-truth-will you meet me in the spaces-truth- in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
between our fingers
indivisible, but one
(and all the smaller pieces
that don't matter)
a hollow note
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
it's the same
and in this moment
this moment is again
and your voices
singing as the past
ceilings and walls
that do not house me
anymore, i hear you
you are farther away
when i am with you
than when we are
so far apart
i do not have a traditional clock
that could tick away the night
in even tones
to focus on
when i'm trying my hardest not to be awake
i only have digitalisations left
batteries unincludedyou are an hourbatteries unincluded in Free Verse More Like This
sixty minutes of sixty tickings
in this hour is every word
youve ever said
i have an old wrist watch my father gave me
i say old, because five years is a long time when it is a quart of your life.
i use it to count you.
staring at the straight lines and reflecting the tubed light into a dancing circle on the wall
a spotlight for an ant
i imagine a woven straw hat and cane
there was always dancing wasnt there?
there was, but it was never us that were dancing. its just a configuration.
you know, of talk.
something we forgot all about.
perhaps it wasnt forgetfulness but forced ignorance.
you know, being stubborn, like stains you can never get out in the morning.
you in your mouthi am curious about youyou in your mouth in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
of course, i'd like
to know how many sugars
if any, i think i'd like
to know how well
done. but i'm not sure
of course, if i should be
curious (or otherwise)
if it is indecent
of me to speculate
ponder how much milk
wonder what textures
maybe i should wait
for the situation
to present itself
rather than spend
these days thinking
reminder to selfwhen i grow up i'm going to get bags andreminder to self in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
bags of seeds and scatter them in the
rain all around my neighbourhood,
chuck them into empty lots.
i'm going to get a mirror
and write you are
beautiful on the top of
it and put it on a wall
of a building on a busy street and
when i grow up i'm going
to write love letters to
strangers and big descriptions of
what i did today
and post them to street addresses i'll
make up and put toys and random
objects in people's letter boxes, like
a corkscrew and a live frog
and i'm going to get a white board
with a pen and put it in an alley way
and put a sticker saying my
thought of the day on
the bottom of it then
me and my friend, we'll
stand on the opposites of the
street and pretend we're pulling
on a big rope and hope the car
crashes aren't too loud
and i'll draw a map of everywhere i've
seen wild fennel growing, and mint and
mulberries and take you there. i'll make
you a tea that stains your teeth with
the water we got for free from the
i love the way i say ithow come perfection could be the smile of apology you made when you were always latei love the way i say it in Free Verse More Like This
how come perfection could be
velocity isnt lost each time
the bounce has changed
there arent enough sides inside
my skull to play any
is this how it is to fly?the sleepy storm of your aeroplane fingersis this how it is to fly? in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
hurricaning gentle rushes along the tips of my ear flesh--
no, i did not say stop
as a child in your arms, I wish for more wishes
too few are the moments we glide beneath our eye sheets
tucking our tears into slippery sleep
when does wait turn into savour?
jester flowers dance jangly yellow beneath my feet and i feel
the gentle grumble of the wind's distaste through my ear pipes
along my jaw; my straining neck
a furore of bent elbows and outstretched arms tasting cloud whispers
on my cheeks, on my lips, and my hair no longer obeys the law
is this how it is to fly? arms wicked propellers and spinning
turning running sideways centripetal;
my centre? is where, is where?
i am your el(e)-o-c(tro)ution
you are my hard starboard.
everyone was once a smaller face to cry
love is like birdi think im getting a bit too fidgetylove is like bird in Free Verse More Like This
staring silence onto walls again
looking through people,
ignoring flickers of recognition like goldfish picking at flakes
or my fingertips
im walking with an aim of nothing
i shudder at the words im supposed to be saying
like its supposed to supposed to
and i could eat my apathy with ribbons
splattering sugar on the cement
[i didnt buy them]
i collect--much too many a thing
i collect people
in my head
short films of them
it doesnt matter that reality lies to me with
black and white shades of grey turning everything into a big mess of purple
when i like you
black when i like you
black when i dont
and everything is purple anyhow
i need no glasses to tell you i dont see the same colours as you
but i know you
and i know you dont know me
i never knew you
im suffering from high doses of pleasantry
the easiness between us, is only me playing the game the way my mother taught me
with a smile and mu
it isnt really an island, butthis skin i'm init isnt really an island, but in Free Verse More Like This
it isn't me so much
as my toes
are my feet
my fingers are my hands
my eyes my face;
and it isn't me
so much, when i smile
or cry, or fall apart
down splitting sides
it isn't me so much
these lips (that speak
for me) and i rarely invade
the privacy of my heart
but then i get lost, in
all the things that are
supposed to be (me, but
aren't), in who they are
and why (no matter
how hoarse i make her throat
with screaming after her)
she doesn't come when i call
I have Is in the back of my hedonism.
When I finish there will be a river
Translucent and cascading
I know you are a busy man, but just try to think of it from my point of view."
What, in a g-string and bra?
