i'd do anything to be with youi cannot eat my cereal because my tears, too thick,i'd do anything to be with you in Free Verse More Like This
are ruining the flavour... with a "u", because all i want is...
you are perfect for me. okay ? motherfucking perfect.
my missing piece, my truelove, the one i'd do anything
for. now i am listening to all the songs that make me
think of you, just trying to hold on. i know you think
that i deserve better, but no... i don't even deserve you.
i don't deserve your heart. but here, take mine anyway.
if i can't have you, i don't want anyone. i would feel like
i were cheating.
please don't tell me it's not my fault.
i don't want to sounds obsessed, but
i would rather have no life than to be
without you. please, please, please.
understand. the milk in my bowl is
soggy like my heart, the one that you
have for the rest of time, and i just
can't enjoy a spoonful of rejection.
please, please, please. give this
a shot. for me. please.
the importance of the s in sexi do not like the ironythe importance of the s in sex in Free Verse More Like This
of trying to get over someone
by getting on top of them.
if IRONY friend requested me on facebook,
i would deny, block, and mark as spam.
as i might have said a billion poems ago,
i have a restraining order against IRONY
however that dumb bitch still manages
to scare the living shit out of me
disappointment isnt a papercutit's eleven numberfucking eleven,disappointment isnt a papercut in Free Verse More Like This
and i'm listening to Fever, and all
i wish is i could smother the stars
with bandages and predictability.
and Vanilla Twilight just came on,
and you just texted me, and all i
can do is cry and hate myself.
antagonistic, i have no pulse.hold on.antagonistic, i have no pulse. in Free Verse More Like This
hold onto what?
hold onto me, hold me,
when nothing else matters
because my arms are open 24/7
25/7 actually, even that extra hour
on the longest day of the year
because that's how special you are
(to me? i guess. but i never know
if i guess correctly or not)
"wait, did you say something important/poetic/meaningless?"
"hold on a second, i'm busy."
well, i've never held onto a second;
time always slip through my fragile
fingertips. never held onto an hour
either. or an our. a your? fuck you
pronouns. just hold onto something
(i'm a thing; hold me) hold me like a
second. for a second. instead? you
hold me like a second-place trophy;
for a second-best, runner-up (no, i'm
walking down, head down, just down)
i told you i'd wait that extra hour for you,
but holding onto this second is too much
even for me. sorry, but it's closing time.
drawing hipbones is not poetici could imagine my lipsdrawing hipbones is not poetic in Free Verse More Like This
kissing your paint hips;
i could sketch my ilium
or swallow your helium
but a bouquet of flowery rhetoric
and rose-prose won't make you
want me anymore than you want
to be shackled to a cage in a zoo
like some bloated balloon animal
bloated balloon animal:
that's all i am, isn't it?
i swear i've written a poem like this a million times already.
same shit, different person; same shit, different heartache.
same words; different context. same emotions, same pain.
i'm about to explode--your touch is a pinprick. pop goes my heart.
i wish i could write this a happy ending but life ain't fiction. the end
if love is blind, stab my eyesOh, all the glorious tragedies I'veif love is blind, stab my eyes in Free Verse More Like This
seen today, all within ten minutes:
A guy holding a bouquet. An expected
box of European chocolates shaped
like a heart, naturally. A stuffed
bear. A couple holding hands. A boy
kissing his girlfriend's soft cheek.
A girl carrying pink balloons. Oh.
I'm alone, naturally. How awkward.
Eyelid umbrellas hold back rain,
torrents of gushy-mushy romance.
A metaphoric flood; stormclouds.
Walking from Point Envy to Point
Facing down, arms crossed. Eyes
on the ground. Please, no optic
tidalwave leakage. What's this?
Stop: step on a blue candyheart.
Facing down, thank God. Thank
God, not Cupid. Not that dumb
St. Valentine. Not a cordiform
morsel of sugary conversations,
spreading one-liners older than
this holiday. Kiss Me. Miss me.
XOXO. Love Ya. Detour: stomp.
Saccharine aorta vs. my shoe heel
(not Achille's, but same difference)
What? You want to know who won?
Are you kidding? Y
waldo ? nope, another impostorfinding your soulmatewaldo ? nope, another impostor in Free Verse More Like This
is harder than winning
waldo and carmen san
diego. finding a needle
in a haystack is twenty
times easier. hell, it is
easier finding a needle
in an insane asylum:
a ghost-white room,
god i must be crazy.
every damn time i think i've finally found
my waldo, it turns out to be a phantasm,
a mirage, a fraud. tricked, again. it's just
another lookalike in candycane pinstripes
in a two-page world of straitjacket horror
(freddy krueger ain't got shit on me)
i bet someone stole all the where's waldo
books off the shelves in my aortic library,
cutting out the real waldo. photo albums
with missing heads from my past regrets,
this must be how waldo feels -- forgotten.
one can only hide for so long before even
olly olly oxen free loses meaning.
where in the world is my waldo?
gnashing jukeboxes in my teethmy boombox mouth ch-ch-chattersgnashing jukeboxes in my teeth in Free Verse More Like This
at the taste of your tapdancing lips
you choreographed every kiss,
every promise, every iloveyou;
every word, a radio frequency
playing me, playing the song i
requested. but this is not the
studio version. this is a cheap
limewire ripoff of a low-quality
demo, this is used dental floss
and novacaine mp3 files.
sorry, but my teeth want the real thing.
what to bring to the afterlifewhat to bring to the afterlife in Free Verse More Like This
the crushkill conundrum:
i hate seeing you happy
and you love seeing me upset;
so the happier you get,
the more i hate it,
the happier you get,
i hate it
when you smile.
no, i won't talk to you unless you talk to me,
but you won't talk to me unless i talk to you
first. it's because you deplete all my enzymes.
second. because between the two, i came (in)
third. because there's no chance:
no way in hell--no way in heaven--
will we kiss beneath the big dipper.
and there's no way in or out of either
when you're a coldhearted masochist.
the purgatory paradox:
poetry is the biggest sin of all,
so we're both damned to hell,
yet evermore suffering is paradise
to a linguistic masochist like you,
like the 'we' that's damned
to never be.
