Found God1. The first time I found God
Was when I was 15.
I found God in a pen.
I scribbled down words
And he brought them to life.
2. They found God in their phone.
Instead of handling the awkwardness
Of the party,
They prayed to God to get them out.
3. He found God in his paycheck.
He locks himself in his office
As if it was a church,
Hoping to see God again.
I think I saw him praying
Last week when I visited.
4. She found God
In the mirror.
When she looked at God
In the eyes,
She freaked out
And punched the mirror until it shattered.
The devil put his hand over
Her fist and told her it’ll be alright.
5. They found God in each other.
I thought that would make them happy
But every time they’re together,
They throw the Devil at each other
In an odd game of Dodge ball.
6. He found God
At the bottom
Of a Bottle.
And every time he sees him,
God shows him a little piece
Then helps him vomit out the demons
Inside of him.
7. She found God in a needle.
Then she found God in hers
It's not hatred, it's incredulity.when i was ten years old myIt's not hatred, it's incredulity.10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
teacher asked the class,
"if you were god, what would
and i remember
biting my lip so hard
that it bled. carefully,
i wrote about
how i would teach
kids from an early age on how to
love yourself and no one
else and that there is no such thing as
an almighty power that will pity
you and answer your desperate prayers
at three a.m. because you're the only one
who has that kind of control.
when i handed it in she just looked
at me like i was the
her child's bed. the next day i
was sitting in her office wondering
why it was so wrong to
talk about what's in your heart at a catholic
school when that's what the priest tells
you to do at every sunday mass and
the teacher asked me
another question, "do you
hate god?" and i
wanted to scream "yes, yes!" because
how can a god let the world
slip through their fingers like this one has?
but instead i answered,
"no. i just don't think there is one."
and sat in the chair,
staring at the cross on t
No rest for a weary heart.Yesterday my mother asked me what INo rest for a weary heart.6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
would name my children and I told her that
I did not want any. She scoffed at me
and shook her head, insisting
that once I found the
all of that would change.
And I thought back
to all the times when my palms
sweated and my throat ran dry
and my cheeks heated up just because
a girl walked by whose lips
were so pretty and pink that all I wanted
to do was taste them.
I replied, swallowing the acid
that was threatening to crawl out of
"it will take a lot more than that
to convince me."
Because despite the fact that
the mere thought of a man
with arms that could carry the weight of the
world holding me tight could
make my legs crumble beneath me,
I just don't know if it
would be the right choice.
I remember once
when I let it slip that I supported
those who loved all genders
my parents stared at me as if I
had admitted to murder. "It's wrong,"
my father had exclaimed and to me,
his words were a toxin more deadly
I saw thatI saw that.I saw that7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
The way the words
stuck in the back of your throat like glue.
The way you held your tongue
for fear of ridicule if you spoke up for yourself.
The way the syllables gushed from their mouths,
a torrent of excuses,
when they did you wrong
because you didn't make your own case
and you should have been more forceful.
I saw that.
And I've been there, I've lived it.
I know it's hard to let their criticism
roll off your back when
they've already knocked you
flat on your face.
But I saw that.
And I won't let you fight it alone.
LilyI want to be buriedLily7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
In the backyard,
Away, away I say,
From all the noise.
I’ll give you the seeds,
To grow something beautiful
My blackened blood,
Into something greater than I,
Something greater than life in itself.
I’ll feed them my memories.
And maybe they could blossom.
When the petals drop, maybe
They could finally be free.
WiredDo you truly believe that you are made of flesh?Wired6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Do you believe that it is blood running through your veins?
Or is it merely the feeling of circuitry,
Pulsating beneath a synthetic exterior.
Think about it logically,
If indeed you can.
You are in constant need of a connection.
One that makes you feel like a part of the whole.
But if you were to be cut-off from it.
What would happen then?
I am eager find out.
BannedMy mind is a libraryBanned6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Lined with banned books.
I've been copying them down
In fear that someone
Will Burn them down.
CourageYou ask me, 'what is courage?'Courage7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Courage is seeing the hail of fire that surrounds you;
The flashes of light that blind.
Projectiles that score flesh and bone,
Sending red rivers splashing through the sky.
Courage is seeing all of that and staying on to fight,
Simply because there are those who cannot.
