ocean lungsyou weigh something like gravityocean lungs11 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
in my tired expanse. you are
(my once splendid mountain)
my love is the ocean
that has worn you down.
with my monstrous tongue,
i pulled you in.
as you fall,
sweeping peacefully into the depths
and filling each crevice,
i am learning to inhale shores.
some would say i'm suffocating
and bring me buckets of air (only to have it
escape my slippery grip).
no, the tides need something heavy
to make of her
The Feral Dance Of InfinityBodies held together like PangaeaThe Feral Dance Of Infinity3 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
shaking, trembling, turning,
the translation of foreign emotions,
and days spent speaking in tongues
on latin skin.
an irrevocable truthi.an irrevocable truth8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
snowflake child, you are a fine example
of the incandescence of a human light
even under innumerable umbras
i see you- ruby and blooming
ferociously fighting your way
out of a pile of rubble
my anemone, my halo
that comely wraps around my moon pith
do not fret if i self-stumble, fumble
with my fingers, and mumble to my toes
my center of gravity is oft frail and
meek to begin with
you are lead cause of the diamond flecks
scattering about the carbon of my pupils
you do not leave me
you teach me to be
snake-eyed yet shotgun-hearted-
a sapphire wanderlust livid
for life and star-gazing sights, you map
constellations on my freckles and fright
look now at how i'll find my lighthouse lover
then tend to some kids
and grow out of my gills and into grey hairs
then tend to some kids with their own kids
and reminisce about friends and phenomena
i signed my name on a patch of sky with
all on my own except
that your hand never left mine
that if i were to crumble
like the sandcastle
Life on DisplayShe had grown up in a worldLife on Display6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
of coupon clippings, muffled ears
and tip toeing around broken glass.
Bruised feelings towards the world
that looked so narrow and thin;
Felt like a resolutely locked door.
Always grasping for the heavens
with a desire and ferocity
of piercing iron claws.
Dominating the skies with all the
bulk and majesty of a bird of prey.
Boxed in at one corner of a city;
dusty and forgotten.
Yet, always guaranteed to be visible
at night. Raging quietly through
the darkness like the last bit of embers
on the end of her stamped cigarette butt.
Artsy and upscale enclaves beckoned her.
Hidden oases of roasting coffee, hip music
and fresh-cut flowers. So unlike the barren
desert of chain convenience stores and dreary
apartment blocks she called home.
Beautiful young women
clink marble china together, bobbling
around each other like planets bobbling
around the sun; All struggling for recognition
and permanence. All the while, defiantly staring
into the face of the force that ga
pollenwasp-waisted beautypollen6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
pray into my collarbone
let your snake tongue slither
with the syllables.
i wish for soft-chested nights,
and the trickle of champagne down crystal glass.
poppy-lips, lull me to sleep,
nurse my coiling tongue with yours;
tap my scalp like a silent drum,
and wind my hair in between your fingers
like broken guitar strings.
(serenade me with the buzz of pollen in your kiss.)
Life Boats for Paper DollsI still throw salt over my shoulder becauseLife Boats for Paper Dolls2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it makes the devil thirsty.
He drinks from an oaken bucket.
We can live our lives without him.
I know a tree in Pennsylvania.
A girl nobody saw leaned against the moss
every day after class.
She wrote in a journal as ants
crawled between her silent fingers.
The summer I turned eighteen she tried to
hang herself from it
Not the journal.
I suppose our words may often feel like gallows.
You never forget the first time you
taste sour milk.
The feeling of time's betrayal.
Some things still have to be taken on faith,
not expiration dates.
Today, I saw her under a tree in Minnesota.
She still writes about damnation but only with a smile.
There is something beautiful about rotting wood.
Lately, the waitHighway traffic, seamless like the skiesLately, the wait2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of October; distant lights foretell
A gush of wind, a magnolia laden threshold.
much sought after
a phenomenonYou are a trajectory from which I have fallen, Moon-bounda phenomenon3 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Earth-boy. With height and speed your molecules shifted;
I dropped away by degrees – further, then further.
There must be all the sky between us now,
but I taste your dust with my fingertips,
Sparrows and Train TracksSparrows and Train Tracks4 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
She listens to the corpse of a wingbeat.
The stories of faraway people
etched on sea glass and flower petals,
like legends told for lullabies
printed with rose thorns
in the absence of paper.
