leftoversthe worst isleftovers1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
when you're broken
and your body just keeps
trying to put you back
and there are shards
of your heart
where your tongue should be
they catch at your cheeks
and leave your chest hollow
but somehow still manage to bleed
and there's soul
dripping from your fingertips
like an IV
feeding the empty veins of all that you touch
until you've withered into
nothing but paper skin and splintery bones
the worst is when
your mind already knows
but the rest of you
can't seem to catch up.
She says it every day.She aches for something--She says it every day.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
birdlike bonesit's like youbirdlike bones1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
wrapped your fingers
around my throat
and then had
the nerve to ask me
but not my palmssomewhere along the linesbut not my palms1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
my heart got so deprived
that i fell in love with
every bit of affection
i could get my hands on
you were lovely
and i was lonely
and you fell in love with my voice
but not my mouth
fell in love with my words,
but not my palms.
and no matter
how hard i tried
i could not get you to love
the whole of me.
that was how i knew that
there was tragedy
in the little things, too.
you're hurting mePlease. My bones do not bend.you're hurting me1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
fouryou told me thatfour10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
there was nothing beautiful
in sadness –
but i need to believe
that someone is going to see beauty
in the way the broken shards
of my heart
fall like loose teeth
from my sleeve.
and that maybe someone could love me
despite the albatross
around my neck
tightening like a noose
every time i think of the things
i've done wrong.
and i'm trying not to become
but it slides down my throat
like my bottle of writer's tears
filling up the cracks
in my bones.
you told me that
there was nothing beautiful
in sadness –
and i tried not to cry,
because i think
that's the only beautiful thing
sleepon quiet islandssleep1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
we are quieter--
breathing with the ocean's heave,
fidelic whore-- this is appropriationfidelic whore1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
my sweet synchronicity ,
i have downed your appetite
in a bed of front teeth
(it is morning in perth
midnight in dublin, and the noon
sun has been lost behind
a dress of mothy curtains)
do i taste of
of love making;
do i reek of
the weeds that
the posture of your spine?
you bend over
my lap a curve of guilt
and weep all night.
i collect each knob of your body
like a gift. press it to my mouth.
i'm a paradigm of self-destructionsnap your marlboro bones &i'm a paradigm of self-destruction8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
grind them into watercolors -
bay-water boy, paint your brains
on the wallpaper like a sinner's
sermon; you won't wilt the way
that deities do, you solipsist:
you're just a suicide drone.
it's like we argue every dayfragmented heartstrings bleed me a melodyit's like we argue every day1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
that sounds more like a broken soul
than it does a song
we're just trying to figure out
when we dissolved into strangers
hating each other inside the same house
and we can't remember
when laughter turned to sobs
or when smiles turned to screaming
down the road, we lost track
of the first 'i hate you,' but stopping
means losing and we're too stubborn for that
so you scream me a verse and
i cry you the chorus
but the chords don't come out right
and i guess our piano
isn't tuned the way it used to be
because it used to be so beautiful--
and now all we get
I lost my innocence, that day.When I was younger,I lost my innocence, that day.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
there was a time where all of my friends
Girls wanted to play mommy and ponies
I wanted to play tag and race cars
and so did the boys
so we did.
Not a big deal.
I was six when I went over to a friends house for the first time.
He was really neat--
He had a box full of race cars and a bubble machine
that made the biggest bubbles.
One day, as we were having snacks
(because snack time is serious business, no matter what age you are)
I decided I wanted another one.
It was a stick of string cheese, and I was six--
clearly I was a growing lady and I needed my dose of dairy.
So I walked up to his mother and said
"please," because my momma raised me right, "can I have another string cheese?"
And I will never forget the hesitant look I got
the curious head tilt, the squinted eyes;
it's forever in my mind. It's always there.
Anyway, I didn't understand why it was so confusing.
Really, I just wanted another piece of cheese.
To be honest, I don't remember if she ever
neo-Freudian idealsin 1886, Sigmund Freud employed free association;neo-Freudian ideals11 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
the idea that a sick patient, terminally crippled with a nameless plague,
could list off the reasons why his bed sheets had holes in them.
paraphrased: the art of free speech.
my mouth is a gun and your name is a shooting range.
damp grass, our backs, semantics.
the psychoanalysts say we establish long-term memory
by stringing it all with prior meaning.
a flurry of sweatshirts and ripped jeans, stroking skin
in sign language only lovers speak.
hands, tongue, everything else.
Freud said that sometimes, a cigar is only a cigar.
i tell him how smoke spilled from your mouth into mine.
stale breath and gentle fingers probing, squeezing,
i trace my steps back to the night we crushed leaves into potpourri.
the scent of cold coffee permeated into the forest,
the tree roots soaking up our caffeine.
i remember you most clearly in the heartbeat between page turns.
you are full and real, the lump in my throat.
you are the holes in
Unlit cigarettesYour heart doesn't beatUnlit cigarettes2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
to the same rhythm as mine
but I want it to.
snakeI will slough offsnake1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
all my feelings for you
like a second skin
for somebody else
to slip into
suicide riski.suicide risk1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
you are six shades of sadness
on a too cold, too big seat,
a shrunken apostrophe and
paroxysmal, the balls of your feet
strumming the hours gone
("i want to go home,
please, please, i just
want to go home").
it is your relief and your regret
that she knows you so well.
