LullabyeLullabye11 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
I'm so tired
and there's nothing left to say
Just a thin new quiet
and another worthless day
My head's on fire
and the foundation's giving way
Need to find me a buyer
so I can sell myself away.
Goodbye cruel world—
I've found a better place to die;
It's got scar tissue for pavement
and signed confessions in the sky.
They cut a little deeper
every time you get too high,
and the priests and doctors scare you
but you don't know exactly why.
I'm so damn tired,
and there's nothing left to lose
Just a bright, new scar
and another pointless clue
My head's dead wired
I just have to follow through
Still can't find me a buyer
can I sell myself to you?
Goodnight, my love—
may the angels hold you tight;
let their whispers drown the damage
blasts that wake you in the night.
I'll be crouching in your field of dreams
but I will be all right
if I can make my way to morning
keep the Saving Day in sight.
So, so tired
as I lay me down to sleep;
I pray the Lord my silence
will be someday mine to
I just wanna..I just wanna..11 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
I want to tell you you brighten my day
make all my problems disapear
I want to fall asleep in your arms
get lost forever in your eyes
I want to smile as you tease my hair
and forgive you anytime you say your sorry
I want to tickle your stomach
and tell you your sweet
I want to sit in the rain
holding your hand..
let the drops fall into my hair
lay under the stars
point them out
and get a kiss from you
I want to cry with hapiness
so you can wipe the tears from my face
I want to laugh when you tease me
and thank you when u please me
I wanna be with you for the time that I can
and be the person you trust.
I want to sing you to sleep
and touch your soft skin
I want to hold you when you cry
be there when you need me
I want to tell you your special
and be there to massage your back
I want to whisper in your ear
and and make you crazy
I want to be there to encourage you
and make you smile when your embarassed
I want to make you blush
and reassure you your the most beautiful person I know..
ClassroomFor I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth - I have neither intelligence nor the power of vocabulary - Action - I do not know what gestures to make when I deliver a speech - Utterance - meaning eloquence - Nor the power of speech - Nor rhetoric: r-h-e-t-o-r-i-c - To stir. To arouse...Classroom8 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
I should be taking down notes. He'll catch me again. Fuck me up.
There's this dull feeling inside my mind that I don't really care at the moment. I know I'd care about it later when I'm giving my exams. I know I'm screwing with myself and my promotion. But, right now, I just can't give a damn.
...I only speak right on - I only speak straight from my heart. I only speak what I know. - If I was Brutus - If I had the eloquence. If I could speak like Brutus...If I was Brutus, and if Brutus was Anthony, Brutus, being a better orator, would've been able to stir up your spirits, make every wound on Caesar's body speak out so that even the stones - inanimate objects- that lie all over Rome wou
Passion FishHolding you I jumpPassion Fish10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Into the spectacle of the sea
Sinking into a school
Of vermillion grouper:
The day-star strikes a path for us
Deep into the swelling rhythm
Of the ancient blue,
The somber cool;
Above the surface,
A vanilla sky;
From the inside
Of a flower;
Our hands explore dark waters for treasured touch;
Separating seaweed with fingertip scythes
Of poignant flesh;
Being with you is like floating for the first time
In my own personal ocean,
Or standing barefoot in the wake
Of a tsunami, unafraid;
Or holding a jewel
cigarette breakfastcigarette breakfast9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
sunlight, spilling onto a half empty bed
waking me from my self-induced coma,
into a hot-light hangover morning
frumpled sheets, a misshaped pillow,
faint odors of perfume and musk
tell a torrid story of what vodka
won't let me sanely remember
Lisa or Alice, one of these fit the blurried
past-life last night, not that it matters now—
rolling over, mother clock scolds me
in screaming LED: six or nine-thirty eight
the cluttered bedside table, a crumple, a click:
with an exhale, another cigarette breakfast is served,
blowing life into another wasted day
My Heart Always Returns To MeMy sagging heart alwaysMy Heart Always Returns To Me5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Returns to me; cringing
Like a wounded animal,
Tail between its legs, an
India-ink river of blood
Mapped across the kitchen floor.