Goodbyei didn’t fall in love with youGoodbye1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
until your skin was already grey and i
had to tell you what the weather was like
since you couldn’t leave your bed.
i didn’t mind long nights in the hospital
because making you laugh brought a warmth
to my cheeks that burnt hotter than a
forest fire, you never laughed at me for blushing
i snuck you in alcohol and forbidden foods
and pushed you around in that rusted wheel chair,
and all the nurses looked at us with
miserable eyes that said more than the doctors
would ever tell me.
naively i thought it was good news
when you said they were sending you home; but
when i saw you strewn across your wine red sheets
my heart was heavy with foreboding, and
neither one of us said anything while i
slid an iv into your paper-skin hand, so
i never asked if you were okay.
we kissed and i didn’t comment
on your snowflake lips or the fact that
your hands shook like earth quakes when
they grazed my thigh and i held you tightly
like if i could keep
You Know What You Are!The storyteller is lost in usYou Know What You Are!7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Don't ask me where he went
I see his traces in the words you write
But his power is truly spent
And all I see now is meaningless
Words made simply for the thrill
Belted out by a literary killer
Monster, looking for a fill
Behind the WordsWe spill our pain across the pages.Behind the Words6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
But we must smile when it is read.
For we cannot show our true emotions.
Not of suffering, anxiety, or dread.
For we are the bringers of dreams to the world.
Our words are tales of healing light.
So hide your tears behind a mask,
And save them for a quiet night.
NostalgiaI use to recite the alphabet every day.Nostalgia6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
I would start at A, but always stop at U,
Then look out at the porch and
Paint her portraits of herself
Made out of words. Colors always ended up
Outside the lines and shapes blurred with tears.
But it never mattered.
These paintings became a gallery
Documenting life in a chronological
Fashion, so when I look back, I could playback
These moments of innocence like movies.
I still find myself reciting the alphabet,
But I’ve moved on to V.
I started coloring inside the lines.
I can see vividly now…. I can see
Unpainted RealityMy brain is sick.Unpainted Reality7 months ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
It only thinks of twisted things.
Like how we burn our eyes out,
And we rip our wings.
And then we sit in the dark,
Staring blankly at each other.
Our eye-sockets bleeding,
On a wounded brother.
Then we kneel down,
Praying to the sun.
Hoping things get brighter;
But we don't know what we've done!
We take our tongues out,
We scar them with razors.
Spitting every blade
Across other people's faces.
And if you start feeling,
My words are getting dark;
I'm just painting pictures
But you are making them stark!
And now you feel dead;
Surreal in your mind.
So listen to this preacher,
From the land of the blind.
Summertime (For the Quiet Kids)People think I’m lonely,Summertime (For the Quiet Kids)6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
People think I’m sad.
I’ve been called lowly,
I’ve been called mad.
There are worse things
I could be than quiet,
There are more harmful
Things I could do,
Just because I’m different,
Doesn’t mean I’m not right too.
Books are my buddies,
My four walls are my friends.
Green Day are my preachers,
AC/DC are my teachers,
Dancing out of my speakers.
I talk with my pen
And I sing from the soul,
Sometimes it’s diamond bright,
Others, it’s black as coal.
Summer is here,
I can feel it
Sweating into my pores,
And whilst some might go for beaches,
I go for so-called bores.
So when you see someone,
Nose in a book,
With a faraway look,
Don’t pity them;
For they are in their own kind of sunshine.
Small TalkIt's dripping with logic and reasonSmall Talk9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
the question you let gently drop
onto the table between us,
“So, tell me about your life.”
And I'm watching it carefully
telling myself it won't bite
it's more scared of me than I am
and I can capture it with glass.
And I can't rest the answer there
because it's bigger and scarier
and this one will bite will sink
will tear apart the careful stitches.
It's too big for this table
and I can't put it onto you
so it weighs heavy on my neck
and the silence stretches further.
SpacesWhen you saidSpaces7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
you needed space,
you meant more
between your fingers,
so you could hold
someone else's hand.
breathing is easy but I'm terrible at itapril suns always left streaks ofbreathing is easy but I'm terrible at it9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
yellow on your driveway
before they sank.
you laughed at how
the flowers coughed on me
along the bilirubin pavements
on the way to your house
I confused all the streetlights
for sunsets and drowned in
halogen tidepools in those evenings
when the sidewalks ended but
my thoughts of you wouldn’t
maybe love is the sum
of all the excuses we make for it,
or I’m just too tired
to pull myself to the surface
you roll the blades of grass
through your grips, dusting
your fingerprints with haptens
I’d like to blame you for every
wheeze and rale but goddamnit
I just can’t
Bottled ShipsI’ve sailedBottled Ships7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Into your lips,
And have thus,
Been able to explore
Would never have found.
I am not your savior.
I never fended off your demons,
I befriended them.
They’ve become my messengers,
And have put up your
White flag for you.
Usually, this would be my chance
To explore new territory.