It is she who brings forth a doctor
then, when you are past talking-down, done,
wrung out and horse-footed in your need
("let me go home, please,
please, i just
need to go home")
softly accented words spoken off to the side:
"Yes. Let's keep her voluntary now,
it will be quicker: but if her wings sprout
and itchy feet sample corridors,
we'll make it an order."
("if you go home,
the police will return you,
please stay a little longer")
you are seven hours of waiting,
free to leave until you try and
another doctor says
"I can't get a read
on her lethality and
there are no beds".
("let's go, please, i want
to go home, and they
don't want me here")
she is concern coated in fury,
a righteous expletive
side note: maybe i'm the sea.he stashes sandside note: maybe i'm the sea.10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
between his wishing teeth
with the hopeless desire
to taste the sea.
packs of Newports won't get
him far, and
the extra air in his lungs
can't keep him afloat very long,
so it would better for us
if he just shrugged (again)
and walked away
hello, void static childrenhello, void1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
an abducted plane
layers of inter-
we are stomached
by our parallels,
musical knuckles with
onlyyou pressed your palms against her chestonly1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
as if you could reach her heart
through layers of skin
you traced the outlines of her ribs
as if you were looking for the little clasp
that could open them up
and free the trapped birds
fluttering about inside
you slid your fingers down her thighs
as if her kneecaps told secrets
about the curious words that
left her mouth.
you put your hands on her body
and let her believe
that you were learning the way she breathed
as if it mattered
as if she were special
(you kissed the next girl's wrists,
as if she were your only, too)
Blue DreamI discovered a manBlue Dream10 months ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
who makes me feel incomparable
the same way Columbus discovered America:
he existed beforehand and was probably better off
without a directionally challenged sociopath,
no matter what those Thanksgiving crafts
peddle to Neoamerican children.
Regardless, his persistence
withstood my apathetic exterior,
and I like his music even if I don't say it,
"You're okay," translates to something meaningful,
"Pretty great," says exceptional, "I'm really senstive,"
adresses that he knows what he's doing
with his tongue, his lips, his cock,
and ten competent fingers,
but now I'm making excuses. I have a big nose,
countable ribs, narrow hips, an ass like a sheet of drywall,
a shipful of charisma, countless manipulations,
social ineptness, political anxiety,
and over a thousand pages
of writing, which,
for the record,
in case he doesn't get it:
that's a lot of emotional bullshit,
and about half of it is melodramatic, petty,
unsubstantiated stories about my life
train tickets are like 200 bucks.i loved her fortrain tickets are like 200 bucks.10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
the miles between us,
and i think i
might always do so.
she is printed in my mind,
like some halfbreed stoner dream
and i feel her colors like
sun. rain. hurricane.
leaves side vertically
in my veins,
the left side of a bicycle
wheeling around my brain
and she is a fucking drug, man.
i think i'm gay.
i'm not saying that just to
say it, either. i just
why else would i write letters to her
even though she'll never read them,
and why do i wonder how she looks
right on the verge of
sleep? i think about kissing her
a lot. it's always her.
she is my now. my then.
my way bak when.
but most of all, she is my
why, and that is
now here's to you, tomorrowDear you,now here's to you, tomorrow11 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
this is just to say that you are beautiful;
that the earth you stand upon is as old as time
and you are not, for you are simply a moment
a star shining sand speckled pillar of brilliance
for which we make up stories to tell our children.
I, too, began the journey of scholarhood ripe with
perhaps too many
good intentions, a loaded spark rather than a
breathing ember, looking up & out for the scorching
radiance that lay just below the skin;
This is not to say that yours will bear any likeness to
mine or that you are governed by any relevant principles,
only that we share more than you might think
—the present is a gift to us from the invariable past,
from us to the inevitable future,
to be held without expectation except to live vicariously
through the blissful momentum of experienc
.i've written so many poems.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
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.
Little FuryThe storm throws you to my door, drenched and bloodied, god-light dimmed. The crest of the hill is underwater. You have no boots.Little Fury1 year ago in Emotional More Like This
Morning dawns cold, clear, a watery gold. You are gone.
things i have come to know about the sky1.things i have come to know about the sky10 months ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
you are endless, a backlit canopy
or stage of infinites; some say
you speak to them in low murmurs,
that you rain judgement down upon us,
i fear you not, you've caught my eye a few times
but i only looked up to see what
the hype was all about
when i was born, doctors said i was blue
—cerulean as the sky,
entering the world with clenched fists
and held breath—
battle though this life may be, always it
will be by my rules
scientists say the sky is like an onion;
layers of celestial sphere you can slice off
with a thumbnail, 217.5 miles of teary eyes
& thick skin
we know not of what it is that compels
gravity to roll this sorrow down our faces
in some cultures they say the sky is a
thronedom, an altar for the gods; weather,
an instrument of rageful indifference,
a beautiful devotion worthy of arthritis
and a place in our school books
you torture us as the romans did,
we the bread for your melancholy circuses;
apathy never looked so poetic
as you do when you pain