I blindly follow these maps
Back to myself.
Like a wounded animal it lies
Whimpering and grotesque
On the tiles, flayed and shaking,
Reeking of iron and fur.
In my arms, my little animal
Slackens, shudders, is still for a while.
In it I can bury my breath, my face
As I wait for it to howl.
Sir Tanly'Safe - Chapter 2...Perfect. Everything must be perfect. Candles!...No Candles. Ok. What's next? The floor is clean. Good good. Do I smell alright? I can't smell myself. I think I feel I smell alright. It doesn't matter does it? They come, they laugh, they go, they never come back again, confusion confusion, self reflection and revision, then careless until I'm tricked again. I don't care anymore. You're right I care too much. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. Perfect. Everything should be perfect. My feet hurt. I never wear these shoes. Will she even care? I don't know. I look good from the front. I should always stay in front of her. That's stupid. I'm stupid. I give up. There's no such thing as perfect. Please make it easy. Please be the one...Sir Tanly'Safe - Chapter 27 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
...Just say it. Just go out there and say it. I'm taking too long in here. She's going to notice. Fucking hell I can't piss. I knew this would happen. She still makes me nervous. Do I make her nervous? Have I ever made anyone nervous? Just rel
-Teardrops on the Pavement--Teardrops on the Pavement-10 years ago in Teen More Like This
The moon reflected off of her radiant skin, the seeping light almost seeming hollow. Her wearisome footsteps came to a halt. Breathing only made the agonizing silence louder. Echoing through the deserted tunnels in her mind. How she wished she could crawl into the silence and never return, to cease to exist. She felt his familiar touch on her shoulder and didn't want to turn around. Didn't want to feed her mind another image of his face to haunt her with. The silky breeze caressed the strands of her hair as he said her name. Her name had never sounded so perfect. The rhythm of his voice flowing lightly from his lips, the lips she had known more intimately than anything else in this world. She wanted to keep walking as she felt the stinging tears in her eyes. Why was he doing this to her? Wasn't one goodbye enough? The goodbye? Goodbye. That word had never as much to her as it did on this night. She never knew one word could cut her so deeply, down to her very soul. She heard his
Girl on a train 245.Girl on a train 2459 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
There should be a poem for every girl
with black hair and black eyes
who's sat across the aisle on a crowded train
and written pointless beautiful things
in the notebook in her lap.
I might write my name and number on a bit of paper
Drop it on your page as I'm getting off.
But I prefer to think it and write it than to know
What might happen if I actually did.
I'm sorry I've been staring. But you see
You Poor ThingI am sorry for your skeleton,You Poor Thing4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the way you carry yourself when you walk into a room
like your arms are tied and your mouth is empty and you've been
kept prisoner for a year, waiting for a bird to arrive
at your window. Your eyes are full and I spread my hands and say this;
sorry, like a man abandoning his lover in a cloud of dust. I am sorry for
your eyes, resentful like a North American river.
Sorry, for everything, for your breasts and womanhood.
You are standing on the edge of eighteen
relunctant and awkward; you do not want
to spread your legs wide and let the world drop its' pants
to fuck you. You are standing on the edge of something
looking afraid and saying no,
I don't want any spaghetti. I'm not hungry.
I'm hurting and horrible the way that a person feels
when they shatter the shell of a snail by
accident. I cannot say sorry
enough for your hands, scrabbling at the surface
of a wooden panel unheard, clawing at one another
like you're putting a deer in the headlights
The world is shrinkingOnce upon a time, the world was full of volcanoes and ferocious oceans, and it was big enough for them all. Billions of years later, life came on earth, and the world was big enough for life. Soon, psilophytes, the first land plants, grew in and around the water margins of our planet, and the world was big enough for these psilophytes. As time slowly graduated, giant clubmosses and seed-ferns flourished, and for them too, the world was big enough. Insects and amphibians followed the giant clubmosses and seed-ferns, and the world, again, was big enough to hold the insects and amphibians. After the insects, enormous diplodocuses, brontosauruses, tyrannosauruses, allosauruses and much smaller raptors and other dinosaurs appeared. Flying reptiles scoured the skies. Vast areas of land were covered by thick, green conifer forests, and the world was big enough for all of these curious things. Within a short time plants with beautiful flowers emerged, and the world was big enough. After the miThe world is shrinking8 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
a city in rhythm and jazz -..an entire city in tearsa city in rhythm and jazz -..8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
singing jazz and rhythm
and jazz and the blues,
singing rhythm & jazz & the blues.