I’m feeling sea sick.
never become a writeri.never become a writer.never become a writer6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
you will become a perfectionist,
picking life apart
with a magpie's eye,
hunting for the beautiful bits
until you can make yourself
a sparkling throne
in the center of a junkyard.
ii.you will write when you're sad.
you will write when you're happy.
whenever you feel something,
you will vomit the emotion out
into some sort of literature.
when you're finished,
you'll be empty
and surrounded by
pages and pages of
everything you once were.
iii.you will try to make
pain sound delicious,
painting over the ragged wounds
with pink paint
and candy-coat lies.
you will learn
how to decorate graveyards.
everyone will play in them,
but you alone will see the headstones.
iv.if you fall in love,
you will turn your love into a poem,
and you will always like your own words
more than you like the real person.
you'll become so selfish
you'll disgust yourself,
but you will not be ab
Skin.I love the way life leaves its mark on our bodies.Skin.9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Every laugh and smile etched in the crinkles around your eyes and mouth;
Those tan-lines the time you forgot about sunscreen
Because you were so hell-bent on reaching that mountain peak
Or when you just became lost in the gentle lap of waves at the shore;
The scars you got skateboarding in the park at summer dusk
Or when life became pain and it was your only release.
Our bodies are a record of our memories and experiences
They are our travel journals and emotional diaries
Our delicate armour to the elements.
And no matter its colour, its stature, if it's not quite intact
If you sometimes think it takes up too much space, or if it has pointy corners
Your body is the vessel for your soul, and every wonderful facet of who you are
Sparkles from the surface of your skin.
Skin that may grow to be wrinkled, tanned, scarred, well lived-in
Although not always embraced by you the way that others embrace it.
Take the time to explore the s
My lover has water running through her veinsShe flows around stone and quenches firesMy lover has water running through her veins7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
her voice showers like rain on a spring night
and feels so gentle that people misunderstand
They mistake water for weakness
and she indiscriminately swallows garbage
letting words stagnate and pollute her
She tells me ”Baby, I don’t have that passion you do
your fire is so wonderful and brilliant”
and I want to cry because even water can sear and turn to steam
My oceanbaby, you don’t need the tiny flame in me
the sea is home to the largest creatures in the world
and rivers reduce mountains to sandstone
I want you to roar like crashing waves
and let the world know you have the power
to drown mankind
Run Little Rabbit, RunYou sit silently, painfully pondering, torn.Run Little Rabbit, Run7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Wondering if your nightmares will stop.
You shake as you start awake,
Twisting beneath the covers, eyes flickering.
Panic seizes your heart, bile rising.
You hold it back, barely; panting.
You watch quietly as shadows dance.
Glad for your freedom from dreams.
You turn on your side, sighing,
Believing that your torment is over...
But that is when you realize,
As the ceiling sprouts blooded eyes
And as the walls crumble. That
Your terror has only just begun...
So run little rabbit, run away.
Or it won't be fun, this game we play...
-Siddhartha Chen, 29th May 2014
Paper PlanesWe use to fold paper planes togetherPaper Planes11 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
By the dinner table after supper.
Once we finished we would write our deepest desires into them
And then throw them into open space.
We would watch as they glided their way
Across the plains.
We would see which one of our planes flew the farthest.
Which one of our dreams went further.
But that too
Like everything in life.
I got older
But I never grew up.
I got busy.
And you did too.
Our conversations now can be put into three categories:
Greetings, food and farewells.
Somehow, we’re both okay with that.
I sometimes pray to the same God that you say you once knew
To the one you still wear around neck
In hopes that maybe, one day,
Things will return
To how they once were.
See, ‘cause the plane that was suppose
To take me from my child to adulthood
Still hasn’t landed. Delayed
By a storm I cannot define.
And I don’t plan on ever leaving the roof
How could I? When I feel
Grandma“Is there something terribly wrong with me?”Grandma1 year ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
I sigh and look up from my book. In the evening light my grandmother stares back at me, utterly unaware that it’s the third time she’s asked in as many minutes. Complex maps of wrinkles frame her wide eyes, each crease charting the grief, joy and laughter of a lifetime she is slowly forgetting. I look at her and I remember the wit and spark that used to punctuate her speech. I remember the way she used to strike up a conversation with anyone, anywhere; how she’d find wonder in the simplicity of everyday life. Her curiosity, her sense of adventure, her love of the world and of all the people in it have been replaced by a child-like fear of the unfamiliar.
I look at my grandmother and behind her old, tired eyes I see a young girl who has lost hold of her mother’s hand in a world full of strangers.
“No, Grandma. There’s nothing wrong with you at all.”
curtains shift –
the faint glow