Teaching Summer to BreatheSummer will always remind me of hot, sweltering nights spent drinking sangria, through the dripping fairy lights of your bedroom window. A sticky, starry sky looked back at us, the glow of the moon almost golden in the heat. Fourteen meant we weren't growing up fast enough and a liquor cabinet key seemed to hold the answer to that problem.Teaching Summer to Breathe1 year ago in Emotional More Like This
You taught me how to drink that night.
(You also showed me how beautiful it was to just hold your breath till your head spins and reality seems like it is going to fade further and further away.)
Six summers ago I met a boy who liked to tell me how much like summer I was. He was big boned and thin skinned and the first time I told him he wasn't mine to keep, he left handprints on my skin that reminded you of a canvas covered in autumn leaves that you saw in New York. Then you proceeded to break every single window in his house (Yes, even the one in the attic he loved so much.)
You taught me how to smile through heartbreak that night.
Another Language called EnglishI took your adjectives for granted. There was something about the way you skipped over your 's'es and gleaned over your 'i's and 'e's, that never really made me want to kiss you. You'd sit there with your languid fingers clutching a book that was half finished, and read me words that were completely mispronounced. It would prickle me under my skin and I would grit my teeth, wondering when you would stop. I would never understand the english language you thought you spoke, and your confidence in your own words annoyed me.Another Language called English1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It was comical when you spoke in front of our friends. Your mistaken pronunciation of the word 'pronunciation' in particular made them giggle. I would stand in a corner, clutching a glass of rum and coke and cringe, flushing in second hand embarrassment. You would smile at me from across the room, and continue with your tangled tongue as though nothing was wrong.
I felt sorry for you. But not sorry enough when you took your favourite writing pen from my d
Astrologically Challenged“We need to ta- what are you looking at?”Astrologically Challenged1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
"Oh...but I thought you didn't like them."
“Actually, I hate horoscopes. They lie every single damned time.”
“Not to me they don’t.”
“Sure. You were saying something.”
“We need to break up.”
“I fell in love with you before you were the boy who sang about my problems in your songs, and before you tried to evolve me into your version of a better me and before I saw how you treated your neighbour’s dog and before I knew how much you believed in horoscopes.”
“What’s wrong with horoscopes?”
“Nothing, except for the fact that you never really thought of it as a novel idea that you share the same day as one twelfth of the world.”
“Well you aren’t-”
“I’m not so perfect myself, I know. You loved me better before you read my poetry and understood how damage
MouthfulsYou take mouthfuls of meMouthfuls1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Huge, selfish as they are
Leaving morsels of me behind
Teeth my words and chew up my heart
Bite through my spine with shark like jaws
I am used, you explain, damaged,
Dirty for existing.
Dirty for loving you.
I ask you why you like to hurt me.
"I love you most when you ache on the inside."
I have never hated myself more.
My Name is Hollow.Hello.My Name is Hollow.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
My name is Hollow.
I live inside your soul.
Under the layers and layers of skin,
and tissue and muscle...
all the way down where nothing
and everything survives.
(I wish I knew before I trusted you
That lying is second nature to one
with as many regrets as you.)
My name is Hollow.
I live inside you now,
because you gave me the power
in all your virtuous belief
that the world was good
to survive your strength...
(I hoped to God you wouldn't
lie or steal or break what is already
a thousand pieces of a broken soul.)
My name is Hollow.
You let me in when sex
began to feel like an ache.
But the pain felt better than
dealing with the hurt
inside your head, your heart...
(This was always a world for those
that were harder than me
Strength is sometimes a very relative thing.)
My name is Hollow.
I am the jagged lines you draw
all along your skin,
your muscles, your bones...
The sharp edge of a knife,
the scarlet drops of remorse.
(Here's a question now for your
Love as an AsthmaticI snatch my breath after we kissLove as an Asthmatic1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
because I want to feel you
in my wheezing, useless lungs
not just a craving
a desperate need
in the physical urge
to breathe you in,
make your mystical secrets
a part of my body.
Sea of Liesi.Sea of Lies1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
My father never read me the story of Icarus. I found it for myself. I suppose he did not want me to know what it was like to almost touch the stars. But it was only after I had read the story did I even try to reach so far. It is a little like falling in love...and then drowning in the sea.
(I would be lying if I said the fall didn't break everything I had once believed was solid.)
My science teacher knew well that I was a dreamer. When I told her I believed fairytales were as real as love is, I could see the disapproval and disappointment in her eyes. I suppose thats why in her classroom, when I was asked what the greatest force in the universe was, I answered love. I suppose thats why she laughed and reminded me that love was as much a fairytale as the fairytales I believed in.
