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lacrimationthey are just as easy to fall away from your fingertipslacrimation5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
- fingertips - as lips are from other lips
--
fingerprints
they are just as easy to fall away from your fingertips
as smiles are from other lips
--
it is in your air
the hurried sweetness
of
--
all you ever said is stuck between the bottom of my shoes
and this freshly poured cement.
--
tell me time won't wind along
down with you into your
evanescence
tell me that memory stays the
same, each time i genuflect;pause for
reflection
--
Can I tell you how I planned it all out in my head?
--
when i decide to fall, i do it ever so ungracefully
--
who are you to say no to
to build-up smilesi'd like to seduce happinessto build-up smiles5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
buy a new dress for contentedness
slut it up for ecstasy
pull down the sheets on frivolity
melt down the wax around sacrifice
excuse myself for rushing
i'd like to choreograph prayer
the build-up to the artifice
stop smiles from touching
begin the wake before the dawn
the black before the white; a pair
disbanded before a circle shared
one half realising, "i'm just another pawn."
All I Want To DoDream through peeled eyes.All I Want To Do6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
(write)Scream.
Breathe inside parenthesis.
Sneeze metaphors. Hiccup alliteration.
Have so much inspiration in my head,
it creates a mindache; right there -
just below the line of vision so
I can't see anything but words
spray-painted on the walls. (write)
Fill up paper aeroplanes with
aerial philosophy. (write)
Hold a megaphone to my (write)heart.
Aspire so hard (write) that
I actually (write) achieve.
Fill up (write) someone else's
(write) bookcase. (write)
Become (write) thumbworn (write)
with (write) admiration. (write)
Write.
everything. but thisit was morningeverything. but this6 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
when you spoke to me in draughts
of sleep and stole my open
thoughts. i was awake between
your fingers interspersed with mine -
i call it collide with world tasters,
yours, and what i call my own i say
is yours, and what i called myself
is there somewhere inside your breath
and it begins inside the sandwich
of night warmth leaking through the
soft of me and you
i call it tracing the day away
with laments for the crooked moon
and his jagged holey smile
(you see even perfection is hallowed,
and this is why i say you are a book
more precious to me than an empty one.)
it was wide awake and bleeding yawns
from th
-truth-will you meet me in the spaces-truth-6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
between our fingers
become tiny
atom-like
indivisible, but one
(and all the smaller pieces
that don't matter)
trade electrons
become
heavier
elements
----
a hollow note
crawls up
my throat
when you
depart
----
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
this look
it's the same
and in this moment
this moment is again
----
and your voices
singing as the past
ricocheting off
ceilings and walls
that do not house me
anymore, i hear you
strum af
"No, no it's the insecurity,Who am I (to say; to know that these paragraphs and these lines and everything I ever have, will and never say, is worth; is meant, is what I want to intimate, is understood, is mistaken, is supposed to be) fooling anyway?"No, no it's the insecurity,6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
uncovered whirlI left my eyes on the shelf so you had no reason to stare at me mouth-word lostuncovered whirl6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
So you could curl into the crackle of my demands;
rumbling from inside
falling quiet through my throat
and coming out as ghost whisper
So sure you heard it?
I was so sure you heard it.
But it doesn’t seem to matter so much
Example, follow-through, finished product.
I am your awake
your finished thought compliant
your signed certificate of
documentation of
purpose
(perfect)
they treacle trickle down black-washed paths
padded silent in the closed sign hours
holding close from the streetlight
making sure not to wake the neighbours
adjusting l
HereOf all the places to find you;Here6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
here.
You kickscreamlaugh.Breathe.
here
in the yawn between finger and thumb,
amongst the soft kiss of thigh,
the shy tuck of navel -
you grow from the pupil,
layer this tongue with words
and scatter finger trails where no hands have dwelt,
tuck your smile along the crease of knee,
sow tear-clusters inside my ear canyons
but fold your kisses between each toe.
you mark me you again
here
through the shallow sighs of midnight,
while I feel not a ripple.
GreenYou told me I was neon.Green6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Not in the finger-scalding, eye-snatching,
you-wake-the-city-nights kind of way,
but more like a satisfying cough in the back of your lungs,
the white noise that blocks out all thought.
