GodGod is in her rocking chair,
wood creaking as she hums back and forth.
I want to climb onto her sun-warmed lap,
breathe in the smell of air dried dresses,
May breezes caught in her floral-print skirt.
Her hands are gentle as they stroke my hair,
her knitting going still when I rest my head
on her knees where her yarn was.
She holds me as I cry.
Let Me Down GentlyI never said I was an angel,Let Me Down Gently in Free Verse More Like This
I'm a feather on its wing,
so when you let me drift
on the next western current,
let me fall slowly down,
I promise I'll land softly,
though you will not find me
where you left me.
Clair de LuneSometimes I imagineClair de Lune in Free Verse More Like This
That when Debussy penned this movement,
He hesitated with the title.
"Clair de Lune" moonlight.
Perhaps he didn't have the courage
To add an "E" to the end of her name,
Immortalizing her in music.
The gentle chords pouring
From his piano describing
The peace with which she slept.
"Claire of the Moon."
She was the embodiment of dreams.
Indeed, with her hair spread out
In messy ringlets across the pillow,
The pale, spring-time glow
Of the moon hanging heavy
In the April sky
Gently casting its cool light
Through the half-open window,
Onto her faintly blushing cheek.
She looked ethereal,
Like a flower that opens for moonlight alone.
Imbued in this music is the tenderness
With which he desired
To move a stray curl from where it lay
Draped across her brow.
As the movement sweetly closes,
She gently wakes, smiling,
As I gently wake from the scene I created.
This exists in my imagination only,
The romantic in me dreaming
With the fictional Claire.
Willfully LostIn these whispering moments,Willfully Lost in Free Verse More Like This
I take your heart in mine
and hold it fast.
You make me forget
things like flower names
and cloud shapes,
where I came from
or why I'm going,
as my thoughts are filled with..
Every crack in the sidewalk
carries your name,
and the grass rustles soft your wishes
to tangle your fingers in my hair.
My breathing drops
like the autumn wind,
would that I could,
I would throw myself into it,
will myself towards your southwestern
your dusty mesas abutting
my mountains green.
For the Man Who One Day Holds My HeartI want to be your Summer girl,For the Man Who One Day Holds My Heart in Free Verse More Like This
and August thunder.
I want to be the Autumn hearted,
colorful and always falling,
And I could be your Winter bride,
clean and innocent,
blushing on the snow,
while my spirit smelled of Spring,
smiling with the lilacs,
every kiss a crocus.
We'd be more than seasonal lovers,
but steadfast as the years and
ever-dancing with the Earth.
Summer LoveWhen I was eight I hated summerSummer Love in Free Verse More Like This
It was juice-box sticky
and every day I scraped myself
off my sheets
and poured my body into a glass.
I don't remember peeling my legs
off a wooden chair come June,
but how our hands were damp with nerves
when we held them,
how the AC on the bus was too much
so my scarf became your blanket and
we ate curry with my parents
before I fell asleep on your shoulder.
Or when you told me not to swim too far out
and the ocean was too cold,
how you got sunburned and I bit my tongue
so hard holding back
"I told you so"
that I swear I bled,
your eyes reflecting the fish at the aquarium,
how you teased me
when I couldn't stay awake through any movie.
You bring comfort to the heat.
I have forgotten other summers.
Visible SpectrumYou reminded meVisible Spectrum in Free Verse More Like This
of a stained-glass window
that sits perched on its wall
beneath my stairs at home.
Daylight doesn't measure its colors,
it only scatters them down
on the hardwood floor
when the sun breaches the
And daylight didn't measure you,
I saw you and all I could think on
were your mosaic eyes,
the spectrum of your blush;
that they were solid
and more than patterned light.
I cover stained glass with my hands
and colors vanish.
I cover you with myself
and you are vibrant.
Half-Past a Different Kind of BrokenTrauma looks like my kitchen clock.Half-Past a Different Kind of Broken in Free Verse More Like This
they are dead
and the second hand stutters,
I imagine every inconsequential twitch
is a plea for the freedom
it will never see again.
When its futile heart finally gives out,
I won't try to fix the timepiece
because after all its wasted sufferings,
allowing again such a disjointed tic
would be a deeper level of cruelty.
BrevityMy mind is butBrevity in Free Verse More Like This
a house of cards,
its contents wildly flung;
and if madness is
a monster's mouth,
I'm caught upon its tongue.
Empty GardensIt was a wine-petaled pansyEmpty Gardens in Free Verse More Like This
that my mother pruned from the garden box;
it reminded me
that I had blossomed late and wilted.
At fourteen I created pansy petals of my own,
waking up with hot-fisted cramps
and the proof I was a woman.
I was not a rose, perennial,
as I went from blooming monthly
to not at all.
I would rather spend a day
curled up like the fetus I may never carry
than flat on my back wondering
why God allowed worse women than me
to bear children.
Love is a BattlefieldI wonder if this is how a landmine feelsLove is a Battlefield in Free Verse More Like This
Is there that same metallic exhilaration?
Does the shrapnel twist into a grin,
false as the leaden skin that coats
its ticking spine?
Oh, but if only it had a backbone.
There's a countdown in your eyes
but we stare past each other
like shells in the dust.
I go off.
All my mind is a fireball,
and I see nothing but hollow wreckage.
I name it "past"
and move on,
our questions turned to casualties
in the twisting smoke.
