Ergo SumI was saving this, but you were saving me. I hate umbrellas and cottage cheese. Love is not about repelling rain, love is about swallowing it and tasting each other in every sky--and you are the only person I have ever confessed to that I don't mind the smell of skunks. Bookmark, angel, warm street on bare feet, you inspire me to be so much better than I am. You make me believe in God. When I look at you, I see exactly where I am & all the places I was never going crumble before our chorded fingers. I am covered in love because of you, I am obsessed, I am smiling into every tainted well and when I bring my head up out of the ground sparkling wishes glitter down my hair, falling softly against the parched earth--and every star flower I know the scientific name of sprouts up. Again. You are my silver ore. You are cs lewis when he gives narnia back it's spring heart, you are the listening, you are the ribbon in my hair. You are my 2:04 am. You are unbreakable to the point of yearniErgo Sum6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
More----I remember the day you kissed my bruises; (kneecap, ankle, calve)More----6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
distinct-- not-- because they healed,
but because they came home, softly;
because each dead swan came to life and looked at me again.
You broke the broken years,
in this making -
whole - me
you whisper the word completion to me like a scroll or a butterfly god, and I recieve what it means to be untorn.
because you are speaking
and the ravens shatter
every last one
to my signature, to my ink:I promise, star-dripped dew of my lips,to my signature, to my ink:6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
to never use the space a couch offers to sit away from you,
especially during bible study; not even a little, not even at all.
Song-fire-- my tongue, my dominant trait-- you are the hypothalamus gland of my spirit, you are how I taste existence
with angel feathers between my teeth, I smooth my tongue
over the light you left after kissing me...
You are every color, undiscovered and known; you make refracted light dim, you the prayer and the good cusswords at the back of my throat. You know my whole because you are
You are what it means to look forward.
You are what it means to stop being cold,
in deep places, in the corners
of the soul -
There is none like you, who I find rare seashells in.
There is none like you, who for seventeen years now
I have connected pianos on bea
Where Love Comes FromI just saw this girl on tv, with eyes of cloud, hair like earth;Where Love Comes From6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
I saw these drifts of dust surrounding her head,
that she was seeing through, years back. I saw me.
Sitting in a metal chair behind a white building; the sound of people choking, deep inside, hidden from God. I understood nothing then, only the secret feelings smeared across their faces, only the aches dripping from their pockets. Shuffling feet; flirting with their emptiness. Trying to find the courage. To keep. Going. In world.
All this buzzing in my head, the flies of pressing energy, zimming through my thin protection, yet you are the music that reaches me through the crowd. Still. Forever. Even when reaching me is impossible; even when I am sliding down a funeral home bathroom wall to shake the shakes of those shaken - you are reaching me, you are tearing apart the blackening ground to murder the root-heart
You speak; angel's breath that
whips out like a sword to bleed the fog d
Goneyou are playing piano,Gone6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
but you are the violin
picking my heart apart
and scaring away the fear.
You are how I pick up a sketchbook and do not break
into what is not God. You are how I hold a paintbrush,
you are how I pull a scarf of words out of my throat
to uncover the magic you spoke there. You
are how I measure time, how I measure beauty,
how I measure meaning; you are my subject and risen summer.
You are how there are no dogs-- only wolves with silk coats,
on my side
instead of attacking my sides -
you are, you are, you are;
and so I am, I am, I am, too.
you are how I can accept mirrors without anger;
because you are in me, and nothing can be ugly.
When you look at me,
I feel every dark chill thing
Your hands cool the fever mine contract
when not in contact with yours;
you bring me through the storm and we are rain together
in the same long answered prayer. You look at me,
you break the ancient monsters just by bei
findingsfindings6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
i have decided to write you a poem right now that is full of sleepy beginnings,
fraying, closing the way forgiveness opens. the night drags beautifuly,
as dark ink, while my muscles grow heavy and I am succumbing to the hour.
Your voice is seconds away, yet I mourn it; I crave you.
