the weeds across the street.Shes the little girl with flaxen curls at four pm flouncing down her driveway with her hands buried in her pockets, lips pressed out like shes whistling. Youll watch her out your window, with your tea lukewarm on the sill, and splutter a cough; fogging up the glass just enough to miss her smile.the weeds across the street.6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
You saw her once, twice eating petals off the roses in your garden. Youve forgotten how to converse with children, you cussed between the wheezing and she stared right past like you were simply a knurled twig catching the wind in its leaves.
One morning you found her; purple stockings, blush mittens and a head of sunlight curls- asleep with your cat, Ginger, in your backyard. Her face was lost in the fur and repose and she slept soundly as you cut through her curls, knife icy in your recycled paper fingers. You tied a ribbon around the hair and sewed it in to your next doll. You named her Lucy and stitched a red heart into her chest. At nighttime the beating is so loud y
Let go and tell meWhat is Reality?Let go and tell me6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Reality is life.
What is Life?
Life is love.
What is Love?
Love is pain.
What is Pain?
Pain is reality.
That's all there is.
To-Do List: November 200903-11-2009 Eggs, dim sims and potato saladTo-Do List: November 20095 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
04-11-2009 Sometimes no doesn't end up meaning no
05-11-2009 Had plans for that piano.
05-11-2009 Fuck, now i want more!
05-11-2009 One day soon i might fulfill your needs
05-11-2009 Chasing memories of you with a shot of whiskey and a song
05-11-2009 If i can get just one person to change their mind then i will be so very happy.
06-11-2009 Moving on and being over people is fun
07-11-2009 And she smelt so good, like mango and licorice
07-11-2009 Coming to terms with the fact that she can't be liked by everyone.
08-11-2009 And something awkward has just begun
08-11-2009 Satin sheets and a room with no doors
09-11-2009 Fucking fairies!
10-11-2009 She will use and abuse you in the best way possible
10-11-2009 Cigarettes, shampoo and mango body butter
12-11-2009 Oh if only you knew how close to the truth you were
17-11-2009 Making my bed in ten second increments
19-11-2009 Do want: you. Make out session now.
20-11-2009 I'm finding it increasingly
To-Do List: December 200901-12-2009 I kind of wish you were still with me nowTo-Do List: December 20095 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
01-12-2009 Once isn't enough for me anymore
02-12-2009 She will steal your cigarettes and alcohol
03-12-2009 It feels so nice to laugh without inhibitions
08-12-2009 No, please stop, you're making me fall for you
09-12-2009 High tide and low slung jeans
09-12-2009 Pretty sure nothing has ever smelt better than you
10-12-2009 Oh goodness. I feel a bit ill.
10-12-2009 Friend. That word can sometimes sting.
14-12-2009 I always wonder if i'm going to see you in the city.
14-12-2009 And all i can keep thinking is 'my clothes would have been dry by now'
14-12-2009 My bag smells of man
16-12-2009 A lot of what i write *is* about you, you silly boy!
17-12-2009 Work through the storm
17-12-2009 He's lucky to not have me.
18-12-2009 Oh, ill take you apart alright, i'll tear you to pieces if you'll let me.
21-12-2009 Lover of square sprockets and rocket launchers
21-12-2009 I love the smell of your cigarettes in my hair
23-12-2009 Deliciously o
picture death.I couldnt bring myself to bury her.picture death.6 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
I couldnt bring myself to empty the ground of dirt and of earthworms and of the spindly weed roots, and fill in the ochre gap with her body. Her coffee-cream fur held her tiny skeleton from falling out when they hit her. I try not to think of miniature beat-less hearts and mute lungs. I never saw her dead, but I can imagine.
They found her on the median strip. Breathless and still by the endless whoosh of traffic.
In my mind I see Mums face; I see her heart throbbing at her feet and her cradling the dog, like a precious baby to her chest. I see the love flowing down her withered cheeks and her hands pressing into the fur, desperately releasing life from her fingertips. She wrapped her in a rainbow and buried her beneath a flowering mango tree.
When I came home she was standing on worn feet, looking forlorn and waiting for me. Around the door my little sisters freckles and cheeks are stained pink and shine in the light.
leavemedon'tleaveme.you make me sick. you make my stomach fold in on itself and press out against the lining of my flesh. you put lumps in my throat and you tie strings to my tear glands and tug until the world is just a panoply of blurred lines, hazy colour and bokeh.leavemedon'tleaveme.6 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
you made me do this. you put the knife in my fingers and you told me to tear, you said you would care if i hurt myself like this. you said youd care if i opened my flesh up for you like a gift of blood and flesh and tissue. but you never really did.
i like being small, i like being the blue eyed girl sitting amidst background noise, rubber band arms holding the necks of her legs together. i like being the blue eyed girl with hands holding her from spilling in a mess at everyones toes. i like it when theyre your hands.
i try to define you with mental disorders. i say you have schizophrenia and pretend its a valid excuse. im in love with one of your personalities, but the other doesnt even notice
the fluttered- a collectionithe fluttered- a collection6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Hear my joints dislocate, coming apart at the notion of sunlight. It falls and it settles in pictures of loveliness, golden tree branches and hints of leaves; of autumn, of spring.
