Hallelujahthere is an angel sitting next to me.Hallelujah2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
her hands are tucked like wings against each other,
each blue life-vein peeking out through
too-white, too-thin skin.
a dog-earred copy of The Great Gatsby
waits in the pocket of the seat in front of her.
any other day, that might be a metaphor,
but today it is just a lonely book
whose owner is even lonelier.
there is an angel in the plane seat next to me.
while i am closing my eyes to say goodbye to the ground,
she is opening hers wider to say hello to the sky.
her spine is bending against the metal side,
like maybe if she pushed enough she could be free.
as the plane starts moving faster and faster,
the ground tells me, “see you later.”
and as the wheels draw back into the plane’s belly,
the sky tells her, “welcome back old friend.”
there is an angel sitting next to me on a plane,
and it sounds like the start of a bad joke.
she is beautiful with spindly fingers, fly-away hair,
green eyes and a feather soft smi
to the girl i lose my words aroundi have been meaning to tell you for years:to the girl i lose my words around5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
i think you’re beautiful. i have
seen nothing on earth that holds a candle
to the ocean you carry inside your body.
it spills over your edges sometimes, like
a rain shower around you, blurring your penciled-in
lines until there is nothing left of you but your natural
cliffs, valleys, and deserts.
i like that.
i have never met someone who is, somehow,
a sea and a storm at the same time.
maybe i never will again.
maybe you are the only one
who gathers clouds on her forehead
like a promise, or feels the push and pull of the tide
with her every step.
you are beautiful, honestly.
you are honest, beautifully.
it is in the way you talk, the way you hold ice
on your tongue but forget to use it—
you always forget to use it, i don’t think
you know how.
to be truthful, i’m afraid of your smile
and how it breaks over me, how it pulls
me like a whirlpool down, how it pushes me
like a current back to the surface. i’m afraid of
the devil's in the detailsthere’s a beautiful boy sitting on the curbthe devil's in the details9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
of a street somewhere in that time right before
the sun sets and his head is in his hands
and he’s never looked more beautiful or more alone
and you want to tell him it’ll be fine,
that it’ll be okay, that soon he’ll outrun whatever’s
doggin’ his heels, that it may seem crowded now
but there’ll always be more earth
than people, or else we’d be driving
through ghosts and the whole
point of driving is to run away from them.
but he doesn’t have the right kind of eyes
to believe that. they’re red and bloodshot
like he’s been crying too long
to ever listen to you.
you don’t sit down next to him. he does
not expect you to. he may or may not
know you’re even there. if he did,
he’d make you leave because you don’t
belong with him, this angel of a boy,
you don’t want to put him together
you want to watch him finish falling apart
because broken things
just another adolescent love poemlet’s get this straight right now:just another adolescent love poem4 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
there are people i can only talk to
at four o’clock in the morning, when
the line between decency and secrecy
becomes just as blurred as the one between
night and day.
you’re not one of them.
i’m not ashamed of you.
or scared. and don’t try to tell me that’s not
a miracle because i still check under the bed
for monsters and behind the shower curtain
for serial killers. i know it’s all in my head
but things like that make me terrified;
i mean, i still hold my breath crossing by a cemetery
and someone else is always going to have to kill the spiders.
i’m hoping that someone will be you.
which i’m also hoping i’ll never accidentally tell you
because it’s like i lose all cognitive reasoning
around you, even when we’re fighting.
you split me down the middle, half of me wanting
to tear out your femur and beat some sense into you
and the other half wanting to give anything,
even the foun
getting too attachedto the one night stand, probably sittinggetting too attached1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
in a taxi on the way back to his overpriced apartment,
this is just to let you know
that i wish i could love like you do.
that is to say, in under thirty minutes and not at all.
this is just to say
congratulations on being my first
one night stand
and also, i just wanted to tell you
that i’m glad you never gave me your name
because if you had, i would have tracked
you down through the whole city,
holding my heart in my hands
until i found you so i could give you
the damn thing.
it’s going to be a long time before
i can get those eyes out of my head, boy.
i wish you had fallen in love with me,
like in those movies or in those books,
and then you would have stayed.
i wish i could have met you
at my workplace and you would
take me out to dinner or to an arcade
or to a midnight showing of a B rated horror film.
i wish you were nervous the first time you kissed me
and that you tasted like a breath mint
instead of cheap
CanvasLet her paint a masterpiece,Canvas2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Let her paint a lie
Let her paint a word inside the shining silver skies.
