it isn't geniustruth is
I am not your
of ends the means could justify
where words would make
silence beg "bravery
is much like a run-on sentence"
between your left index
finger and thumb when feeling numb,
that will warm you
in the winter, chill your
bones in a summer heat. lonely
dried like petals,
jailed by secrets written
in some guilty tome. prodigy
From Your 'Secret' AdmirerHeaven,From Your 'Secret' Admirer2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
this is not a love letter
I will swear to God,
with a halo on my head
and a hole in my heart.
But the fact is I revere you
more than I have any right to.
After all, we are nothing except
who have awkward conversations.
So why is it that every time the line
falls silent I panic, worrying that your shadow
will make my efforts nothing but a distant memory,
when every word you speak strongly marks my mind?
Simple: I fear having something to lose
and losing the nothing I have. You are
treasure to me, and this note becomes my confession.
Sincerely- I typed this, but I'm sure you'll recognize the handwriting.
A Freshwater Soulyou didn't dream he'd tear blank walls, whipA Freshwater Soul2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
furled fists let partly tattered tales slip
early echoes, and allow
the lonely ships to sink, baring bows.
sail sea. river remove
yourself far forth. prepare to prove
that you can keep a gruelling grip.
Mourningand I still don't knowMourning2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
what was on your mind,
when the bullet struck,
or if you felt any pain
before you fell
and the world went dark
if there was some sort of peace...
though I've heard it's difficult
to sleep when covered in blood.
but I know now
how precious and fragile a thought can be
when just seconds are the difference
between life and death.
I don't know
if you saw any lights,
or some other kind of angel
coming down for you
I often wonder if you spoke before you died:
your voice is the only part of you
that the world could not chain,
so I'll hold on to the fading
echoes of your words
for as long as I can.
but I know now
what separates sympathy
empathy and pity
and that being sorry for a loss
doesn't make anything better
it never did or will.
I don't know
when the end came or when
regret and other clichesshe did not die, she disintegrated.regret and other cliches2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
one moment spent standing by a doorway, embarking the pathway of a thousand simultaneous truths taught her mind to think: "i am not."
and so she was.
she did not erode, she was erased.
here in an instant and gone in the next, that one unnerving déjà vu you can't forget just shivering up and down your spine as if to say: "it is i who haunts you."
and so she does.
she did not exist, she exuded.
light and love and darkness and hate and beautiful things and foul things all came from one mind, and one heart. somewhere halfway 'round the world there may have lived a soul atop some lonely mountain or tucked into a low valley who understood and appreciated the precious delicacy of opposing forces, but it's also possible that none of this ever actually mattered.
"we all get sick of things sometimes."
After the FallWhere teardrops have fallenAfter the Fall2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
flames will also rise,
they are invisible angels
obvious in demon eyes.
enduranceyour words,endurance2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
why should they be so small?
are you an ant-like Atlas
caving beneath the weight of neverending skies?
a hundred times
and you, little loyal
son of his dead memories
floating on her shifting oceans,
why should your voice be so soft?
why should you tread on tiptoe
across cracks in this mortal armor
where a child would boldly speak aloud,
fearless of stray sparks among dry timber?
"you are the stubborn, weary feet that march forever on."
broken treasureI am not a porcelain doll.broken treasure2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I have no desire to be the unmarked object
of some glittering prince's affection,
nor do I wish to reside in his palace of cumulus mediocris.
I never look at perfectly painted smiles on cold faces
and think "I wish I had one, too"
because no one places any recipient of their love
on a pedestal to gather dust
-they wear their hearts on long sleeves,
make memories in overlooked spaces,
give feeling to familiarity, and wear cracks
in their smiles like medals-
love can make something perfect, but perfection can't create love.
How to be Found in Eleven Simple Steps1. Understand that you must be willing to give up the fragile solitary universe you created from the instructions given on page three.How to be Found in Eleven Simple Steps2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
2. Spend more time building from the ground up. It will take longer, but you'll like the result.
3. Rest when you are weary and remember the times when you were strong, hear that strength in every word that you speak.
4. Keep in mind that you are human, and that survival is weighed against life more heavily. You are survival. Life is your goal. If you disagree, move to step 5. If you agree, skip to step 6.
5. Return to 4 and repeat until you believe.
6. Live not in fear of doing something you'll regret, but in order that you won't regret not having done something.
7. Leave for home and release the heartache. It is not your home now. You are a wandering spirit.
8. Taste the different air in every footstep, weigh the light that feeds your shadow, and take comfort in your solitary walk...
9. See the countless colored souls that walk about, and how eac
burned bridgesi could speak, but what is there to sayburned bridges2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
no. sorry never turned back time
unbroke a heart
or saved a life anyway.
i could speak, but what is there to say
no. sorry never absolved any guilt
unspoke a promise
or saved a smile anyway.
just a flame in your heart"introductions are pointless," i said.just a flame in your heart2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
"mere words could not explain this mess
and we have made a mess of things."
remember the matches we traded?
sparks flew into fire on the day we met.