What I would give to roll over, soft kiss the hair
out of your sleeping eyes, knead my hand
against yours; what I would give to love you bodily.
I would give away these words.
I remember walking toward you over a month ago, in a shining gray airport,
with windows on every side... there was a lumbering man,
stooping, though he was walking up a ramp-
he was aging
his bag was plastic and his coat was like rust. I begged God to bring you closer.
Eleven minutes later, I held you again.
I love airports. I hate airports.
I love anything that brings you close;
I hate everything that rushes you away, be it inch, be it five hundred
CENSOR THIS 08880CENSOR THIS 0888012 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I remember when I know why the cage bird sings
was challenged for the "encouragement to take action
in premarital sex, homosexuality, and the use of
I remember when the Bible was banned and/or
challenged for being "pornography and obscene"
in Alaska and Pennsylvania in 1993.
I remember when the The Autobiography of
Malcolm-X was challenged in Flordia in 1994--
because it was "racist against white people"
I remember when Jambo Means Hello: The Swahili
Alphabet was charged with "degrading white
children" although it was a book for white children to
understand the African-American culture much better.
I remember when Daddy's Roomate was removed
by most libraries by most of the United States---for
more. than. a soundseven days ago I loved youmore. than. a sound6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
less than I do now. you
are the lyrics looping through my head, you -
you just broke the cold air. picking up.
my dragging hands, saying, You are a brilliant star
everything you say is a poem
because I've seen you, your back to evil,
looking at the sky again, finally...
everything you are is concerto.
everything you are is why I can be.
the meadow angelhe looked warm, like rain can be.the meadow angel6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
he said, with good talking - "there is a wild bird in my hands"
in fact it had taken angels
beneath its wings, in fact we loved it there,
big grass against our feet. We felt storms breaking.
We unbuttoned our silk skins and bared our sleek souls to the sky,
which pulsed stars that were coming-that have- come.
we started slow like a song, with wand sparks that hid in clothesfolds of lies,
and we broke the way dreams break when you let the world - take - them out of you
we broke that way, anyhow. But I feel what it's like to
to close my eyes as God pulls the bedcovers over my body, which was dripping ink
between the ribs, which was staining my algebra notes, which I drank
when I could not drink anything. Because I could not swallow words
that did not
belong to you - when I look at you,
where I belong is looking back.
and all those years ago we broke because we let fear into our cereal.
but there are hearts that would not let us go.
The Breath of GodI.The Breath of God8 years ago in Other More Like This
My bones have been like cabinets;
the hinges all dust, wood punctured.
Breathe, hope, stamina (the grains wheat enough to take on
absence, sweat, and nausea) were misplaced.
Their dearth rearranged my skeleton in certain places,
and I stuck out heresunk in there.
The nonexistence was pushy
bored with the fractures,
ignorant of setting the bone.
I was ignorant of setting the bone, too.
Mirrors were poor reflections,
wasted glass, unable to diagnose.
I was intact. It appeared
that way. The angles spoke of it
they expressed the wholeness of body. Sure they did.
It spoke of other images, too, the one image, mine
like silverware sticking out of me obnoxiously,
unkempt and gray and sharp, with no regard for
But I was still fleshstill, I had
eleven ribs, eight fingers, two kneecaps.
And my marrow
had air pockets.
introduction.stop, turn;introduction.6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
your masks burns;
no more lies
I kiss the soot off
your shoulders; it is smoking, gone. I see your wings now,
pushing up through the shirt. Maroon. I long to---
I lean instinctively forward, to touch the feathers
peaking out -
You: standing there, holding a new blade- made of light, strong, -
we wear gowns perhaps of sunrise
hues, the lavenders staining our cheeks, the roses
blending on wrist veins; and we reach
toward the glass,
on the way through.