When I begin there will be no end
act i into(beauty)act i into in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
obscured into a blur
i become fluid with the silent
motion of the lines
my eyes are a continuing moment
along the spectrum of heard
seen tasted felt
this is the wonder of is
i miss the genesis
the before the flood
the fluid motion
of calling home the birds
with a scattering of seeds
the tips of your hair
dapple bright ecstasies
on your reflection
they drip the terror
from your throat
a tracing of your skin
under my skin print
injects memory into my fingers
and solidifies in silence
it was raining when-
it was raining when-
it was raining when you held your parasol high
and laughed at the sun
it was bright light then-
it was bright light then-
it was bright light then when your umbrella on
pulled laughter from the bus
(a he i
my condolences for your
wake up, wake up
it isn't morning
but for the tumble
for the tumble
i give you warmth
to build-up smilesi'd like to seduce happinessto build-up smiles 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."
ImitationIf I were carbon paperImitation in Free Verse More Like This
I'd lie down to trace your perfect lines
and then I could duplicate your beauty
pretending it was my own
The loss of sanityAnother pillThe loss of sanity in Free Verse More Like This
Hidden under my pillow
My face fluorescently lit
Pacing up and down the hall
To maintain the sanity they deny
I'm not crazy
I write again and again
I'm not crazy
I whisper as they turn the lock
You'll never knowYour words blow through me, chilling my heartYou'll never know in Free Verse More Like This
These sentences stringing together, icicles raining down on me
I can't bear to look at you.
I stare into the trees, feeling as naked as they appear
All I can think is, I wish I hadn't found such a way to keep warm last night
and I know you are hurting, but you hurt me too
You feel miles away, if I could only reach out and touch you
It's so cold, we're so cold,
and I'm afraid your love is blowing away with the leaves.
Poetry is my friendWallflower girlPoetry is my friend in Free Verse More Like This
Trying to blend with the scenery
Wishing for this night to end
And she can return to seclusion
Periods of small talk interrupting
Millennia of loneliness
Once the crowd is gone
She'll be safe once again
Surrounded by the comfort
Of the ones she truly loves
The ones who don't judge
If only books could hug back
This stinging in my eyesVivid pictures burst to lifeThis stinging in my eyes in Free Verse More Like This
as the cool air rustles through my hair
Seeing those burgundy tipped yellow petals
and orange falling leaves,
the beauty of this beginning of the end engulfs me.
I pull my jacket just a little tighter as the wind picks up
and my thoughts are carried away
only to be caught up in empty branches
hopelessly tangled like a child's kite string
I know these ideas of you, of our life together
will continue to haunt our secret place
like a sweet dream turned nightmare
and I'm left here wondering when I'll wake
Cloudy DaysIf you could wipe the clouds from my skyCloudy Days in Free Verse More Like This
I would never ask you to
We all need rain sometimes
Even when we miss the feel of the sun
If it weren't for the rain
How would we know when it was warm and bright?
And how would things grow?
And how could we jump in puddles getting our socks all wet?
Instead of trying to do the impossible
Trying to change my heart, my thoughts
Please just hold my hand
And maybe wipe away some tears
I need to walk this path to be me
But I don't always want to walk it alone
So be my cheerleader, be my sunshine when the clouds won't part
But let me feel the rain
BrokenBeautiful tragedyBroken in Free Verse More Like This
My pretty little masochist
Wearing bright red ribbons
Instead of mascara
A soft moan at the pain
While you savor each tingling bit
Anything to avoid your thoughts
Denying what you really feel
You thought you could cleanse yourself
But that won't ever happen
Because you live in denial
And trace your veins with razorblades
Worn AwayMy peaceful tempermentWorn Away in Free Verse More Like This
These placid eyes
Becoming worn and weary
Patching the holes
But the patches peel away
Revealing the tattered pieces
Of my used up soul
Non-FictionI live through my pen, through my keyboard. Writing lines down, lives down. Ideas spin through my mind and my fingers struggle to keep up. You are a reoccurring character, I wonder if you always knew that. What I can't tell you with my vocal chords, my fingers will lay down in strokes. Woven words and bits of truth, tell stories I live (if sometimes only in my head).Non-Fiction in Biography & Memoir More Like This
Sometimes I wonder how much of my life is purely fiction.
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. 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.
Play you for a day.
But, this morning, I woke up to the strangest dream
naked on my pillow; gap-toothed and smiling.
It told me that mirrors were only invented
to look back at the past without straining your neck.
And I spoke to a pickpocket the other day
while he was fumbling for my change,
introduced him to you through the trinkets I keep in my tr
GreenYou told me I was neon.Green 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.
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 Zero 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 certainty.
(if only an ounce falser than yes)
ThirteenI love the way I break intoThirteen in Free Verse More Like This
a thousand pieces under you,
disintegrate all memory of
being anything but this
and feel no shame.
Melt any trace of humanity from these bones,
let these smiles cascade over you and puddle
in the most awkward of places where you'll
never be able to wash them clean,
demonstrate by fading that
legs are just apparatus
of moving no closer than now.
Strip out of this skin and reveal bare nerves
which tense and tremble against you
and fade into this black-out,
leaving nothing but a pulsing heart,
beating I love you's against your frame.
All I Want To DoDream through peeled eyes.All I Want To Do in Free Verse More Like This
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)
Just One TasteLet me swallow you wholeJust One Taste 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.
Youthe intricately inspired,You in Free Verse More Like This
the jumble-word genius,
the conscience whose
beauty's drawn from the
last inch of truth.
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 the
souldolls you touched.
