for those slipping into the backgroundThe tax collector had
an appetite for berry smoothies
and a secret love of robotic exchanges
between baristas and caffeine addicts.
An empty emptiness fanatic,
who dreamed of giving
the girl at the bus stop
(with the quiet lip-syncing lips)
a daisy because by the way she
stared forlornly at the pigeons pecking
at nothing, he knew
she liked simplicity
even more than him.
SwevenBudding teeth clickSweven3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
shut; waken with me,
a vision of stars
upon your teeth,
& thread your
dreams along the
backbones of children.
Be still, sleep-
er, for the pregnant moon
the first raini swung my dragon head backthe first rain2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and swallowed the sweltering sky
and i swear it tasted just like strawberry wine
and the sillage of summer being left behind
becoming undonethe rain isbecoming undone3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to swallow like foam-lipped ocean;
a silent drowning like the sinking of
the moon on the horizon
like the way strangers disappear--
we never see them slip away;
droplets into cracked ground, they are
into the wall of water--
the rush of nature
the breath of her
scented in the best
oh, but that's the sunrise--
the beginning dressed
in a brighter end.
love poem for a pianistyou make me think aboutlove poem for a pianist2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
how heavy negative space can be.
the space between your fingers,
the space between notes,
the space between us
in this small, soundproof room;
every empty millimetre
in my chest
.you are dead and buried.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
six feet under yourself,
still feeling the way you did
when you were seventeen
and when you bathe, you still
keep your head under the
water, wrists upturned, red
eyes open, trying to drown yourself
indulgencei will peel away every individual shade of colourindulgence2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in this seven-thirty pm sky
like stickers on empty beer bottles in the space
between your ankles
i will drink down this crescent moon cocktail
and get tipsy on night air,
clinging to my skin and summer
will run through my veins
but i don't want winter to come)
and sometimes i'll look down and realise
that my fingers are still sticky with sunsets
but i never want to be clean,
not ever again.
InchoateA billowing mouth, floweringInchoate2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
like a fist;
crimson cheeked &
I keep your heart in my p(s)alms.
no light left to save these starsi.no light left to save these stars3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
blooming a blouse
of August blue
against nude trees
hands reaching for
no light left
to save the stars
they too fell asleep
a gentle breeze
banged and pulled
along the curve of sky
pulling the silver of moon
'mongst the horizon
hanging with dandled
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
your name has a familiar tasteunder the moth-like hum of a lamppost,your name has a familiar taste2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
your lips molded around hers like a cast
mending a broken wrist.
i stood motionless and watched
as her figure became shapeless,
conforming to your crevices and
letting your hands glide over it
like sudden rain clouds.
as i choked in the outskirts of your paradise,
i couldn't help but wonder if we, too,
looked this way before sickening ourselves.
as we multiplied in fractions and 2 became 1,
did the crunch of the leaves
beneath our backs realize the magic?
your teeth imprisoning my tongue for never too long,
my fingers shaping themselves to the curve of your neck.
our gentle caress disintegrated
like a thunderstorm to a campfire
to solemn ashes and broken twigs.
i first sensed your absence when i knelt in prayer
and your taste was not on the tip of my tongue. from
then on, i ritualized purging myself of every memory.
2 months later and you are still not ridden from me.
regardless of all this mess, your touch is still the epitome of content.
.i have learnt enough about gravity.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to know that he can do what i can't, myself
snap my bones like twigs
he says that beautiful things are
the easiest to break
plantpots on window ledgesplantpots on window ledges,plantpots on window ledges3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
like sparse lion-weeds
sprinkled at the whim of a
young child's breath,
oversee grass grow,
longing to live in between the
green blades and soak up rainwater
instead of fluoride-infused
human mandated minerals.
caring for p(o)etsscribbling down vicious verses oncaring for p(o)ets3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
tissue napkins while seated at
the corner of a sidewalk cafe is
about as romantic, raw and
honest a p(o)et
-outside of the four corners of your bedpost-
if you've got that person dreading over
drafts and dreams on end
-of you, for you-
consider yourself a new owner
it is now time to
tame this p(o)et's perverse mane
you've got your hands on
a fragile purebred
which can be very tricky for
tencourage must be a dominant trait,ten2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
for how else could you handle
a pin-pulled grenade
with such delicacy
joeyi want him unpoetic and graceless and impossible, rawboned and alive with the thrum of stubborn, stupid strength, arrogant and cocksure and good, with a roughscuffed heart of gold that longs for home and loves whole and pure and hopeless with a wanting that makes the words all tangle and catch in his throat but flow warm and willing from fingertips that know me better, with a rogue's twistlipped lightning smile and a laugh that rings echoes of the child he wasn't long enough, and eyes always, always burning fire-under-glass: brighter by the weight of the world on his shoulders or my dreams between his lashes, gold whispers blinking slow by dawnlight.joey4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
We Traded Our Hearts for StarsFor every boy I ever kissed,We Traded Our Hearts for Stars2 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
the trembling of her lips matches yours.
(Poet, breathe now.)
I should write this down,
the last piece I ever write about you.
You’ve been gone finding
constellations, ambitions, and things in between,
and this is me being brave,
dancing on the fire escape.
(I wore you like a bruise.)
a letterdear you,a letter2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
when you feel small
know that there has to be
someone in your world
or only outside it wishing
you would notice them.
how life works,
whether you like it or not.
while you are looking far off,
skimming the ocean in your head
to the horizon holding secret wants
you believe you'll never touch
burned and buried
in that sunken, dying star--
someone out there has fallen
in love with you.
for instance, it could be me.
I could be--
in love with you.
would you take a ride with me
if you knew? would you walk away
from futile watching atop your
rocky sea precipice
to eat greasy fries at a cheap diner,
laugh into milkshakes
with me, hypothetically.
let me write you a poem
on a used napkin branded with your lip gloss
stains about lovers that aren't us?
could you not
talk about that one guy you like
("he has his issues but he
lost memories between the sofa cushionsi found the lost boys under the sink again,lost memories between the sofa cushions2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
their eyes boring as dark as a stygian night.
black ink tallies were scrawled on their arms --
an imaginary clock ticking life away in place
of the years they weren’t growing.
they reach their hands out to me,
beckoning, whispering the mantra
“be our mother again, again, again...”
but it was your words that echoed in my mind:
even pixie dust isn’t strong enough
to help me fly anymore.
love is not a number.he islove is not a number.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
away from me,
and tomorrow is
Friday the 13th.
but i swear
that i can feel his pulse
in my palms
and the sun shining
through the snow.
,the thing they forgot to mention,2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
about being a writer
is that we all live the longest
and die the fastest.
we feast on metaphors
with numb fingers and hearts
until we crawl under a half moon to sleep
and just don't wake up,
because everything we are
is arranged in our work
and we start to become
everything we've written about,
slowly but surely.
and now i'm not so sure
if i want to be a poet.
i just know
that i want to be a writer.