RelativityRelativity9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Grandfather handed me his pocket watch
and spoke of how it saved his ass back in the day.
It was as old as his shoes
and its pointers flickered clumsily,
speaking a language I was yet to learn.
Son, war is a filthy ballet of dust and hissing bullets;
I swear, they were like flocks of doves whose grey wings
split the air into fractions.
I'm just damn grateful your grandma
woke me up one day and told me:
'My dear, when the fields are soiled
by the ever unforgiving rain of souls and lead,
think of this watch. My father gave it to me, you see.
I remember him telling me of how gorgeous my mother looked
as he took it from his pocket and the pointer struck noon.
"I swear she looked at me right there and then', he had said,
"and right there and then we fell in love'".
And I did. I had it with me when that little arrow
punched my chest so hard it threw me to the ground.
About time, too; I wouldn't be here if I had been standing there
for another second.
His eyes shatter
Gift for TearStainedGlass.Gift for TearStainedGlass.8 years ago in Teen More Like This
This has to be the worst Fall Out Boy concert ever for you.
Usually when girls give him heated stares or suggestive glances, you pay no mind because usually he either doesnt return them or just gives them a charming smile and focuses somewhere completely different.
But no. Its not like that tonight.
You remember this girl from a long time ago. She never liked you. You never liked her. You never wanted to see her again. End of story. But quite obviously, the unspoken story continued itself and here she is, giving him suggestive glances to your great discomfort. He should have just smiled and looked away but no. Hes returning the glances with heated stares. This bothers you to a point where you feel like you just want to get off the stage and slap her then go shake some sense into him. It bothers you even more because you hadnt even meant to look at them. It was just sort of an accident.
You silently plead in your mind for him to stop looking at her, hoping someho
Don't Forget MeDon't Forget Me.Don't Forget Me8 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Ive had an imaginary friend since I was six years-old (which was around the time my mom left on her lifelong vacation to Spain). His name is Lethe; he told me so himself.
On the night he appeared at my bedside, his image was spectral and danced in the moonlight from my window like dust particles. Smiling a silvery smile, he slid over to my bed and, once out of the moonshine, seemed to solidify before my eyes. His hair was spun from water, and his eyes were the sterling scales of a fish, his skin the downy snow that falls from the sky in winter. He wasnt clothed in anything more than blue silk, which fell from his body like the cascade of a waterfall. His fingers were cool against my cheek when he reached out to touch the yellowish cobweb collected beneath my eye. The bruise throbbed a little under his fingertips, which caused me to wince, and he asked me if I wanted a lulla
Fuck LoveFuck Love9 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
My leg hurts, and it's not even the leg that I smashed on the hard wood floor this morning, while jumping out of bed to stop you from leaving. Maybe this is my memoir of you, my last hurtful memory to think of you by. They always did say that love hurts.
Behind my pretty smile, there's a thick film coating my teeth; and I can't help but run my tongue over it to see if it tastes like you. I'm not sure if it does or not, 'cause my taste buds become extinct after I open a bottle of tequila, and half of it is gone. Slurred words and teary eyed expressions are all that is left of me.
And I'm sure that you think it's not your fault. It's never your fault. Nothings ever your fault.
But when I could feel my heart beating inside my stomach, and my tongue became hot and bitter as my temples were pulsating; I clenched my teeth and thought of you.
You: the one whose name had been written on my heart with a number two pencil. Everyone knows that pencil markings fade away through time. Just like
Chelsea MorningMorning tea comes too soonChelsea Morning5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
with a slap of newsprint
at my door
while twenty floors below
some sweet young thing
promises the end of the world
on a postcard.
If these walls could talk
I would probably weep
because the paint
has not been seen in years
and covers nothing.
My pillow is a thin buffer
against the noise next door,
and down the hall
I can hear the maid
flick her ashes
down the laundry chute,
slipping the matches
into her bra
and praying the guy in 113
did not dream of her again
all over his sheets.