Come Kiss Me RapidCome kiss me rapid in the rainCome Kiss Me Rapid in Free Verse More Like This
and we can dance like spring does
in the last face of winter,
when the first shades of green
break gradual through white.
Your sugar-almond eyes were always
meant for kissing, those pursed lips
for loving and every laughter-line
creasing like age for caressing.
And I wonder - do my fingertips
fit their blueprints or do I
leave room for tears to filter through?
There were times when we were watched
from distances and laughed still;
jiving through summer, swaying into
autumn, sitting out winter. But now
there are cliff-faces in your eyes
catching the ocean breeze, crumbling
under the weight and forming jagged
pebble-tears that fall to rubble at your feet.
This is what life has made of a little you and I;
a smudge of collateral damage all frayed at the ends
so that, when I reach for you through silences, I
only touch the seams of something bigger
than these cloud-sized hands can cover.
In the Beginning...There was no beginning.In the Beginning... in Free Verse More Like This
Just an endless mass of you.
Like, if I'd slept with a fishing line,
I would have woke to your bite
whether I'd set bait or not.
I'd always wanted someone like you;
with the meaning of life
scattered across their toes
- now you dance at my feet.
And I can see your puddles of blue melting across
my palms as I lather myself with you, watching the way
you dissolve beneath my nails without leaving a stain.
It makes me realise that kissing you is what flying is to fish
and the clouds we avoid are ladders to ground level.
The Love Song of T.S. EliotI should have been a pair of ragged clawsThe Love Song of T.S. Eliot in Free Verse More Like This
scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
- The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot.
You and I both, sir,
and we would be content
clicking amongst the silt
where time could tell us
no different than to wait.
I would prepare lobster every evening
for you in a freshly-seasoned cabaret -
where prawns would mix and brew and
envy the fragrant lilt of their can-can,
or seduce you with shrimps
all neatly suited in lingerie
and clams locked tight and
soaking in their own piety.
I could win you with these aphrodisiacs,
my sweet, have you sweltering as they boil,
then turn down our drifting Jellyfish lights
and love you so strong I'd conceive a typhoon.
Origami Love StoryOrigami Love Story in Short Stories More Like This
Played Sudoko on the train, never had a chance when I saw you sitting across from me.
Peeking at you, over your New York Times, in a New York state of mind.
Noticed you'd stuck my favorite web comic between the pages,
I wanted to tell you my name.
Or take you to a ball game.
Just for the popcorn and a chance to kiss you.
Laughed out loud at your fuzzy hair and miss matched socks, first impressions are tough.
Drinking coffee, staring at your chocolate milk with lust.
You looked at me cross eyed with your tongue sticking out.
Commented it was rude to stare.
God it was beautiful when you frowned.
Say hello to me stranger, I beg of you, we could both get off right now, and we'd be together.
That's got to be wor
This is me - Gone CrazyIf this is a game Im willing to lose.This is me - Gone Crazy in Other More Like This
I dont want to play anymore, dont make me wait anymore.
Take away your shiny temptation, the windows open but the airs frozen.
Im over heating.
Spinning my self sick.
Crying about more then I could ever realise.
Mourning things that where never mine to
What am I trying to say?
I dont want to say anything.
Ive fallen into place where I expect you to know it all.
Back, Back, Together.
Front, Front, Together.
Lost my mind, lost poetry.
Why is none of this flowing properly?
Why the sudden freak out lock down.
Why am I so god damn hot?
Air sticks in my mouth and my hair weighs me down and I swear not even youd dare love me now. What am I crying about?
This block is breaking my heart.
I dont want to be in love.
I dont want to want to want.
Tears sting already glistening sting.
My jaw hurts from holding my screams in.
With out warning this day runs away from me.
I want to blame you.
But there is no you
1 + 1To let go.1 + 1 in Free Verse More Like This
To give in.
To stop calling your name.
To say nothing.
To look but not touch.
To throw away one more thing that means everything to me.
To let the bitter edge of time win.
To let paper hearts crumble.
To admit this smile can never shine enough to brighten your dark.
To give up the ghost.
To give back one sweater.
To turn around and say your right.
All equates to my destruction.
I am no Juliet.
You could be no Romeo.
So I can not admit that you are the last thing I truly felt.
Can not admit to sin, to crying my self sick, to shortage of breath.
Admit one when I long to be two.
One me - One you
One beating heart creating just another sad story
Girl finds boy. Boy engulfs girl with feeling. Girl runs to boy. Boy kisses away until he is gone away. Girl never smiles quite the same.
Newspaper headlines aren't my forte.
My calling was you.
To say anything less then you is nothing is one more bitter truth found in poetry
But not in
I wish you could seeSo many people love you like they want to be you, I just love you.I wish you could see in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Wandering around in circles only gets you to one place.
I chose the maze that is you
The next moment could be my New Year.
Clocks don't need to tell me that.
Your silence and broken words say so much more.
Speak, I am hanging on to every word
Face shapes that make you smile, even softly.
Are the shapes you cover in kisses.
They are worth every tear.
Strength and pride are only worth so much.
Humility, love with out conditions, honesty.
Things like that make me.
Chasing fairies isn't' foolish.
Loving you isn't stupid.
Dancing naked is purely a frame of mind.