an entire city in tears
with hands held
twisting the wind into whirlwinds of sound
& a red handkerchief flicking on the wind,
whipping & lifting the sound of the wind
& the necks of the crying
in one motion, one
waving, swaying, lilting, loving manyperson,
singing rhythm & jazz & the blues.
an entire city in tears
craning from windows & weeping,
sweeping the dust dragged past the parks
with their eyes.
with their eyes: dust-dragged
past the parks with woodchips & leaves.
with their eyes: worshipping
the centre of a congregation of walking widows
d.i.di.d.i.d5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the first time i saw her
alone in the cafeteria
scrap of cling film
wrapped tightly around her finger
i had a friend
but she died
and now i am not the same
she is the one i love
touching the edges
of a kitten sticker
on her french notes like it was her dead
grandmother in an open casket
blanched white fingertips
no i am not the same
she hurts the world and
rapes the earth and
the rabbits scream and
the trees scream and
the air screams and
she sits at the hearth with fur in her hands
i go into work with bruises on my breasts
we do not kiss
or make love
because it makes her cry
but she loves me best when we are
and she is mine
my little golden idol
little sleeping one
she says why did you give him a rabbit?
why are you taking him away from me?
i cannot see what she has written
she says there is a baby now
it hasn't a name and it never cries
and no one ever holds it
it grows and spreads like a weed
TouchTouch7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
If you could touch me
you could read the braille of my longing
peppered across this skin.
When in darkness I create you
out of shadows
to fill the emptiness surrounding
the shivering of my flesh.
If you could feel me
and trace the glyphs of womanhood
down my spine, between my breasts,
across my hips,
they would spell to you secrets
never to cross these lips.
If I could touch your bareness,
emboss codes with my tongue
over the parchment of your skin,
and illicit the madness of morse code
along the ridges of your mouth,
you would be mine,
and we could.
The OutcastWe were going up the country, because the city sickened us. Or that's why I was going, at least. There were about six of us; six happy little souls going for a happy little vacation. I knew only a girl and a boy there, and the rest were just strangers, but we made our acquaintances while we sat around thinking of ways to waste our time while the car sped past petty villages.The Outcast8 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
We finally reached a vast, green, green field with a not-so-dense jungle in the distance, and the car stopped there. Tents were perched, talk was made, and firewood collected. I was happy. I was sure that the people around me were just as crazy and as adventurous as anyone can ever be.
It began to start raining. Harder and harder. We were packed in different tents, and I was as uncomfortable as hell. I asked the people I knew if we could go out into the rain. No, they said. No. They would get wet, and catch a cold. We stayed there till the rain stopped, which was hours and hours later.
The firewood was wet.
the lonely planet's guideIt was three AMthe lonely planet's guide6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It was three AM
we were talking about
and I was too ashamed
to admit that I couldn't
remember how that felt,
staring stupidly at the
piss-stained bed and then
at the ceiling. There was a moth
the size of my heart and coloured
in like autumn and pain. That's me,
and then threw my shoes at it.
The next day on the metro
somebody had scratched C'EST
A CHIER onto the window
and it was only then that
I felt the papery beating of
winged grief in my
You might think that it's
pretentious to write about
Paris, but that's where I was.
nique ta mère.
Hero BootsI read somewhere that if you're going to dieHero Boots8 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
you should die with your boots on
and if you do, then your death would MEAN something.