Let her paint a mystery,
Let her paint a sin
Let her paint the things that lie in darkness deep within.
Let her paint a masterpiece
(but this time there's a twist)
Make the brush a blade and let the canvas be her wrist...
weighted down1. I am sixteen, suddenly.weighted down5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
I have grown up without anyone
telling me. My car keys rest heavily in
my palm. Each new college I hear about
rests heavily on my shoulders. I am
not sure how much longer I can take this,
all this extra weight of responsibilities, of choices,
of the future I’m not sure I want to have.
My skin feels stretched across my body
in places that don’t really make sense.
I still feel too big in every bad way—I’m
afraid I always will.
2. My first boyfriend tells me he
thinks I must have bits of the
universe inside of me. I try not
to get offended: I know he means to say
that kissing me is like kissing stars,
and that I hold the secrets of creation
inside my soul, but all I can think about
is how huge the universe is.
3. He breaks up with me at night.
For hours, I lean against my truck in
the driveway and look at the sky.
Stars are cold and distant,
I realize. The universe is big
4. Someone in my philosophy class tries to tell me
she can't keep secrets, i can't keep friendsthe first time I see her in months,she can't keep secrets, i can't keep friends1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
she still hugs me like i’m the only thing
keeping her world up.
i remember a time when this was true.
we do not talk about anything we used to—
those things have become taboo,
almost while our heads were turned away.
subjects are now landmines, with us tiptoeing around them,
me in my beat up converse and her in her sky-high stilettos.
we do not talk about how she did not say goodbye.
we do not talk about her old-new-old-old-gone boyfriend.
we don’t mention any new holes in my heart
or any new episodes of a now cancelled television show.
we do not talk about the new kid who looks like her
and we don’t talk about the school of new kids she looks at every morning.
i do not tell her that i have written seventeen poems about her
because she does not understand my way of letting go.
i do not tell her that it is close to October
and i have stopped marking off days on my calendar
and today i haven’t eaten any food
but i doubt sh
I Don't Need YouI Don’t Need YouI Don't Need You9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
I have to admit that I don’t need you.
I’m not going to tell you I’d die without you,
That you’re like water, or shelter or food.
I’m sure I could get on fine without you.
Got on fine before.
The truth is I don’t need you.
And I hope I never do.
I don’t need you like lungs needs oxygen,
and I’m not addicted to you; you’re not a drug.
I wouldn’t bleed out if you were ripped away,
You’re not some essential organ.
You’re not here to maintain me, sustain me, or keep me alive.
But the truth is I want you.
And I hope I always do.
I want you the way astronauts want the stars,
And sailors long for the sea.
Because wanting is choosing,
and needing is greedy,
And believe me when I tell you I want you
With all of my heart.
The truth is I want everything about you,
I want every little thing.
I want to ruffle the curly hair you sometimes hate,
And kiss the nose you say looks too big in photographs.
Pretty metaphors are for pretty girlsI told you to stopPretty metaphors are for pretty girls5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
spewing pretty metaphors at me,
for with each elaborate comparison,
I feel a bit more
detached from this world
And maybe I don’t feel so strong at the moment,
but would you be
if you felt like the entire universe
was resting upon your shoulders,
and someone was just there saying:
But you’re stronger than the powerful beats
of a butterfly’s wings
And maybe I do need more confidence,
but would you exuberate it
when the part you hated most about yourself
were the freckles that have speckled your face for years,
and someone was just there muttering:
They’re not flaws,
but rather stars that form constellations
Yes, I can’t help but hate
all those unrealistic metaphors
you choose to pelt at me when I’m low,
yet the irony is,
I know that those beautiful words
are realistic in your eyes,
So I can’t hate you.