I miss the smell of your sweater.
Your memories paint my walls.
Your taste is missing from my mouth.
I've come this far to see your faults, and flaws.
You broke a thousand promises.
I forgive you
Bullshit, She was sooo nakedPause to say Oh she says it all with her teethBullshit, She was sooo naked in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
We all be talking about teeth these days.
End the music to hear. Don't listen to close
I can't promise you'll like what you hear.
Find your self watching my face. Or just this empty space
Any message can be hung here – if you can afford the space.
Race to show the Ten levels of I love you. So why bother saying fuck you?
I could show the door if you stopped finding ways to wipe the floor with me.
Take me to the shore She'll ask you no more.
Just a smile that could make you believe.
Believe that this is more then a game of pimps and whores.
She looked lovely in that dress. I can't bare to take that line out
Try not to see how it doesn't help the flow.
Do that for me?
It didn't feel real to me. Easily blinded by stars.
Poets keep trying to steal – they steal my stars.
Chew and then spit.
Spit it out of me, over me. I just don't think I'll sell well.
I choseShe's not that type of prettyI chose in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Not mattering to you isn't my biggest worry.
My lips just don't kiss you back like they used to.
1000 photos where taken with my mind on the drive back here.
Nobody wants to touch souls any more, it's all TV. dinners on trays.
It's all empty chairs and that time of the month.
This is my empty canvas.
Empty because I chose to paint you out of it.
call it the dress up gameI go out and dress up in your old words.call it the dress up game in Free Verse More Like This
People ask me your name I tell them in vain.
Hoping you'll close your eyes and kiss.
Your lips touch mine but your mind goes to some other happy place, it's not my face.
Pondering if you regret not calling my name
You and I will never be the same.
Just feel the pain of old marks.
Not enough to free you, from my constant delusional stream of affection.
the unwanted attention
Something about snow fall and hellos that page has messages about your smile
Even though you've never seen it, I'm always trying to see your smile.
Some words never reach.
Hers should reach me more
His should touch me less
Lie. No lay with me.
Bitter truth is just bitter.
Let's work on honesty.
Your kisses always felt real.
Forgive me for running to you
For coming when you call.
Just don't wake up.Just don't wake up. in Free Verse More Like This
Slam into the day, she woke up at the dock.
Waved greeting to people walking by.
Showing devotion to the morning sun with her lips open,
tongues touching his to create scandal we only dream about.
Theyll get married in a tree, honeymoon on the bus.
Start their new life in the buff.
The music will be too loud but it gets the point across.
She screams so the sea can make way for her birth.
He bleeds and creates the earth.
Theyll live side by side secretly still in love long after we all grow up.
Made a nest, took the test.
Theyll make life worth living out of hope and dust.
Shell get it wrong now and then.
Hell stand by her thick and thin.
Thats just how its done for them.
Its all true if you just dont wake up.
Please love, just dont wake up.
Let'sLet's pretend that I'm normal and happy and that I'm not disappointed in you, or in me.Let's in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Let's forget that I scream and I bleed and in moments of weakness I fall in to sky kisses.
Let's try to be more then each other, winning games that no one else plays, like battle royal.
Let's love everyone one else and try to stop loving each other, fuck around with other peoples emotions that don't run as deep or wild as the ocean, forget why I wanted to die.
Let's turn around and run away, hold back for later days.
Let's not yell fuck you at each other, only because we couldn't care that much to yell.
Let's whisper emo lines over creaky telephone wires and stop wasting each other.
Let's just assume that right now I don't love you.
Let's guess that I needed more than you gave.
Let's make people think I'm just sick of you.
Let's tune out until I'm in love again.
Let's taunt each other by kissing everyone else.
Let's just end this.
what they say about dying men i think it would be nice if you puked on me.what they say about dying men in Free Verse More Like This
i mean it. i don't care about smells. if i had the option i probably would've let my nose go a long time ago, cut loose and let it fly off, bloody and attached with fleshy noodle string. (probably that time when i was eleven and in love with my second-cousin and my feet smelled and he was breathing down my neck and it would've probably just been better if i hadn't known that my feet smelled and could've only felt his stomached, washed and beautiful breath.)
maybe you didn't need to know that.
but i would take it. your vomit, i mean. i would like it right here. (you can't see where i'm pointing, i know, but it's at my chest, in the little alcove aroun
anorexia nervosa. _part one a.anorexia nervosa. _part one in Biography & Memoir More Like This
There is something you should know about me, before we begin:
I have anorexia nervosa.
The denial was thick.
Anorexics, I believed, were skinny girls with even skinnier bones, combing their falling-out hair against mirrors where they appear as a sliver of a profiled coin, dying as the air beats them and hating their folded-paper bodies. Anorexics, I thought, had to be girls who achieve your standard perfect grades and are incredibly athletically-gifted, all the while going on zero calories for days at a time. Anorexics were built of disgusted strength, sickened determination, and a muddied line between self-preservation and -sacrifice. Anorexics were withered girls on billboards, stealing the sun from the beads of the sky laid before them, pressing it into their arms, and yet somehow taking no pigment with them.