"introductions are pointless," i said.
we smoked without a reasonable cause
and burned brightly with no permission at all,
"mere words could not explain this mess;
we've made life out of dead songs,
mixed up old rights with new wrongs,
and we have made a mess of things."
thievespoets aren't the weaversthieves1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
they're the thieves.
stealing life's magic
straight from the air we breathe
putting words to them,
audaciously lighting candle flames-
fuelnotfuel2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
you burned. fire was
accidental, just meant to keep me warm.
she's broken, but he always breaks thingshis eyes were deep and she dived into them sound-she's broken, but he always breaks things2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
less of a dream and more truthful is the fact
that even before she flew or fell, she'd drowned
the protective shell grew on her with a crack
that let the tide pull her heart to the bottom
and caused her open soul to fully retract
he remained placid, he stayed rested and calm
as the core of her sunk into depths unknown
a conscience as guiltless as it could become
and up through the cold floor, her red shoots have shown
still pulsing and beating and trapped behind bones.
she does it all the timeshe will disagree to her heart's contentshe does it all the time1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
and love boundlessly the shadowed faces
surrounding the immediate world in a whirlwind
being loved but never loving herself enough to see
Green-Shaded-GreyWe're all wet dirt and deep-rootedGreen-Shaded-Grey2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
psychoses till the liquid courage dries up
and nostalgia smells like summer again each time
constantly becoming brighter, almost achieving
the same sentience we used to mock you for
leaving stolen pieces of existence from a thousand
green-shaded-grey unwilling donors who know nothing.
into the seascattered, frenzied thoughts still taste like your bloodinto the sea2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
poetry when the world is half asleep
as tears pour out a formidable flood
when I wake, they find fears for you to keep
these emotions mixed like a neck-deep mud
let all of this panic soak through and weep
tears take the sighing tragic life from me
tears beyond the river, into the sea.
omnivisientthis sacred skeletonomnivisient1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
-his mundane anchor-
assumes creeping flesh
bears a crown of flowers
I spoke your nameThere are pieces of me six feet below Crown HillI spoke your name2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
in unmarked graves. One sitting on a window sill
drying in the sun until you put it in your pocket
to give you strength as you stare down a bullet
three years leaving the gun, a piece of me bursting
through the pavement and into the brick, scorching
the one piece of me that hopes you'll try to save it.
I wake in bed with words scrawled
in blood, sweat and stained tears
across the lifeline of my left palm
greeting half-sunbathed memories
swimming at the limits of my hips
-once, you explained love to me
and I listened from the inside out-
a dull headache and faint echo of
her lingering sonata become proof:
we don't need lungs to breathe.
Where My Heart IsI make my bed with precious bits of solace, lie down and rest.Where My Heart Is2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I wake up tomorrow morning, clean myself and get dressed.
I eat and go to work and come back and I relieve myself.
I make my bed with bits and pieces of my soul,
spread a little faith across it all,
lie down and rest.
Time will come I won't wake up again and
I will not regret.
SeclusionSeclusionSeclusion2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Sometimes you need seclusion to reclaim your mind.
Blacken your vision and close your eyes,
Plug your ears from the outside,
As you fall back, back inside of “I.”
And not “we,” “he,” “she,” but me.
Sometimes to find myself,
I must lose everyone else.
Over the EdgeI've learned to unzip the wallsOver the Edge2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and fold them into paper planes,
sending them into ephemeral zephyrs;
their only thoughts are to sail. I
fall back in time as we knock loose the stars.
My breath is soaked in octarine, lungs
tingling with unviolet enthusiasm,
anti-chartreuse auras within this
mind stimulated with sensation,
and my soul is bathed in hue.
I course prophecy through my collapsed
blood cells, creating a waning doorway.
I felt like the only time I was more than
one hundred and twenty empty pounds of flesh
was when pixie dust choked and strangled me.
In the ebb and flow of loose realities
there is one cosmic constant:
shimmering dreamscapes filled with
electric currents of joyful tears,
our destination a treasured mystery.
I've always thought freedom was a beautiful
word; a kingdom of wishes and holy
ground, but it's of evanescent requiem.
You are a maelstrom of viscous spells,
honeyed by m
secretly, i long for foreststhis city is a wilderness, we knowsecretly, i long for forests2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
steel-structured habitats reaching
into the heavy air
where colorful creatures scurry
across one another's paths
as though it were written on our bones
rather than scattered on our skin
we eat the pavement eagerly
while trampling derelict dreams shed
like skins, dead
to adapt to the constant
change without a second thought
hesitation reaps no reward, so do we
spring forth until the future disappears
of lines drawni draw my lines at the brinkof lines drawn1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
of humanity's tears and pause
to dry them with passion at the airing
of your apathy and disregard
you cross my lines without care
loudly proclaiming triumphs
from your empty rooftops
echoing in the vacant urban farms
meanwhile, the lines remain unbroken
and the saltwater desperation of
our species continues struggling past
lost battles and into a dormant future