The martyr of loveI am still a stranger in your battlefieldThe martyr of love in Free Verse More Like This
My rifle on my shoulder, I do not mean to fight
My tears cutting the ground under your feet
You stand over my bleeding body
Your cold blade dripping your way out
You stab me, once and twice, you grin at my wounds
My blood meets the thirsty salty soil
They greet, they hug, they mate under your feet
They give birth to the wild bloody roses
Where every wound blooms once more
I hear your walk away, leaving my barren land
I pray for death to push the arrow deeper in my back
To take the last hopeless breath, the last breeze of love
Bury me where the old moon was born
Let my head rest in a land of cinnamon and honey
When the white hands arrive with their remedy
Tell them all my birds left me and flew north
I do not wish to heal, I do not pray for cure
Battered and broken, my heart left the shore
AttachedI grew roots for my heartAttached in Free Verse More Like This
in every twisted chamber
Hitting the ground, deep down layers of earth
There, sleeps every vein I have
On the edges of your lipsMy soul flickers back and forth in your presenceOn the edges of your lips in Free Verse More Like This
As I drag myself on the floor slowly, barely
I surrender to the voices promising your love
And the dream of tomorrow bringing me your scent
You do not see me nor my fading shadow
I am right here, down here, take one look at me
I lay my wings over your shoulders, I take the rain for you
I kiss the flock of birds that flew over you
I swallow every thorn in your way, I turn your path blue
I hug every glimpse of fear in your eyes
I live on the edges of your lips, I steal every word you speak
I sleep between your ribs, I sing along with your heartbeat
I built my shrine between your palms, there, I pray for your love
And yet, you do not see me nor my fading shadow
Your grip on my heart drying up every drop of life
But I will not leave, if you tear me apart, I will love you
If you burn my dreams, cut my veins , I will love you
If you put out my candle, my golden sky, I will love you
If you rip your seed out o
My Rainbow bucketThe gentle touch of your lips on my cold foreheadMy Rainbow bucket in Free Verse More Like This
The soft kiss on my palms, and I wake up, I look at you
You say It's morning, you say you love me, then you leave
Do you know what you leave behind , It is not me
Now, the world is black and white, all is concrete and ugly
The walls are pure cement and sand, and open land
There are weeds growing on the bed, and I cannot leave
When the black shadow sits behind my back,
Watches, waits for me to move,
I will not move
It Keeps taking all the light,
It dims my hopes and breathes my air
I cannot look, I cannot pray, I cannot make a sound
I crawl in bed, my arms around my knees,
I wait for you
The day is almost dead, and now you are home
You take me in, you dip me in a big bucket of rainbow
You soak my every cell with every color that is
And I am me again, I can see again,
I can breathe again
And the black ugly shadow slips down
With his tiny wrinkled hands, he runs in shame
Hides behind the door, waits for th
Where the world makes senseI let my head on this pillow, everytime I sinkWhere the world makes sense in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Where all the heavy thoughts rest and the heart sings
Between the world's pain and my agony, there is a place
I close the eyes, I breathe, I rise and I'm there again
I am the same child again,chasing the summer breeze
Carrying all the colorful dreams on my shoulders
With eyes as big as the waves, and a heart where birds nest
There, where every butterfly takes colors from my palms
And the thirsty deers come drink from my spring
There where the world made sense
I am there, and the restless mind is home for peace
When you told me joy had features and a face, my face
I touch the sandy beach , and one heart is never enough
I eat from every daisy in the white field, I drink the morning dew
I cover my cold skin with sunlight and sunflowers petals
Every now and then, I let my head sink, I let the world sink
I go back where I can hug the sky and walk on foamy clouds
Where I can be a little bird, that small daisy in a white field
Under The Murky WatersChildren of the first sinner,Under The Murky Waters in Free Verse More Like This
Dragging his filthy soul at his tail.
He does not dare to look up
Where God's face resides.
Walking the earth; a pack of wild dogs
Scavenging the last pride,
Snatching what is left of mercy.
Down creatures, leeches in the murky waters.
Always on the move to a new pure land,
Hunting down every butterfly wing,
Slaughtering every young green bud.
Children of the massacre, slaves of the cannon
You have your hands down my throat,
Your knife sliding down my spine,
You say: "Keep your smile and greet Humanity"
I swallow the rocks; I wave for my brothers
I fell, I died , they walked over me,
Born to Love YouGod created trees, mountains and seasBorn to Love You in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
God blew life in the soft tulips
And God gave life to all human soul
But, before and all
God made the seven angels his witnesses
And God said: This woman is for this man
Every little creature, every rock,
Every leaf on evey tree heard God say:
'Her heart will beat to love him '
And every light breez, every sun light,
And every heart inside every life smiled
For they all knew God makes no mistakes
We met love, millions of years ago
We met before the book of destiny,
Before the heart knew how to live and die
Before you and İ
İn a time before this time,
The day immortality began
When God said : She belongs to this man
Soak My Feet In WineWhen the sun and the earth were in love, ever youngSoak My Feet In Wine in Free Verse More Like This
I was born on a full moon with silver clarity
I'm that woman who sleeps on olive groves
Who makes angels fall in love with men's daughters
And lets herself be tricked by your sweet spells
Who obeys the very impulse of her heart
Do you know who I am, where I came from ?
I live where stars grow bigger on a light breeze
Where butterflies were once flowers
Where God blessed my garden in Eden with peace
There, I lay on a cloud softer than foam
When the day splits into two halves, you see me
My steps are as light as those of a chamois
My hair running wild; wings of an evil crow
My mouth has the roundness of a precious ring
Cheeks, two fields of roses blooming again
Under my feet grow trees, and remain ever green
You need my palms, you seek my blood and fear
Before you crave for more, grant me what I wish for
Kiss the ground before me, show me your loyalty
Borrow the devil's wings, bring me bouquets of stars
I want that purple flo
A Letter to my FatherFather,A Letter to my Father in Letters More Like This
Today, It has been nine months and nineteen days since I left. Three thousand kilometers of distance. This is the longest period of time that we have been apart. I miss you, I remember you all the time. Suddenly, I remember things I did not think about before, suddenly they all keep jumping in my face, so many memories, some warm, some cold, some tough, and some just beautiful.
Do you know that I can remember the days you were teaching me the Arabic alphabet and the French Alphabet. Whenever we have a guest, I run to them and start shouting " A,B,C,D,E,F......." They smile and ask me who thaught you all this, I run to you, I hug you and I say " Dad taught me".
You took me to the beach, you taught me how to love it, this is why now the beach is where I find my soul, where my heart feels at home, where I feel a very strong sense of belonging I dont quite understand. We went to
What a Woman WantsEvery single voice inside me is calling youWhat a Woman Wants in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Every drop of blood, and every tear is asking for you
Every hill,and every twisted road on this body is begging you
Come to me, love me like love should be
Now it is all yours, taste it, smell it, just take it all
Nothing is usual my love, nothing you have seen before
This is us, what we have is nothing you knew before
Sail to my shores, I will wait for your ships
Get closer, ride me with your horses, with your swords
I need your deep voice and your cold blade on my hips
Come and kiss me softly, then kiss me hard
Touch me like a broken petal, then touch me hard
Hold me,feel every bone in me, never let go of me,
Suffocate me and take the life out of me
Let your hands find their way through me
Let them burn me, let them find me over and over again
Let the soft tip rub every cell I have, every spot that hurts
Give me more when I beg your mercy,
Take it all when I say I can bare no more
Don't you dare stop when I no longer breathe
HomecomingThe dead do not need a homecomingHomecoming in Free Verse More Like This
or an invitation -
they do not wait at the door
to be let in
or cross the threshold
with crossed fingers
and a prayer.