I was notand am, I am not, I am not I am not I am notone of theseone of t
when jesus ate my house1. do you hate me?, she asks.when jesus ate my house in Free Verse More Like This
my legs are in my face, pressed in the
crevice, earth-break, ripping of my nose, hanging
between my eyes like an extra arm, curling
in on itself. i feel sick, dizzy; the world is
a dribbled basketball, a honeyed ham,
an empty soda bottle, a gutter and
a staircase. i could grab her face,
stretch the skin, vomit.
no, i want to say. no, no, no. please,
don't think that. why would you think
that? no. no, no, no. please, no.
i sob and shake. she wracks her
brain for reasons to hate
herself. i can't respond. my mouth
slows and my head fevers, paces.
i shiver. her eyes melt.
i am silent, fitfully,
2. my head is the new
he starts up his car; the engine rears.
my stomach roars with fitful delight. my gut
cooks up a tornado against fasting, against
eating, against being awake.
she laughs at my stupid jokes, my
silly words, my bad metaphors. she laughs and
she smirks and she smiles and she grins, a
welcome back to kansas"Before you kill yourself," I say, not unkindly, "I want you to tell me what your mother's favorite flowers are, so I'll know what to send her afterwards."welcome back to kansas in Socio-political More Like This
I wish I could help you, kid.
I mean it.
You tell me you love me while you are sobbing. The phone skips in connection when the thunder roars hungry and I nearly miss the end of "you." I am biting my nails and the rain outside begs for me to come out, asking for a retreat from this pavement and these cupped hands.
I feel like a burden on your white carpet. It molds like hot iron to my feet and I resist the urge to tell you that I'm stuck, stuck, so terribly stuck. You look at me apologetically and miserably and you begin to cry and I have to shut my eyes and let the world stop.
"Roses," you mutter, and it is silver and shaky in your hands, with a circle mouth and black air for eyes. "My mother's favorite flowers are roses."
You load and cock it.
I watch you aim.
the other sondear james,the other son in Free Verse More Like This
your name means "hold the heel,"
among so many other things,
and i think i could list them:
your eyes are funny. during saw v i saw your pupils
and i thought, hazel. his eyes are definitely hazel.
and they aren't: they are green-gray, they are gray,
they are tinted with blue, they are stung with brown,
but mostly, they are a soft, indecisive green, and your
lids are permanently half-closed, lazy, and you continuously
look like you may be waking up from a dream, and i am
continuously wondering if i was in it
i can recite things about you.
all kinds of things. your middle name is
david. your cat is a gray tabby with bright, vibrant green eyes,
and she has been de-clawed, and her name
is samantha. your bed is on the floor. when we are on the
phone and you get a text, and you sigh and tell me
to hold, i close my eyes and listen to the sound of your telephonic
keyboard, tap-tap-tapping, and think maybe i could
fall asleep to the sound, but there'd
anorexia nervosa. _part two o.anorexia nervosa. _part two in Biography & Memoir More Like This
I lean back against the rim of my bed and dig my feet as far into the floor as the carpet will allow. The panic leaves me like an ocean wave, scraping up against the sand of my head and leaving me breathless. I want to hurt something. My arms settle neatly around the other, touching on my wrists, rubbing down my forearms, clenching my hands together.
Someone should have shot me as soon as I made it out of the womb, I think, and my hands settle around my neck.
Sometimes, I broke.
There were two months where, every Saturday and Sunday, I had Poptarts for breakfast, which is about two hundred calories per individual Poptart. There was an entire month where I ate ice cream every night. The second month after I had started, late September-ish, I found that I couldn't take the hunger for very long, and I would eat a snack before dinner. This ended in mid-October, thankfully, and some of the shame subsided. I
take my hand. I.take my hand. in Free Verse More Like This
It all boils down to fear.
You just watch. Your depression, your anger, your terror: fear (manifestations of, lovers to, expectations within). I know you have these things and I know what you make of them, because no one knows you quite like I do.
You sit and you are afraid of dying and you are afraid of madness and you are afraid of losing and clutching and grasping too deep, and you are afraid of other people and their unpredictable interactions and words they expect you to reply to, and you are afraid of what the world can do to you and how little you really can do for the world, because trees grow and they die and you bury more seeds but there is nothing there, because you are afraid of n
apocalypse yesterdaythere isapocalypse yesterday in Free Verse More Like This
a massacre in the middle of town.
bobby says he saw it but i don't believe him.
mama says anyone fool enough to believe a man
is fool enough for hell.
i walk past the rain in the gas station,
the blood in the streets,
the pretty ladies combing their hair in windowsills,
daring a man to stop and watch.
when the massacre is over,
though grandpapa says it'll never end,
these women, they stop and watch the moon
and you can hear them from down the street.
i heard them. i didn't see the massacre but i heard them,
these plucked, daisy-dream women.
i don't care what bobby says, the whole world heard them.
"at least we're still pretty."
is in the kitchen
smoking seven different kinds of rainbows.
when i come out of the hallway,
he shoos me away,
waving an arm as thin and bendable as a cigarette.
i oblige, and i come home later,
a sword through his stomach.
i cannot muster an "i told you so,"
and i hide
between the laundry basket and the sky.
i went out in search of rocks.
don't tell me if the sun diesi.don't tell me if the sun dies in Free Verse More Like This
there is a drumbeat of silence
mirrored between your hands. you
massage the pit of suffering and
grace and sinew and dust and cells
and tears with echoed fingers. there is
too much for you to squeeze
between shaven palms.