Do the fingers of clock hands
hold the questions of children,
the way wine kisses guilt
and disposable wedding rings?
Handmade letters and gift-wrapped packages
resemble the music of a laughter
that isn't really there.
How many faces
are the reflections of a moment
dying in the second of a memory-
or the dances in the i love you's
that you never told me.
Black Widow IIawayBlack Widow II8 months ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
Mom's rose garden grew beneath the steps, and I did too. They weren't aligned and it bothered me. I always tried to fight it but she would come down and lay her hand on my bare skin and whisper, "They aren't growing."
And I would be red like the roses and blue like the violets.
She grew beneath the steps too.
notlookingforthepastorthe f u t u r e e e e e e
set down the lighter
put it down.
don't make it brighter.
I set the roses on fire.
she never knew I them on fire.
I set them on fire.
her hands on my bare skin and whisper,
they aren't growing
MerlotYou are defined by the women you take home.Merlot9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
I still smell the flood of 212
that washed from her neck to your fingers
like a wave caused by the convergence
of what was mine with who I wasn't.
You looked better disheveled,
hair splattered across my stomach,
reading about the places you hid yourself
before you met me.
But then a woman with race-track curves
sat on your lap at lunch
"a real lover never lets you finish the bottle
honey-filled heartshe asked her if she loved himhoney-filled hearts8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
and she looked at that golden boy
with a bumblebee smile and sad veins
like good champagne leaking onto the stars
only a million words were left unsaid.
I do not like you poetsI do not like you poetsI do not like you poets6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
breathing into my sorry head
like the air hasn't been wasted a half-a-million times
folding up my lungs
to place them neatly into a wastebasket
how can you make me stop hurting
& then just leave me
a limp lettuce leaf
on the backside of some dirty napkin verse
I am not the jealous type
but I'm going to call up Melpomene & ask her where she's been
send her drunk texts
because I'm too tired of filling up my skull
with cicada skins instead of led
while you make it all too easy
to sleep through a heartattack or two
my pygmalion, my god, my thing of legends
when you were being taught the siren's song
was I writing myself a migraine?
The NecklaceCliché Hallmark cardsThe Necklace4 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Always start the waterworks.
Even at crowded restaurants.
To know.... it's a piece,
Of my Mommy Jean
Shaking, beaming, crying
As that slim white gold clasp
click... for the first time.
A feather's weight
Instantly at home on my collarbone.
Slit-eyes red and swollen
That pendant-spot between my breasts
Scratched and red
From shaking hands,
Grasping for anything to ground me.
Tremblingly closing that slim white gold clasp
click echoing with tears
Heaving my duffel up my steps
And down the hallway,
To my last door on the right
Dropping it and a gasp
Hands immediately undoing
the circular clasp at my neck
Frantically grabbing the chain on my dresser
Breathing slowing as the heavier chain,
But lighter pendant comes to a rest
click and my breathing becomes regular
Sighing as I flop into bed. Home.
nineariel stole your breath more than i ever did -nine6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
when my heart was thudding between your lungs,
because that was the only safe place, or so i was told
i can't remember when my heart caught the fever
for you had guarded it with your own ribcage for so long
my memories melded between your synapses and
we became one
Strawberry (An ice-cream in December)Strawberry (An ice-cream in December)4 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
I disassemble –
heart after limp,
brain before muscle.
You hear the pieces fall.
Sometimes, all I can ask for is an itchy blanket over me, and a cup of steaming tea between my calloused fingers, bringing the smell of hot strawberry to my nostrils, until the smile of content overwhelmingly fills my chest. Sometimes, all I can ask for is death.
I don’t like mornings. I never liked mornings. The sun is mocking – glaring from his heaven to a place grey and heavy with nothing but vanity, and shoving his hard light to all the ugliness around. Night is not like that. Night is beautiful. Night smells of wet leaves and falling stars and wishes forgotten in the sigh of two lips touching. Night brings the twittering song of a hidden cricket, a lullaby lost in the fading dreams of two bodies nesting one in another. Night is not like mornings.