They do not wear their best clothes -
no poplin suits
or brocade skirts
to catch upon the lintels
or dust the marble floors.
They will not dine
upon your crusts
or marrow bones or salted eggs
nor steal the heavy coins
from out beneath the rugs .
They'll only tarry
in the hall
and make soft moan
amidst the wind
wondering why you turned
their faces to the wall
and put out
your best china.
beautyand beauty just happensbeauty in Free Verse More Like This
if you will wait
long enough -
the sound of plants
breathing under the snow,
of red petals
and green leaves
bursting on the vine
and climbing up over the roof,
the sight of rain
washing the hillside -
on the window
and the scent
that buries the laundry,
from the line
on a june morning
and how it feels
on your skin
when you first wake up
lazy with the last dream
and how she tastes -
supple and fragile,
just for you.
SeptemberThe summer was so hotSeptember in Free Verse More Like This
the dogs stuck to the sidewalks
with the newspapers
and the black metal cans
everyone left waiting on the curb.
You could smell it
in the glass pitchers
on table tops,
and the sheets that never
dried on the clothes lines;
the canvas beach bags
mothers dragged wearily
across the sand
and the ice cream trucks
melting across the highways.
Children felt it open
up the windows at night
and find a corner
of the bed to smother,
while fathers baited it on hooks
or mowed it down
in flat, dry stripes
as if begging each other
And the crickets just hummed
beneath the corn silk
and the dry mouth
daring the cats to play
hide and seek -
searching for September.
Mad ManI think I lost usMad Man in Free Verse More Like This
in a glass of scotch -
going down like
every mad man
I ever envied.
Why did I believe
your lips tasted
sweet and heathen
like the heather
I laid you in
that last night
I came home?
I had a thing
for damaged women,
and you could drink
your mother's last words
Hansel and GretelWhat kind of motherHansel and Gretel in Free Verse More Like This
sends her children out
without their shoes or coats -
nothing but a trail of crumbs
to find their way back home?
They all find their way here.
Maybe it is the scent of holidays
freshly baked inside my kitchen
or the sight of spice drops
glistering in the rampant dusk.
The children like my house -
my rich ginger carpets
so easy to get lost in
and the pink pillows
puffed and glossy with promises.
They do not notice me watching,
how my fingers slip around their wrists
to measure their meager lives
or how I can smell when
they last ate their supper.
They only smile at me
and beg for more chocolate
in greedy little voices
and ask if they can see
what's baking in my oven now.
ApartmentFrom upstairsApartment in Free Verse More Like This
she heard late afternoon
sucker punch the television
as the children
covered the coffee table
and felt the dust mop
weep in her hands
at the sight.
She found the cat
under a pile of laundry,
swallowing a sock
and wondered why
bedtime took so long
to come around.
was her only accomplice
in the simple murder
of this life -
buffering the weather in the kitchen
and choking the beds
like those last thoughts
left deep in the dustbin.
WarningThat dark twinge of stormWarning in Free Verse More Like This
unbalancing my left eye -
lover, take warning.
I came through the back door,
unhinged and savoring
all your little pieces.
You said you loved my twisted english,
the way I broke words apart,
just like daddy's enemies.
So slide me under your doormat -
I miss those dirty feet
and the disconnect
of your tongue.
You know I love how you
waste my evenings
and bring me the dangerous bits
only a lover could swallow.
ProdigalShe made hot chocolate that morning -Prodigal in Free Verse More Like This
the kind that sticks to the mug
and burns -
and baked an apple cobbler,
deep dish warm with butter and fruit,
for the prodigal had returned.
She turned out the sheets
on his bed
and hung his jeans
out to dry -
the bright flag of denim
announcing his return
to everyone on the street.
Slowly the neighbors trickled in
to wonder and gape -
offerings of spiced ham
and ale, brown bread with raisins
and freshly knitted socks and mufflers
in soft merino shades -
all bundled as if in tribute.
They wanted to see
if he could still sing Amazing Grace
in his fine tenor voice
and drink the men under a table,
his fists the only answer
left lingering in the dark.
They hoped to see
the tall buildings
in his cheeks,
and the alley's long shadows
bruising the skin
at his temples;
and maybe he had stories
birthed in wine
and women's hips that would
steam the bite
off their jaws
and make their wives blush.
For a city left its mark,
as if proof was needed
RedThere is nothing discreet about this love -Red in Free Verse More Like This
it hangs on my chest,
a defiant noise -
the scent of something luscious
stretched between your hips.
Your back arches
in a way only Psyche can feel.
You wear it
in a cheap red dress
that comes apart like midsummer
in my hands
as we flaunt the stars,
the stones under our skin
stretching the bed frame
till we crack.
And I fill you up,
your arms a battle
raging in the waning lies
Birth of PoetryI tangled my fingers in the curls of the universe,Birth of Poetry in Free Verse More Like This
pulled. The earth fell out: round, warm, spinning.
Awkward and shy, she wondered how she got here; how
a rock that got wet and grew moss could be significant.
So I scooped her up in my fingers, breathed her scent:
(lilies and oceans and ozone and forests and fish and birds
and whales and rain and the empty elegance in wolf howls)
death and life. I found chaos
and knew beauty.
Accidentat the corner of boone trails and owenAccident in Free Verse More Like This
she learned the brevity of flight:
glinting bumper for launch pad
trajectory approximately 5 feet
across the median.
as proud, as swift
as any prima ballerina
but the landing
this I keep for her -
the listless weight of limbs
defying gravity, the beastly beauty
of a body bouyant before
Desolateif you are parched tonight,Desolate in Free Verse More Like This
the pale of your lips cracked
with thirst for that which
will not claim you;
if you hunger -
the deep and shallow collapsing
into slivered vibrations;
if blindness rejects you, says
no, watch now.
this is the way of it;
if you are breathing the world
into cinders, inhaling each poison
on purpose, striving
toward an apocalypse
because that is chaos
we can categorize,
then you may understand.
In A Past LifeI was a Spanish woman,In A Past Life in Free Verse More Like This
thick hair & loose hips
browning under the Latin sun.
I tied his eyes in knots,
his belly in nooses
from which his every
I laughed like water falls
& excited his fingertips
And my sigh -
on his lips
left him undone.
Charcoal NymphCharcoal NymphCharcoal Nymph in Free Verse More Like This
Last night I saw no stars
Only dreams those whipped
The canvas of my bedsheets
Eagerly like sugarcane
They say heavenly lanterns
Upon sinners do not shine
But don't my lips pray fervently
To your lips every night?
