Brad,
but I won’t.
Because it sounds too much like dad,
and I’m afraid of slipping up.
lies, she wrotei. just a mimicry, really;lies, she wrote7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
desperate to shine.
ii. counterfeit & clockwise,
tasting words on her
iii. with a dysfunctional mind
& apocryphal dictionary,
she cannot clone it all.
iv. "say anything," the pen
whispers as she trembles
among ink-scented fraudulence.
v. but she just laughs & plays the part,
forgetting what the pages told her:
"truth is stranger than fiction."
How to pretend that you are a writer.Act like you're notHow to pretend that you are a writer.2 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
okay when you are and
that you are when you're
not. Run barefoot in
the snow. Stand out
in the rain for an hour
and think about anything
and everything you can.
Fall in love with
riddles and things that
aren't real and the
way some stars
shine. Cry when
you realize that life is
just one big sham and write
one hundred cliché poems
about it, and then write one
that you actually mean.
Use profanity. Be the
one fucking introvert
in a room full of
extroverts and scream
shit just for the fun of
it. Swallow every goddamn
metaphor you ever dreamed
of and write them down
with your own blood.
Eulogize your own
misery. Put a crown on
it and let it rule your
heart for six years before
you throw a coup d'etat
but just end up with
your head in a basket.
Ask yourself why
you feel so
empty and when
you forgot how to
laugh and where you
last left your smile and
who you even really are
anymore. Mean every word.
Don't cry at funerals. Cry
yourself to sleep every
other night for
Perennial BloomsI want orchid fingers,Perennial Blooms7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
gossamer & shy.
But my reflection,
she charms vipers
with bloody thorns.
Too many corroded anemones
have taken root in my soul.
My rose-tipped lips
will shatter the mirror,
& her poisonous seeds will
incinerate inside my now
my hair is growing longthank god for x-acto knives andmy hair is growing long5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
marking pins and heroine
addicts and you.
thank god for good music.
and thanksgiving meals and
grandmas and spanish teachers that
actually care about you.
thank god for
quizbowl teams and gay sponsors and
that give you strength even while
thank god for sandwiches and mothers and
thank god for blue gatorade and
little girls’ dreams and
leather ballet shoes.
thank god for hair bows and tutus and
a stage made up of glass.
thank god for hamstrings and
thank god for dazy
and little lion manes.
thank god for big paws and
wasp stings and
thank god for sally.
thank god for self-destruction.
and thank god for signs.
thank god for twin sisters and
best friends and
conjoined hips and most of all:
thank god for support.
thank god for love and
care and tragedy
and train tracks lit up in the dark
broken dreams and invisible heartstringsEvery morning,broken dreams and invisible heartstrings6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
she wakes up to a
hollow chest & stormy,
red rimmed eyes.
It's so easy to be in love
with being in love;
swallowing fake truths
& sincere lies.
But her heart—
it forgot how to smile
two years ago,
because no one can tell
the difference between
imitations & reality.
please find me;
I'm lost between the cracks of
Desperate to breathe
yet wondering how it would feel
she's never belonged
in this universe.
Metaphorically SpeakingPeople are like books;Metaphorically Speaking3 months ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
full of stories and easily
broken at the spine.
Body Language.Dip thy brush against milky paint,Body Language.6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
and draw words that of love against my flesh,
and glide softly,
the tip of implements,
and tell me a story with my body through language.
Open Heart SurgeryI've got ink throbbing through fissured veins,Open Heart Surgery9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
poisoning every atom of my soul.
"Bite your tongue," they say.
How I'd love to chew the damn thing off
and suck down every filthy syllable
just like the rotten bone marrow it is.
They'd all watch as my body spontaneously combusts
and becomes nothing but convoluted karma.
And so I wrote,
Teach me the ways of ripping out a human heart,
and stitching it onto ink-stained parchment."
The answer that came was rasped from a cauterized throat:
"Read your future in the collapsed palm of the stars;
find the abandoned pulse of your lionhearted muse;
steal their conformed scalpel and make it your own."
I'm talking myself in circles,I screamed,I'm talking myself in circles,8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
"There is nothing
wrong with me, not a damn
I wanted to believe
the big dipper on my arm
meant something more
than sun marks & kisses.
But, how can I trust words
that slip through my teeth
as easy as breathing
when this star
has only ever learned
how to f
lowercasei carve insignificant poetry into my tonguelowercase9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
and hope the world will pardon the lack of
bated silence, for i write in nothing but
despondent screams and uppercase;
i've forgotten how to let everything go
and i'm tired of my incessant howling,
because it seems to me that the quiet
words are the ones that are the most
She is a sad songShe is brightness,She is a sad song8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
all euphoria and dreams
that bubble into lyrics
and vibrating strings
(but she echoes in melancholy,
the hollow throb that strums your ribs
and leaves you resonating too)
IcarusSun girl,Icarus6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
the whispering stars
& feathered clouds dance
for you tonight.
Do not let anyone
clip your wings;
you were made for the skies.
a mind, a man, a songlearn about choking.a mind, a man, a song5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
learn about space &
the distance from the pier
to the bottom of the ocean.
contemplate obscure types of light, wonder
why they don't reach out & touch you,
imagine yourself beyond a veil,
see life as a collection of images
stitched together by the clumsy fingers
of an amateur.
find consistency in the rough parts, beauty
in the disturbed & the dark
between fine straight lines.
don't put too much stock in words:
sound is a language some can't
as callused, bleeding hands.
there is no mundane.
minds are bendable.
shadows can be touched.
when you press your fingers into your eye sockets,
the sparks you see are real.
fill yourself with precipices, reflections,
the soft touch of human hearts.
explain to yourself that you are a man
but explain your tears as well.
cut yourself with love;
believe in beauty.
you're meant for this; you can feel it,
like you're drowning
(it's warm water &
you can still breathe).
unsetting the sunthere is nothing of wholenessunsetting the sun2 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
left of me
but you have built gods of fluids
spit from unkind oceans
and sweet only in comparison
and you have swallowed past rocks
lodged like mountains
and you have counted the curves
of my intentions
that one. (well, you know
and you have breathed beauty
into stubby shards
Stories of feelings with no names - Revision i.Stories of feelings with no names - Revision8 months ago in Short Stories 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, let alone formulated time to write a reply. You still get just a little hopeful when you hear the mailman drive by. You 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 your late Grandma Moses.
You lost your voice one day. You woke up to a hollow echo in the base your throat and knew you’d lost something special before you’d ever had a chance to say anything worthwhile. You checked under the bed and tried the lost and found, but couldn’t even ask if anyone had heard it lately.
A sudden awareness that occurs during funerals that you are going to die. You are dying right now – your cells are shedding like snakeskin and your hair is turning silver and every moment is one less than