(i only ask that
when my hair has fallen loose and my
skin has worn itself into jewelry,
you take me home.)
you listen to the
crickets. they sing a eulogy for the number
they have lost today.
the day i die, i will come
tapping at your window, my fingernails
drumming to find the skin
chirrp; chirrp; chirrp.
don't wait up.
for every criminal: a flower.
(pluck it in the morning,
when the dew is still on
the backs of dragons and
butterflies and monsters
and ocean salt carried inside
the wings of pigeons built to be
doves inside a cradle of space
and time and air; and don't forget
on love"Don't you worry," she says.on love in Philosophical More Like This
On my walks I collect a dandelion, at first, and I hold it near my heart, in case the seeds were to fly away, so they would be caught in the bricks and breaths of my lungs. I find a penny with the tails up but I pick it up anyway, studying the oil patterns on its back, making rainbows on its copper-color surface. I find a rubber band and when I fit it around my wrist, it snaps, breaking the circle, links falling off the chain and landing on top of my feet. I carry them home in a curled palm, sweaty with the presses of my fingers, patterns wrapped around it. My own, my individuality, proven in a system of lines and math, fine print and a treasury of stardust.
"Don't you worry," she says, "we'll have you loving yourself before the year is over."
I wonder if she knows about the bathrooms, about the area of trees behind the house down the street, about lunchtime. I wonder if she knows about my teeth and I wonder if she knows about all the rubber and fingernails
something to write about...I'd been drug sniffedsomething to write about... in Free Verse More Like This
addled & otherwise
by agents in
points of origin
hope to heart to god
like father thought
hand to fist to mouth
like mother taught
as if no one had
colored those pale
so I shook
as all good books
to the shape
you've made me
I tried to trace
as a map
but found you'd
abracadavergod is a magicianabracadaver in Free Verse More Like This
out of his hat
it's that much more
clever to speak
with your tongue
in someone else's
seeing PerseidsI want youseeing Perseids in Free Verse More Like This
in the dark
I want you
on the hard ground
in the middle
of the lake
my hips' width
I want you
in so many appropriate
I want us
lost (in) ourselves
plansI want to moveplans in Free Verse More Like This
at the rafters
of every new poem
I want to paint
of a man
covered in rabbits
I will call it
'man covered in rabbits'
(it will revolutionize the art world)
I want to
leave things be
when I believe
before they're leaving
love and justice: a blind dateI now preferlove and justice: a blind date in Free Verse More Like This
so I can quake
and curse fate
of the burden
avoiding left by
almost alright with
once you learn
riding a bike
and it seems
I never met a liar
that I didn't like
I love you's
not a sentence
there's a sort of
what's a boy
when fear's not
what it appears
intuit an intent
when purpose is
flowersandrobotsthe futureflowersandrobots in Free Verse More Like This
judging the duration
by the a-
mount of empty chairs
arranged at your
from the tulips
while their true lips
and the price
of every present
is the former you
the never pleasant
atrophy of the mindI've got two brain cells left;atrophy of the mind in Free Verse More Like This
one's standing still
and the other is chasing it.
to its tracks;
a plane crash
cut in half -
My mind is running down my face
and I can't find a cup
to catch it in.
conscious (of this fact),
of the moments
My ears fell off a while ago,
if you are still talking
I can't hear it.
to your skin,
'til you sleep
I've sewn my lips shut tight,
even if I said something
you wouldn't understand.
the way you
fiddle dee deeI will becomefiddle dee dee in Free Verse More Like This
I will make you
of my garden
pathos as a punchlineand then, mid-rinse, it hit me.pathos as a punchline in Free Verse More Like This
there's something a touch more troubling
about quiet desperation
showing its face during the
familiar & commonplace.
weeping in the shower; fully lathered,
red-eyed in the mirror;
shaving cream scattered,
small cut crowning
a procession of teeth.
crying at breakfast;
full stack of pancakes
cooling on the table.
miserable at brunch;
spinach quiche crumbles
collecting on the chin.
it's a fully realized sadness
fit to laugh at, on the screen.
it's a swallowing despair
to bear in skin.
free agentwell shefree agent in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
that she'd vanish
into the forest
for four years
come some secret dream
lent specter who'd
all conscious thought
wanted or not
in the solitude
this tiny light
who taught my
and so I
made her name
our time would hear
and I dis-
between my ears
yet the moon
often makes possible
lovers sometimes do
and we do
and we do
oh! and dreams
oh! what dreams
to who dreams
who dreams dreams
ManuscriptI have written us down, typed us up, and sent us out.Manuscript in Free Verse More Like This
they will edit us, and say some parts are no good.
but I want your run-ons, your lack of punctuation; and you are so easy
on my weak binding, my damaged spine.
Girls in the Same BreathWe are a four to one ratio of rest.Girls in the Same Breath in Free Verse More Like This
She respires like she walks-
slowly noting patterns
and the taste of the air.
(i take it in
in a hurry.)
My heart and I
have an understanding.
We run the risk of too much
at the diaphragms expense,
at my limits expanse.
The danger of burying myself
underneath the air
Black and White PhotographyYou smell like half-hearted sex,Black and White Photography in Free Verse More Like This
she said, recalling the afternoons events.