As our fingers lace, God's voice pours over us like rain:
we are soaked, we are listening:
staring softly at our together-hands, "Welcome home"
I'm Holding YouWhen I was seventeen I started realizing that people die. My heart panicked at the thought of it surrounding me, because death is not something anyone, no matter how strong or beautiful or true they are, can escape from. It is inevitability that scares me; walls I cannot climb, loneliness I cannot persuade to slither away again into a corner, not touching me, only watching, only reaching for the hem of other skirts. I am the girl that thinks of nothing but you. I am the one missing you when you reach for your glass of water and have to let go of my hand; I cannot imagine waking up in the middle of the night, crying, your breathing not measuring mine, the perfect symphony of our heat. Stay with me. I kicked in the womb, eager to grow into the name of your soul. Lock us together; I pray to God, lock us together, for you are the healing water I could not bear the grief of losing; my pale tossing body breathing shallowly in the sunken fabric of a couch, you are a spirit passing through theI'm Holding You6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Alone in the Rain - SilverLighAlone in the Rain - SilverLigh11 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Standing out here alone in the rain
Trying to wash away all of my pain
Drowning the sorrows from past years
Hiding from my nightmares and fears
The rain just gets harder and faster
I miss the good times and the laughter
I hide from it out here in the wet and cold
And I suffer from the things I've been told
The rain follows where tears once went
The rain like the pain shows no repent
I suffer for everything I am deep inside
And I remember the tears I once cried
I look around and see puddles of rain
Getting deeper and deeper like the pain
The puddles that used to be puddles of tears
The feelings and thoughts from all my fears
I can't explain to you the way I feel
And maybe by standing here I'll heal
I'll somehow wash away some of the pain
And I'll just stand here alone in the rain.
BrotherCome, brother. He is slow to answer. He was resting, but there is no time, now, for sleepy thoughts. The moon is sinking, see. The leaves overhead are slick with its death. The moon is sinking and my hatchlings scream for food. My ears bleed. His tail twitches laughter at me. Laughter comes easily to him. He is young yet, and only male. Come, brother. He comes.Brother5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
There are not so many of us now. Our sisters left when the rains came, drowning the earth. They have not returned. I believe they are dead. Brother believes nothing. It is how he keeps happy and that is no small thing. The hatchlings prefer his company, but they are mine and I do not need love to know I must feed them. They will understand soon and learn patience. Then his empty-headedness will be a nuisance, but he is my brother; I will always have patience for him. They will learn this too. They will learn many things as they grow quiet too many things. For now though, their chittering will ruin my
Tea StainTea Stain13 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
"You call this bollage toast, man?
It's nowhere near done fully..
The middle bit's all burned'n'weird,
The outside bit is fluffy."
The toaster's broken inside,
And outside stands a goat..
And I am citing to the moon,
My tea stained suicide note.
"I can't believe I'm eating this."
I do wish he'd shut up..
In fact I'd wish this all away-
This blasted tea stained cup..
So many must have pondered it;
To leave it all and fly..
Fly to the moon ne'er looking back,
And let the morning die..
Yet, this cup's a might addictive,
And shalln't let me forget..
Yet seems my tea stained suicide,
Has not subsided yet..
And so, the middle of me's burning,
And outside's so unclear..
Why the devil there's a goat outside,
Is something rather queer..
The tea grows slowly strong and cold,
Like my unwritten note..
And I shall sip, and wait and wait,
Until the day I'm smote..
Pach, 31st night of Summer, MMII.
YouI wandered through caves to find you again, my wings tearingYou6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
along the sharp corners -
my feet, bare, hungry to reach you-
gave their blood to the sharp rocks underneath,
I found you in palace and darkness. there was a hole, on a chain,
hanging around your neck, exactly the size - of my hands -
come here I said
let me warm there again
the sweet place where we go
by Being -
you could not ignore, you could not ignore,
o no, sweet kings do not ignore the Keys to Being;
so I wore no jewelry but you.
we kissed, the inscriptions on our ribs fitting
you are always the prophecy
Your skin is not the question; it is the glory of answering,
stirs me, a wish's pattern unfurling, unashable scroll of Loving,
your beauty, the ineffable moon song. Calling all real poetry...
