The WallI punched the wall.
The paper broke, a split lipped frown.
That was the thin veneer of joy you painted over my cracks with.
I punched the wall.
The paper bloomed into a paprika tulip.
That was the rusting screw in your jaw swinging off its hinge with your lies.
I punched the wall.
The paint broke into a smile
and I chipped out its teeth. They were the over polished hopes of our future.
I punched the wall.
The plaster spluttered out a storm.
Smooth and sleepy; I scratched at its eyes for promising to look out for me.
I punched the wall.
The plaster coughed hard again.
My anger was a consumption and its tendrils spasmed out from the source.
I punched the wall.
The plaster caved into a hole,
reminding me of all I'd given you and would never get back.
I didn't punch the wall
When the dust settled and its small red brick heart lay exposed, vulnerable, afraid,
You punched the wall.
The DescriptionHe drinks coffeeThe Description2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
its the art of seduction,
and quite honestly
when he does it
it might as well be.
You'll catch him
frowning into it
as he hastily scribbles
in a notebook
to make the world
El cambia a español
en la mitad del frase
and I don't think
he even realises.
He loves the world
that to be a part of it
leaves you feeling
He makes the world seem
to contain his love
and when he smiles,
because he reminds me
that there is hope
to be had.
For the world,
For people like us.
He is soil,
Salt of the earth,
of everything good
that will grow from
He is a ramshackled
waking up to
the realisation that
he is an innovator;
and that his passion
could change the world.
Star-writHear me read it!Star-writ2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It is nebulonic fate that we should dance
together in this burning bald ballroom
as the flames lick up the sepiatic walls
and drip curled paper down upon us.
It is our right to spin each other here
in the torrentous reign of flames and ash
as the chandelier, already hanging,
spits and sparks at us, trying to take us too;
and as everything we ever loved or cherished
in porcelain veneer or hand-crafted sycamore
crumbles to a close, still the thought remains-
that it is our star-writ fate to dance on.
The GhostAlright, I'll bite.The Ghost3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'll squirm and fold myself over
as a swelling of dough
pats down into itself;
hunkering down for the night.
I know when to fold
and when to hold; so I'll wait.
Wait while you leave me
packing up the uncomfortable
furniture in my mind.
I'll bubble wrap my dreams
and hold my breath in storage
and leave myself hollow
with only the echo of us inside.
You have me on the hook
So it's alright to let me wriggle
and slip through the carrion;
the wrecked remains of
my maggotous life.
I can't help but drop my head,
lose my pride, wait for death.
Maybe heads will roll
onto happily waiting Guillotine
and depart me from my troubles.
Until then I remain
the pestilent, petulant skeleton
rapping its ivory against the door
- Let me out of your closet.
I don't want to be
a secret that you hide from yourself
in the royal tower in your head;
a delusion, or the girlfriend
of only one personality.
I don't want to drape my cerements here
and let them stick to your floor.
If I must die, le
For every boy I ever kissedi.For every boy I ever kissed2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you took my hand 'neath the magnolia
at a christmas dinner party I held.
your mouth was cold. so were my affections.
you were the first man to listen to me.
i let you listen to my heartbeat; but
when the day fell away, you bruised me deep.
you were my safe harbour, and i your storm
turning your misery to naught but air
but i squirmed away from your tongue, repulsed.
you were my cradle, when i couldn't sleep
you would hold me close and pray for something,
anything, to keep me safe. (it was you).
eleven months spent sleeping with my phone,
i still couldn't believe when you kissed me
even after midnight struck us again.
i don't miss those guitar-player fingers
you wrapped me 'round. i loved enough for you
until i realised you didn't love me.
we fell into our love by accident
and like one, there were some fatalities
when you said you loved me using her name.
opposites attract. i fell hard for you.
you kissed me in starlit castle ruins.
Losing my BreathIt's 2amLosing my Breath2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and the calling birds
are hatching in my heart,
I feel it crack and they emerge.
Feel them drilling on my ribs,
the steady anxious thrum
of a flight risk
waiting to happen.
and I can't breathe,
memories of you
are nesting in my throat
I can't work around them.
It's cutting off the circulation,
and my frantic heart
tries to keep on.
and tears scratch their directions
into my cheeks,
they flounder and meander
and they erode.
My skin and soul is scraped down
layer by layer
and another day is heralded
by the angry flutterings in my chest.
I try to swallow my pride,
dam the tears
and crawl through the dark again.
Coughing up blood
and inhaling iron filings
(The remainder of
what used to be my life).
Sometimes, it's the little things.He always told me I was deep.Sometimes, it's the little things.3 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
An unfiltered distillation of a humanitarian ocean.
He accepted me, gills and all -
He knew that I needed my eccentricities to breathe
under the seascrapers of pollution
that hung over my head.
Or he said he did.
At the end of it all,
he tugged the gills open to expose me;
my innards trailed across the coral reef
as I swam trustingly forward, hoping for the best.
I tried to believe.
I believed him, gills and all -
But eventually, he left me, with holes in my sides
Where he had spooned out my intestines
To tether them to a boulder.