There's a thin line between
Damnation and salvation
And it feels strangely tempting
To dance across it blindfolded
Dressed in just faith
In that your heart is true
I'm condemned, bareheaded
And longing for you
A pagan nymph
From ancient wise books
No good for your prophets
An angel for you
With purest charcoal
You've drawn wings on my back
For your passion's painted
With red and black
Where Storms Come FromWhere Storms Come FromWhere Storms Come From in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
In these arms of mine you would
Have searched for light of dawn
But in the game of love
Every king becomes a pawn
Knight's shiny armour rusts
And burning passion chills
What previously saved our lives
Now recklessly kills!
Who is now to say to me
Oh, sweet brother of mine,
Where storms do come from
And what truth dwells in wine?
Love - both punishment and crime
Slowly fading away
A riddle meant to stay unsolved
Until our dying day
Tell me how to stay whole
When it rains in my soul
Things go out of control
After first teardrops fall
Fears of past standing tall
Bleeding wounds they recall
When the last raindrops fall
Will we then lose it all?
Lose it all
I feel these walls closing in
Meant to bury hope aloud
Since when do our bed sheets
So resemble shroud?
All those sleepless nights
Your flesh arches over me
You pin me with your eyes
But what is it you truly see?
Each step on path of pleasure
Hurts more than jaws of hell
In every kiss we share I taste
Sculptor's TouchSculptor's TouchSculptor's Touch in Free Verse More Like This
Does it bring shame
To promise to paint
One's beauty beyond compare
But instead shape
A brand new piece
Flawless and too far from true?
Is it okay to measure treasures
And treasure measurements
For shallow pleasure?
Will dignity overcome gravity?
How many smiles costs serenity?
Sculptor's hands temptingly touch with disguised brutality...
Fair TradeFair TradeFair Trade in Free Verse More Like This
What if yesterday is all we have?
One day worth ten years
In auction of souls
Time's both merchandise and currency
Sometimes less is more
Though it never seems enough
Still we're keeping score
While our purses are starving
In time of need I love you
Hard and even harder
Of the bills to pay
The Sixth DayThe Sixth DayThe Sixth Day in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
What if the sixth day was a huge mistake
Chariot of fire without a brake?
A vision gone wrong, attempt ruined by hand
Of the bad seed, the ungrateful man
The twisted breed hastening their own fate
Born of lust, then only brought up to hate
Shallow caskets given too much free will
Beasts on two legs always ready to kill
Heavens keep looking for righteous souls
But madness is getting out of control
Clock's ticking louder than conscience and fear
The horns are blowing when end's coming near
Night is hungry, graves are burning
The bell tolls for death returning
Its slaves will rise
To blind the eyes
Of filth been living in disguise
Seas are boiling, black ships sailing
Air infected plague retailing
For bribing fate
It's much too late
For hellhounds sins are tasty bait
Both earth and sky have their order sublime
While among people the only law is crime
Brother stabs brother, arms have no chance to rust
Flesh made of mud will soon crumble to dust
Divine miracle of soul bright a
The Blind Man DancingThe Blind Man DancingThe Blind Man Dancing in Free Verse More Like This
May smooth curves of your lips be the pillow
On that my soul can rest in peace
Warmed by your breath, the only thing to lean on
When our human days run out of sun
In streets of town now emptied by cold drizzle
I saw there dancing a blind man
Who compared creator to narrator
And turned my longings into snowflakes
Sitting themselves down on shoulders of us both
Now closer to each other than ever, forever apart
Like dreams those came true long ago
Still haunting what is left of us after they left
Maybe he's right that love is born of decay
For sometimes it is nothing more
And still we keep it in our inner pockets
As "nothing more" is more than nothing; well, is it?
He said that he was frightened of my beauty
And he's the only one whose words are true
For what his orbs didn't see they cannot forget
He smiled and vanished in the wind which now I am dancing in
FayrouzFayrouzFayrouz in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Your soul is silent but not still
Like storm upon lavender hill
It comes from where wild horses run
To find the place where sleeps the sun
Warm winter nights go darker blue
Just like the peace I find in you
Together we sail heaven's plains
Direction changes, aim remains
Sky's wastelands and your ebony eyes
Lead me where passion multiplies
There we can hear the seahorse sing
And find the price of everything
Sands of time swallow human fate
Sweet juicy flesh is just a bait
For star-dust from the milky way
Tomorrow's memories to repay
"Love knows no border" I've been told...
Just two warm palms heart to uphold,
Eye of the chain that sets you free
When in the swimmer drowns the sea
Amber WarsAmber WarsAmber Wars in Free Verse More Like This
If stars were up to lend an ear
To just one question in a million years,
Would you ask, if they'd seen tomorrow smiling
Or how brightly you shine in their light?
Upset sky, a cauldron of blue milk boiling
Contains all "what if's" and words left unsaid;
Drawers overflow with letters
Those will one day be
Written with help of runestones
And planetary constellations
That according to some
Will put minds into the right order
Bald-headed princesses fight
Over each other's scalp
To much liking of armed jewellers
Scavengers in these amber wars
Children with empty gaze
Looking from behind trellis of barcodes,
With unclear expiration date
Genuinely identical identities
Wielded by phantoms not to be fathomed
- Thou willst not chew their names nor spit them out -
They put autographs on branded bullets
Sent to kiss sad smiling faces
Those attempt to clean the orbit
Of conscience from all quandaries
And make silence a crime
Pawns die and kill for life in peace
SeptemberSeptemberSeptember in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The rays of brightest autumn sun
A blessing sent down from the sky
On two of hearts beating like one
The shiny flames meant to be spun
And twirled into rings - they will tie
My love, your dearest soul to mine
Beyond the rest of our days
They'll seal our bond in grace divine
And in a glance they shall outline
Our future shrouded in a haze
Where you'll go I will follow you
Through joy and pain that's ours to bear
Each day I'll fall for you anew
I swear that I'll always stay true
To your love that's beyond compare
You are what I was looking for
And found you dormant in my heart
There you will stay forevermore
While I will protect and adore
You as my noblest, purest part
My darling, I do hope and pray
For that you'll never leave my side
Then vows of this September day
May guide us, light up our way
God help us by them to abide
Vanilla CranesVanilla CranesVanilla Cranes in Free Verse More Like This
The light of day cuts pretty masks
Out of stuff way too colourful
And glues them on faces of men
Who then stomp chessboard with their feet
In brothels red lanterns do shine
Gates there kept open, welcoming
Children to find their way back home
To the tower of Babylon
Pockets and wallets resonate
With choirs and gospels of the change
Dreaming of freedom and revenge
Who lives by coin, by coin shall die
You ask me "Why do birds have wings,
When sons of mortal men can fly...?"