My blanket weighs a ton
and the elevator grinding
to a halt
is my last stab
at anything rational.
This must be how Joey felt
or maybe Sid.
You know -
funky in a beat up sort of way,
the mattress upstairs
and last night
taking up too much space
in my mouth.
For Everything She BreathedHe made things for her, beautiful thingsFor Everything She Breathed6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that could break if anyone but he or she touched them.
Little wooden animals and music boxes
and silk dresses laden with lace
and so much love for everything she breathed.
He brought her flowers from the garden
for her soft colors and delicate hands---
for her blue eyes that were losing sight
and for her pale skin, translucent skin,
almost fading into her white sheets,
blue shades dancing across the surface of her face
when the curtains allowed moonlight into her life.
She was dying.
When he held her hand it felt as if it could slip away,
slip through, as if she was disappearing
from all the things he gave her,
from so much love for everything she breathed.
And she would smile and ask him quietly
how the sun felt and the colors---
and the being able to see everything he created,
all the beautiful things he created.
And he would answer quietly that it was all for her---
the colors and the flowers by the bed
and the reading her the stories
The RunLet me tell you of the tailor run.The Run5 years ago in Emotional More Like This
The wind and seas are coming down from a rage.
Turmoil is everywhere and this shoreline, which I love like a poem, memorised, is a discourteous place. The air crackles statically on my hair and skin. I could be on a faraway planet. It smells of Cambrian times. Seabirds wheel high like tiny fighter jets, miniscule SR-71s, then, flay themselves through the sea's skin. The booming swell comes and goes, as I stand in a lost memory, echoes of a low incendiary growl. While I rig my 12 foot "big" with the 3 ounce spinner, the atmospheric frenzy relays itself to the baitfish. Whitebait. They are coiling and roiling outside the break, in an organic and measured ballet.
Tailor streamlined predator .pelagic superfighter.
The fancy spinner will tempt with clarity and glamour, as it flicks through the glitterfish,. I notice that the sand is cold and causing pain up and through my shinbones. Better that I am knee-deep and numb for this action.
I ponder on
They speak in heliumTequila, miniatures, compliments of KLM.They speak in helium5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It's half a dozen shots; maybe enough
to let me clean out your desk today.
I open the drawer a crack, then wider.
That meddling slut Pandora's been here.
She's stuffed it full of arguments
and stale conversation, leaking trouble,
oozing bad karma.
Balloons come flying out, sputtering,
sucking up to the ceiling, helium-high.
They speak in absurdities and riddles,
mad on myth and inert gas.
But I'm so free, smoking Black Devils,
crumpled pack, under a map of Boston;
empty matchbook, The Frog and Peach;
my number, in your drunken scrawl.
I aim lungfuls of Dutch smoke upward,
toward the balloons, high on noble gas.
They scuttle away, muttering sotto voce;
curses they mean for me to hear.
Pandora babbles on about culture wars,
aestheticized lust and cool, electric sex.
She says the drawer is leaking trouble;
I say my heart is leaking trouble and smoke
and these fucking, trash-talking balloons.
Battle RoarI don't talk about my feelingsBattle Roar5 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
Because I've been blessed
Being depressed is nothing
When you've been oppressed
The world becomes worse exponentially
And its up to me to rally the resistance verbally
Listen to what I have to say
Think of that African boy when you pray
Know that this world has entered a state of decay
They are working with the devil to lead us astray
White is no longer pure
Africa feels sore
Nobody is bothered enough to find a cure
And they let the blood pour
And we just sit here and ignore
Come on Ummah! Show us what unity is for!
Let us hear your battle roar!
War after war nobody clears the debris
I wish I were blind so I'd have an excuse not to see
All the stones being thrown around me
While I'm in my glass house thinking I'm truly "free"
Surrounded by news of a subjective nature
On every opinion there seems to be some mainstream curvature
I can't trust CNN, BBC, Fox or the Times
All I can do is sit here and write my rhymes
Knowing that today, speaking the truth is a
Love StoryShe found pleasureLove Story4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in the strong drink
of his smile,
and how warm his voice
below her breasts,
her toes curling up
as she met the breath of him
on winter nights.