I am so tall in the water. My legs are never-ending, crooked lines of peachskin- watching my fingers draw out ripples until they strain and buckle and fall into the cool. Ill touch my toes and loop my figure and Ill make giant ripples, abhorring fallen leaves and sending shivers of blue through his legs.
Its a faded crimson red holding my breasts, tugging my hips and leaving my ribcage bare to the current. Its smudged lipstick and smeared blood to him; its the soft of petals and the heat of summer to me.
With dirt up my thighs and crushed flowers beneath my elbows we sat in echoes of bark; lit with the little light the leaves could spare. We were a picture. We were lovers in the dirt, near the stream, soft nothing above and heaviness beneath us.
It came tumbling down by my
fall asleep with me tonight.If I wrote you a lullaby with verses of moonlit, fogged breath and a chorus of heartbeats- would you fall asleep with our melody in your palms?fall asleep with me tonight.6 years ago in General More Like This
I lie awake at night and watch traffic lights outside my window shout RED into the peace quiet and occasional hazy rev of traffic. I lie awake and shiver through layers and wish to silent stars it wasnt winter, wish the nighttime cool wouldnt paint quite so many goose bumps on my skin and make my eyelids so cold. I lie awake at night and night-dream without sleep- about you and all your eyelashes and beautiful wordings.
I like the way your collarbone lies horizontally beneath your neck, resting on light shoulders. God must have hidden it beneath your peach skin in a hurry, because with hurried hands he didnt push it in quite far enough. I imagine him assembling you, I envisage your organs and elongated limbs before you were in a single piece, a mess-heap of portions and parts of beautiful. I would have liked to build you up my
why didn't you say goodbye?Love wasnt in the air the night you unbuttoned my shirt and kissed my skin. No, love definitely wasnt in the air the night we spent in heat of moments, sweating and tumbling and fumbling on your fathers bed.why didn't you say goodbye?6 years ago in General More Like This
It was anywhere but there. Does love go on vacation? I ponder and make fleshy butterflies from my outstretched fingers. Probably.
I cant remember much but I can remember the beginning. The burn of acid bleeding and gushing past my tongue and down my throat. The noises and then your silence. The clumsiness and then the awkward kisses.
You had a garden of dark hair growing from your scalp and dirt eyes. You had a protruding belly button and clown feet. You smelt like my grandfather in his coffin.
You didnt ask me if you could take my virginity. You just assumed I wouldnt mind giving it to you. I always wonder where you put it, if you take good care of it and how it is doing. I imagine you put it in a shiny jar with a sticky label reading Lore
A Nameless Attempt"Why do you have your own name written on your hand?"A Nameless Attempt6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
"So I won't forget it."
"What if the rain washes it away?"
"I always carry a black marker. I'll write my name again on top of the stains and remains of ink."
"Do you ever wish you could be someone else?"
"I don't know. Someone stronger."
"I couldn't. I only know how to write my own name with my marker."
"I've been practising for years on how to write it just perfect."
"How does it look now?"
"Why did you change to red markers?"
"I was out of black markers, so I tried a red one."
"Does it change anything?"
"It changes everything."
"It's just ink, though."
"It's my name, being absorbed by my skin and veins, sent into my bloodstream."
"What happens now?"
"I don't know."
"I brought you a black marker. You can have it, if you want."
"No thanks, I have plenty of red ones."
"I thought you loved black markers. You always used them."
"I like red ones better now. They stain less."
"I liked it when
cigarettes.I took a long breath, inhaling the smoke that was flooding out of his parched lips. He sat on the swing beside me, faded brown eyes looking at something in the distance. He was slouched forward, elbows propped on his grass-stained knees, mouth bending into a frown. We sat on the school grounds of our old elementary school, the smell of spring grass strong and unpleasant.cigarettes.6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
There was no wind, things were still.
I couldn't deny that I was still watching him as he swung forward a couple inches on his swing. With every movement he made, it emitted a slightly squeaky, unsteady sound.
Something about him was hypnotizing me.
The sun splashed off his hair, a shade of rusty brown. His eyes were also brown, darker though. His lips were no longer parted when he took the cigarette out of his mouth and held it loosely between two dry fingers.
Its been a while since Ive seen him smile.