I guess we humans aim too high
Before sun laughs us in the face
So is there any happy place
Except for our enchanted realm
Where love with smallest ray of hope
Warms time through magnifying glass?
Here kisses taste like vanilla
Sprinkled all over coffee beans;
If we fold enough paper cranes
Do you think we can save the world?
Sister, can you spare me a seashell?I.Sister, can you spare me a seashell? in Free Verse More Like This
Last week she had asked me, "Sister, can you spare me a seashell? This town it is loud, but my thoughts, they are louder. I need to drown them like so many sailors lost in a sudden storm."
I told her that she needed to seek help instead of seashells; they did not hold the ocean and could not drown her thoughts.
Then my frustration melted to see her so suddenly as I had not since we were children, when she would beg, her eyes wide with fear, to check beneath our bed before she could sleep. She was scared of the dark and the darkness never seemed to leave her.
She looked so small as she walked away without the hope she came for and so broken when she paused by the door to say, "but I have tried everything else."
I saw her yesterday,
sleeping in the shallows
with her feet
The Science of LivingWe are water and ichor,The Science of Living in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
we are air and memoirs,
we are fire and ore
and clay struck by stars.
This is the science of living.
We are arsenic and porphyry,
we are helium and spirit,
we are mercury and malady
and neon and kismet.
This is the science of living.
We are roses and riot,
we are daisies and sanguine,
we are bracken and velvet
and amaranth and omen.
This is the science of living.
Creatrix Till BirdsongDo not wake me.Creatrix Till Birdsong in Free Verse More Like This
I am not a dreamer, I am a creator of worlds.
Had I a little more imagination, and a lot more time, I could breathe you into life.
Dark-eyed stranger, I cannot tell if we are two or one.
Never wake me.
When I ask your name you curl around me like smoke, and it is I who becomes alive when I take you in.
Pulling me closer, you bring your mouth to my ear and tell me in a whisper that you are honey and sin.
'Of course', I reply.
I knew it all along.
'Come with me', I beg. 'We have magic enough. Come with me when I wake.'
You smile, but when you part your bitten lips to speak, your words turn into birdsong...
AvianYou used to tell her she had bird bones -Avian in Free Verse More Like This
it was only a joke,
but you would hold her tightly
so she could not fly away.
Now you carry starlings in your pockets
to feel their little hearts
fluttering much like hers did
when you lay your head upon her chest,
heart beating the way yours did,
before she flew away with it
as you always knew she would.
Tonight you are haunted
by a swan with a broken neck.
It is a dream,
just a nightmare,
but you know that it is her...
She has returned to you
decked out in feathers,
choking on a heart,
and you're frightened as hell
at how god damn beautiful
she is in broken symmetry,
but you find relief in your fistfuls of feathers.
She Is DeathShe is Death,She Is Death in Free Verse More Like This
but not Release.
She is Madness,
but with Purpose.
She is Malady,
She is Plague,
and her dance card is never as full
as the posies in your pocket,
or the stars in your eyes
[or the ashes in her hands.]
Evening for RosesFavonian perfumeEvening for Roses in Free Verse More Like This
in the darkling gloom
brightens the twilight -
Oh! Sparks taken flight!
Petals ride the wind,
as if freedom sinned.
The little love notes
on the kissed air floats
to my window tonight.
Seared Lungs Sing SweeterSeared lungs sing sweeter,Seared Lungs Sing Sweeter in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
so burn, baby, burn.
I'm a child of fire.
I yearn, how I yearn!
Don't give me flowers;
I crave gasoline.
Charm has no powers
over this machine.
My bones are matchsticks -
let's turn up the light.
It's time to transfix,
watch me spark the night.
So come, let us burn,
with no time for prayer.
We'll burn, baby, burn
with ecstatic flare.
Let us die tonight,
die a thousand deaths.
While we're burning bright
smoke will be our breaths.
Come, set a fire,
a blazing nocturne,
here in my bier,
and we'll burn, burn, burn
upon a pyre
of deep desire,
glowing like phosphor
in sweetest rapture.
Lover, come closer,
I promise you'll learn
seared lungs sing sweeter,
so burn, baby, burn.
The Importance of Gold FlecksHereditary.The Importance of Gold Flecks in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
I learned the meaning of the word when I was young on a summer afternoon. Too hot to play outside, I was sitting with my dad on our blue couch with the small white polka dot fabric. In retrospect, it was probably a tacky piece of furniture, but love is unconditional when you are small, and I sure did love that couch. I remember my dad watching Winnie the Pooh with me every Saturday morning on its spotted cushions. That day, though, we had a conversation about eyes that I never forgot, and even then, its deeper meaning was not lost on me.
"Daddy, your eyes are green like a cat's," I said.
He smiled, and told me that mine were also green, but unlike his, they changed colors. "Sometimes they are blue. Your eyes were so blue when you were a baby! Big and blue.... Someti
UnlabeledYour stitching is too bold, sir,Unlabeled in Free Verse More Like This
I was not made for this.
Misjudged, I do malfunction
under labels wrongly wrought.
The threads will snap inside my skin.
My nails are sharp
and they will rend
this flesh for freedom.
You may always try again,
though have a care
Their concrete limbs cannot move
and flow the way I can.
You underestimate me.
Place me in a box
and I will always carve a door.
GangsterHe was full of [broken] promise[s]Gangster in Free Verse More Like This
[rain checks and train wrecks]
He had a thick [suit of] skin
made by [others'] scars
from vicious [love and] wa[regret]s
[that he can not remember]
He was [not] a man,
[just a boy] with a bright star
and his impressive, three piece
pinstripe suit [of skin],
with double-breasted pockets
[to hold hearts that don't fit in his glove box]
and hand stitching along the lines of his brand new sleeves.
combatantI.combatant in Free Verse More Like This
it strikes me
that this woman
could be a palace.
I marvel at
the opulent dome of
her brow, her arch
skin like a courtyard of
a thousand intersecting
golden lines about her
head and neck.
she beams from atop her
beatific and beautiful,
spreads her arms like
invites you to be one of
who have wandered her
I’ve often thought
as a castle:
all rough-hewn stone
a temper like molten
my head is crowned
at the crenels.
I look out from my
guerites, my brattices,
eyes like arrow-slits
and a murder-hole
for a mouth.
