Things I Would Tell HerI want to tell her the thingsThings I Would Tell Her1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'll tell her when she’s older,
but the information terrifies her.
In order of importance:
she has luna moths in her head,
monarch butterflies in her stomach,
and a feral fetus in her womb.
are collapse-clasped and folded
in her lap;
she holds her elbows like wings
away from her ribs,
ready to flap,
I want to tell her
to keep one hand in her purse
so she can always find her keys,
to keep an eye on the door
and the door always open
so she can run if she doesn't feel safe,
but her cheeks are rorschach-splotch red
and the tension in her shoulders
warns me she's not ready
to hear this.
And there is the possibility that
maybe I’m not ready to tell
I’m just as devastated as her;
that she is surrounded by friends and family
who are violated by a community
where no man can say yes all men.
t.they say thatt.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but that's not really true;
we both hate our misery
and i'm learning to
but you know what they say
they'll suck you dry
and only use you
to write about. carve your name
into poems (not into
skin-- that's not "in" right now,
i guess), but
maybe i'm all out of words
are all i want to read about.
Safety Instructions“Warning, weak and fragile!”Safety Instructions2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you labelled me,
because I broke.
“Replace when damaged!”
is your brand of trouble shooting.
You never read half the manual
before (ab)using the product,
otherwise you couldn't have missed this:
Important Safety Instructions
Note: Every human is breakable
without proper care and maintenance.
Caution: Too much pressure can cause mental injury.
Caution: Abrasive words might damage god's product.
Warning! Failure to talk things through can cause electric shock to the heart.
Warning! Persistent ignorance kills!
You didn't even read the signs written all over my face:
Caution, valuable, handle with care!
Remember me.We were seventeen when we met.Remember me.1 year ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
The first thing you said to me
was "Open your eyes
You were a collection of
skinned knees and your
father's broken promises,
holding onto your fears
like miniature phantoms
clinging to the bit of skin beneath your eyes,
the indentations of muscle in your chest.
You taught me how to make
You taught me that every little
every pop of pain,
was God's design,
and if he was a painter,
you said I'd be the Mona Lisa.
You said I was a work of art.
You made big towering claims
like your hopes for San Francisco,
you piled me up like cities and skyscrapers
and buildings tourists flocked to
just to take a photograph,
capture a single memory.
When I broke my bones,
you laughed it off and said,
"People, we're just like
big versions of dolls,
snapping limbs and
cracking under pressure
the way anything does,"
and after getting pissed and
nursing my cast,
to Nat, my own catcher in the ryeon the day you were buriedto Nat, my own catcher in the rye10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
it was warm and sunny out
and little children played all day-
it’s also ironic how they handed
out flowers to your bones
when they couldn’t do it
with your bones
intact with pumping blood
and warm skin
the cycle of life turning to death
is being thrown at your face,
petals counting off
the days you wasted drunk
with regret wishing
you kissed her
or how you should never
have gave away yourself so easily
or how you were never
suppose to die
with your heart
tiring itself out from
giving you all the time
you will never get back
the stem bent
like a big i told you so
with it’s empty head
and shriveled body
could’ve been that bottle full of
paper stars you made when
you were seven
or that Little Shirley Beans
record you smashed
the first morning you had
some souvenir to turn
into your own personal
other than your coffin
because flowers are
a grave fo
Project Save MeDon't ask me how I amProject Save Me2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
when I'm silent too long;
tell me you know I'm pretending,
tell me it's okay to fall apart,
tell me you'll catch me
if I climb too high
and can't find
a safe way down.
Don't tell me I deserve better
when I get hurt again;
tell me I'm an idiot,
tell me you're not surprised
I crashed and burned,
tell me the truth
because no one else will.
Don't offer to swap war stories;
I don't want to hear
about your heartaches,
I just want someone
to fix mine.
Don't tell me
they'll get what's coming to them
after they've left me broken;
that I give too many chances
because that's the only thing
I really know how to do.
that when I forgive them,
I'm not thinking
about the fact
that they've hurt me a thousand times;
about how much lighter I feel
without the weight
Tell me it's okay,
tell me it's not my fault,
but don't ever,
tell me to just get over it.
you'll always be there
and then prove it;
Tips on Getting Me Through a CrisisLove me.Tips on Getting Me Through a Crisis2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Remember I am still
the woman you know.
I am still found
in every part
of this body's rhythm--
I am in the ka-thump, ka-thump
of my heartbeat,
the steady flow
of blood that courses rivers
on its way to these limbs.