I tried to breathe.
He always told me I was deep.
It must have been a surprise to read:
Death by puddle.
Talking to the FurnitureRichard found himself talking to the furniture.Talking to the Furniture2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"Ahhh" he sighed settling into his favourite chair "lets have a nice sit down shall we?" The question lay down on the floral rug and withered away unanswered.
"What's that all about, eh?" he grumbled to the doormat that had curled up snuggly against the front door, jamming it when he opened it for the milk, as he picked up his post. "What's that about?"
"Right then, let's get the kettle on" he chirped conversationally to the kettle which blushed until steam came out of its ears and boiled despite being watched. "Lovely cuppa" he said in thanks, and the kettle whistled shyly to herself until she was calm again.
"Come along then" he grumbled as he grappled with the lawnmower, "Come along, come along then. That's a good girl".
Richard didn't mind talking to most of the furniture, he had done it most days of his long eighty-six years. He had talked to the furniture as it had slunk into corners and nested in cupboards when they had moved in fo
In absence of a poem.I chewed my pen to the nibIn absence of a poem.3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
and swallowed the ink thoughtlessly,
but no matter how long I thought,
I couldn't say what you mean to me.
I tried, I tried and I tested,
every word in my diminutive range,
but I screwed up more pieces of paper
and happened upon something strange;
I noticed words, which have served me,
for all of my formative years,
had no power to convey my gratitude
for the times that you dried my tears.
Whenever I doubt myself (often),
You're the one who tells me I'm wrong
You lift up my chin and remind me, wait
for the good things that will come along.
I can't find a way to express how
you are the saving grace in my head.
So words can't tell you how I love you -
I hope my silence will tell you instead.
The Bone CollectorSometimes my breath catches in my throatThe Bone Collector3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and the very stillness of an earth going
a thousand and three miles per hour
gets lodged there.
Sometimes these simple exchanges
leave me breathless, croaking on dust:
the unfiltered pigments of other people's skin
and blood and ash
but with my tarred lungs and itchy eyes
I sit and sift through charcoaled remains,
alphabetising them from c to c. I am lost
in a world charred brazen.
Many things I have loved have turned to ash.
Many people. I was naive enough to think
that there was some perfect nutritional truth
that could outlast hell-fire.
I claw through a world turned ashen
and know those dead embers collect in my cells
They are the harbingers of a truth
I do not want.
The skittish earth throws its skirts about again
to unsettle us all, and I am unsettled
Alone in the dirt, organising piles of bone-dust
he did not love, at all.
Broken Birds and Stark PhrasesWe slip and slide and fallBroken Birds and Stark Phrases2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
down curves and carrow places.
We cursive at the wall
in our undefinéd spaces.
Disjointed limbs extend
to strumpet our arrival,
to warn who are not friends
we will kill to survive all.
Hung upside-down haunters
hug branches in the Forrest.
Merry nightmare monsters,
Cheery snarling chorus,
Arachnic children know;
you can run but you can't hide
from this disparic truth,
darkness waits for you inside.
Although you seek the sun,
as all creaky spinsters might,
the night can't be out done
and it has you in its sight.
DesperationYour spine is a secretDesperation2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
my fingers can uncode.
Your vertebrae cracks open,
your secrets are exposed.
I suck out the tender marrow
and scrape flesh off the bone
hoping; if I absorb you
I will no longer feel alone.
KissingMy lips are still freshKissing5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
from our fevered kisses,
even after they slowed
to a steady flutter;
matching our erratic heartbeats.
My lips are still raw
with the urge to kiss again.
CarvedYou are an oak carved tableCarved2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that has been hewn and hacked
from its original pure form
into something someone found useful.
I was screwed tight together
with fixtures, fights and fittings
by so-called master craftsmen,
who wanted me to be firm,
who wanted my artificial endurance.
Men who wanted my knots undone
and for me to hold them up,
but I am a chair, and you are a table.
You have told me of the days
when seventy percent of you
was forcefully ripped out
leaving a splintered hollow behind.
I know how abrasive people
rubbed you up the wrong way
with sand paper to keep you quiet,
and with words to keep you down.
Plain men with plained minds
that have been stroked to the quick
and left only with the core
of their brutal carver instincts.
I know how you were made, table.
I am five pieces nailed together
With sticky tape for good measure.
You are one whole still, somehow
and when I need you, you are stable
and your legs are thicker than mine,
run faster and bear more pressure
on your leve
Never The Gold.I want my silver back,Never The Gold.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I need to melt it down and forge a new connection
With someone else.
I want all the precious bits of myself
that I so willingly quarried for you.
I want my silver back.
HatredYou are a hemorrhage. You are the violent implosion of my blood under my skin that makes it itch like I am morphine-high. You are my blood seeping from arteries into artillery and shooting holes through my over-ripened heart. You are the snarl on my lip and scars across my forearms that burst open when I over reach my capabilities. You are the writhing groaning dying beast in my ribbed cage that aches for a kill. If I released you, you would snap my neck and watch me spurt out the only truth between us; my blood. You are venom and sap, holding my structure together from otherwise limp apathy but nonetheless you are poison, and how I hate you, hatred.Hatred2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The White ThingsNothing is as far away as a minute ago.The White Things3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
No matter how hard you row against the tide
we can never reach it, never return there.