I was tired.
It wasnt working.
Our bodies- bent on the same end-
could not agree on a beginning.
On top of my bedspread
we repositioned limbs and you removed
my heavy sweatshirt.
I was hot.
It wasnt working.
Left in a black tee-shirt,
I wore a white flag and
no underwear. You covered yourself
as you quickly dressed- while I,
in fashion, lay motionless and
mourned for the stillborn thing.
Later, we bought a jar of ink
and a journal bound like a book.
I dont wear perfume, and
this smell is only growing.
The ink is like oil.
The white of our page is a new
kind of lonely.
MessianicI resonate withMessianic in Free Verse More Like This
the way she never says my name
like a Jew in prayer.
(but my Gentile tongue moves through
that lineage and is swollen fat with
I stare shamelessly
at the freckles about her mouth and
watch the current of breath
move through her body. I am
I am traveling there
(with only my hand
The Mohammad in Our HomeWhen we dont have work in the morning,The Mohammad in Our Home in Free Verse More Like This
and even when we do,
we stay up.
We stay up late into the next day. We are there
as the night changes hands. We walk barefoot on
the carpet, wash the sheets, change
the light bulbs.
Our arms are heavy with lift.
We work almost silently, skilled-
by rote and heart.
By two a.m.,
the bed corners are pulled tight over the
uncomfortable mattress, the dishwasher has hushed.
I pull your limp body from the sofa,
sometimes the floor-
you always go before I do.
Usually you negotiate or beg to stay,
but I drape your heavy arms over my shoulders.
With your wrists crossed at my neck,
Id believe in any god you could create.
Tan LinesI am very pale.Tan Lines in General Non-Fiction More Like This
Not the pretty, porcelain kind of pale-
the veiny, see-through kind. In the winter I'm almost purple.
I am very pale.
But still I went.
I almost ran even.
It's July in Texas. People go to the pool, I guess. People do outdoorsy things. I guess. But people do outdoorsy things with a white pop of slathered sunscreen, with a wide brimmed hat, an umbrella.
I remember standing naked in the tub as my mother poured vinegar down my back in the light of some old wife's tale. I was eight and we had been at Virginia Beach. I had spent most of the day collecting little pieces of broken shells, pulling them tediously out of the sand. Squatting on the shore had allowed the tide to fill the crotch of my swim suit with sand and whatever else. The tourist shops, whose store fronts lined the promenade, sold polished, unbroken shells, but they were ugly to me and didn't carry the sound of the ocean.
Later that night must have been one of the first times I wanted to die.
The vinegar fel
Stella PolarisThe little dipper is square onStella Polaris in Free Verse More Like This
your hip. You always have trouble spotting
the stars, but I am not surprised that they have
made homes in your flesh.
I knew some part of you belonged
in the sky. I had suspicions you were
Which picture are you?
What myth do you have?
Teachers to the DeadWhile we slept,Teachers to the Dead in Free Verse More Like This
you strapped your arm around
my chest like armor and possession,
like this one belongs to me. Together, we are
teaching the things that haunt us
to lie down in their graves.
Here, like this
your demons say to mine as
they demonstrate the art of behaving.
Together, we secure their
broken bodies and set them into six feet of
(but we do not follow
we cannot go in their stead)
They do not know theyre dead. Its
always a blow when we break the news.
They find themselves jealous of our
human skin and our inhaling
(we are too kind
to show that we are more alive without them
that losing them
MigrantsMy hands have been on your body.Migrants in Free Verse More Like This
They have left delicate little depressions in your skin.
We have stopped the current of time
(the digital clock on the nightstand just blinks).
Your red hair
has stained my flesh pink,
has named me yours in pastel.
It leaves war paint down my chest and
around my thighs in crooked lines.
When time finds the alarm clock
I rise a cherried warrior -
and you are a dotted line map,
a replica of our tour through two a.m. in the summertime
CompanionYou were wide across your middle, inCompanion in Free Verse More Like This
the breach at your eyes. You had a face like me-
a counterfeit of my mothers. You, listless,
settled in old griefs and lied there.
I believed we were identical,
and that the strong red marks
on my thighs were courageous.
The brave nights we stomached
in the back yard with pieces of me
in the ditch were trophies not to be spoken of.
I wondered what kind of thing you were
and if I could have you
without becoming you. Being a fine host,
I welcomed you.
I gave you bones to erode and a cherry heart
to twist around your pink tongue.
You offered me the afterwards. Ignorantly,
I used it for the titles of poems.
But this became old, predict
Miss YouThe majority of my life I never loved you outloud.Miss You in Free Verse More Like This
It all happened inside me, like a trainwreck.
Like the first moment a newborn baby is unswaddled
and wondered at. It was like
Both menacing, tragic--
and miraculously precious.
I always save the nicest part for last, have you noticed?
I do that because I think somewhere deep and resounding inside me I know,
without a doubt, that it is going to be okay. One day I will love you in peace,
With a grand, retreating sadness I confess that today is not that day.
It washes over me,
or perhaps floats, maybe, yes--it floats over me like a feather or a
breeze and settles on my shoulders.
It isn't unwelcome, or hated, or lost. It is the smell of burnt wet wood.
