Growing PainsGalaxy-bones are too overused,Growing Pains6 months ago in Scraps More Like This
and dear, I’m not for orbits wound
around a single sun… no, my attention
is the flitting span of birds, hordes in
migration and extinction; a tornado
of fiberglass ribs, which only ever broke.
(I’m not alive enough.)
winter brew.he wrote me a love songwinter brew.5 months ago in Scraps More Like This
in a teacup.
I drank down the words,
let them warm me up
from the inside out.
when eleveni.when eleven7 months ago in Scraps More Like This
of my clock wrapping stiffly
around me when the morning
doesn’t open right… Or can’t.
(and sometimes it’s a little bit of both.)
The exponent I can give to you
in throats cried into droughts,
because you multiply me
equals too many nothings:
(and because anyone divided by me
finds an imagined infinity)
The age in my hands
when I hold you, temples pounding
tantrums and memorabilia;
they shake and stir each day.
but sometimes my hands are 40,
creaking like arcs to house your dreams
when sometimes I just need you
to let me be 5.
Eleven more words
I’ll write, because nothing
seems good enough.
harmI become seas of fire butharm2 years ago in Scraps More Like This
It does not melt snow;
I melt hearts and I brand
Lovers, with words and titles
bereft and sold – the highest bidders
swallowing me in laughs.
you're a fish-eye gone wrongyou're a shutter speed aheadyou're a fish-eye gone wrong2 years ago in Scraps More Like This
and you're faster than light is filmed
not a blur in your path
or focus you could lack;
you're just what i need
when the day is young.
but my darling,
your polaroids are spitting
out of my mouth, shadows
reveal and highlights stay -
and look, you're
still an f-stop over exposed,
even the sun is
and I have loved silence.You never said you wouldn’t lie,and I have loved silence.2 years ago in Scraps More Like This
just that I’d had enough.
(I always assumed I knew what that meant.)
When happiness couldn’t come
swiftly, and when love came less than softly—
when ticking clouds could no longer sustain,
I tried to fish my heart from
the crosshatched lips of unknown faces;
you simply held my hair as
I left the poisons I’d ingested
at the bottom of porcelain bowls and sinks.
You said love was leaving
but it was okay, because I’d
never love enough;
my heart would leak lies
through varicose love
as easily as my veins
overflowed at wrist-bound docks,
and I would never be able
to love more than silence.
raffle ticketshe finds beauty in the way iraffle tickets2 years ago in Scraps More Like This
pronounce the word 'melancholy',
the way i laugh at
his witty science metaphors,
the way i read less than
stellar pieces and
make them sound mine.
1/4/12 ( Sorry that these all suck so badly T^T )Migration's Flight1/4/12 ( Sorry that these all suck so badly T^T )3 years ago in Scraps More Like This
I wave from misty bogs,
knee deep in frosted ‘love,’
as agony flies from my chest,
and they take off
of colder climates.
I once set foot on a star
he was Saturn:
encompassed in perfect
He took my hair from clouds;
and in night,
he stilled my traveling bones.
And just as a star,
into someone else’s universe,
to revolve around someone else’s sun.
but what more could one ask
Of a star so bright?
You sit atop winged seraphs
and stake your claim of might;
I am ever still, sculpted heartbreak…
parasitic from your height.
Is never enough…
And I never satisfy.
Sorrow Not, Sweet Heart of Mine
Sorrow not, sweet heart of mine:
love is nothing but a
It may give phantom aches,
unberable in their agony,
It may lay kisses upon your quivering bosom
until tears run searing cold,
and it may gift night your hazy, dying s
In the interests of transparencyIt's clear to seeIn the interests of transparency2 years ago in Scraps More Like This
that I'm as fragile
as glass -
and every time
that you look through me;
I crack up.
reveal yourselfIt's taken me all this timereveal yourself1 year ago in Scraps More Like This
to realize that
the flowers in your hair
were actually weeds,
and your promises
were already broken
before you made them.
cutleryfall up the moon,cutlery1 year ago in Scraps More Like This
and talk if you want
(but she might not talk back).
one word to use but fingers
hailing with skins, and bones, and
maybe even the veins of a poet
saying there's not enough razors
to open her lungs.
fall up the moon,
and talk if you want
(but kneecap letters
and river-run wrists
might never talk back).
SolsticeOnce upon a time, when you were still sunlighthouses and shimmering existence wherever you were needed most, you found him. He was November, shaky on his first last legs, and you saw through the mind-twistings he feigned to the mind-twistings that were really there, knotted up in his dreams.Solstice4 years ago in Scraps More Like This
You were still birdsong then, and thunderstorms, and your bodyheat melted the frost claws that held him tight. You held onto him as his November deepened. When he howled, you howled with him, and the wind played with your voices and pressed the softness of your lungs against your cageribsand then against each other's.
November became solstice, and you felt him shiver through that long night and didn't mind the coldbitten nails that grazed your skin. He slept when the moon drowned below the treeline, but the iceflakes began to drift in like small animals seeking the pulsing riverheat of your blood, and chilling you. He lay there, vulnerable as his world turned slowly towards the light, and you
CompressWhen I was young, my motherCompress2 years ago in Scraps More Like This
taught me how to draw the curves
of a profile.
Strange to think, of course, that
the side of a head is easier to face
when I, as a child, rarely saw more
than the pointed chin of an adult
looking down their nose. How I
wished, so innocently, for her approval;
to know that she would love
the fruit of my juvenile efforts
so that I would always feel
her arms wrapped around the
angles of those brittle tooth-pick
boxes I kept for shoulders.
My father, she drew him once –
the silver gel-ink sketch still sticks to the
fridge door. Perhaps she feared
that I would forget him.
Maybe I would have.
Maybe I have.
And sometimes I think that nothing
has changed, that I’m still a child
with a hole for a memory, because
I’m still facing life side on, and
vying for my mother’s approval so
that she’ll never leave.
CatatoniaRavenwing,Catatonia4 months ago in Scraps More Like This
for the charcoal in
I knew - I knew -
at some point you
would jump from the nest
to test yourself.
I don’t ask that you
nuzzle twigs forever;
I ask you don’t close your
eyes with gravity.