So, He turned to me, intensity in his face. His eyes were so piercing they almost looked host
inadequate science.and for you, i write.inadequate science.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
there are three times when the clock stops and my eyes open.
there's something i want to say to you, but it stops in my throat and i can't form the words
remember when our skin created valleys, and hills on the bedsheets?
i counted your freckles and you smiled because I was too impatient to finish
my throat finally clears and my lips begin to form, but you're always gone.
if i could tell you something quietly
it would be that i've never seen something so beautiful
my skin pulls towards yours and i crawl over your milky bones
you were on top of me, then my eyes closed,
i can't remember if it was you or the drugs that made me feel so high
and that was when i told you that i loved gravity.
i was in 8th period and chris was talking to me
about some shit of how certain insects are attracted to light
and they can't help but pull towards its beauty
about how the light could be miles away, but the pull is too strong to resist
you are my bright
LoveLove is such a clichéd word,Love7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
With no heart or brittle strength;
When it spoke to be heard,
It bears on any heart little length;
Yet, in it's old and tired way,
It gleams of something new;
Not when said amid the day,
But with I and you.
flesh puzzlesIn the beginning it was enough. Id be wide-eyed, quietly watching her through the windows. Limbs and torso like a slender tree; bowing in wind and always shooting up toward the sun. Shed wear summer skin in the middle of winter with freckles spoiling her shoulders and cheekbones. Her birthmark was a dull red stain at her collarbone and she had a mole beneath her left breast. She was thirteen and I thirty, but my, oh my, did I ache to see her insides.flesh puzzles6 years ago in Horror More Like This
The house next door they called the sea house because it was two stories of cerulean blue. Through my bedroom window I could see naught but an empty bedroom. But late September the Parler family moved in. The Father was a tree of a man who was always working and the mother was a blonde lady named Annie with big tits and long legs. She brought around a tray of brownies for me, pathetic bitch, I thought as I fed them to the Cooper. I took him for a walk in the early morning mist and let him shit on their lawn.
It was late afterno
all the words simon never saidmy strategy forall the words simon never said5 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
simon says has always been
to follow your heart
how it beats and ticks,
how it learns and how it yearns,
how its always yours
Simon Says: stare into my eyes,
Simon Says: and pretend i care.
Simon Says: spill your guts out.
Simon Says: dont say anything.
Simon Says: stop trying so hard.
Simon Says: stop overanalyzing.
Simon Says: keep following my misleading signals; your confusion amuses me.
Simon Says: waste your clock batteries on me; im totally worth all the trouble.
Simon Says: fall head over heels for me until you trip and decapitate yourself.
Simon Says: love me.
Simon Says: hate me.
Simon Says: give up.
Simon Says: ignore me.
Simon Says: forget me.
_________: be mine...
but i lose
for you didnt say
i always hated playing one-sided games with you,
but that never stopped you from playing with me.
UnbuttonI declared love dead.Unbutton3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
There was a ceremony, and I did the obituary.
"Dear love. I told you so."
Then the burial of an empty gesture, broken
promises integrating with the earth.
I visited the grave, let my fingers run
along the unmarked stone. I would sit at the TV at night,
awash in a sea of detergent and other peoples' wives,
forgetting everything about this. One day I just woke up cold.
And it was fine.
I wrote my acceptance on the inside of my door.
Life is full as it is. Full of spoons and dirt and ways to slowly dig.
Full of reflections on what passes and what does not.
Curled up in itself, a wad of dirty bills. Life is
blue smoke drifting by. Life is consistent in its own confusion.
Rocks and boneheads, sticks and stoneheads.
Some people are dancers, wings for brains, others are dredged from the shallow sea.
We are mud people, grime, flesh, palpitation,
and sudden flashes of staggering beauty.
Life is what grinds the mountains and moves the oceans.
Life is the fantastic terror re
AlwaysAs the decades pass and we grow grey,Always3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it will not matter. We will have been here,
wildly burning beacons in a sea of dissolution,
scorch marks left on hidden islands
only we have names for.
Time is motionless;
the now mutates.
I dared to love you, naked and exposed,
spread wide like a map for you to wander,
no continents hidden, all rivers running clear.
I exposed all fault lines, you braved every quake.
For this, I owe you everything.
The secrets reveal themselves
when eyes conceal themselves.
Once, in my final time, I want to find you,
silent on the porch, facing the ocean. Your hair,
white and speckled grey, untamed as your eyes,
flying free against the wind in relentless rebellion.
I will slip my crowlike fingers round your waist
where they are home, and I will quietly whisper
"What a life."
And time will swallow us like the sun.
DistanceThere is a place where words endDistance2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and your body begins.
This border asks for trespassing,
silent fingers walking, twirling
strands of secret ginger hair,
slowly drawing sunshine back
from the deep well.
