Everything You BorrowedOn Sunday afternoon,
after exiting the church,
you plucked the sun from the sky
and hid it in your palms
so that when I held your hands
they would no longer be cold.
When Monday night arrived
you snatched every single star
and used my tears to make
Tuesday's empty dawn shone
through the cracks of the door--
you stole the promise of what
could never be
and draped it around my shoulders.
After Wednesday's twilight passed,
you grabbed the clouds
and wove a tapestry of lies
that I hung on the walls
of my prison.
Thursday crept through us
on silent tiptoes,
waiting for us to take notice--
instead, we merely waited
for midnight to come.
The dusk of Friday waned
while you stripped it of its sorrows
and sewed them into my skin.
When Saturday came
you tried to steal the moon;
I watched as you stood on your tombstone
and stretched to reach it.
You fell, then--
fell, broke your neck,
and landed six feet under.
I couldn't cry afterwards,
for you had taken my agony
and washed it out to
to be a waste of grey matter with no self-esteemforgive theseto be a waste of grey matter with no self-esteem1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
rorschach nerves &
mercury veins -
i am no tragedy boy,
but i have self-decay
down to an art.
this tar tongue only starts
marlboro conversations &
i only start fires.
Muscle MemorySix Word Story:Muscle Memory1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Loving you has become muscle memory.
love poem from a pillar of saltthe words 'i love you'love poem from a pillar of salt1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
have always tasted like forbidden fruit
an apple offered by a helpful serpent-
sweet and fleeting but
the words 'i loved you'
just taste of
i always thought that leaving you would be like leaving gomorrah
that i couldn't help looking back
and when i did i'd feel an ocean dry itself beneath my skin
but this is so much quieter
and so much worse.
my knuckles taste of blood,
there is no new testament here
just old testament fire
just lot's wife standing on a forgotten hill
rocksalt freezing her outstretched hands
watching her hometown burn below her.
there is no forgiveness here
just mutual loneliness
just a lost religion and a broken girl
far too tired to play pretend
watching you fall apart behind me.
MasksIn the summer,Masks1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
when the air was bright with the scent of nectar and sunshine,
she was called fat.
Her friends stood away from her,
and eyed each other with discomfort so palpable that it hung,
suspended in the Gothic hues of the warm evening sky.
as it was all she could do to hide the
pain that gnawed so badly inside
almost immediately, it was joined by that of her friends.
It was there,
she crafted her first mask;
imbued with betrayal and hurt.
She named it confidence
and put it on
In the fall,
when the carnival left sweet aftertastes
reminiscent of a fragrant dream,
she was called ugly.
The fragile and furled leaves cascaded over the dying summer breeze
and as she closed her eyes,
she wondered to herself,
"Where are my friends?"
When no answer came to her,
she slowly took out a blank mask,
from the hollow expanse inside of her.
She poured her sadness into it,
slathering it with the color of frustration.
She called it "desirable",
and she made it hers
ExpirationWith you I always feel like I’mExpiration2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to break in the wrong size of shoes.
Sometimes I sit and stew
over how you’re seventeen and
you think I’m a princess
the trapped-in-a-tower kind
and how you wear suits and talk about politics
and think you know the world.
My throat interrupts with an affronted gurgling sound
sometimes when I think about you,
you deal out advice where it just isn’t called for
you quote science-fiction to justify war
and you’re seventeen years old and you think I’m a princess
and you just have no blooming idea.
Darling, one of these days I will tell you my mind
But until then we’ll never fit
I’m afraid –
that even after that day
you’ll still be trimmed hedges and
fishermanI am a fisherman-fisherman2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
all roaring waves
and rush of sea salt
beating seagull wings
and a tongue carved from
My hands break levees
and my breath births dams
the taste of chilly morns
still melt on the roof of my
mouth like I never wished
for anything besides the smack
of sodden rubber boots and
the scars from entangled
hunks of ivory nets
the sea has not
forgotten my voice-
I can hear them
when the wooden floorboards
crackle like hurricane bruises
from water laden saunters
through land sunk libraries
it has been a forever
since I held a dream
caught between my fingertips
and the gentle rock of a
boat and foamy froth on
but this new trip I have embarked upon
carries more clanking hooks
than screeching sinkers
yet- my line has not changed-
I am a fisherman and the sea
forget who its children are.
the drifterthe drifter1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
i tried to tell you that Marley was a ghost,
but you wanted to walk with wings
across gleaming midnight.
How marvelous, this stone stands
sturdy and musty; this glorious church holding up a ticking sun
that slowly cracks the trippy stained glass.
you drilled way below the church stone,
and found dried palm leaves and old joints
like clues to the map of an exceptional life.
I love this torrential literature,
I love a racing heart.
i cannot sleep, i keep dreaming,
ezekiel's visions leave me breathless.
