.i've written so many poems
about love and luck and the
unbearable sadness that surfaces
whenever i think about you.
but you isn't a person,
you is a metaphor for the
birds suffocating in the clouds and the
leaves fighting off the wind.
and when i see flowers
all i can think of is death;
because i am a poet,
and my kind of poetry is the
kind that keeps me up all night,
as i memorize the ceiling
and count every minute
until the sun rises.
it’s the kind that makes me
wish for a bridge because then
maybe i could finally be free.
my kind of poetry,
it’s the kind that kills me.
voicelessi.voiceless2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I lost my voice one day. I woke up to a hollow echo in the base my throat and knew I’d lost something special before I’d ever had a chance to say anything worthwhile. I checked under the bed and tried the lost and found, but couldn’t even ask if anyone had heard it lately.
I found my voice one day. I took long walks with silent friends, made travel plans and came home tired but fulfilled. I pulled a pen from the junk drawer, or sat down at a keyboard, or bought a journal on a whim and found it curled up around my fingers, sleeping, rusty, but alive.
leap through eternityi will sink my teeth into a supernovaleap through eternity2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to let the stardust and
slide down my parched throat and
wash over my intestines,
like a pebble
drowning in the sound--
broken dreams and invisible heartstringsEvery morning,broken dreams and invisible heartstrings2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
she wakes up to a
hollow chest & stormy,
red rimmed eyes.
It's so easy to be in love
with being in love;
swallowing fake truths
& sincere lies.
But her heart—
it forgot how to smile
two years ago,
because no one can tell
the difference between
imitations & reality.
please find me;
I'm lost between the cracks of
Desperate to breathe
yet wondering how it would feel
she's never belonged
in this universe.
.when her love left, it left.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the house empty
and she says
i hope one day it'll
come back to me,
cos i don't keep this shotgun
on my front porch for nothin'
-death knocks on your-1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
door with a crooked little grin
and tells you that he'd like
his tea with two sugars, please,
and that you'd better start packing;
but only bring your valuables
because he's got no room in his hearse
we called her memashe had salt skin,we called her mema2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
wrinkles that fell off her in waves
and seven greasy finger links with
diamonds at their tips.
tied to a wheelchair with
black licorice chains,
her stubby feet locked into
children’s sized shoes and gushing
with crimson at the souls.
she had ants tucked into the pockets
of her lungs,
her eye sockets bled with the
spirit of poetry and prose.
we found her sleeping,
caressed by a thick layer of
and enjoying a love affair
with the grim reaper.
when life and death fell in lovelife is so beautiful thatwhen life and death fell in love2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
death fell in love.
she set a trap and he got caught,
caged in her flower crowns
and toxic sweater sleeves.
their romance was a mountain,
with beauty tucked inside the tree trunks.
and when one was about to fall,
the other was right there to catch them.
so tell me,
how could two things so different
believe in each other so much,
when we can’t even do it ourselves?
you're a subliminal messagei can list every nicknameyou're a subliminal message1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
you've ever called me as if
they were members of my family and i
can recall every time you’ve ever
sang in my ear during class. i know
how many times we’ve snuck away from our friends --
not because of any particular reason,
your heart just ached, longed
for that familiar sense of me.
or at least, i hope.
because you seem to feel the skin of
every other girl and you seem
to always be able to keep on
a conversation with them,
it's just impossible to feel anything towards
me and impossible to not
make me feel
something. anything at all
and everything at once.
or maybe you just don't know
to feel towards me, maybe your
mind is as much of a jigsaw
puzzle as mine is and all
you’re doing is trying to piece it
all back together.
i just wish we were able to help each other.
you told me thursday on the train
that you wanted to be normal.
that you thought he was perfect
and you were anything but.
but darling you continually fail
to see that in my
Metaphorically SpeakingPeople are like books;Metaphorically Speaking2 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
full of stories and easily
broken at the spine.
broken bonesI want to write rough and raw and unbearablebroken bones1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
the way cigarettes taste at midnight
to a tired atheist knocking on a locked church door
wondering whether to pray or scream
I want to write cold and brutal and honest
like fog-choked dawns on unfamiliar city streets
when the silence presses behind your eyelids
and breathing feels like blasphemy
I want to write like the midnight air that burns the back of your throat
like cold fury and boiling hatred
like the panic that eats into bone marrow
the fear that runs prickling fingers down twisted spines
I want to write of you and me and everything
pin the stars behind my eyelids into letters to no one
I want to scar you with unspun metaphor
To write until my hands shake
until I break myself with honesty
until I empty myself or
until my wrist
Autumn was my first love.October, I follow you -Autumn was my first love.2 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
from the magic lights of New York
to moonshines in Georgia,
until the colors dissolve.
The anxious poetry of autumn
made a memory of me.
Here’s to things I take for granted:
country road thunderstorms.
Unspoken words, unwritten ideas.
October, I follow you;
I thought I saw you on the shore
where the river runs through gold
on the last boat leaving the city of a hundred spires -
or perhaps Pittsburgh
(it was the lights I guess).
Here’s to the things we leave behind:
sunbeams in November,
letters addressed to no one,
poems, wounds, dead birds.
I’ve got that summertime sadness.
Maybe you’re gonna come back;
we’re changing our ways, taking different roads
and loneliness knows me by name
but October, I follow you;
without you I’m a winter heart,
a love story you don’t want,
a November shade of grey hunting ghosts
in cities that sleep inside our heads.
You told me you lied the night you kiss
no,what is shared between meno,2 years ago in Scraps More Like This
and my blades
is all but a secret.
late nights, alone,
blood stained fingers and
having to replace the pillow
case in the morning,
because my parents will never know
what i have started again.
and when they see the
commercials on TV,
they silently think of me.