She dreamed of the nape
of his neck -
how each pore
bristled with pride
and made her guess
and how his forehead
each fine hair
arching its back
at her kiss
like the wonder of discovering
a new meaning
for the rain.
I LoVe YouI LoVe You12 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The sweetest word is your name.
And the greatest thing is your love.
All the lonely tears that have escaped my eyes have made me who I am,
One to love you more.
All the times I felt I've found the one,
And all the times I've mourned over a bleeding heart,
All the things I've wished I've done,
And all the things I wished I hadn't helps me love you with purity and certainty.
All the times we fight feels like we're gambling our lives.
I hope we never lose.
I love you so much,
I love you with all my faults and all my achievements.
I love you with all that I am.
I love you for who you are.
I hope in the quietest of the night
when I whisper out to you you know just what to do.
You listen to hear my voice echoing how much I love you.
WanderlustWanderlust7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I want us to ride a tiger,
fur sleek with sandalwood,
out through the bamboo forests
under paper lanterns
and firecrackers that snap the night.
We will ride him bareback
through market stalls of blue tile,
on magic carpets of indigo
and let hennaed fingers
run through our hair
and taste saffron on the summer breeze
that blooms like red orchids.
We will hunt for jade eggs and silver combs
along the silk road
and let our feet find their way to Kathmandu
where we can hear the shimmer of brass bells
and feel the shiver of glass beads
sparkling the dark and our skin,
exploding the night in warm honey.
I want us to steer a sloop
sails unfurled like music
into the green flash of Islamorada
and search for flying fish
among the coral fans and spiny urchins.
We will sleep upon warm sand
through the deep velvet of night
under Casuarina trees
and let steel drum music
lull us to sleep
and taste the rich fire of cane rum
that comes in tin cups.
We will get our cards read and fortunes told
under a pa
illuminate my heartSeptember falls outside his window and the two-story house feels June. Time tilts here, the days canted to the left like the apple tree their grandchildren planted sometime last winter. It hasn't grown much since then, a few leaves on dry branches but no blooming flowers when spring arrived.illuminate my heart5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Today his fifty years seem like thirty. Sitting up in bed is easier. He doesn't feel as weak as before. The Pacific breeze touches his hair, chills his pale face and he thinks, Maybe Anna and I could drive down to the beachfront today.
He rolls to his side. She's burrowed under the covers, a blue blanketed lump, white hair poking out over dark blue pillows.
John reaches his hand out and presses down.
The lump rolls over. The lump doesn't breathe.
The lump deflates like a balloon.
The lump is blankets and no flesh.
"Mmm, good morning," Anna murmurs in his ear.
Cold lips kiss his cold cheek. John frowns.
There's nothing there--
Anna squeezes his hand, drags him out of bed. "Breakfast?"
PhobicSo if you're Islamophobic I feel bad for you sonPhobic5 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
I've got ninety-nine problems but Islam isn't one
I've got an ignorant preacher trying to burn the Quran
No Hijab in France because those are ban
Bill O'Reilly says 9/11 is an Islamic blame
With slander like that it just degrades his fame
Let's bring this Islamic hate to a zero
No I'm not a revolutionist or a hero
I just want to witness a mosque be built near ground zero
My questions is how do you get people to understand this faith called Islam
When the media would cram
Bias ideas done by fanatics
Are to find
Of less educated
And leave their brains contaminated
With extremist ideals
Yet part of society feels
That Islam is a national threat
Well if that's their mind set
No wonder we're persecuted which is no fun
Now with all this Islamphobia I hold my tongue
I've got ninety-nine problems but Islam isn't one
Ninety-nine problems but Islam isn't one
If you're Islamophobic I feel bad for you son
I've got ninety
Le petit mortHe wanted to be her everything, show her in stagesLe petit mort5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
how it feels to tear worlds down, and watch
with no words, her shuddering gasps, in awe
his freezeframe of 'hallowed be thy name'
He wanted to pluck those damn starry tears from her eyes
in rainy clusters, and offer them up like quasar candy
that he could pop into her mouth on any given day in sizzling July
He wanted it all -
a taste of that street french filler space
that huddled between the 'here' and 'there' in her shadowy smile
to sit back and reflect in high wonderment,
this most glorious dance of her acceptance in all things colliding
to feel the slight sway in her searching eyes,
now a strong calling unto her hips
a mirrored movement in sequence, to grace
the minding of his hands, an empty space no more,
but a merging measurement of magnitude...