And I just laughed and called you a bastard.
But you.
You're my green.
It's like, when we kiss,
all I can feel is spring.
And I adore that you don't impose on the iris -
just sit in the background, waiting to be found
and the way your eyes smell of cut grass.
(reminding me of all the things we do in it
that we could never tell the grandkids)
Count To ZeroWere this body thinner than maybe,Count To Zero6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it would not hang with a million buts;
it could shine more radiant than am
and maintain the allure of is.
With eyes as narcissistic as knowledge,
I could be blinder than a won't,
sow lashes as frequent as sometimes
while enticing forcefully like often,
brag of lips that purse like shall
(but still kiss as faint as never).
I'd mould my hands more fragile than a was
so I could snap skin with a why,
pump this chest tongue-curved like than
as my stomach tenses as taut as that
and I'd wear my hips firmer than can't
yet keep these thighs as inviting as will.
Oh, I would be more beautiful than cer
the truth as otheri get the best thoughts in your boarded up toiletthe truth as other6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
shutting the door tight and hiding where you won't find me.
it hasn't been used for years. the window beams
orange light at me through the cardboard.
it's warm in here, it's filled with spider breath, and i could pretend
i was an earl, with web-hair clumped as curls.
the air is dust and mould and 1980-something -
i can't quite pick the vintage.
i let it settle on my tongue and try my best to keep quiet
you'll hear me and if you do...
--
i tend to find perfect presents for people i used to know
ten, five, two years too late.
sometimes i buy these things just because of the feelin
Just One TasteLet me swallow you wholeJust One Taste6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and trace my tastebuds around
every tender drop of who you are,
starting with those world-worn,
mud-trodden, kiss-me-tender eyes.
I'll open the centre of your smile
and work my way inwards:
ramble over the
rude roughness of tongue,
trip against the scar
tensed below the surface,
enumerate each eager emotion,
stumble amongst psychosises
howling for salvation,
submerge myself in memories
so macabre they have no end
and graze these lips upon every
guarded groove of goodness.
Then, maybe, below the bile and bitterness,
I'll reach the core of you and ring it
as bright as childhood.
mes cauchemars t'aiment aussi 7 AM: i'm pretending to sleepmes cauchemars t'aiment aussi3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in order to keep myself awake
from you, even though you're
just whispering to the person
next to you about me – but no
it's not about me; it never is.
i'm just paranoid and jealous
and in over my head (not you)
i'm thinking of the lines for me
you should've at least Googled
instead of fabricating lies to me
that are just as fabricated as you
and your ersatz partner-in-crime
whose name makes me cringe in
the same way your eyelashes do,
especially when they look away.
you study not the science of Nightmares,
but the science of love and manipulation.
no, that's his job, natu
archaeologists excavate botanyyou buried my marrow seeds in skeletal gardens, hoping they would grow into a heart to replace your brittlesweet timebomb. how many half-full, half-empty teardrops does it take to hydrate your frail, fractured fragments ? my watering can has a limit, you know, but i don’t want your fragile leaves to suffer osteoporosis. you planted my framework beneath dirt and gravel, but cartilage vines tangled petals with vitamins and the sun bruised my corollas and calyces.archaeologists excavate botany4 years ago in Teen More Like This
nine months later, i sprouted from the ground, spreading sepal wings, ascending until my height surpassed the sky. you climbed my beanstalk body, counting e
Here's To You. I Guess."We won't go down in history, but nothing can ever compare to what you make me feel."Here's To You. I Guess.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It was something simple, I know.
Just a case of a little you in my eye
(and removing that should have been
as easy as scraping the sleep from dreams)
but it felt like I was holding infinity in my palm
and I had sneezed on the fingertips.
We were Destiny once
in the days when forever was just a word
our tongues liked to play tag with
and our hands were just apparatus to measure affection.
But every now and never,
I like to pretend I'm normal in your absence;
wear your shoes, read the obituaries,
smile at strangers and dip my friends in coffee.
Youthe intricately inspired,You6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the jumble-word genius,
the conscience whose
beauty's drawn from the
last inch of truth.
You;
the classic word-painter,
the omniscient romantic,
the only insightful voice
with enough strength to sing.