Take it up with the Big Man.
Surely the cannabis creator
must exude a presence that lingers on synapses.
i've lost my ability to fly.
a tender sky with reddening clouds,
the sights of death give birth to no life.
Well, I'm l
The Girl With The Jackalope SmileShe always told me her life was a cake walkThe Girl With The Jackalope Smile2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
But I'll never understand what kind of happiness comes from
Crushing pastries under your foot
She could stitch sunshine along her wrists
And leave the rest of us in the dark
Trying to paint our own cerulean skies
And leaving us all bereft when we only managed
To stain our skins blue
And she could dance a two-tattoo on the arch of moon beams
Licking her diamond lips to taste something more
Willow wick finger tips gleaming with still flames
Tempting a hand into her grasp so that she might
Burn life back into our hollowed bodies
She traced constellations on her lungs
So she could breathe the star dust
And have shimmering breath all year long
Instead of just in December
Her canines glinted when she grinned
Candle drops of light shinning in each tooth
And melting our hibernation patchwork
To reveal our summer skin
Her veins surged with hot apple cider and wildfires
And her cigarette smoke smelt of burning wood
Her orange and red
22don't you dare221 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
leave fake flowers over my grave
allow the weeds to grow and envelop me
because I will always be a sanctuary
for infectious things
Just RightThey called me The White Whale.Just Right1 year ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
I dreamed of carving off my blubber,
perhaps learning to breathe
for minutes at a time
so I could sing,
because whales are elusive.
The ocean is vast. I could have lived
without another pinch, another poke, another
he only loves you for your tits. Get a tan,
go for a jog, are you gonna eat
Their harpoons were steady.
They had no remorse, a close friend told me,
"I just want you to be healthy." She braided my hair,
complimented the color, my eyes a drizzle,
said there was a mermaid
hiding in my shape,
I started smoking the next day.
I used to pace from the cabinet
to the basement with armfuls of confections,
I hid behind our yellow shed and guzzled
black coffee, nicotine, green tea, THC,
with giddiness turned vibrant,
all colors shook,
the first person to notice
said he didn't know I could look so good.
I found my cheekbones, polished my scales,
glittered and flitted and flirted and swam
in schools of gaping grou
letters on leaving.i wrote my first suicide letter in 10th grade.letters on leaving.9 months ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
they told me it didn't count if you felt like dying
unless you had it down on paper
like a vetoed birth certificate.
i've rewritten it enough times since
to realize i could never leave with a proper goodbye.
goodbye is too heavy a word for paper to hold
and i was never brave enough for the kind of courage it takes to tell them
why they weren't enough to keep me here.
but i'm finally learning a different kind of bravery-
the kind it takes to
i learned to wear death
like rope burn my junior year
my senior year we became friends
but i finally stopped cutting the insides of wrists
when i finally realized death never arrives on time,
i started smoking when i turned 18
to speed his arrival
because somedays, 15 less earth rotations around the sun sounds like a blessing.
2 years later I'm still learning to let the self destructive habits go
I stopped smoking again
threw the knife away and closed the toilet lid.
StrengthMy grandfather was the strongest man I ever met. If you’ve ever seen someone on TV perform some superhuman feat of strength and thought that it wasn’t real, you’ve never met my grandfather. I have seen him rip a telephone book in half. He reached his full height of 6”4’ at the age of fourteen, and by the age of fifteen he had left school to work in the metal works. No one thought twice about it, because he was more than capable of the work and looked older than he was.Strength1 year ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
I am not strong. My joints frequently hurt, although I do not think I can convey to you how much of an understatement the word ‘hurt’ is in this situation. Most people didn’t understand why I didn’t run as long or as fast as the other children, or take delight in the frequent football scrimmages that almost all the boys I knew took such delight in. when I told them “I can’t, my legs ache,” they just told me to be strong.
My grandfather didn’t.
The Beauty of a WomanThe beauty of a womanThe Beauty of a Woman1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Is like the lotus -
Most of it is hidden from the eye.
It Is In The DoingI know what she thinks I do in the bathroom when I take a little too long,It Is In The Doing1 year ago in Drama More Like This
when I'm a little too quiet.
After all, I'm a healthy teenager with access to the internet, what else could I be doing?
She knocks on the door and asks, "Hey, what are you doing?"
Smile, my dear reader.
Chuckle a little.
Sometimes she's right.
But sometimes... Sometimes I'm on the floor or pressed hard against the wall, my heart a little too fast, my breath a little too quick... my chest a little too tight as I try to keep the sound of steadily falling tears from echoing beyond the door. As I try to keep pretences to the outside world that I do not cry, that nothing hurts me. That always, always, always, I do not fall to the madness of emotions. I have no control of my life but dammit, I am in control of myself.
