-truth-will you meet me in the spaces
between our fingers
indivisible, but one
(and all the smaller pieces
that don't matter)
a hollow note
twenty minutes to dawn
(i know this because we've been here before)
in this moment, and this thing of arms and arms entwined, called embrace
this moment on soft notsosoft ground sheets
it's the same
and in this moment
this moment is again
and your voices
singing as the past
ceilings and walls
that do not house me
anymore, i hear you
you are farther away
when i am with you
than when we are
so far apart
i do not have a traditional clock
that could tick away the night
in even tones
to focus on
when i'm trying my hardest not to be awake
i only have digitalisations left
If you keep your eyes closedI start, but I begin to faulterIf you keep your eyes closed8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
catching myself on cliffs of wind chapped lips
gnawing uncertainty with white spears
(oh native tongue)
what's spinning you?
The bastard child that thinks I'm a yo-yo.
I begin again, only to fall into
the same too big for you shoes, same glazed (aspartame laced) over smile,
and you. you are... a loss of anything to say
you in your mouthi am curious about youyou in your mouth7 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
of course, i'd like
to know how many sugars
if any, i think i'd like
to know how well
done. but i'm not sure
of course, if i should be
curious (or otherwise)
if it is indecent
of me to speculate
ponder how much milk
wonder what textures
maybe i should wait
for the situation
to present itself
rather than spend
these days thinking
i love the way i say ithow come perfection could be the smile of apology you made when you were always latei love the way i say it8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
how come perfection could be
velocity isnt lost each time
the bounce has changed
there arent enough sides inside
my skull to play any
never whenIt's in the way the afternoons play catch and kiss with your toesnever when8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
burying themselves in your back pocket with train tickets
and things to make your breath taste like mint
a tradition of recall
and replay and remember
There weren't any birds, that I recall, the day I loved you.
And to replay the eradication of a breath within a breath I suppose I forget
willingly, just to remember
Of course the chatter of the crowds diminish when fine-tuned focus is called upon
straining skin in anticipation of connecting warmths.
Luminosity kept; shining stars between our fingers when you held my hand
in the future. nowi cannot tellin the future. now8 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
whether or not
it's the weather
or my toes are
cold for other
on top of me
like all the
oceans and all
and dead things
and oil spills
and a need
it is only a romantic notion
a dream for a higher purpose
special things that seperate
there was something worth it
up there, you told me
no one would ever think to look for me
(i too, deserve the sun, sometimes, sometimes)
you asked never
you asked never to
never to sing
you asked never
never to sing
you asked never
never to sing
never to sing
never to sing that song to you
watercolour my eyes a song
over the mountains
hold my ears close
and berate brush strokes - to my
solidify words in my mouth
so hard and crystal sharp
they bleed into my stomach
and grow trees up my pipes
blooming you morning
on all my photographs
a decade ago i
to see it fall, forgetsworse than the leavesto see it fall, forgets8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
(and it isn't even blowing
cold across your shoulders)
there is no wind,
and you fall
like the tree --
(but not so)
i am the only
one to hear you
crumple, see you
and i told her to waitand i told her to wait one hour and a day, but she was too impatient.and i told her to wait8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
instead, she stayed for a year and a week
and wept bitterly at her crying shoes.
i said, 'dont cry for your feet,
they only follow your voice
and you make the choice to lead them astray'
she bit cheeks of an apple, and left me the core
i told her no more and she took back hello
ate up all my heart, drank all my love juice. spat all the pips out. the whore.
she dallied past non sequiturs and fell victim to gullibility,
her paranoia blinding her light. she couldnt see, couldnt hear, nor realise
what was so blatantly latent.
i asked her what it meant to let the sky fall around you
and she said it has everything to do with looking up
always looking back with more to do than smile. she sighed
i told her, 'your knees creak with uncertainty
because you never found the time to decide,'
she replied with 'but i dont even like apples'
'dont fall victim to yourself,' and she laughed
and cried and screamed and fell over herself a
the of my ii wash the ink clean of my fingers.the of my i7 years ago in Typographical More Like This
i wash the ink clean of my fingers
i ash of my in
the ink lean s
Give up on that emptyIt is with your visible formsGive up on that empty8 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
and deep laments; carrying you
across tempests of metaphor.
A million ways to say
the same heart ache made
But we are left with our
alones, our darkened skies
of misplaced whys. Fists
beating upon a simile
drenched with synonyms
for heart hurt.
Are we here to commiserate?
To begin again a dance
whose music stopped
before the curtsy thanks.
And even if this waltz is
burdened by cliche
shared by many with only
differentials; variables of
the same theme and same
outcome: I again will
pretend that no one has
ever kissed like this.