Remember that. Even when I seem gone,
I am still here.
Do not promise to never leave.
People leave. Hearts grow old
and heavy; I do not want
to be a burden you carry--
I do not want to be an obligation
to a promise.
If you need to leave,
leave, but be honest
if you tell me
you're coming back.
Ignore the voice in your head
lying to you. I am tired. I am weary,
but my heart has not gone
and I still appreciate you.
Forgive me for not singing
my usual songs. I have not forgotten
or moved on without you,
but the plover nestled behind my tonsils
swoops, swoops. She believes
she protects me, even as her beak
splits my throat.
Remember and remind me.
I may be hiding
beneath the covers,
tucking myself into a cupboard
like a skeleton,
or scratching through walls
Why I Can't Love a PoetHe said you're beautiful likeWhy I Can't Love a Poet2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
black birds on a gray sky or
a tree that's recently died but
holds its last green leaves until
they wither and crack, swept away
by a northern wind bearing his name.
Another DayEating goosecherriesAnother Day1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
with the saccharine slipping down our chins
we gouged out the pits
and flicked the stubs into the bracken.
Mosquitos idly drifting
between sticky fingers
and the glossy punnets of our teeth
inset in stains of lobsterous lips
with the excited intent of all the words
and of all the amber-glass days
still left to be shared.
until our bodies are heavy-ripe
and oversaturated with a syrupy serenity;
another day, joyfully squandered in sun.
GreenwareGod took a pottery classGreenware2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and could have spun perfect
pots from the store-bought
clay the instructor found half
off with an expired coupon.
He could have thrown slender
vases on a rickety wheel
or molded leather-hard discards
into elegant tea cups.
The glaze on his biscuits
unblistered; His earthenware
free of crackle; no shivering
to be found on His mugs.
God took a pottery class
and made sure every piece was flawed,
and called them perfect.
And There Was Lighti.And There Was Light1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
He was seventeen when he died.
I never went to the funeral
but I walked past it the day of
the service. His mother
was in the backseat of a blue Dodge,
door open, head in her hands.
"My baby," she kept repeating.
"My baby." It would go from sobbing, to
screaming, to a soft whisper that
I could only hear being carried
on the wind.
It was a Wednesday afternoon that they found
his old red pickup truck parked
out front of Slim's, two beer bottles in
the back and the windows cracked to let the stale
I heard that his dad told the police he was
gonna take that old truck and fix it up, because
he had promised his son before—
because it's always in the before—
And in the after, his mother never had dry eyes
and I'm pretty sure my mom told me
that she saw his dad at the bar every night,
drinking his sorrows down because some people can't
handle the stress.
Some people can't figure out why their son would
"Some men just want to w
Burning HandsTheyBurning Hands2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
encourage me to keep my hands in the scorching fire
- just a little longer -
until I find a better, safer way to roast my food.
blisters on my hands
and pain in my mind
is not a reason to quit that job.
I should rather develop a proper resistance against fire,
How much longer
do you suggest I wait?
Would third-degree burns be sufficient?
Or do you want me to go right down to the fourth, bones turning to ash?
You know those can kill, don't you?
But you and they forgot:
the bones important here
are not those in my hands.
My backbone snaps back into place,
redrawing my hands.
There's more than enough food,
which I can digest
My mind, freed from pain, will find plenty.
And it will taste so much sweeter
without the bitter burned skin.
Compulsioni am awed by man's ability to createCompulsion2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in explicit symbolism,
bragging divinity in the face
of yesterday's mathematicians,
a garden on the storyteller's tongue.
time quantum egresswe bury our heartstime quantum egress1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
in the heavy glow of the horizon,
the electric hum of the New Moon
digging through the skull
we wander stateless, eyes blankly set
in dispassion. lost souls of a lost time
dragging wire-shells and pale furnaces
and we have outlived our selves.
of oxygen and water (hope and memory) goodbye oleander ghostof oxygen and water (hope and memory)1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
freckled phantom flower
drifting ever more featureless
in the floodstream engine
you withered in the atrium,
under oceanic gears--
no one ever told you
the same things sustaining life
also destroy it.
for the light that staysNow you're gone, dancingfor the light that stays9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
with the fool of once, a spectacle undone
arms fading into faint, willowed withers
eyes dripping out dandelions
for the folly-men to gander on and grin
for the sister-kin to weep and swallow sorrow
he is no more
the man he has become
he is no more
the man he was
and you hear them sing and wail
but you see him, still, as brilliant as the sun.
