i haven't forgottentell me, boyi haven't forgotten4 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
who is your god.
do not say it
is the limbs
that spread you
do not tell me it is
hands wrapping a head
board, nor a mouth
tugging your name
i want to know who it is
that makes you lucent,
bent beneath the dark,
because there is no divinity
like the one that makes
i and youwho is it thati and you3 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
you dream of?
is it me
with the knife in your back;
do you see me
the woman with
a wolf jaw
cut slack in a growl?
do i pounce you?
do you defeat me
with the knife
i gave you?
and i wonder the sound
of me when you
finally put your demon
she is a venus
(her body cut from
the ivory tusk with hips
like that of a valley,
breasts shaped as
two moons caught in
and i am the trap
she slips into.
i cut her head
into a loop land wear
her round my neck
fidelic whore-- this is appropriationfidelic whore6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
my sweet synchronicity ,
i have downed your appetite
in a bed of front teeth
(it is morning in perth
midnight in dublin, and the noon
sun has been lost behind
a dress of mothy curtains)
do i taste of
of love making;
do i reek of
the weeds that
the posture of your spine?
you bend over
my lap a curve of guilt
and weep all night.
i collect each knob of your body
like a gift. press it to my mouth.
note 59burning it was sonote 5910 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
much better than
letting it burn me
slippers your ghost eats peanut butterslippers7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
out of the jar. an atomic grease
fire tongues our oven like an
if only we walked on clouds
if only we lived in the belly of the ocean
interlopershow me god the way your motherinterloper4 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
knew him, show me the mark on
your body where he stopped
you from suicide, where he changed
your winters to summers and
address me by my first name to show
me that your respect for me hasn't
died, letter by letter, buried between
the bow of your hips alongside our
once-strong playground love.
tell me the preacher was lying as he
spoke of our comely desire falling to
the destructive hand of a deity no one
has ever seen, but feels as they speak
in tongues that never matched the ones i
spoke in to finally tell you that
i felt for you.
don't leave me in some drunken tantrum
across state lines, slurring words as
you try to tell me your love for someone
else is vivid and living in you, even in the
parts that have died away, breathing out
alcohol as you use the word "never".
curl into me with intimacy, touching the sadness
out of me, because i always wanted to be
the one you love, not the one you loved.
i can't make you love me.i burnt my tongue on the thesaurusi can't make you love me.3 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
trying to find a better way to say
but my words tumbled out like smoke,
and i stood there thinking
you could paint a masterpiece
with his tears
62there is no reward in being open623 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
there is no reward in unclothing
wounds, there is nothing but
silence, there is nothing but
everyone is equipped with daggers
these days you're better off mouth
.i..1 month ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
the high is at its
best when i can't remember
why i hated myself.
death is a nightmare
only when i realize you
are not in the dream.
Otherwise Good ConditionI have worn the same dressOtherwise Good Condition8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
for four days, because
I am sick, exquisitely
black and gold, your drunk
dimestore Nefertiti. A
white stain announces
itself, a muddy star:
here. Undo yourself,
those sallow words you drink,
let the silk fall loose. I've got
a face like dirty laundry
and burial grounds --
What I touch becomes
unwell. I wear my hair
like it pains me,
like a little girl
sucking her teeth
at cars, the caked little
tombs of sugar that crumble,
under the hot milk
of the sun.
the birth of winterintoxication never even crossed your mindthe birth of winter1 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
when you were thirteen, but there you were:
seventeen years of age,
shooting every possible substance you could
and mumbling nonchalantly
into every mouth you found.
those eyes. you knew them - they
stared at you, at every party, after
every next sip of drink. you knew they
looked, you knew because you felt the buzz of it
and god knows you always felt your highest
when they raked over you, autumn,
hazel, pierce through a couple doors,
a couple walls, a couple months.
the same strings of words cascade from between
your lips every time you open them but
it's because you lock your surreptitiousness
far deep down in the back of your
throat, let the alcohol numb you (dumb you) down -
you fall through the back door
and laugh at the stars.
a cure?they say Van Gogha cure?2 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
used to eat yellow paint
so that he could get
the happiness inside of him.
especially on nights like this,
I wonder if that would work.
I wonder if the pigment
would seep into my intestines:
would spread through my veins
like an elixir:
would curl and coil and cast
on every angle, every aspect
of my body.
I wonder if endless trials
and retrials of drugs
could be replaced by the
occasional dose of cadmium,
liquid sunshine, intangible dream
I swear I can almost
I wonder if it would do
than make me sick,
curled up on the bathroom floor
and left choking on a life
that I can never have.
To My Biology TextbookOn page 159 of my biology textbook, it reads,To My Biology Textbook3 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
“...cancer is the uncontrolled growth of cells”
as though that could explain everything,
and I thought it did for a time.