WaterI lap at your feet, welcoming you into my depths.Water6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Seducing your toes to step closer, wade further
Its a cool day, and I offer warmth and comfort
Begging you to swim, even though you know
That danger lurks with me
I entice your senses,
A single dance with the darkness
A sway into danger,
Cant be that bad,
everything your silence saysi have not showered since thursday.everything your silence says5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
my hair is sticky and sprayed,
dry and dull, limp and wilting --
sad like me.
i have not seen my own hips
for three days,
i have hardly changed my clothes.
i do not want to do this.
my name is something lying forgotten
underneath the boxspring of your bed.
i am not a memory for you,
i am not a gift;
instead, i float in the crevasses
of your mind, never near enough
to the surface to be remembered.
every promise of life and love
you have given me,
every swear to never leave
i have given you --
it flounders in the ebbing seas.
i am not clean
and i am not beautiful.
my name is something lying forgotten
underneath the boxspring of your bed.
this is a poem, detailing the
wounds of my heart.
this is a poem, written for you --
you, the forgetful boy,
purple sleep dusting eyelids;
with your hands across your face
black & blue,
Act of KindnessWARNING!!! This passage is a bit long! If your not sure you want to read it I suggest that you look at the description first! Please enjoy!Act of Kindness5 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
I did something once for a boy that I never knew or had ever known, though I did see him every Friday. Our paths would slide by each other on that day. He stood on a corner near my school and smoked American Spirit. We wouldn't wave or acknowledge each other for the longest time. Then one day he wasn't there, and I found myself worried. Another week passed and he returned and I talked to him. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if he had not been the
what they say about dying men i think it would be nice if you puked on me.what they say about dying men7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i mean it. i don't care about smells. if i had the option i probably would've let my nose go a long time ago, cut loose and let it fly off, bloody and attached with fleshy noodle string. (probably that time when i was eleven and in love with my second-cousin and my feet smelled and he was breathing down my neck and it would've probably just been better if i hadn't known that my feet smelled and could've only felt his stomached, washed and beautiful breath.)
maybe you didn't need to know that.
but i would take it. your vomit, i mean. i would like it right here. (you can't see where i'm pointing, i know, but it's at my chest, in the little alcove aroun
metamorphosis of a woolI am ready to slidemetamorphosis of a wool5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
out of my sorrow.
I will slip it from my body like a newly divorced woman
slips her wedding band from her finger.
painfully over years I will rip
my sadness from its tender connection
with my bones and tendons.
Some nights will seem hopeless,
the fear holding me like a cocoon
that eventually transforms me
into a terrified child,
hiding in my blanket fort
keeping the saw-toothed night at bay
with a flashlight and wailing sobs.
Waiting for so long that I forget why I wait,
until the sun shines orange secrets
through my blind window.
I brush off and walk away.
I age twenty years between breakfast and bedtime.
I remember eventually that I am atoms
electrons and chemical reactions.
I have in me the same elements
which exist in stars large enough to engulf
our entire planet a thousand times.
A piece of me is in every known part of the universe.
I spread infinitely across galaxies and lifetimes and centuries,
the diamond dust causing even the
Daddy is an artistDaddy doesnt need waterDaddy is an artist6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
For his bloody knuckles
To color pretty pictures,
He'll exhibit with pride when the work is done.
All he really needs
Are his eight red markers
To help him express the anger
He keeps bottled up inside.
Daddy is an artist and I am
Living proof of his ability
To cause pain.
My skin is a canvas you can use over and over again,
Welcome to the museum of horrors
Where you can admire the beauty
In every bruise, scrape and blood stain.
your lips spill truthyour ardour pearls into cups to catch my eyesyour lips spill truth8 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
but we do not fall for weakness; pin pricks beneath
my toes and i keep falling
your empty hands caress the washed streets of my cheeks
but too late for the deluge
you stroke tomorrows downstream
you are a word i suddenly remembered the meaning for
misusing it this whole time,
i feel such a fool.
im caught in an updraft of your hello
the easy way that smile turns into my name
turns to a frown
im seducing the last traces of your nonchalance
beckoning him out with promises
i sense your lips do lie, but we both know
a kiss can last forever and
forever can end with a kiss.
Carpe DiemWhen time had yet to blowCarpe Diem7 years ago in Open More Like This
with a contrary wind
I would pour my love my desire
into a book
of secrets yet unsewn
before I had to face
the deep blue shades of
trials let to slip unknown
And my cry for greatness
answered with their misguided quarantine
my perceptions of success
began to dwindle lose their shine
For I only wanted balance
in a world pierced with extremes
to enjoy the fleeting wonders
as they scuttle past and gleam
For perhaps neither nymph nor shepherd
found the righteous view
If my talent is to suffer
that path must be wrong to choose
When life had yet to blow
with a contrary wind
I would depend mindlessly
on forces blind
Would tell me look unto tomorrow
let today slip past unshown
But peaces fleeting nature
hints we are interpreting wrong
and reserving waiting diligence
is the first to be gone
Carpe Diem pluck the day
Is the forward-thinkers song
Carpe Diem seize today
From schooling greatness
Does not come
Carpe Diem feel the vibrations
The Frog KingWe know this tale. Yet evermoreThe Frog King8 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
we act as foolish as before.