(She was wrong. Love exists...its just been broken into a million little pieces, set afloat in a sea of heartbreak.)
My mother didn't want to speak about t
Lost NovemberI am lost November,Lost November1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
with the breath of winter
at the hairline of its neck.
I am the blood orange that
sours a little too soon.
A thirty day intuition
to a season of good will.
A blip on the side of
the road that melts easily
out of sight, out of mind.
An unremembered instance
on a torn index page
of a forgotten, spineless book.
I am lost November.
Remember me the instance
when you feel unremembered too.
Forever NeverlandGrace disliked Tinkerbell. She disliked her because she had wings and she could fly whereas Grace stayed on the ground, catching fireflies. The fireflies, in turn, made it easy because they knew she would let them go. She would stare at their radiant light in awe and try to understand how something so little could shine so very bright.Forever Neverland1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
She tried to pretend the bread she had in the mornings was ice cream flavoured, and even imagined her little brother had never been taken from them but had been enthralled and forever lost in Neverland. When she tried to explain this to her mother, her mother would look away quietly, and sometimes, rise with a quiet shudder...and leave the room.
For a little girl who had the hope of the world resting quite easily on her head as a crown, she knew. She knew that one day, he would come for her and maybe, maybe they could be together again like they were in her dreams.
As she grew older, she slept on a bed of green, with a desk of wood and a massive window t
A Little Bit of WonderlandHer name was Alyssa, and when she was nine, her mother built her Wonderland. After being raised on a healthy diet of Charles Dickens, Enid Blyton and J.M. Barrie, it seemed like the natural course of action. She created it out of paper, each scene indispensably, indisputably perfect in its imperfection.A Little Bit of Wonderland1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
And she did it because Alyssa was terrified of the idea of falling through a rabbit hole, into a place that allows magic only when you are confused. Mothers do the most impractical, exhausting things to show how much they love their children. It seemed a pity that it was this very effort that kept Alyssa up all night, staring at the paper people like they were coming to get her.
(If Alyssa’s mother knew, she would have spent all her time trying to explain to the little girl that it wasn’t just paper people she should be afraid of.)
God appeared to have a sense of humour when little Alice became Alyssa’s best friend. She lives across the street, her hair always
Nothing Lives Foreveri.Nothing Lives Forever1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
When you were a child, we would sit on the porch to talk about your day. And sometimes, we would find a dead bird, or a frog on there. And you would ask me about death and why it happens, looking at the poor creature in my hands, its life cut short and touch it tenderly. I would always say the same thing.
Nothing is meant to live forever, my dear.
The school called me in on your twelfth birthday and asked if I had known how clever you were, that your test scores were the best in the state. They asked me if I knew I had a genius child on my hands who grew bored easily in class and tended to distract others in his classroom, sometimes causing arguments, fistfights and could manipulate his classmates into doing anything.
We don't think this is the school for him. He needs to be challenged appropriately.
You fell in love at seventeen and she was lovely. Kind, caring and beautiful, I couldn't ask for a better girl for you. She was our neighbour
Seventeen (In Phases)1.Seventeen (In Phases)2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
It was because her parents had named her for the grandmother who had broken her mother’s heart. The grandmother whose heart was supposed to have melted from her birth and hadn’t.
That was why her mother barely looked at her. That was why she called her ‘girl’.
That was why she liked to pretend she was the quiet woman in the background of an old black and white movie. Because everything here was like an old black and white movie.
[And if she really looked back, her mother had never appreciated the elegance of the 1950s enough.]
It was because she hated surprises. The surprise she got on her sixth birthday when her father left taught her just how a single person had the ability of taking your soul, splitting it in two and wearing it on their breast pocket like a white carnation waiting to die.
That was why when she lifted a book, she looked at the last page first.
That was why her namelessness had become a comfort to her.
That was why sh
This is Not a Story about SuicideI am not here. These are not hospital walls. This is not a nurse who is speaking to me. That is not John unconscious, lying in a bed that faces due North, and that is not his mother trying to explain why his bed should always face North because he hates sleeping facing South.This is Not a Story about Suicide1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
This is not happening.
I am not taking a deep breath. I am not walking down the sickly white corridors with their bleach scent. I am not buying this cup of coffee from a cafeteria lady who is working at an hour that is reserved only for intensive care patients. This is not the way back to what is not John’s room.
That is not his heart rate dropping, and I am not running out of the room, screaming for help. We are not being pushed out, that door does not have a red light that claims intensive care, it has not been all night.
That is not John’s doctor explaining how they were not able to pump his stomach completely and it is not John who flat lined. That is not an empty hospital bed. That is not his moth