I wouldn’t blame you
for choosing her
for regarding my fortress
as too daunting,
for deciding easy acceptance
better befit you
than proving your worth—
I could forgive you
for being a coward.
but you swam the moat,
killed the guards,
scaled the battlements,
demolished my fortifications—
an open letter to depressionsuicide princess,an open letter to depression in Free Verse More Like This
I think you're half in love with me:
the way that you
follow me about, grab at my ankles,
tighten my veins
would almost endear me to you.
and in a certain masochistic way,
I nearly welcome your knock on my door,
the steady clink of your
instruments of torturebecause
who would I be without this
to carry around?
but sometimes, dear,
you impose too much.
it's all well and good
to write the occasional
poem, to hold you by the hand
of a Saturday afternoon
when I have nothing better to do
than indulge your caprices
but you're not an amusing
pet, a fashionable idiosyncrasy.
not to me.
you are dust in my lungs,
haze in my eyes,
the frantic screaming of a
behind my voice at all times.
when you get too heavy to drag around
you simply pull me down.
would you care to count the days
that you've shackled me to my bed,
without the will even to open my eyes
and see you?
I am not your plaything.
please, leave m
mandate of Heavenin the interimmandate of Heaven in Free Verse More Like This
there is nothing much to
don't misunderstand me:
I only mean that,
between the fall of one empire
and the rise of the next,
there is always
some spurious strain of hope,
a period of
between body and mind.
in these times,
I am lying on the bathroom
with my head at the sink
and my feet in the bath,
letting the water
figure out the balance
systemhe said that one day I,system in Free Verse More Like This
who have grown accustomed
to accumulating moons,
drawn like moths
to my Venus-brightness,
would meet my match.
he told me I would be
captured by the brilliance
of a star,
a Betelgeuse, a behemoth:
supergiant turned supernova turned
supermassive black hole.
he informed me, peeking out
from under my gravity,
his erratic elliptical orbit,
that one day I would be
and that it would be poetic justice.
Andromeda Callingsome dull scrapeAndromeda Calling in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
over a pretty face
give or take
to put me in my place
swallowed by the sea
isn’t it a pity?
I’ll break my chains and then
(queen of queens, ruler of men)
I’ll stake my claim over whole galaxies
foolish to think that you could offer me
a mouthful of stars
and a handful of batteries
by fits and starts
we’ll conquer their batteries
over messes of artillery
see their scales gleam
I’ll break my chains and then
(queen of queens, ruler of men)
I’ll stake my claim over whole galaxies
foolish to think that you could offer me
I won’t be your scapegoat
I don’t care
whether you sink or float
I’m not interested
in playing the maiden
I’ll rescue myself
I’ll break my chains and then
(queen of queens, ruler of men)
I’ll stake my claim over whole galaxies
foolish to think that you could offer me
nothing like the sunit occurs to menothing like the sun in Free Verse More Like This
that I do not love you
as much as I should.
your voice is not
musical to me,
is not by far
my favourite sound:
I prefer the skeletal
tones of a harpsichord,
the rustling of the pages
of old books,
the wild clanging
of a projector
winding up its film.
nor do your eyes
hold for me
visions of the stars,
in all their fierce, deranged
intensity: I love the sight
of a massive, gaseous
more than that of your
the touch of your hands
sends me in no quixotic raptures
that the lazy fronds of a lily
or the crushed softness of velvet
skin is skin, and quite frankly,
I've felt better.
I have no such love
as is described by the
old poets, those masters
of drama and artifice;
I wonder if I am
incapable of it.
relapsethis, I think,relapse in Free Verse More Like This
is the way that empires
there are sometimes
but I will not go out
in such an explosive fashion
my second death
is preceded by decline,
slow and inglorious;
erosion working its
upon my architecture.
the difference is this:
disaster is unprecedented.
it is a noble sort of way to fall,
at the hands of that which
you could not control.
but I am allowing myself
to crumble to dust.
the forces of entropy
have not strengthened:
I have simply stopped cobbling myself
will discover my ruins
clef(t)any violinistclef(t) in Free Verse More Like This
could be a neurosurgeon
both possess a certain
dexterity of hand,
a delicacy with
(and love for) their
a joy in manipulating them
to create form
both can calm nerves,
with a swift and decided
twitch of a finger.
listen1. I shouldn't havelisten in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
to explain to you that my body
is perfect just as it is
2. the only thing
that I will ever wax
3. women have large breasts
and small breasts and sometimes
no breasts at all
4. I am not defined
solely by my reproductive organs
and my relationship to them
5. if I never hear another
solitary word about my weight ever again
I'll probably die happy
organistI’ve tried too hard to bridge this gap:organist in Free Verse More Like This
the space between my fingers,
vague, insipid emptiness,
the quiet, profound longing
of an unturned page.
you come to me with all the languor,
all the midnight captivation
of a cup of over-brewed tea,
a corset laced too tight,
a strict and unassuming wish for death.
somewhere in the world, someone
is unaware of your language, your
beauty, your music’s
arcane flutter: but that place is not here
and that person is not me.
here, I play memories
like a poorly tuned violin:
splendid, fearless melodies,
my violent, untamed love for you
lost in a Frescobaldian fugue.
Old SoulsDoc says I’m an oldOld Souls in Free Verse More Like This
soul, with my postcards
and letters, and waste-no-words
policy. Doc says old souls still make eye
contact instead of playing with iPhones,
mirrors that stare back, and tell
us who we are by knowing
who they are.
Doc tells me I’m an old
soul in a young body, taming
wild Internets and bringing my words
to heel like a triple score
in a game of Scrabble.
That I was born in the wrong
decade, that I was meant to punch
typewriter keys like a boxer,
that the twenty-first century
wasn’t made for old souls like mine.
Doc thinks I’m too old
to be twenty-three, constantly forgetting
the barriers of my few years.
Like that I never wrote about myself
until he gave me moments
worth writing down, and cared
about the person behind the words.
That I learned who I was by learning
who he was, and drew a timeline
of intersection points where each
node became a poem, and each poem
became a stepping stone.
Doc unearthed an old
soul in my notebook.
Old like a favori
SynestheticSometimes I taste test names;Synesthetic in Free Verse More Like This
Anita – sharp citrus
for the ann-i,
a tortilla for the taa.
Brad – I like
its weight; a slab
of marbled chocolate
melted on my tongue
before the last letter.
Charlotte – something
savory, but sweet; pork
marinated in honey
on sweet rolls.
Doug – vanilla
a dusting of graham
an Oreo with no filling.
Elena – spice
and heat radiate –
eh-layne-ahh – a corona
the second e.
Fletcher – it’s syllables
mesh like mashed
potatoes, lumpy yet
Gladys – dried
lemons and stale
Spree candies, rattling
inside and empty pitcher.