Sheets“I adore you,”Sheets9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
she said, whimsically twisted in the rippled gossamer sheets of their bed.
And in these words were memories of weather-worn love letters,
long kisses with smeared roseate lipstick,
and layered mascara outlining her chatoyant eyes,
for he loved the way it looked.
she said months later, tightly grasping the rippled gossamer sheets of her bed.
And in these words were soiled and crumpled goodbye notes,
untarnished roseate lipstick on her opulent lips,
and smeared mascara, creating an ashy mess on her pillowcase,
for who cares if he used to love the way it looked.
She whispered to empty sheets,
“I meant abhor you.”
Stop Romanticizing Poets 2K14This is how I write my poems:Stop Romanticizing Poets 2K142 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
You’re blonde and you have blue eyes.
You’re the perfect subject for my next great hit,
a long rambling epic or a two page sonnet
which would start by comparing your hair
to rays of the sun and your eyes to the ocean
at daybreak. Even if you’re more of a dishwater blonde
than sun-colored, and your eyes are less ocean and
more sky, I swear I write this poem and think
vaguely of you.
But here is a secret: I’m not writing a poem about you.
I’m writing a poem about the idea of you.
And I don’t know if it will be a love poem or
a break-up poem or a “please don’t go home and
commit suicide” poem or one of those
heartbreakingly honest poems that feels like
you put your pencil on paper and bled.
I don’t write poems like that often.
No poet does, not really,
we write poems about you and your blue eyes
because we don’t like how bleeding feels,
and it is much safer for us to pretend to fall in l
suicidal.it’s like she’s toeing the edge of a cliff andsuicidal.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
she’s smiling and she’s deadly
and you’re standing too far back to save her
and it’s just too late because she’s about
if you want a list of reasons not to commit suicide,
here it is.
1. you have two dogs that will miss you.
they were wagging their tails and smiling
last night when they took you to the hospital
and i couldn’t find the words to tell them
that they should be quiet.
2. you have a car that you cried when you got
and you roll the windows down and blast music
whenever you pick me up from school
and i’m sorry i never sang along, but this is just to say
that you have things that still make you feel alive.
3. you have a sister that is nice about fifteen percent of the time
and loves you the rest of it. trust me, she does.
she does not remember the last time she hugged you
but she wrote about you when her teacher asked her
who her hero was.
4. mom should
sheepskinYour love smells like snowsheepskin8 months 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.
No Longer a Little GirlDear imagination, can't you be the thing you wereNo Longer a Little Girl2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Butterflies and daffodils and happiness so pure
Sunny skies and lullabies and dreams of what could be
Hidden worlds and wonderlands of things they couldn't see
Shining gowns and silver crowns for dancing with the prince
Twirling with excitement, though the others weren't convinced
Dear intimidation, did you find it to be true
All I ever needed was an overdose of you
Silly stares and laughter slowly flood a child's mind
Making me abandon every daydream I could find
Lost beneath the shadows of the sky so dark and dead
Far too weak to turn around, yet scared of things ahead
Dear destructive tendencies, I feel it's time to hear
You were all I had when nothing else seemed to be near
Everything so out of reach, too far for me to see
I decided I would choose the needle next to me
Slicing through my very skin to feel something once more
Weeping through the satisfaction I could not ignore
Dear imagination, can't you be the thing you were?
six feet under and over your headwhen the leftovers finally run out,six feet under and over your head8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
your thirteen year old sister comes to you
and says that she misses mom and dad.
you assure her that one will be coming back soon.
neither of you mentions the other.
you think that this is a perfect time for a drink,
before you remember you’re not even twenty-one.
from bagging groceries to the middle school
to waiting tables to making dinner
then to night classes to home by eleven
then to leaving angry voicemails at
three a.m. when you wake up
and realize that you are not old enough for this
and no one seems to care.
then then then—
then you’re standing too tall holding flowers in a cemetery,
promising to do better because
today your thirteen year old sister
came to you and said that she has never felt more alone
and you are not prepared for any of this:
you are trying your best.
no one can see that you’re trying your best.
but you are.
this is not a fairytale.
there is no bad king or mad witch
or love to conquer all.
