Penning AutumnFolded between the pages of booksPenning Autumn2 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
you bound our spines
where the dandelions grow--
the anxious poetry of autumn.
1,001 NightsIn a land of1,001 Nights2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
dreams and dust:
the curve of
a half-hazed sun,
on how I need youtoday is a six-word story:on how I need you2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I’m tired of waking up
I will peel back your
every insecurity and anxiety
and watch them fall to the floor
like vodka petals, regurgitated mosaics,
I will see you naked and
reborn and you will break apart
into passive aggressive poetic
dedications and unsent letters and
I will hate and love you
for the very same reasons and
I will move on.
Today, I am DrowningSome days,Today, I am Drowning2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in a tiny glass globe
to be carried away
on the wind.
breathes with the sea--
tangling about my ankles
Winter PoisonTo the boy with ghost hands:Winter Poison2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the best we can do is pretend.
The breakers will always call us home
but you don't feel the poison--it drips, it drips
like a bad habit.
We are fragile.
Bury me in white
under the winter moon.
Ephemeral1.Ephemeral2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i wake up and tear the sun
from the sky like this is a
grade school art project and i
am supposed to share something
worthy of myself-- i think
there is a black hole nestled
betwixt my lonely ribs,
devouring anything alive.
on days like these, my greatest weakness
is weakness and i am my own fatal flaw.
we live by mantras and my ears ring
‘i hate every piece of me’
(he put his head to my chest
and heard me dying;
call me beautiful now)
we are the false ends of sunken
universes, we are pieces of
dead galaxies and you are
stardust, god, you are
i believe that this is all just a dream
by someone with an imagination
bigger than the word “no,” that we
are pawns in a game not worth
remembering, but when i’m with you
i never took kindly to things
that required codependency,
the uncalloused portion
of my frostbitten heart
but god, you are
Hinging TimeAutumn's diaryHinging Time2 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
dances in the breeze--
pages ripped from barren branches.
My father's father's blood
was the same color, once--
an angry, untamed flame.
My own blood is an oil-spill
chasing the metal of my joints--
each move creaks.
Jealous WatersPale twilightJealous Waters2 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
frosted the waters;
nymphs sigh, jealous of Pan.
in which I become beautifulI drown my conscience inin which I become beautiful2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the holy water of my wrists,
I carve hearts from empty
paper for my galaxyboy
with stars written in his skin,
and I swallow moths to
muffle the emptiness and
help me fly away.
Moon Shardsabove spiderweb iciclesMoon Shards11 months ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
I hang colored glass shards--
a rainbow of moons
AsphodelA beckoning:Asphodel2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
watercolour sky shrinking,
too late, teeth fall; pearls
from a broken string.
Blink and the moon ignites—
but the sheets are still
LoveCaramel kisses drizzleLove2 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
from your lips, and I
still to a pulsebeat.
LiliyaBright-eyed,Liliya3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
mistress of light.
on self-assessmentThis is a poem for all the people who stillon self-assessment2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
have something to see in me. I could
cut myself on the sharp edge of my thoughts,
bleed out a saturated river of
something sweet; I could be like a million
other gifts from mother nature to preserve
in glass cases and scientific journals and
buzz words, to picket and fight over and
eventually forget. I could
write a million stories about the universe
in my stomach, and my lack of
a gag reflex and the irony in that.
I could write about the blooming storms
in my head and about how I’m addicted
to bad weather, and how I can’t hear myself
over the static waves rocking me to sleep.
My best friend is the most beautiful hurricane
I’ve ever seen, slow motion wreckage who says things like
what does it even mean, where are
we going, maddie, what am I even here for;
My first love wasn’t special. It was
ignorant and narcissistic and orbited around me
like some neglected planet, like I
was finally the center of a universe
a different explorationwe talk abouta different exploration2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
astrology and ex lovers. the raspberries
dying in the heat, the way the water
bit our skin, the homeless man set out
to buy California, the center of our universe,
you. that feeling labelled “blah,”
and the notion I am not my own.
we leak questions
like overrun rivers, excess spillage,
draining curiosities about that tragic skeleton
balled up beneath your clothes.
and for you,
I’d travel the length between heartbeats,
shallow and vain like your promises,
your liquid eyes.
above all, we were lucky.
miracle children. one in ten,
one in a million, a pair of stragglers
in seven billion exempt from
clarity and unclaimed skin.