The electricity of being static
as a unit.
There is a lot to be said
for saying nothing.
Close your red mouth,
and let me close the blue
mad scientistOmad scientist6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
he mixes 'freedom'
with 'love' and
pours the mess
in a bottle labelled
(he likes to think he's multi-talented,
and illusions are the best emulsifiers.)
his potion shelve crashes
to the basement floor
every single day.
(he has always been this clumsy.)
he takes notes
of all his experiments
and then destroys them.
(he wants to be known
for his successes. not his failures.)
he thought he knew all the recipes
for gold, love, life, sleep,
but there just is no such thing
(he is not as smart
as his glasses and lab coat might suggest.)
his former loves in formaldehyde.
(one day he will
have found a cure.)
he stopped using logic in his formulas.
(one day he will
name something after him.)
IllIt is late.Ill3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The tenement reverberates, shaken by some machine.
Upstairs there is running across the floor, endlessly back and forth,
typewriter feet hammering unseen poetry into battered planks. Next door
a man shouts, calls someone a slut and a worthless whore.
Then he coughs all night like the last tenants did. There is a cancer
in these walls. The neighbor returns, but he cannot find the keyhole.
This is a normal weekday. A dog barks. Dogs are not allowed.
A door gets kicked in, and there are men with baseball bats.
Boots and bats are not allowed either. The sun rises anyway.
Jimmy is a sad case, ruined by years and years of drinking.
We never hear him. For all the world cares, he is a ghost.
His son comes to visit once in a while. Jimmy is always a hundred bucks
short of the rent. We have to tell him that this is not the way life works.
The smoke still clings to the wallpaper.
It is early.
There is an empty apartment on third.
Another man stumbles from a taxi and scales the stairs.
Splinter helixEMBRYOSplinter helix3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a derelict building shifts its swollen form
wire cage elevators moving carefully as it swallows
nestled in a womb of fragile concrete fibres
the child of paint and pastel colours stirs
searching blindly for that energetic outside world
it stretches its delicate arms like an earthquake
Tell me where you come from, what you remember
of the black ground. Talk in riddles only your kind
understands, talk in flowers, talk in thorny branches.
You crack the foundations in starlike patterns, and
you stretch the heart of you for the concrete above,
longing to carry the sky as a bed for the Sun.
the twisting flesh of the whistling tree
blankets the screaming mud with salt
in a lush park tended by arthritic backs
an old man sits with a young girl
as devils arc their spines within smiles
they discuss the taste of snow
They know the end grows high, grows nigh,
outgrows the star dome like parasite patchwork.
The invaders never came, they were the ground stones,
just realign our hearts pleaseThis is me meeting you more than four years ago.just realign our hearts please5 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
The weather was colder than it should have been with furls of wind wrapping around us. Those stubborn gusts had picked up a multi-chromatic array of leaves and tiny particles of dust, which whipped around making the whole world glitter. Your hands were in your pockets but your eyes never left my face. It was a Saturday and I was chewing my lip, trying to figure out what was playing behind all this silence. Shutting my eyes tightly, I rearranged a mess of thoughts to align our heartbeats. Standing on tiptoes, I felt your breath sweep across my face and our lips meet in the middle. I kept hoping we could fit.
This is me swallowing the ocean just to breathe.
Around us, everything is falling down and there's water flooding the floorboards and the cracks between our fingers where our hands no longer fit together. There is a lifetime of unspoken words echoing between us and the sound waves are crashing together and colliding in the air above u
The Day I Met God.I met God one evening.The Day I Met God.6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
The funny thing is, i wasn't wanting to find him.
God was smoking.
"Why are you smoking?"
"I'm God Kalea, i'm stressed."
We sat atop a big balcony and watched his creations move.
"They're so beautiful", God was breathing hard.
But I know they aren't. they aren't. they aren't.
How do you tell God that?
"Why do people rape, and murder and steal?"
God's mouth is the shape of a sinking ship
his face carries the wrinkles of one thousand dying souls.
MotherYou forgot your glasses again. This timeMother3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in the bathroom. Last time
they were sitting on my suitcase,
like pieces of thoughts out of place.
I thought you would remember them this time,
like you remember everything I did.
You take ages to get up the stairs now.
Each step like the crossing of a desert,
forty dry days of ascending to the next level.
Sometimes I wonder if you'll even make it.
I can hear you breathing heavy all the way.
But the spark in your eyes is on the rise,
you found escape from the monochrome;
your hair aflame like the setting sun,
no dull color in your heart and home.
You talk of star people,
angels and demons walking the Earth,
shining auras, chakras and projected souls,
and of how civilization dates back before the dawn of humankind.
I believe in none of this, but I listen,
because you are my mother.