But every now and then the rigid hold of apathy breaks and I am reduced to this. Crying in a place where no one will hear my tears. Where no one will hear how desperate I am. How broken.
Broken seems lik
Water SignsThen water, you and I,Water Signs2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Scorpio and Cancer, respectively,
yours the calm fathomed passion of lake
mine a spring fed, fast-tumbling brook
You taught me to swim in your deep
with caressing breast and leg stroke
I flashed my silver moon flair, leapt,
like a fish, into dizzying ozone air
matched my fall-free
drowning-dive to your quiver.
Oh the silky innuendo,
shimmered laughter and sparkling jive -
though you wanted more of wet and more wet,
I, the tiptoe through shallow
fearful I could get lured, hooked
by such a catch-and-release kind of man.
shrinkingplease, don't tell me how beautiful it is that i've parted my thighs like the sea.shrinking2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
because there is nothing pretty about the tears in last nights dinner, or the way my hands shake around silverware. i am not poetry, but a language lost --in the spaces where flesh used to occupy lies everything i needed to say, kept as the only thing i could ever bear to swallow. if you try to write sonnets about the scars on my knuckles or the arch of my ribs, i will tell you in nine syllables less that this is more than abstinence and foggy reflections. i will tell you how my little sister can carry me in her arms like a child, and how my father can hardly navigate my bedroom floor without touching the brown vomit stains that makes his brow heavy. i will tell you how it feels to hold your own heart in your hands, to feel it break and skip like an old, worn cd. i will tell you how i am nineteen and fishing through musty boxes of clothes from my childhood, only to find that not a single pair of sh
.photography: a love story.Falling in Love.photography: a love story.2 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
I was about eleven years old when I got my first camera. It was instant love, my first love. I took it everywhere with me. Every flower in sight was shot, my friends became models. My dog became an endangered animal in the Sahara that was to be the epitome of my photographic lifetime. Being a photographer quickly became my dream.
The Truth is Often Disappointing
One day my father took me for ice cream with a side of let's talk about actuality. Simply put; he told me photography was a wonderful hobby and he was glad I found an interest in something. Then came the harsh reality; it takes a lot to become a professional photographer. Most people only ever do it as a hobby; only a select few ever make it a career.
Putting it Down
I can’t tell you if it was the disappointment of learning my dream job wasn’t likely to
5:20i went to the forest5:2011 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
to purify my lungs
then i saw the thick
three letter scar
i left in a slender
birch, and wondered how
i could let you poison
another living thing.
moths aren't afraid of pins
till they're stuck to a piece of styrofoam.
Missing GirlsMissing GirlsMissing Girls2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
These snippets of girls, broadsheets, ballads,
a one paragraph whisper in a smudged newspaper
beneath an ad for a pizza, two for one.
But they are singular despite their raveled tangled names.
They are still awake, a litany of how young girls die.
Delia is gone, 14 years old, cinched and muzzled with rope,
two bullets. He was pardoned. She sleeps somewhere unknown.
Her bones whisper to the unknowns. At least Delia has a song.
Johnny Cash sang about her, the Man in Black.
Did they bury her in black, a thrift store school dress
with sweat stained underarms?
They tell Delia of truck stop stores gaudy with harsh beaten light,
racks of DVDs of Country’s greatest hits. A bus stop smelling of aged urine.
He promised he would leave his wife, girlfriend, so many words.
In a church bathroom. He had a kind face.
Grainy posters stapled to telephone poles, taped to smudged windows,
small store billboards cramped with fading pleas
amidst ads for babysitting, massage and guitar le
defeatheredand this is where we bury our hearts,defeathered2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
between self-defeating personality disorders
and burnt bridges and midnight ramblings
we promise ourselves aren’t true;
embedding our memories in forsaken homes
like it is a conscious decision to shed
our wings (reptiles don’t fly)
and maybe I am the monster of every
myth: wide-eyed and jagged toothed and
looking to regain a piece of myself the
world borrowed, many moons ago
as I falter and stumble over my own unaware
feet, wreaking havoc, reeking of self-acquittal--
all I ever wanted to do was belong.
dreams are flaws much like the hearts we
flaunt on our sleeves, and I seem to
have lent all mine away; I am
something entirely ignorant, in the dark,
believing fingers fumbling can find answers.
they never told me reflections are backwards
and the world spins the wrong way and
hurricanes are really an embodiment
of all our own withdrawals:
but one day, these walls will crumble,
and I will learn to breathe in dust.
Oh Childyour bones are small,Oh Child1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
like your heart,
they've never been broken
stay away from the world
i hope you never
that dreams only
last for the night
spider song, purple ladyshe carriedspider song, purple lady2 years 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.