o the personal dance of my soul!
i know you in the deepest highest places, your voice is the travel...
hear God arriving
you are spring, you are my glow
we pulse together; I, as I touch your
MichaelEarlier tonight I sat on the phone with you,Michael6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
indian style, painting; it is 9:09 & I am becoming oxygen
with little fires in my heart, waiting to bring you home.
the brush, silk wood between my fingers,
lulled awkwardly to one side, the tip drooping
to touch my right thigh; I closed my eyes and knew
what it wanted, I found you there, hiding, knowing me,
even as you felt grounded, grounded, unable
to break the surface.
So I drug the bristles across my skin, looping
the words I love Eric with an infinity symbol
beneath your name. I take a picture with my heart
and send it to you,
but you are still in the shower.
I am finding the grass where past and present tense collide;
I am tracing stars on your back, your arms, your ankles, I am digging up the skeletons and breaking them, Eric,
because you are music and I will rid the staff
of creaking bones, I will find you, as I always have.
I will find you in the dark,
I will find you in a foreign
Soft City SoundOnce upon a timeSoft City Sound6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
You and I
Became the smoke in a saxophone song
In a starry still-wet city
In a moment
That didn't quite happen
So much as it was imagined
I sleep and imagine it again
the king of pain and pleasureThe King Of Pain And Pleasurethe king of pain and pleasure11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
In the pale and misty evening
when the savage day is dying
and your eyes are dim with crying
there's a voice that calls your name.
Then the moonlight stains your pillow
and you know that you must follow
when you feel his spell upon you
and your body turns to flame,
for his skin is cream and honey
and his mouth is pomegranate
and the King of Pain and Pleasure is his name.
Ah, his voice is soft as snowfall
and his eyes are deep as oceans
and a silver bird lays sleeping
in his black and tangled hair.
He's half god and he's half human
and you long to be his woman
when you feel his breath upon you
and your body turns to flame,
for his skin is cream and honey
and his mouth is pomegranate
and the King of Pain and Pleasure is his name.
In the hour before daylight
when the stars are ice and fire
and you ache with dead desire
there's a whisper in your ear.
Then the nightwind stirs your cover
and you know that he's your lover
when you feel his hands upon you
Hands: A Protomen StoryThe concert hall was charged with electricity even before the lights dimmed. And when they did fade, only to illuminate the band, the very air seemed to be stifling a roar. The metaphorical butterflies in the stomach were large as eagles, every flap of the wings, every second, building tension.Hands: A Protomen Story6 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Kilroy strode onstage and the air exploded around them; the cheers would have deafened the Protomen themselves had they not been wearing earplugs. The drummer of the group, Demon Barber, grinned. This was his moment. He raised the drumsticks high with pride and brought them down as the rest of the band stepped into the light. Kilroy greeted the crowd, the concert formally began, and the message began to be spread.
Drumbeats, soft and steady as a heartbeat, pulsed through the hall. In a matter of moments the drums were joined by a piano; though the keyboards pace was faster, the drum kept it alive. In a
this divine canvasWhen Christ was painting me into existence He tucked color into my soul,this divine canvas6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
because he knew I could not wake our hearts together from the same dream without it.
He took soft red,
across my cheeks, under the skin--for when I could look at you
and blush love. He took white the ache of swan feathers
and delicately smeared it into my bones, where it soaked--
where marrow grew
only because that shade of white is how pure
I can love you.
He scattered chips of blue into my soul, which He knew you would later melt
into oceans--I can love you vastly and I ask to.
God held my lungs in his hands before he put them in me--came to love them, came to swaddle them in a rainbow of colors unseen to man.
God asked my soul how to live and I breathed in His hands,
saying my other soul is how to live.
So God put me in you
and our keys touched like noses
and our hands soothe like music
And I pick you from all the other angels.
You are the beautiful italic letters lilting through my ve