with he, this bombardment of Mars red, hot delight
and she, one swirling agony of tender pink galaxy
with a timeless face that would put any angel
ArgumentArgument7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Let me disrobe
that all too perfect mind of yours
as I steal your turn of phrase,
disrupting your composure -
allowing it to writhe and twist -
and leave a stain
where your thoughts
dangle in the silence.
Bright scarlet laced in ink,
delicate letters spilled
over the white cuffs
of your silk shirt -
the tiny pearls
sharp against my skin
where your teeth
and wit run ragged.
You play resistance so well.
I love to peel it
away from the curves
of a mind that dares to think
and mold it to my heart,
wearing the rebuke
from your tongue
in dangerous knots.
Tweet Thistweet this,Tweet This5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
sweet thing -
i caught you
with your hair down low
like a songbird
and your skirt up,
lifted heaven scent,
calling us home.
didn't i warn you
and funny cigarettes
how your days and legs
would just disappear
and the couch
would swallow us whole?
just be sure
to marry a good boy,
one handsome as a cliff
with a cleft chin
who will come home
on the bus
with dinner in a bag
and fill you up with babies -
little pink testaments
to you and me.
ShiverI like the taste of shiverShiver7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that bare boned, white knuckled
knock about kind of feeling
that rakes your skin
like a rattling boxcar
caught in a summer storm
and makes my tongue
feel like it just touched God.
Past That Still Remains AURukia sighed happily. Finally all her things were on the right spots and she could have some rest. She had moved out from her parents' house a week ago and she had been unpacking stuff since then. She was glad to have a home for herself finally. She loved her parents very much, but she was always wishing deep inside she would move out from their "cage" and have her own freedom. Her father was not that happy with the idea of letting her "little girl" move by herself to a big city, but he didn't have any choice since his "child" was now a 20 years old independent woman. Her mother supported her, like always, and even stayed the first 3 days to help her with a few things. So yes, Rukia Kuchiki, 20 years old, was now living by herself in New York.Past That Still Remains AU4 years ago in Drama More Like This
She sat on the couch and turned the TV on to watch the news, while finishing her lunch. Apart from suicide attacks and wars that everyone asked when they would end; there was something that caught her attention.
"The Espada gang strikes once a
New ClothesI remember attending his first lecture,New Clothes5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
"On the value of clothes and the art of disrobing" he called it.
His spirit was robed in peerless flesh for the occasion,
"to aid your feeble eyes, and to ensure visibility"
"Looking around me I see how each of you is shrouded
in the dark folds of habit, determined, it seems, to live
"in the meanest anonymity. Those coarse-wove habits
stink of fear. I will invite you to purchase from me garments
"of true liberty". The listeners stayed silent. "Fear no mockery,
the first to buy will have robes an emperor might envy!"
The Smell of NapalmPaint the walls with napalm oilThe Smell of Napalm6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And ignite the cities spirit with a vision
An inspiration to the new millennia.
To fill the air with the smell of gun powder
Echoing outbursts in the far horizon
And veil the bright cerulean with a smoky mist.
So set the signal alight
Blitzing the skies in vibrant flare
Let them know its time.
Time to move,
Time to act,
Time to pick it up and set those thoughts in motion.
Ground-breaking, mind-boggling thoughts
So let the revolution begin
And kick in the doors of this age with a hail of fire!