Hawthorne – brackish,
the leftover remains
of a magnificent feast,
the apple still stuck
in the boar’s mouth.
Imogen – lean
and stringy. Green
beans and chicken
broth at a small,
Jules – red velvet
and hot peppers, a week
old cake with hard
SuperimposeHe doesn't look like a gymnast. He's all button down shirts and frazzled grey hair framing wire spectacles, a picture perfect professorial archetype down to the very tips of his frayed shoelaces. But he was a gymnast once, or so he tells us, and I believe him because he smiles like he knows something while he's chatting before class.Superimpose in Sketches More Like This
It's strange to see that image superimposed over the current one the distinguished professor in pressed khaki slacks and a jacket, worn brown loafers exuding a faintly courteous manner (you can always tell them by their shoes), and a ring on the fourth finger of his left hand versus the athletic kid who went to college for a semester and grew nine inches too tall to keep doing what he loved so he took up a tennis racquet instead. Gymnasts don't wear suit jackets; no steel mill worker has such manicured nails. But the images are all there, flickering just under the surface and bubbling up again when he's recounting stories about his days in Pi
SuffocationI found a vintage denim jacketSuffocation in Free Verse More Like This
in the bottom of my mother's closet,
underneath a black-and-white montage
of shoebox photographs with burned edges.
Like she had been trying to asphyxiate
the memory of my father
but kept coming up for air.
Loving a WriterWhen you read their work –Loving a Writer in Free Verse More Like This
and it is work,
and you will often come second to the job –
it’s best to know which pieces are fictions,
which ones are wishes,
and which parts are for you.
CopenhagenLet’s meet again in an alternate universeCopenhagen in Free Verse More Like This
where your eyes are brown and I dyed my hair black
because I hated being a natural blue.
I’ll teach you to play guitar
and you’ll show me how to fly,
scholars caught in an intellectual love affair,
a tandem bike going nowhere.
I’ll know you by the gentleness
of your fingertips and you’ll need
no identifier but the slant of my handwriting,
because, world to world, some things don’t change.
Autumn was my first love.October, I follow you -Autumn was my first love. in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
from the magic lights of New York
to moonshines in Georgia,
until the colors dissolve.
The anxious poetry of autumn
made a memory of me.
Here’s to things I take for granted:
country road thunderstorms.
Unspoken words, unwritten ideas.
October, I follow you;
I thought I saw you on the shore
where the river runs through gold
on the last boat leaving the city of a hundred spires -
or perhaps Pittsburgh
(it was the lights I guess).
Here’s to the things we leave behind:
sunbeams in November,
letters addressed to no one,
poems, wounds, dead birds.
I’ve got that summertime sadness.
Maybe you’re gonna come back;
we’re changing our ways, taking different roads
and loneliness knows me by name
but October, I follow you;
without you I’m a winter heart,
a love story you don’t want,
a November shade of grey hunting ghosts
in cities that sleep inside our heads.
You told me you lied the night you kiss
He doesn't write poetry anymore.He doesn’t write poetry anymore,He doesn't write poetry anymore. in Free Verse More Like This
even if he still collects it, reads it, saves it, treasures
faded verses from his wife the way connoisseurs
savor vinyl over metallic rainbows on disc.
I don’t mind not knowing, but I can’t stand not asking.
The record needle hits the groove wrong;
he stumbles over words that aren’t there,
rummaging for an answer he doesn’t really have.
He doesn’t write poetry anymore
and his confusion is strangely endearing.
But there’s a lyricism to his words that I love,
poetic lines inserted between the daily grind
of character names and who said what;
voiceless boys in white and draymen carting the dead to saltwater lakes,
elegiac undertones that haunt historians and forlorn painters.
He doesn’t write poetry anymore –
except when he does.
CornerstoneGod became a pastorCornerstone in Free Verse More Like This
for a little church in the backwoods
of the South, nestled
somewhere in the Ozarks where
there were more squirrels
in the steeple than seats in the pews.
He rebuilt it from the ground up,
starting with the foundation He
poured with help from a member
in the construction business.
He bought nails and lumber
from the nearest hardware store;
the shopkeeper’s son painted
smoothed baseboards a pleasant
off-white while He worked
on the roof. The oldest lady
in the community brought aloe
for His chapped hands; her daughters
made sandwiches for the hungry
workers while their children planted
posies and peas in the garden.
When He was finished building,
He removed the weathered sign hanging
at the end of the road. The little ones
painted a new sign with stars and hearts
and tiny handprints pointing the way
to the Dogwood Homeless Shelter.
AmberAmberAmber in Free Verse More Like This
had a golden waterfall of hair
and tawny eyes that glowed like lanterns
on the cusp of a quiet evening.
The wind rustled through pine needles
and dangling windchimes
in delicious counterpoint
to her honey-drip song and
that went down like crushed velvet and feather dust,
uplifted away from my grasping fingers.
wallflower clippingsthere's scar tissue in her throat,wallflower clippings in Free Verse More Like This
swollen around the words she never said;
dark rings around her eyes
like planets unremembered, and
a staleness to her touch,
the crystalline Dead Sea.
she's living like a story
that's already been told
"if no one loved you
would you mean anything at all?"
in that moment,
we forget to exist.
Addressed to Jane Doesome nights I like to tear my veins out, individuallyAddressed to Jane Doe in Free Verse More Like This
like flower tendrils waiting to bloom and
string them up in the sun I never got to see;
violet memories, severe and sharp around the edges
like the day her eyes clouded over. blooming
purple, precious thing, nurtured by her inability to say no;
I wonder what she’d say when she saw the spaceships
steal the sky. she’d raise her bloodless palms
to the empty heavens and ask them to take her, too
(these nightmares are a self-diagnosed
expiration date, I wake to the sound
of your wildflower heart mourning my
goodbye. I still wince like there’s
a war being fought between my bones;
the history books won’t remember the way
death knelt and cleaned my canvas
skin, kissing my forehead before
abandoning me to lose in peace) dear
nameless, the numbers stamped on your wrist are not
an identity. on nights such as these, I swallow your voice
like a shot of whiskey and string myself out like you,
the porcelain savior, hollow,
Storybook AddictionsI want you to love me as much as you doStorybook Addictions in Free Verse More Like This
the thorns in your side; seeds planted and
forgotten and bleeding cyclically.
when the swallowed night drowns and
drains darkness like a trickled lullaby, I want
to be the last thing in your dreams.
I want to be your mistake East of Eden, your lack
of redemption; when they tear apart your paper
flesh with metal claws, I want to be the one you
come crawling back to with bloodied knees.