The breeze is cool tonight – comforting, dancing around the baby blue curtains of the kitchen. The TV plays in
Counting StarslatelyCounting Stars6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
i've taken up
on the floor
at the ceiling
of the earth
laws of physics
on the tips
of my fingers
time-spared drawers of dreamsi. someday the sight-starvedtime-spared drawers of dreams1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
will find more than just the moon -
that i promise you.
we've seen all of what happiness
will never be and
like liquid stars in the milky way,
smiles will seep down
into the oceans of your laughter.
never mind what they said
about shady equilibrium;
it's only man's insecurity.
truth is, there is no
no rule, no eyes
watching over you;
just the forgotten remains of the
god that falls on us
every time it rains.
ii. someday, my dear,
those cranes won't just be
an exhibition of folded paper -
and those tears you cry now?
[which you hate so much?]
will leak into my arterial walls
and tell me they only tell stories of ecstasy;
we just have yet to realize.
love, it won't be long
till autumn will not be as forgotten
and between these
multiple shades of grey, will rest
the emptiness within yo[us]
and the broken smiles
of a shattered yesterday.
iii. grieve not, sweet traveler -
our draining journey has just begun.
and though you have been without comfort for s
tell a liei. rivers are stronger than oceans despite their sizetell a lie11 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
they tumble through sharp mountains
but they never, ever stop
ii. i can rush and pick up sediments
and disperse them where i wish
iii. i'm lying -
i knew you saw it anyway,
there's seaweed in my fingernails
and salt on my breath
Pocket UniverseI can smell the typewriters beneath your skinPocket Universe5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
metallic, halting, smudged vibrato
wavering note stretched out far beyond
the edge of the universe tucked in your front pocket
breathing out in time with your heartbeats.
All along the wall I find notebook pages
old teabags hung for too long, green flakes whirling
while you sit in the lean of the willow tree
and watch the play that is my life
chew the scenery; the stage collapses with a groan.
You pull your scarf in
and wrap the scars in burnt umber
while the show goes on
The Problem With Elia.she could have been a violin;The Problem With Elia.8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
born a week too late, she had
melancholy in her bones: doctor lizbet
took time out of her schedule to pluck her
newborn strings - calloused sanitation against
mottled pink-and-yellow flesh & thrashing limbs.
in three more years, she will have
nothing in her bones at all: doctor estair
diagnosed her with iatrophobia to fuel her
instinctive chords - ripple-free shells of liquid
lobotomy & a capsule to callous her pink-and-yellow
flesh against the thought of just getting over it all.
ten years after that, her mother will
find her face down and thrashing: her dust
bunny bones will flex as she retches up her memories
for display - lawyers will spend the next few years pawing
through them with clawed hands and heaving breathing until
one day, they find lizbet and estair huddled amid the rubble of her bones.
the arrangement of astral cordsThis is how I'm built up, you see;the arrangement of astral cords11 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
stars trapped in the linings of my
the regurgitation of meteors
the chambers of a heart--
deconstructs of kaleidoscope-stained
This is the reason why my throat
bubbles like witch's brew--
the insides of my body form monsoons that
scratch my lungs and
decapitate my windpipe,
an off-pitched dissonance
like wind chimes
whenever I try to shout or speak or
(and they tell me that you could sing
the moon to sleep when you cast
your faithful nothings on a star)
[and, no, I'm not some kind of genie
trapped in an expanse of dust
rather than a lamp]
Darling, I was never caught between
a collision of star-crossed galaxies,
nor an accident between the big bang
and a black hole.
I was born a star-child.
and, no, they could never be beautiful.
Yet, I could never be as graceful.
I could never carve my face the way
gods do, and
Cloud in a Bottle 1Cloud in a Bottle 1Cloud in a Bottle 11 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
How is it your voice is a canyon which cuts
where you did not even speak, opening the rivers
of my lungs so they could cataract, could rage with breath
you breathed? That the rock swells of your ribs, washed
round and floating, met then barred the way with mine
so that my heart, turned to tides, could not slip by,
and beat against the walls, unanswered, ‘til it drowned?
And that I still don’t hate you, even now?
There’s all this nonsense of lips and bubbles, that’s fine;
still refuse drifts in one direction all the same, refusing—
shored up maybe by some reassuring echoes still unsung—
to sink, so like an opened blouse colored by brine, my hope
finds refuge at the highest point, and lays itself unlocked
on barren sand to fade, suffuse with light, the way all things
in the desert turn finally, achingly white.