UnreadI found my own book in the local used book store. The one I spent half of my life writing. The one that spent two years in the editing process. The very one that I autographed for my lover and found in the fifty cent bin of what used to be my favorite book store.Unread2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
GreyI like the color grey;Grey2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it's not black and it's not white,
but sometimes it's a little blue.
We meet at the sea strandIf I was an old buildingWe meet at the sea strand2 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
and if you were a sailboat,
the dialogue of the tides would
sing all the lonesome love
letters you never wrote.
bad days.on my bad days,bad days.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i open notebooks like bibles and hold pens like lifelines.
i keep opening the book of my memories
just to see if it still leaves a bruise.
i am covered in the bruises of your hand
your ghost is in my bed. i can't sleep there,
again i find myself miles from home
wishing on stars i can't see
and spitting memories into the ocean like watermelon seeds.
i sit on my longboard like driftwood and send my shivers into texts
like letters i never should have mailed.
on my bad days,
i wear cuts like ropeburn,
like i just don't know when to let go.
i get lost inside the sadness and hold tea thats long since gone cold
as hours escape like small birds set free.
i forget to open the blinds
and paint my fingernails black
and stare at the too-big numbers aligned on the scale i can't stop stepping on.
the boy i used to write poems aboutTHIS POEM IS NOT ABOUT LOVE.the boy i used to write poems about1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
you took the posters off the walls for the first time yesterday,
moved the bed back into the corner and stocked up on that tea
you love but i’ve always disliked. opening
the blinds used to be a sin but now they drown the room with sunlight,
causing your hair to turn that ugly dirty-blonde color i absolutely hate.
last night, i heard from a friend you got the job at that fancy newspaper
and you’re finally going vegan - don’t let me forget to tell you your risk
of heart attack will double, maybe triple.
i haven’t gotten an email in twenty-four days. oftentimes,
you don’t realize you're falling apart because you're in the process of falling apart.
my mother came over to help me move into my new studio.
we pushed the bed (mattress, you claimed the frame) into the middle of the room
and put on new sheets. these don’t smell like you, not that
i could even smell-taste-hear-see-feel these days.
you stole my heart and bed frame an
fear and loathing in airplanesI've always felt like jumping out of a movingfear and loathing in airplanes2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
airplane at 15,000 feet
so at least I can learn to commit to gravity.
If a 170 pound body is hurtling headlong
towards the earth at 9.8 meters per second,
at what point does he go from screaming last rites
to projectile vomiting on his own face?
Let's do a run through: you pay a dude
with a plane to fly out to the cloud puddles
where you swan dive out with
another dude strapped fornication or
greco-roman style to your back,
he with a parachute, you with your suicidal
intentions. Then you thank him
and go home and
replay the scenario in your head 63 different
ways, looking to find a pitfall or
something to be indebted for.
...your struggles have made you wisewhen the counsellor tells you your struggles have made you wise......your struggles have made you wise2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
ask her how useful the knowledge of how many punches it takes to lay you cold on the floor will be in future. ask her if the endless frost that shivers under your fragile skin is going to turn out handy, a free cooling agent in the heated heights of summer. ask her where she was every morning when you took the pills and crumpled the plastic cup pathetic in your fist. ask her about the taste of toothpaste and bile, how she felt when the dentist marked the progression of decay and solemnly warned you to cut down on sweets. ask her how it feels to keep all those suicides filed away in her desk drawer knowing that they were never ‘wise’ enough to see another way out and through. ask her about the first time she drank until she threw up for hours after she’d become sober again because a boy wouldn’t touch her, or a girl wouldn’t give her a second glance. question everything because there&
I would love to give upi.I would love to give up2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
'there's a second hand that holds mine, and stuffs the words back down my throat.'
her voice a crack--
sticks & stones breaking
between her teeth
but when she tries to find the sound
her pen runs dry
[can someone flip the switch to 'yes' or 'no'
i've been so de
& my head is saying 'maybe']
(i would ask myself,
but i don't trust liars)
she tries to string the words
down a thread
but they always c r u mb l e
(& the cinders burn
with the same old questions)
but when you turn
she'll be gone
there are rocks in her throat when she asks you for help.
the words grind to sand on her tongue.
smoke in her head
smeared across her hands
her fingers are broken;
o k e d
she reaches for some kind of
at the corner
& turn of each & every page
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
starve, she saidone plus one is two,starve, she said2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but me plus you equals crying,
slamming doors and regrets that
pound on the walls of the mind
until the day we both break.
i’ll be the rhythm you dance to
in the middle of the meadow,
you be the beat, the bruises left
on skinny thighs and black-burned collarbones.
symptoms of red a materialistsymptoms of red2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
inside of you
unknitting your sweater
& in your dream
you are a wolf eating
a flower in an orange field. the world
is ending. an unnamed girl stains you
as if she were tea
giving up to a
she writes a story: the unrequited
blurry visions of two visionaries
you're just a question marki met you so long agoyou're just a question mark1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
but back then our bodies were made of metal
and nowadays they’re made of the blades of
grass and dirt settling
underneath my fingernails.
my fingers are having a hard time
reaching the keys and
my organs are shaking mostly because i haven’t
eaten in two days but also
because i’m worried about the things you're doing to yourself.
we didn’t meet very long ago at all but it feels like forever ago
and you say you don’t know me
that you don’t know anyone
but baby you're turning into a skeleton and i’m peeling back my skin
to try and reach my bones, just like you.
i hope you're happy,
i’m covering the hard wood floors now
the bits and pieces splattered.
they are calling it a suicide but i’m calling it
a way to see my brain and
just how dark it has become, and honestly
i don’t want you to try and see about your’s.
i’m mourning the loss of my heart and wish you weren’t either -