Steven AnthonyFuck Nihilists,Steven Anthony2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
and Nihilists with Realist guises,
and a Realist who Nihilistically surmises
when he counts his passing days,
graphs millenia beside decades,
defines a pointless human condition
brought on by a predispostion
in our repetitive cognition,
so he says, "
Suffering isn't tangible,
and perspective is a fallacy,
and faith is stupidity,
Charity an inverse to productivity,"
though I can't help reaching --
we are shameless specks
in a clear glass.
Everything That I Learned From YouI. Care too much. That's what you're afraid of, right? That when he goes to sleep and all you want to do is touch his hand to remind yourself he's real (for the moment)—you're in too deep. You care too much. You are clinging too tightly and your concern will strangle him. You think that if you tell him how much you love his eyes or you stare too long at his mouth when he talks or fold yourself around him as he sleeps he will leave because the love you put on him is too heavy. But care about him anyway. Love and kindness are too far last in this world. If he pushes you away as you cradle his head in your arms then he does not understand you. Love too much and if he doesn't love enough, leave him. Don't be afraid of caring. That's when you become afraid of being cared for.Everything That I Learned From You6 months ago in Emotional More Like This
II. Tell him he's beautiful. Remind him that his hands are the only ones you want to hold. Compliment him whenever you can
jelly beansRyan’s hands shook on the cold metal doorknob. On the other side of the door, he had no idea what condition he would find Nora in. All he knew was that he’d received a call from North Pine Hospital at two o’clock in the morning regarding a Miss Nora Anne Hartford, who’d been admitted earlier and who had him listed as his first point of contact.jelly beans2 years ago in Scraps More Like This
He’d driven there half asleep, swerving back and forth on the dimly lit country roads. It was a miracle he hadn’t gotten into an accident and wound up in the hospital himself.
Now, taking a deep breath and clenching his teeth, he opened the door and let himself in. The room was small and white. Ryan frowned at the scent of antiseptic. God, he hated hospitals.
Nora was sitting up in bed in a hospital gown, her wrist up close to her face. Upon closer inspection, it appeared that she was trying to rip an I.V. out of her hand with her teeth.
“Nora! What are you doing?” Ryan asked, horrified.
INFJ1.INFJ7 months ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Complexity is my virtue:
I am emotionally aware-
I am strong.
But when people love me,
I shield my heart...
then can't live on.
I am so frail,
Yet so strong:
I am whole,
I'm in pieces...
and then I can't let go.
Because I'm fragile;
I need time to myself,
on my own.
But I'm not apathetic,
I'm not cold:
Just emotionally confused-
and yet unknown.
Forgive me if,
I ever hurt you in any way.
emotions leave me confused-
and in a large disarray.
And when I fall in love;
It really stings me to the core.
So many have given up on me,
and made me feel absurd.
But I don't give up on others,
not unless it hurts.
(Life is too complicated,
for someone like me.
But I'm a complex person,
from the start)
I just never wanted to
be a problem,
instead of a solution.
(But I'm just an INFJ,
so it's my problem, not yours:
this I promise. )
ruinersthink I struggle with the courseruiners8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
water takes/over skin;
how it leaves shallows and shallows
and shallows behind
and I'm trying I'm trying
not to try so hard
Come Back HomeI.Come Back Home4 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
We twined our stubby fingers together.
"But I'm still older,"
you would say. You started school
a year early.
"Not barely," I would say and
stick out my tongue.
Smug little smile on your face,
you tore your fingers
away from mine and raced
me through the fields, and I
could never keep up with you.
Suddenly, you are eighteen.
You don't even know what you want
to do with your life but you
go through it joking and having fun
because you are happy, even
through the worst of it.
Your best friend gets into weed.
He drinks every night.
You know you shouldn't,
but when he hands you a bowl
you can't help but try it.
And that's where you went wrong.
You tried it.
When your father found out, he told his friends,
"I could probably handle anything but burying my son."
When I told you I needed a partner for
ballroom classes, you volunteered immediately,
saying that you had always
wanted to learn how to dance.
And I laughed because, isn't that funny,
overflowI tried to show you all the broken bones in the cupboard,overflow1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
the cobwebs beneath the staircase;
all the schisms, and chasms,
and chinks in my a(r)mour
but your finger touched my lips
in a curious sort of way, and you said
hush, darling, don't say a word
none of that matters anymore
so I tried to shut away the ghosts
but now they're out and about
and coming for me
and I have no hope of escaping
with my heart so chipped and faded.