"we'll be together until hell freezes over"
you told me once. i believe i was asleep.
my blizzard-heart could petrify the flame.
too bad, i gave it to you the day i pulled the trigger.
confessionmy writing is justconfession in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
the questions that i never
wanted to answer
the atlantic was born todayoh,the atlantic was born today in Free Verse More Like This
it's raining very hard,
stones on a tin-can roof,
and my lips become the
shape of valley mouths,
fluttering in smiles
and antagonistic frowns,
as i remember dragging my
watering feet to
the balcony to let you
hear the rain i heard
while you were
new york minutesask me what its like to stand outside of a skyscraper, two hundred feet up. ask me what its like to be plastered against a bruised sky, no pair of eyes noticing me because im just another black silhouette of the city. ask me what its like to see your own heart leaping from your chest and tumbling ahead of your body and down twenty-odd stories and into the never-ending traffic that looks like a travelling carnival. ask me, i know what its like to become dust.new york minutes in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
the clock on my wall ticked loud enough for me to realise just how empty my flat was. the second hand, blood-red and thin as a needle, twitched ever-forward, still pausing just as long as it took for my heart to stutter, thinking time had broken.
"fucking clock," i muttered, rubbing my chest to encourage my heartbeat to mellow. i took it from the wall after being awake for four hours, having spent three hours and nineteen minutes watching and flinching at its every
everything your silence saysi have not showered since thursday.everything your silence says 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,
spineless.sometimes i put my handspineless. in Free Verse More Like This
to my back and trace my spine
just to make sure its still there.
i will never grow up,
never be beautiful enough,
never pull that haze of
green smoke into or away
from my chest.
that is your home,
and i regret to say that
i have lost your eviction
im terribly sorry for the
way you still make me bleed
silent screams biting
their way over my tongue;
im terribly sorry,
but how the fuck can i
stop loving you when i cant
forget you long enough to look
in the mirror and see you in the
you tell me in no (un)certain words
that i am not anything to you,
and i just nod and smile,
just clutch my insides and cry
when you cant see me
because what the fuck else
is there to do.
i am not a bashful soul
i am not afraid to grab you
by the wrists and not let
go until you love me back
but if i had any less backbone
id be dead.
pages upon pages uponsunday nights spent burning stray thoughtspages upon pages upon in Free Verse More Like This
and watching their furs singe
claims of temporary insanity and bats
dancing all naked over my bed
i am gone i am gone you are gone where have you gone
papier mache stretched tight cross my skin
begging for breaks begging for blood
coffee brewed strong enough to jumpstart the dead
ive been awake all morning ive been watching
the second hand on the clock
and it just laughs and laughs and laughs
in every moment it spends motionless
it just laughs and laughs and laughs and laughs and
boy you are no longer the worst sleeper i know and
it pains me so it pains me so
i am stuck with the same words and i repeat them all broken-record stories
so you might understand me so you might hear me
buried in pits of peaches all southern and
decadent in the summers palms
the tape is wilting from my ceiling all
watered roots and gnarled branches
how many times have we pushed down
the seats in the car and screamed bloody murder
how many times have we seen the other
stir crazythe way i feel about you is rivers & skiesstir crazy in Free Verse More Like This
knees bent into little peaks facing the heavens.
you are the thrumming heartbeat
reveling in my chest,
the very lifeblood swarming,
engulfing my veins,
the poetry of our bodies together.
you are the monday moon,
the sparkle of crystal under the sun,
the smeared ink making its way
across the page on the ship of my hand.
the beauty that you hold is that of
forevers and fluttering fingertips,
the promises i wish to hear
the strange sickness of being wanted
and the sick strangeness of touch,
the knowing that tonight,
with your skin sleeping next to mine,
i can wake in the morning's light
and you will still be
humanity, in so many wordseveryone is the same.humanity, in so many words in Free Verse More Like This
we all want
loneliness without being lonely and
poetry in the most mundane breaths and
we all want to be humans
unique and flawed with perfection
but we are too busy
beating with our one heart.
see the cradlei want you, at three in the morning.see the cradle in Free Verse More Like This
i want to borrow your books
and read their words invisible
taking a pen to the margins
to make sure you remember in
fifteen years that page two hundred and
eighty seven made me cry from its
first paragraph to truncated eighth
i am completely guilty
of wanting your lips on my lips
wanting your bones on my bones
a heart beat from my chest
moving into yours
a field of stars stretched
across my bed
& you and i lying beneath
i hope you don't mind.
i'm soaking in sin like the
sun's dying rays
and feeling electric.
for once in my life
i am on fire.