Trees know how to be braveThe trees are resigned to dying
and still they do not shrivel
against the brutal winds of August.
They reach out. Reach up. Grasp.
They etch out, as veins,
into the tender flesh of the sky
and pierce the sun with broken fingers
trying hard to warm aching bones
for their first and final days
of a life as a skeletal dream.
Trees know that tragedy is not death
but what we let die in us, in life.
How CharmingI'm desperate to find herHow Charming6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
to steal another kiss.
should be simpler than this.
An Autumn Night with Thoughts of DyingSeraphim rusted and hung upside in a tree,An Autumn Night with Thoughts of Dying5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
lit umber as a lantern, spitting sparklers out.
We sat and watched fizzied children laugh
and clap together hands and happy mouths.
She told me oxygen is slowly setting us on fire
and as my blood oxidises into a heavy cop-iron
I thought to myself that if I burst into flames
it would be the most honest thing I'd ever done.
For JDBA lot of people talk about when life begins. Some say it begins at conception. Love, however, can begin a long time before that. You can love the idea of a child, the notion, the plans for a future. You can love the dreams and the hopes. Similarly, although a life has a definitive ending, love does not.For JDB6 months ago in Emotional More Like This
Even when a child is taken from us far too early the love remains, the traces that they were there remain in our hearts and minds, because love is not tied to a finite space of time. It doesn't know days, weeks, hours. All love knows is the beauty of another being and the pain of the loss of them.
The only comfort we can take from all of this is that if our love for a child is not linked with how long they are alive for, it makes sense that neither is their love for us. That is how love endures, and surrounds us all everyday, and helps us survive the difficult business of living on without them. So today is a day for tears and healing and remembering the spaces in our hearts where those
Circus: The FunambulanceWalking the tripwireCircus: The Funambulance5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
between not glorifying suicide
and not patronising people
with the lie; I would never
- I suck in my nausea and fight
not to close my eyes as I
vulnerable and afraid
in front of my tenderhucked audience.
Their eyes pluck out
and give an attentive
standing ovation as I exhale
and stagger forward
- a shout,
a fall -
and for a moment
I wonder if there is
a safety net there for me at all,
and if my devoted audience
would prefer to see my
neck//shatter on stage.
IgnorePeople used to love me.Ignore7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
There used to be something interesting or
exciting in my darkness
or maybe it was just that we were all younger then
and they didnt know what I knew
which was that the world is a horrific place to be
and so I must have seemed wise and new,
but now I feel so alone
and it hurts
and I can't do this anymore
and I look around for a friendly face
and when I can't find one I wonder
who the hell I was looking for anyway
because I wither in agony
and half of it is loss, of her,
and half of it, is knowing
that no one will ever wither
from the loss
Chalk OutlineA chalk outline waits for meChalk Outline6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
sometimes it slips into bed with my shadow
and I can do nothing but roll my eyes
like a mis=abused and weary parent,
but every night when my shadow
merges with the edges of the day's page
and blurs into a dirty midnight orange
I lie in bed and shudder;
without my shadow's protection I feel it,
a chalk outline waits for me.
Beneath the RoseI can't burn the street down, the tar will fill our lungs,Beneath the Rose6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
I can't fix the bridges, or the bolts bedded in our tongues.
I can't explain the constant, buried deep beneath the rose,
with all the other things I broke; death and all erodes.
HeartacheThere's a reason whyHeartache7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
both my heart and my gun
have empty chambers baby,
and it's you.
Double NegativeI have never loved you.Double Negative5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
I did not love you from that misty
September morning when we met.
I did not love you the first moment
I gazed into those saccharine eyes.
I have never, in fact, loved the roughness
in your soft voice when it says my name.
I have never loved the look on your face
when you smile over your bagel at me.
I don't love the cocoa streaked in your hair
or the way it ruffles its feathers upright
when you fall from your warm bed-nest,
half asleep, vulnerable and shy in the morning.
I do not love you.
I did not love you in that very moment
when your breath snagged against my lip
as it finally brushed yours - no, I did not.
I did not love you the first, second, or last time.
Listen to me carefully, my sweet -
I have never loved you, I will never love you.
I will not love you until my very last breath
and the absences of breath beyond that.
I will never love you for all that makes you
the warm, compassionate fighter in my corner.
I won't accept you for all your innocen
WhoreI thread a vein out through a scalpel notch;Whore6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
and use it as a ribbon to present my heart to you.
I cough a little spare blood. I didn't need it.