But my textbook never warned me
that his skin would pale
to a point where I could see
the blue freight trains
carrying eighteen pills
throughout his frail body.
My textbook never warned me
that his watery irises would freeze over,
that he would hurl insults like knives,
and that he would clench his jaw
as tightly as his fist clenched his wine glass
because the only person to blame is himself,
and he can’t swallow that as easily
as he can the olives in his martinis.
And my textbook never warned me
that it would be this difficult to breathe
because of my acute awareness
that his breaths are limited,
and that there would be nothing I could do
but soldier on searching for that silver lining
clinging to these foreboding thunderheads.
spider song, purple ladyshe carriedspider song, purple lady4 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
a pair of scissors
in her purse so she could
cut the filter off her cigarette
before she smoked it.
she sucked in her
cheeks and pursed her
lips when she had to be
patient for anything.
'how do you
stay so thin?' i asked
she gathered her bracelets
at her wrists and they clinked
like wine glasses, like the twinkle
of her smile, 'cigarettes and ritalin,'
she said. 'a steady diet of cigarettes and ritalin.'
she had small
hands that were not
feminine. her fingers
were short and her palms
her was purple. even
her eyes. they were brown.
she didn't wear
lipstick. only gloss.
stinking, pink, and sticky.
don't go too near, you'll end
up with your lips stuck and then
she'll eat you. you'll love it.
i asked why
she didn't just
cut the filters off
all at once, all at once
at home and she said, 'honey
it's wednesday, and i've barely
made it past monday yet.' snip,
flick, fzzz. alright, i said, you know
you're one hell of a girl and you're
alright, i said.
wet on the lungseverything expandswet on the lungs2 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
and people know nothing because you tell them
(like the look on your father's face
when you fell,
undone to those who wake you;
bright against the wind
the world is a scary place,
surfaces small and singed with
every moment snapping itself sad, and
nothing to regret about it
I feel like a tall child, please
take me somewhere steady
because I can read the earth
almost as well as your body
rocks back and forth and
back where pigeons lie
well I'm already on the floor
of other natures)
the room was giving birth to you
step-mothershe sings to mestep-mother2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
like the sad sparrow in
dusking the day
with a draw of chords.
and i want her
on the glissando
of her cordial chirps
and gasp like
she were a drowning
cannot breathe with her
so close to the window, i
so close to the
of the freedom
of mine she imprisoned.
i take hold the
nape of her larynx, swollen
with weep and apology,
hoping to snip
her straight clean.
instead i fold over her
like a nest and rock
her to sleep.
thankheaven for books,thank1 week ago in Free Verse More Like This
and mulatto boys that
break my heart; thank
god for vodka and
thank god for urges
that slither into deep throats
past better judgement and
thank god for his hands
that he loved
on clarity, seeing yourself as you arewe're all hypocrites here.on clarity, seeing yourself as you are7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
and we're all artists.
we paint ourselves
onto someone else like
it isn't painful for them,
like it isn't killing them
in the process. we give them
ownership of our failures,
we lay our flaws under their
tongues so when they speak,
more often than not, we hear
some distorted version of
ourselves. we expect them
to love the way we love. we expect
them to fight the way we fight. but yeah, we're
all fucking artists, right?
and we're all individuals, of course.
we're all on our brave, one-man
trip to enlightenment,
we're proud of the way
our word has been shaved
down to feelings, and moments,
mood swings, and oxy
off the bathroom sink.
well i can't be the only fucking
one who's tired of being an artist.
i can't be the only one tired
of seeing my skin stretched out over
everyone i know. i am tired of watching
my reflection shimmer and fade in their
smiles, in their wrath. i am tired of becoming
silver in one moment only to tarnish in the
next. i am tired of asking
literally, a quesadilla more than you willliterally, a quesadilla7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
you smell like
new car, shirt stuck
to skin. laughing:
I wonder what
would happen if we
fucked right here,
just confidently lacing
the space between
planets with electric
the truth behind loving someoneyou didn't love her.the truth behind loving someone7 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
the only movie you watched that ever stuck with you was 500 days of summer, and when she asked you to carry her over the rush of the creek that way that summer would have, you did. you never knew what it was that attracted you to that movie, or the idea of loving a girl as much as the protagonist had, but you assumed it was something you should do. you were young, anyways, and you were good looking, and she, among many, had dropped words in your hands, hoping you'd hold onto something. take it somewhere, ask for more, take more, like you deserved. you don't know why you took more from her. maybe she looked best for the part. you don't really know.
she was happy, always. she listened to music, you knew; she wore her favorite bands like clothing, wore art in her denim and hair length, and maybe she was better looking with makeup on or off, but she looked like a project, color paper cut and placed over her body in haphazard precision. she was a doll, everyone said abo