It's hard to sleep in the light of my regrets
that creeps through curtain and barriers
to rot away and bleach all things white.
It's hard to sleep knowing that no distance
is as far away as sixty small seconds ago.
Immalleable, we rot, and things turn white.
PorcelainDiane’s hand crashed hard into the porcelain as her knees hit the ground in front of her perfectly white toilet. She had over done it, she realised. She retched again and vomited into the bowl trying not to let the acrid smell fill her lungs because that smell often made her vomit again. She had been feeling rough for a couple of days but had decided to distract herself by cleaning, the kitchen was done but when it came to bleaching the bathroom the enclosed space made the cloying scent had seemed magnified somehow and it had stuck to the back of her throat until she had coughed it out. She was sick.Porcelain2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
She was sick and she hated to be sick. She pulled the plastic toilet seat down and rested her arm on it so she could lay her cheek against her wrist. She felt the tears streaking over her hand and it tickled unpleasantly, but she was exhausted from the exertion of being so drastically unwell, so she did not move.
Eventually she knew she would have to get up. Warren would be home soon
Thy lips are warmOf all the words that mouth at loveThy lips are warm3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and soften it with tongue and tooth
None will ever justify this breakage.
Never will there be diction enough
To make a heart salve, or tears unwept.
There will never be a word of woe
That suits to the shape of the thing.
Though many mouths may speak
of love and all her many expressions
airs, graces and confabulations.
None will correlate the meaning truly
how I loved for him, and he not for me.
Cigarette BurnsHear me read itCigarette Burns3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
We slept on a mattress on the floor and I had a tendency to kick the sheets off the corners in my sleep. I have caustic dreams. When the sheet would come undone (a direct reflection of my mental state) I would joke about us living in squalor, and we would laugh about cigarette burns exposing the vulnerable belly of the bed. The truth was, neither of us smoked, the bed was unburned, but both of us preferred to think of our home as slightly damaged to reflect the people inhabiting it. Eventually - you left. You did not take the mattress with you, and yet I was left with the unquenchable conception that you left because you grew tired of finding burn marks on my skin, and trying to sew them up tight enough that we could sleep. That we could sleep on it, roll it over in our minds, roll over it and never mind, because now you're gone and the room fills with cigarette smoke as the embers lick up a fight in my lungs, and I burn.
Undying LoveShe screams, pain holding her, hands holding her hair and pulling tight, each strand reins to her conscious will. The drugs running through her system become a geas, an imposition stemming from the necessity in her soul.Undying Love3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The tetter barked and shouted it's way down her arms, her misery congealing in her wrists and at her throat, forming a lump that pressed down weightily on her trachea until clawing a breath in was more effort than she had energy for. She choked on a sob and the angular bite of the sound released some of the tension. She fell.
The beige, tiled floor rose to greet her decrepit, falling form. Undone, as if a string on her soul was pulled, undoing the knot that was -that could've been- her life.
On the ground, she weeps as quiet as her ragged breath – or lack of breathing – and she turns, turns on her swollen elbows, and kicks with her swollen knees, trying to stand. Her head hits the bathtub side, and she sees stars, and darkness, cloud her vision. Her dizzy t
VaseA broken heart can be excavated.Vase2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Damaged tissue can be scrupulously removed
and the cracks can be sealed
with the molten trails of gold solidified.
The upturned cavity,
once proofed against further damage,
can become a pulsing vase for tulips,
because even though your heart has been broken
it is still valuable beyond comparison.
GrowthI remember the day I caught him 'gardening'. His cheeks stained cherry with the brisk wind that trotted beside him up and down the smothered garden path. He dropped a seed as his feet brushed past each other. Up and down he walked, a solemn lieutenant. I asked him what he was doing and those wide sky eyes reflected the ice as he told me he was trying to grow flowers for his mother. I looked at the seeds spilt on the snow and told him that they could never grow in these circumstances. I will never forget the clench in my heart when he responded, with a child's tongue; "I know".Growth3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Sea SaltI walked along the bracket of the beach with a pocketful of salt that the sea no longer wanted. I had originally intended on returning it (one day), I didn't mean to keep it. Technically, because it wasn't mine, I stole that salt. I sifted the crystals out of the water and rolled them between my fingers until they were eroded smooth by the ridges in my fingerprint. Fingerprints embedded in the evidence. Salt embedded in my identity.Sea Salt3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
They never caught me. I was never reprimanded for stealing from the earth. I should have been. I should have been.
CopperThe underside of my heartCopper2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
has rusted through the shell.
Smooth tissue hangs, sodden,
through the ring of oxidised needles.
The frantic muscle
takes on water, tries not to drown,
in the body of fluids
you spat into my chest cavity.
Heavy barnacles of regret
cluster cancerously 'round 'til,
like all else, they disintegrate
with the acidic memory of you.