I lick the copper from my silenced subterfuge mouth
and it reminds me of the prostitution of my soul
as I pour myself over other men's empty hands
in the dying hope that someone might hold on.
I smear my wrist against a digital canvas and cry;
I give it all to you freely, and nothing in return.
You smile. I break. You hear but you don't listen;
you just throw another single penny for my thoughts.
Jacked UpMy boyfriend slashed one of my car tires.Jacked Up6 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
I didn't realise it at first. I had the day off work and we'd been lazing together in our seasonable bed, when he suggested we go out for lunch. Now my boyfriend is many things but keen to leave the house he is not. He likes to be at home, tinkering in the shed and whatnot. I should have been suspicious but it had been such a hazy dreamy morning that I just wanted to spend time with him before Monday morning ruined it all.
It took some time to get out of the house though, because as I was brushing my hair he commented on how it was all lit up from behind by the sun and the look in his eyes simply had to be kissed away.
Can you blame me?
Anyway we got to the car eventually, although he had to rush back into the house to get his wallet. I tried to protest, I could pay, but he insisted. That's when I noticed the tire. At first it only seemed like a flat tire but as I knelt in the autumn debris I saw the hole. I swore.
"What's up babe?" - he was co
The Death of Sweet WilliamDug deep into the subcutaneous terrainThe Death of Sweet William5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
beneath the bracken and the basal,
far below where even follicles dare to founder
and where the warmth of keratinocytes
seems but a distant, stale dream in the dark,
beyond that and the sisters of that,
where wood lymphs and fairies pulse
you will find the broadhead of our problems,
stabbed straight through Sweet William;
the remnants of our love.
nightmares and lavender owlsdear night-bonesnightmares and lavender owls4 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
do not marinade in the melanchor
and allow your feeble surfaces
to become slippy and
under the fingertips of sanity -
don't become a semblance,
of reality, just be.
there's no need for lavender
to perfumiae the dusk garden
that thoughtless flower
does not grow here.
after the broken attempts -
of cracked knuckles
as they claw a representation
of beauty, into soil.
oh, to that intrical fluid
thinly veined cribbages
of capillary and thought,
illusive thought -
don't slumber to a stop
and leave me destitute and dehydrated
of truth, of life.
do not betray me
with your sharp and unsoft pricks
of the reality
into my ribs--
don't sharpen my senses
to the point of self harm by thought,
oh bones and sanity
and the screeching owls
that herald in a death-silence
that coos the word;
do not ask of me more than i can bare -
don't, please, ask me
to endure the blade-in-brain
Something(someone) Smallmy curious ivoriesSomething(someone) Small6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
tucked between these lips
beg to see what kisses taste like,
to feel what love looks like,
but dampened down
between safety and sound
the tiniest bones in my body, in my ears,
vibrate with a fake smile
and the nod of my dainty doll head
as i lie (with you/to you) again
and grimace; i'm okay.
You'll Never DieHear me read it!You'll Never Die1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
They say that if a writer falls in love with you then you never really die.
Instead your body is laid out in its funerial shrouds and moulds are made. Soft impressions of you to be pressed onto the blank faces of future loves.
Every time I write of taking comfort in a safe place in a storm, it will be your forearm. Every half-made smile will be on your lips, and every touch will be constructed from the residue beneath your fingernails.
When I metaphise of trees' blood, the leaves that give the energy so that a willow can provide shade for those in need, it will be your blood, it will be your light drenched kisses.
Every tear on every face will taste of the sweat that you put into keeping me happy. Every soaring song of love will be played through your windpipe, your trachea my instrument of choice.
For every time that a hero has the strength to walk on, I will use your feet. I will weld them to my own and walk a mile. Wal
MutantHear me read itMutant1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
I am a mutant.
| My skin does not sallow in the sun
and I do not blush jaundice through my cheeks.
| I do not have extra fingers, or toes -
although my spine;
it boasts an ironic vertebrae,
it is a long tally of the hearts I have broken
and when I straighten my spine the bones Pop out of place.
I am out of place.
| I do not have a super power,
I lack exceptionality in all but my ordinariness.
| there is a vengeful bacteria feasting -
on my shoulder places;
CrucifixionWrists skyward she began to beg; "Please, Please God, I can't do this anymore. I don't want to be.. a prophet, or a messenger of peace and love or whatever it was that you sent her to me so that I would become. I don't.. I can't.." she broke off, broke down, and her mind crumbled around the excruciating wondering if she was experiencing a new type of crucifixion. If God existed, and if he was purposefully keeping her in pain for a bigger plan, and if, ultimately, she would ever know the luxury of a spinal cord snapping open and exposing the bare wires beneath.Crucifixion7 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
She pressed her hand over her mouth to keep the words inside, and when the tears landed on her fingers and hung for extended moments before they fell, it looked like ivy creeping over the door of a great empty house. Her eyes so dark and lonely. The shaking shed the ivy leafs and when she spoke it was as if a random series of words had tumbled out from the hurricane inside, a cough, a wretch, a sentence; "I think I'm dying".