You still reverberate in the
hollow shells of prophets,
ignite the ethereal smiles
of dreamers (sweeten their
heads with love-spun words).
The worlds you created
still penetrate the greys
of reality as they drip
from the awe-blushed lips
of lovers and hang inside
the eyelash frames of artists
- and you still exist in
reverance within the eyes
of lyrical aspirers, beat
in the hearts of all
I'm waiting for Novemberthis is what I think when I wait in a metro on the coldest day of the year:I'm waiting for November4 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
two years ago your mother found me asleep in the snow with blue lips and purple hands. when she grabbed my hands to lift me to my feet, the air felt thick and the noises around me sounded slow and droopy. sometimes dead things look more alive than I do, like the leaves that blow in the wind. your mum had such a firm grip on my wrists and she was shaking my whole body to make me move. maybe her forced movements made me look alive, even if I was still asleep, even if I was no longer animate.
-
this is what I thought when I stared at the steam from the tea kettle:
on
the pen ink doesn't belong hereit's like you made the bones-shaking-in-my-skin feeling go away for a little while. I was wearing nothing but an XL band t-shirt, and you were only wearing ripped jeans. we were wet from the water, and the sand stuck to our skin as we ran our hands through it. we got up and put our sleeping bags on the highway and talked about how sometimes, water doesn’t wash away the dirt or the feelings. some shit sticks to you forever. I felt so safe there, even though death in the form of wheels and headlights kept passing us by.the pen ink doesn't belong here4 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
it's like everyone secretly wants to die. you told me that sometimes you wished you could be John Lennon. "yeah,” I
calypsowhite rock exploded into perfect formcalypso3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
primary colours washing
back
the need to stay
in cities
near people
the quiet is a heart beat
muted for a mother's
anguish
the skulls
are not
crystal
the air
is not
new
but everything
is new
now.
and pour ever in lightand if i decide to wasteand pour ever in light5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
this - this waste that has been
wasting me - know that it is because
wasting this waste makes me feel
a little better
about
all of those things
that i have wasted
prior, and this waste of
space that i
call me.
----
the light has two switches
to turn on and off
and when the kettle tells me i have to
pour i think of that woman
ever present
in my youth that said to close the
light, and i always used to laugh
and now i think it is even
funnier
that i feel my light
(it too switches
when i pour) closing
----
i need something brighter than
what my feet can muster, a way to spread
the shreddings of
And if II will go gently through the mirror words and find my solace in your silenceAnd if I6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
I will masquerade in the dark and fall apart in their glare
If you should think, I fear your melancholy, you would be right to know
I cannot pick apart forgotten sentences
And if I were a child, I would be yours
I will go gently through the scrap heap and treasure lost boxcars of hope
I will dwindle on the scatterings and relive each tired moment
If you should think, I fear my future past finds, you would be right to know
I cannot change time
And if I weren’t a child, I would be yours
but means, unknowing whenand she has cheeks like bobbing apples;but means, unknowing when5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
if you placed her in a bath you would want
to practise a game you never played
as a kid
but you're still a kid, you
don't quite know what
to say to her, to make
her stay
yes, she knows this, and it
makes her laugh like a dinosaur
doesn't laugh, if you even knew
what it sounded like - so maybe
that is just a lie.
but she laughs, and she laughs at
the little way you try to hide
how your eyes are unsure of
what they're saying, and she looks
and she says do you have a
translation service for those blues?
but you never know quite what she
means, and you let the shiver of
unknowing fall o
two imperfect machinesI tell you love is not an accidenttwo imperfect machines6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
That (convinced) can ever be
returned
to prior states (untouched)
Gentle ribbons and plastic
disrupted from perfect
unknowns; give me imperfectperfects
anyday, and give me plastic
bones (that crack synthetic
sentiment). Give me vacuum sealed
flesh, juices contained
with intent (I can tell you
how to read into devices). Do you
say your machines move with grace?
I tell you, any other day (is
tomorrow, is
yesterday) is
today. And imperfect
taste is never impartial
on my tongue. I long
for the test tube warped
sweetness years relax alongmylips. And we,
two imperfect machine
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 wait6 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
Sta.sh