Oh princess fair
and frog beware!
A warning take from ancient lore!
Once upon a time a frog
lived gaily in a muddy bog,
and slept in a decaying log.
His dreams went to a lovely toad.
The warty face! So green her throat!
Oh toad divine,
oh werest thou mine,
Id made thee Queen of Bog and Moat!
He gave her beetles, gave her flies,
croaked out her name to nightly skies,
and then, one night -
Oh, which delight!
he climbed upon her springy thighs.
So they hopped happily along.
Oh Frog, my hero! Youre so strong!
Oh Toad! Our bliss,
But here, alas, the frog was wrong.
For one sad day, a car of steel
squashed Toadie splotch! under its wheel.
The frog, he cried:
My true love died!
It is too cruel, it cant be real!
The frog, who deeply felt depressed,
lay in his log and thought it best
that he sh
jeremy lives in the present.jeremy is the type of man who is scared that if he falls between the lines of sanity and dreams, he might never find his feet. he is the type of man who runs all the way home in his suit because he thinks hes chased by demons. he swears the only time they fell asleep was when she ran her fingers up and down his piano-ribs.jeremy lives in the present.6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
jeremy is the type of man who has always been ten pounds below slender, who has always had hair two inches longer than chic and spiderweb-fingers strong enough to make a woman wonder. he is the type of man who wears clothes that are always this side of wrinkled with his grandfathers watch in one of his pockets. he thinks digital clocks sapped the magic out of time and its no wonder everyone is running late.
jeremy is the type of man who falls asleep listening to the radio with a vodka in his hand. he is the type of man who hears his past in-between the chorus and the verse and would sing along if he could carry a tune. instead he hums along unde
The ViolinistOz drew his bow across the violin's strings, testing the instrument's sound. The third string was a little off, so he turned a tuning peg and tried it again.The Violinist5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
He opened his eyes and looked around him. The sun was beginning to set behind some of the few remaining skyscrapers-halves of skyscrapers, really-and the ruins of the city were tinted orange. The rubble here was old-he could always tell they were old by the few straggly plants that desperately thrust themselves up through gaps in the chunks of concrete that blanketed the ground. Old ruins had a smell, too, and a sound; a city newly destroyed was a painfully noisy place, buildings would continue to collapse, there was screaming and sirens, and the stench was always the same: blood and panic at first and then rotting flesh. That was, of course, assuming the bomb hadn't gone off in the city, but only near enough to destroy the buildings and kill the people.
But this place had seen its last radiation-poisoned soul perhaps a h
- Stain -Stain- Stain -7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Do you remember the old pain,
the tears and the acid rain,
us making love on a fast train,
the pleasure of going insane,
the madness infusing my brain,
the red in that blood stain
I still do.
SorryThe pain hits rightSorry9 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
To the nerve
What you deserve
Spit poison from my lips
Away from me
I see you slip
You feel this way
Because of me
I was so blind
I failed to see
Too deep for me to heal
The hurt I've caused
You won't reveal
Far from me
You move with haste
The torment shown
Across my face
I deem to serve
What I deserve
don't tell me if the sun diesi.don't tell me if the sun dies7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
there is a drumbeat of silence
mirrored between your hands. you
massage the pit of suffering and
grace and sinew and dust and cells
and tears with echoed fingers. there is
too much for you to squeeze
between shaven palms.
(i only ask that
when my hair has fallen loose and my
skin has worn itself into jewelry,
you take me home.)
you listen to the
crickets. they sing a eulogy for the number
they have lost today.
the day i die, i will come
tapping at your window, my fingernails
drumming to find the skin
chirrp; chirrp; chirrp.
don't wait up.
for every criminal: a flower.
(pluck it in the morning,
when the dew is still on
the backs of dragons and
butterflies and monsters
and ocean salt carried inside
the wings of pigeons built to be
doves inside a cradle of space
and time and air; and don't forget
i myself say say liarii myself say say liar7 years ago in Typographical More Like This
way that you
would have me be
but it is kind of funny
that i am also not the way
that i myself would like to be
which is to say that im not myself
but it is also to say that I always am
do i become both liar and prophet
doesnt matter which im more
when im a fool either way
and so closed within
my little box of
no i am