DesperationYour spine is a secretDesperation7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
my fingers can uncode.
Your vertebrae cracks open,
your secrets are exposed.
I suck out the tender marrow
and scrape flesh off the bone
hoping; if I absorb you
I will no longer feel alone.
BriefLife is full of fireworks;Brief4 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
a brief moment of art
imitating the stars -
They are not stars.
Stars are born, they burn,
Fireworks are merely
promises made and
When a fleeting time
of light and beauty
that the darkness is not so.
CarvedYou are an oak carved tableCarved8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
that has been hewn and hacked
from its original pure form
into something someone found useful.
I was screwed tight together
with fixtures, fights and fittings
by so-called master craftsmen,
who wanted me to be firm,
who wanted my artificial endurance.
Men who wanted my knots undone
and for me to hold them up,
but I am a chair, and you are a table.
You have told me of the days
when seventy percent of you
was forcefully ripped out
leaving a splintered hollow behind.
I know how abrasive people
rubbed you up the wrong way
with sand paper to keep you quiet,
and with words to keep you down.
Plain men with plained minds
that have been stroked to the quick
and left only with the core
of their brutal carver instincts.
I know how you were made, table.
I am five pieces nailed together
With sticky tape for good measure.
You are one whole still, somehow
and when I need you, you are stable
and your legs are thicker than mine,
run faster and bear more pressure
on your leve
Circus: The Bearded WomanI do not conform,Circus: The Bearded Woman6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
this is not by choice but by condition.
When people look at me
they see a freak, a travesty
As do I
but not for the same reasons as them.
Those who gawp
and gape and grunt
gruesome words at me.
They see my wiry beard
affixed to my delicate jaw and cheeks;
they laugh and laugh
and laugh at The Bearded Lady.
They see imperfection
on such a superficial irrelevant level
as they spin me in my cage
to get a better look
at my flaws.
Hair growing on my face
doesn't make me broken, or damaged.
The cysts do;
popping tiny kernels in my ovaries
and flushing hormones through me
these are the things I worry about
while others mock me for my features -
and take photos for mementos
of their time at the circus.
I don't care about the beard
I care about the children,
bearded or otherwise, I'll never have,
and the ache for their limbs
entangled in my arms,
their breath on my skin.
Who cares about a preconceived --
( unable to conceive ? )
- notion of beauty
BurntThat afternoon, under a burnt croatian sun,Burnt6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
we flaked our protective shells away
exposing the pink, raw vulnerability
that hid beneath our flanks and fortitude.
We delved systematically into nervousness
and chewed reflectively on our inner cheeks
as self conscious anxiety grew wildfire
across the too-bright landscape of our love.
The bones bleached and brittle, they broke,
and we could not stay together without them.
I don't regret opening my heart to the skies;
what I regret is never getting it back.
Expensive LiesI sit and stare at the toilet bowl.Expensive Lies3 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
A guy I know is bulimic.
When we compliment him
I see the twist of agony in his eyes
as his brain reprograms it
to sound like an expensive lie
that costs him another tear
in his tattered dignity.
Friends hurry to him,
to reassure him, to love him.
They tell him how beautiful he is.
We didn't know him before,
but he's definitely not fat now.
We whisper things in concern like;
body dysmorphic disorder.
'I know you'll never believe me
but you are so gorgeous -
not just on the inside.' Not just.
And they're right, I join in,
because they are right to say it
because it happens to be true -
he is stunning. Not just on the outside.
And we want him to see himself
the way we see him, beautiful.
And I join in because
I've felt that strangle of pain
in my stomach, bowels and belly,
when someone used to tell me lies.
So I know how he feels.
Only, he is beautiful on the outside
and I'm not.
He's not seeing reality in the mirror
and I am.
And people rush to correc
CarboniseI carbonise.Carbonise8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
My brittle bones turn
into pencil lead
and etch and ache against me.
I break open my elbow
and scrawl onto the walls
with the charcoal beneath.
a cave drawing of my end
onto a blistered skin
of plaster and mortar.
I rub blackened bone
to make sparks flutter
and bounce across the brickwork