[right now I am an empty vessel, unfulfilled
and metaphorically obsolete. I want to clear
my throat for once, without seeing the ashes
of my disease.]
I want to love you like a swansong;
breezes make your bones ache and
I am always cold-- no one wants the
wind: it bites and they identify my
prickled flesh as its invitation.
[I wish I weren’t the pendulum
around your neck, counting the days
until you’d finally leave]
I only ever wanted you to love me.
on becoming alivethank god for sleeping pillson becoming alive in Free Verse More Like This
and the man who gave me a bag
to quiet my mind.
thank god for boys with open hands
and curious minds and naïve hearts
who make me young because
god, you birthed me old
you birthed me old,
so I could be the one to
measure the livelihood of stars
while the others made
their childhood wishes
thank god I have a mind
that runs a million miles faster
than I ever could, because
I believe my heart is an hourglass
of honey and grime, and
I’m slowly running out of
time, and I fear
these days are numbered.
thank god for people
who write the words bleeding in my heart
without knowing I exist, thank god
for beauty and my understanding
that I only exist in relation to it
and in appreciation of what
I can’t become.
thank god for my rebirth
because I spent all those
eye-opening years of my life
sleeping behind the wheel, thank god
someone was there to wake
me up. (thank god that I can
weep for happiness and depression
in the same day,
ColorblindI gave away my name todayColorblind in Free Verse More Like This
and it might be a metaphor, but I think
we only remember the quietest suicides
the walls are thin enough to listen
as the angels try to scratch free;
bloodied fingernails and God says everyone
screws up, sometimes
I'm waiting for a silent night.
I only ever believed in solid ground
and depressions' tides, and sometimes,
those little wounds I nursed deep
within my vocal chords (because
my voice is dying, too)
I can see the beautiful people, now
overdosing on their own opiums of
self-acquittal and dissolution
they ran out of ways to ask for help.
I'm fragile, but my glass ribs
aren't holding much
and I'm through trying to find something
different, because it's scary to know
what exactly's the same
yesterday I was someone else and
tomorrow I'm further into inevitabilities of
who I promised I'd never be--
I'm waiting for a happy ending,
but if you love something
you let it go.
defeatheredand this is where we bury our hearts,defeathered in Free Verse More Like This
between self-defeating personality disorders
and burnt bridges and midnight ramblings
we promise ourselves aren’t true;
embedding our memories in forsaken homes
like it is a conscious decision to shed
our wings (reptiles don’t fly)
and maybe I am the monster of every
myth: wide-eyed and jagged toothed and
looking to regain a piece of myself the
world borrowed, many moons ago
as I falter and stumble over my own unaware
feet, wreaking havoc, reeking of self-acquittal--
all I ever wanted to do was belong.
dreams are flaws much like the hearts we
flaunt on our sleeves, and I seem to
have lent all mine away; I am
something entirely ignorant, in the dark,
believing fingers fumbling can find answers.
they never told me reflections are backwards
and the world spins the wrong way and
hurricanes are really an embodiment
of all our own withdrawals:
but one day, these walls will crumble,
and I will learn to breathe in dust.
Justifications and Salted Smiles"I don't think I'm holding on any longerJustifications and Salted Smiles in Free Verse More Like This
I'm diving in.
I wish that you would see,
there's a magical land at the bottom of the ocean
where waterproof lungs let you be
everything you've dreamed.
You can bury underneath the sand
and not be found-
it's the land that's been promised to me
in late night whispers
and burnt tears
wasted on things that don't matter.
I know it's real,
broken minds can't lie
and I can feel it in my bones-
there's something more.
What other reasons would we live for?
They say you inhale saltwater
and exhale enlightenment.
The waves pour over you
and finally make you clean (pure)
No one knows where you are
so your problems don't follow
and neither does time.
It all fades away
until you disintegrate
like your worries.
You can only get there
with a heart that doesn't beat
because humans' empty brains
You need to be all the way gone
I want to go and find myself
and live the dreams I never had.
I swear, it's not that bad-
RestlessI’ve been living in the same breathy dreamRestless in Free Verse More Like This
for too many days now; I’m bed-ridden and
stale and I reek of those moments that come
full throttle like a car crash on a winter night
this is evolution where weak hearts
are afraid of the shadows and where
an apologetic wind births no remorse;
he will move on—anchored ship
set sail, I am the sunken wreckage
that never learned how to swim.
he will move on, Darwin says
I never had a chance
I wish I were the textbook sadness,
symptom and solution and endurance
but I’ve spent too long sleeping on the
thoughts of shooting stars and gravity
and reasons, scientific calculations with
thrice-checked proofs for the skeptics
that don’t believe in the sleight of hand magic
reality wants to imply
I am not the insomniac writer with
better things to do than sleep; I am
the heavy bones afraid of what
lies in the darkness beneath
the skeletons of childhood monsters
Comatosethe clock rolls backwardsComatose in Free Verse More Like This
say hello to cold floors and breathing
ceilings and sleepless nights,
a snowflake city down in flames
and a humming monotony --
fingernails never dug deep enough.
you're stuck on words like I love him and
I miss him and this is it and I
love him I really really love- it's
better to have bled than ghosted
out into the
those are your thoughts suiciding themselves
under the smother of night, no
veneers can hide your
lines- time carved
you a new face and metered
asphyxiated and strung out by
your own needs, at least you had
to write it all off,
but not before you tore the wings off the
weak-willed sparrows and cried
bleached eyes and too much black
liner cover the fact you can't
anymore, you can't
the world and it shouldn't see you
you're sick of butterflies melting on your
fingertips and fairydust that's only of
dreams long dead, and
you nightmared these very days long ago- of
love as a hoax and siphoning smil
Ephemeral1.Ephemeral in Free Verse More Like This
i wake up and tear the sun
from the sky like this is a
grade school art project and i
am supposed to share something
worthy of myself-- i think
there is a black hole nestled
betwixt my lonely ribs,
devouring anything alive.
on days like these, my greatest weakness
is weakness and i am my own fatal flaw.
we live by mantras and my ears ring
‘i hate every piece of me’
(he put his head to my chest
and heard me dying;
call me beautiful now)
we are the false ends of sunken
universes, we are pieces of
dead galaxies and you are
stardust, god, you are
i believe that this is all just a dream
by someone with an imagination
bigger than the word “no,” that we
are pawns in a game not worth
remembering, but when i’m with you
i never took kindly to things
that required codependency,
the uncalloused portion
of my frostbitten heart
but god, you are