I know this guy who had
sorry lips and scars down his spine
without a story. we didn’t have
a thing to say so we talked about
how the stars were our newest horizon,
the undefined, and how we’d escape to them
lost memories between the sofa cushionsi found the lost boys under the sink again,lost memories between the sofa cushions2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
their eyes boring as dark as a stygian night.
black ink tallies were scrawled on their arms --
an imaginary clock ticking life away in place
of the years they weren’t growing.
they reach their hands out to me,
beckoning, whispering the mantra
“be our mother again, again, again...”
but it was your words that echoed in my mind:
even pixie dust isn’t strong enough
to help me fly anymore.
spring meadowsbroken breezes throb;spring meadows2 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
a slow smile and naked nights.
clouds of porcelain blush.
Fragile--FFM Day 7Lindsey Stirling blared from my ear buds and I bobbed my head, furrowing my brow. My hand was shoved deep into my purse, searching for my keys. Instead, I found receipts from the Stone Age, a collection of seashells from last year's vacation, and enough pepper spray to blind at least twenty bears.Fragile--FFM Day 72 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Frustrated, I dumped my portable landfill on the welcome mat; lipstick tubes and loose change bounced across the wood and disappeared, lost beneath the porch. Spreading objects out with my hands, I sighed. No keys. "Damn it all to Hell and back ag--"
Glancing up, the box near my door caught my eye. Wrapped with neon-colored paper, a large skull-and-crossbones bow held a handwritten "FRAGILE" note in place. The colors were garish, clashing with the ivory siding.
Wrinkling my nose, I pulled the package toward me, keys forgotten. The paper was slick, slipping against the pads of my fingertips like silk. Examining the box, I flipped the "FRAGILE" note over--and gasped.
Yanking the ear
HaikuWriMo1HaikuWriMo2 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Church spire, stretching,
weds the moon.
and a heavy heat;
steeds of elven knights,
armoured all in blue.
upon orange glass:
a specimen, fossilised
veined in gold—
fallen like snowdrops.
Eagle in flight,
great wings cradling
peeking from a soft,
smoky grey duvet.
The world settles;
the heavens awaken—
two arrows in tandem.
The yellow of an
crinkled paper moon.
Tangled in old web—
a spider, noosed.
of a smudged landscape:
pot of molten gold
along the treetops.
MythosThe HunterMythos2 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
a sky of fleeing stars:
the archer's arrow,
Counting LightningA faint flush of blueCounting Lightning2 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
crowded by angry coals;
the sky holds her breath.
Red Riding HoodSunset's red capeRed Riding Hood2 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
spills across the horizon;
wolves lick sharp claws clean.
because we're too afraid to fly in daylightjust when i thought i was home,because we're too afraid to fly in daylight2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the welcome mat
turned to tacks beneath my feet.
i apologized for the blood
that crept into the cracks and stained your porch.
this isn't the redwood i had in mind;
but i think it's kind of beautiful,
in the same way
a moth can't find its way to the stars
from inside the garage so it
flicks its maddened wings to make a
ting, ting, ting
on a dying lightbulb.
"abyssus abyssum invocat,"
i whisper to the winged-dreamer
as she makes her way across my cheek.
i know she hears it as she
eases past my softly, parted lips.
ex glande quercus,
her wings thump morse code
against the rawness of my throat
and i swallow to quiet her pain.
hush, now shush. be still, my dear;
trees do not talk or bleed.
you've given your wings to grow with me
and we will reach the heavens.
we will be greater than the oaks
as our forest of hair plants us among the stars;
then, we will be home.
hitched to the sky
with the veins of your wings
and stuck with the red of