Which doesnt nessecarily mean that if you pull on a pair of rubbers
and get run over by a truck,
you'll get a million dollar funeral service and a plaque somewhere
it just means that if you're brave
and you think with your heart instead of breaking someone elses skull
just to save yours
then you're someone worth writing a poem about.
A month ago, my friend Driver got his head kicked in
Nobody noticed, because it's one less street rat to deal with
it's one less homeless to house
it's some guy, in an alley
who ended up with a skull to the curb
and grey matter leaving a red splatter on the cement
it wasnt on the news that he was a hero
because he stood his ground and remained non-violent
when this guy punched him cause he didnt have any cash
to feed his crack habit
Because Driver isnt that kind of hero
and cest la vie
because humanity is LIKE THAT.
seven things to do.i. they say that there areseven things to do.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
seven natural wonders
in the world. well,
i think theyve got it
all wrong. i think
the seventh one is
a place called
and i need to find it.
ii. i can name all of my
weaknesses. they are
ugly and obvious and
i am aware
of all of them.
now, i need
iii. people have given me
'unconditional love and
unbreakable promises but
they took away both.
so im sorry
if im just a bit
i have reasons.
and id like it if someone
made me forget
every last one of them.
iv. seven is supposed to be
the luckiest number, right?
and it stands for
note to self:
figure out why
seven hates me so much.
v. i need to hear
again. i need
to know that you
were not only
in my imagination.
i need to know
that you are
(and i want to ask
you if you still feel
when we talk.)
vi. i still have
and phone number
on the roof of the worldif i could flyon the roof of the world7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i would do everything.
i would climb a mountain
and be fearless,
because if i fell
the wind would catch
in my great eagle's wings,
and i would go wheeling off
i would sit in the clouds,
play cards with the stars;
sleep in the curve of the moon.
i could go up into the rafters of
the tallest auditorium
and dance on the ladder,
because i'd fly if i fell.
i could run on the catwalks
and sing at the top
of that oak
that no one can climb.
i would go to the roof of the world
and look down
because vertigo is nothing to a bird.
FireplaceHe tells her not to let go, never to let go. Whatever he becomes, she must not let go. She kisses his butterscotch hair for consent, once, twice. He grasps her hand and they run into the night together.Fireplace6 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
The queen is impossibly, inhumanly beautiful, with eyes like flint. How can anyone compare with her? But he whispers into her ear, Dear hearthow could you think such a thing? I will never love heryou are the only one. She looks up into his dear gray eyes and smiles.
She shuts her eyes tight against the adder twining its sinuous body up her arms. Its scales are cold and awful against her skin. It flickers its forked tongue in her face, and she cringes back. But she does not let go.
She is on her knees now, tears streaming down her face. A terrible roar rattles in her stricken ears, and the ferocious teeth snap at her bared throat. The lion is immense, too massive for the circle of her frail human arms. But she knots her numb fingers in its fur and holds on.
Balancing Acti am to sway hips and sip the mind of an adolescent fromBalancing Act4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
my latest cup of tea
things, sing scales while they struggle for even-footing, even after
the sun frowns down
town, i'm walking and tripping on some stones,
(three or four there scattered) flattering my lope with a little extra bounce.
look at me,
look at me
walking home while the jays talk of the weather,
whether or not it will rain tonight and i think
look at me,
look at me
all while spinal chords tingle and
gag reflex threatens
I dreamed of a door...I wore the thread that slipped from my daughter's baby blanket around my wrist,I dreamed of a door...3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
white against tan, bumpy yarn, it's been four years
since my mother patiently crocheted the stitches together
while my daughter rolled in my belly,
impatient. I dream and there are doors under my fingers and
I am alone.
I go down to watch the water rippling slowly past, carrying barges
for hundreds of years, my shoulders tan darker, I am absorbing the sun,
eating strawberries, writing a will. I wonder what will become of you.
I pray to old Native American gods, they do not see the world in black and white.
I investigate the trickster gods, in my dream a coyote trots across a field of waving grain.
Why does anyone go home? There are places that we live, places that we've been,
places that have never been exactly what we are looking for.
Skipping rocks out across the water,