It is the taste of 7 up and saltine crackers during a stomach
ache. It is the sound of waves hushing and unhushing in the summer.
It is the feel of a stiff but comfortable rocking chair. I tried to fight it
before I knew how; I
When Backspace Breaks.And I loved youWhen Backspace Breaks. in Other More Like This
more than letters.
I loved you more than language.
uneducation of loveand Ive written youuneducation of love in Free Verse More Like This
so many letters
in my head,
but my hands
My Illegal StatementHere you are, over my heart like aMy Illegal Statement in Free Verse More Like This
callous, tender moment. Here you are the motif
of my literature, and every lie I have ever told,
and every truth I have ever cried out as deluged sentences upon a writhed, burning floor. Here you are my craziest oldest ageless thing. Child, elder, here you live; both cast and fracture. Here you are the evaporation. The tug,
the movement. Glass of my bones, diamond of my heart,
you are the weight and simultaneous loss. ...You are the exchange.
You are the bloom and a wide, wide death. You have gathered in me,
a reversed dream, like a japanese paragraph or a magnetic kiss.
I have nursed you. Until your lips. Are coal black... Thus you have broke
inside me like a toxin...and my veins have opened to you with a tragic,
old spirit. Willing. Please, come in, can you hear me? Speak. Have a seat. Kill
me like I matter enough to injure. Love me just once,
won't you? Yes. Yes... You won't.
However, it doesn't matter.
This is simply to say it, a
thicker than musicI know I love you. More than me. More than the coffee steam of stars.thicker than music in Free Verse More Like This
I'm clenching my teeth now- the sadness is pressed flat. It peaks in my lungs.
There is a metallic tenderness I never knew before, to the way
that when you are silent, I hear the heartbeat of your thoughts.
the way warm laundry feels
when you pull it from the dryer. Your voice is the softner,
and the blanket, and the angel hiding
in unfolded sheets. I put them to my face and smell the warmth.
Crystals. Petals. Tears, the size of dogs.
I love this sound.
It is the scent
of a violin.
you are the violin
I hold the song to me,
more than jewelry, more than
food. You are the kiss of sad
on my cheekbones. And the wind.
and on saturday's, i dream of you, and am not embarassed about this.
also on sundays. also on mondays. also on tomorrows
my chest has started bleeding white.
all the clots are gone, moonlight jessos me.
people don't know what to do. they haven't ever seen me simple
like this or happy. i laugh, and
When Day DiesMy hair falls out like a beautiful sin,When Day Dies in Other More Like This
my head, completely naked
convenes with dawn and together they get drunk
They overlook themselves. They drop all their favorite words and do not
pick them up again.
Two heartbreaks later the heat handcuffs them;
together they murdered another day.
Noons skull, the many pieces
lay fractured on the sidewalk. Suburb love is dangerous.
Before ducking into the cruiser, my head peeks
at the rest of its childlike body standing on the curb, innocent.
My head is a scandalous extension of my neck,
the rest of me doesnt wave to it. We are not friends.
I watch my secrets ride away in a cop car, sirens wailing,
and they are so very sun burnt.
to the greatest typo alive:we are moreto the greatest typo alive: in Free Verse More Like This
because when my notebooks
were ( )mpty
Loudspeakers In My CheekbonesLast evening I closeted myselfLoudspeakers In My Cheekbones in Free Verse More Like This
in the bathroom. I drew my arms around
and my lashes fell
like hinged boulders
to the floor.
They fastened upon a newspaper clipping that read:
Scientists Seeking Answers
To The Brains Formula For Love
It was a medium sized article
by a medium sized
I kicked it into the shower
from my porcelain throne,
and though my chin slept
comfortably on my close-by thighs
there was a rut between both eyes;
a frown. I dug holes into the tile
with my opinions
and the plastic ca ed;
We dont get headaches when our bones die
over and over
Burying Jump Rope FrecklesAs a little girlBurying Jump Rope Freckles in Free Verse More Like This
I was so ready to blow daffodils
into the Earths core.
But more importantly,
I felt that the world welcomed
my child mouth against its adult hills, ditches
Even the crab grass
was older than me, but I wanted to kiss bugs.
I wanted to soak in
the timeless things;
cicadas. Mulberry juice.
As a little girl,
I fed carrots to the neighbor horses
with my fingers staunchly through holes
in the electric fence. Shock only
bit me once, but after nine-volt vemon
sunk down into my stomach, splashed across my pelvis,
I left the mares alone.
I buried the carrots
near the tulip grave, where Angels bones are. Her ears
must be stiff with death now, her ribs squeaking
in the corners from embedded tire rubber.
I cried when she died, but I was angry
They should have put her back in the pen.
Of all nights to T-Ball! While I was swinging and missing, I could have been saving
my puppy! They should have told me
right away, instead of letting me c
On Being FrailIf I could step out of my own organsOn Being Frail in Other More Like This
yet still have the same eyeballs, I would ask the stiff flesh
laying in my place why their bed looked
like a baker had exploded under the covers.
Then, in order to answer myself,
I would rush back into my nerves and say, with
No one ever looked close enough to tell,
but for years now I have hugged my own body
like a lover or a coveted lunchtime sandwich.
With skeleton fingerprints, I could
my own ribs.
And they were crumbs.
My pillow is made
of bone yeast. And he