You have my HeartYou have my Heart4 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
Sheath my Soul
Beneath your Sword
Throw it in a Hole
But don't tell my Lord
He musn't Know
about our Affair
about my Heart
you bound beneath the Snow
Eyes so Green
Skin so Fair
A scar that mars your beautiful Face
Remind of our time and Place
We are two Fools
Prey to War
We are their Tools
But please Remember
You have my Heart
Falling in love with you wasn't Smart.
Bones mend, but tell no lies.You have cataloged your scarsBones mend, but tell no lies.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
like your body is a library-
to be read through &
You think of
all the little boys
whose greedy fingers
You are angry-
cared for you
They left you
on a shelf
to gather dust.
should you ever
To some people.To some people, it’s called breathing.To some people.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
To me, it’s called inhaling poison,
Which drenches my lungs and sinks into my bones
And melts into my mind.
To some people, it’s called anxiety.
To me, it’s called an unbearable shakiness in my soul
The nervousness preventing my from ever escaping
This disease in my heart.
To some people, it’s called living.
To me, it’s called never being able to run away.
Never being able to truly go, truly leave.
To me, it’s called being caught in a nightmare,
While struggling to dream.
Chasing a mystery with no solution.
Escaping your own sanity to reach more sanity,
Freeing yourself from your happiness to find more happiness.
To some people, it’s called life.
There’s no such thing.
welcome to the real world1. if someone invites you back to their placewelcome to the real world8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
for coffee, and you only drink tea,
you probably won’t actually be drinking coffee.
2. when the creepy guy from work asks you out
again and you think about accepting for the first
time because you’re sick of going home alone and
you have never learned how to say no, don’t. learn.
stand in front of the mirror until you love yourself
enough for your skin to fit snug on your body. read
about the hundreds of millions of planets out in the
hundreds of millions of galaxies and feel so crowded
that you’re about to burst all over again.
3. you’re gonna screw up.
Jesus Christ, you’re gonna screw up so bad
and i’m not talking about forgetting an appointment bad,
or spilling coffee on your boss bad
or getting into a small fender bender on the side of the interstate bad.
i’m talking about the kind of bad that ties you down
into your bed on Monday morning when you
need to go to work. th
CinderellaCinderella2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Waiting for a coach
that never came,
a ball gown
out of sackloth;
are not dependable
are best left
to their own devices.
Midnight was never a friend,
and under that suit
he is the same as any other
Dear Daddy, I hate you.Dad,Dear Daddy, I hate you.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
There's something I want you to know,
Because, hey dad..
I'm not stupid.
I know you're not going to be here
Something I wanted to say..
I hate you.
I hate how you've been there for me.
I hate how you made me who I am today.
I hate how you've always inspired me,
And I hate how you've been the best father anyone could ask for.
I hate how I know you enough to know exactly what you're going to say.
I hate how you know me the same way.
I hate how you love your family more than anything.
I hate how you've been strong just so we don't feel weak,
And I hate how you never gave up on us.
On your family.
On your daughters.
I hate knowing that it's going to be
I'm going to miss you, Dad.
... Daddy, I'm going to miss you.
And I hate you for that.
Book of LifeThe writings of your life exist here,Book of Life5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
On these single pages of your own book,
Are your hopes, your dreams, and your own little fears,
The binding is holding with all it took.
All the cursive differs from page to page,
They are all your hidden secrets held in place,
Taking time to write in your darkened rage,
Letting the book get a strong, bitter taste.
You tear away at your pages, destroying them,
Making your thoughts and words vanish in thin air,
Everything of your life was not near the fin,
No one around you even truly, fully cared.
The very edges of the old book caught on fire,
Time around you was now hanging on a wire.