a trial hardens your skin, not your prideread out here: https://soundcloud.com/c-e-moore/a-trial-hardens-your-skin-nota trial hardens your skin, not your pride in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
I'll say this once;
you were not my idea of forever.
our first words to each other were not
profound, our first meeting was a shitty
distance call that kept
hammering to a stop, not
stammering the way you did;
commas and commas (not even a fucking
semicolon) of anxiety struck me nowhere
near poetic but that's something only
my mind couldn't quite wrap its lithe
"what's the 'chase'?" you asked, with nothing
as much as a cowering glance in my
unwavering direction. "a game you play to see
how much you can fuck me over without ever
touching me." silence ensued as all great
"I would never do that to anyone."
you followed the delicately decorated bread-crumb
trail I had set for myself, once you'd
freed me of the duty to be your temporary
solution to a smile, but it never ended.
and I was a copper-red solution too
unreactive for you to nullify.
I had you pe
~our eyes were fogged with farewells marking territories down our cheeks.~ in Free Verse More Like This
the ache felt like smoke at the edge of my throat and i was afraid
to say it loud before you said the ocean kissed your taste buds. we just knew.
maps tore apart and our paper walls built with just enough faith to last three decades broke.
it's been too long since we've been hurt with the blue of the sky and you are not the ache in my bones –
you're the crusts between my fingers when i tried to let the sun make me feel less alone.
you’re the clicking of knuckles i feel inside
and the fishhooks fumbling to pull out some pride
from arching, collapsing
(deep into your blue arms
veins overclocked from the last time
you couldn’t feel anything)
withdrawn – a film folds over, sticking
to your thumb and thenar like silken sheets
- directions dictated from throat to feet
- waxed for attraction, abdominal distention
and directions dragging my uniform
up from the floor
gibel - it's all in your headhe'sgibel - it's all in your head in Free Verse More Like This
the kind of breakdown
she saves for the holidays,
the kind of
Botox her knuckles need till
the shine of the brittle,
overthrown bone beneath
is all her rods and cones can see.
and hers is the kind of hair
that inks her bathtub water like stray
iodine crystals sublime in air;
her color is not permanent, she is
she was told her book-spine
wrinkles hitchhiked the words, 'wise'
but her eyes said
his knuckles subtended to radii-
grabbing her leaky hair,
a discarded body of
dirt any doctor would've claimed
but he knew his duties well --
to swing her lifeless vessel
till a breath of pleading air
escaped her miserly lips.
her veins bulged and screamed till their
contours marked her skin;
thirst made her pretty, the way
her cropped hair screamed unpleasant.
she was unpleasant, the dye
in her hair agreed.
breathe, he slammed, breathe but every plea
she silenced with stitched eyes, lips and
he was the
a vespertine hauntingi was once six years olda vespertine haunting in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
and i was once cradled
in the tired arms of a
who could only cry
and she'd call sometimes,
"Cass," she'd say,
"baby, i've been drinking again
and your father left -
baby, he left and i can't find him."
i'd put her books away then
and try to find the pills
she never wanted to take.
"do you think he's hiding, Cassandra?"
"no," i'd say, and tie her hands;
i was so much more
of my father than i would have liked
to be, "he told me you need these."
"oh no i don't, baby."
"yes, Mama you do."
goes the goddamned weasel,
just in her
it was silent in my room and silent
when she slept
but i was only six and the world
made less sense
to my squinted eyes and
disoriented speech because
the night was her haven -
i was her haven -
she screamed and turned
enough to make the earth's
rotation seem slower
and hours get longer
and the tick drag
fucking tock seemed more
and more interminable
than the f
i apologize for taking after youdear mom,i apologize for taking after you in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
i wouldn't know the first thing about sharing a man. i do, however, know what it is to share a part of your body that you had to let go of after nine months of being a knapsack for it. you always told me that you never really stopped being one; your hands were always full with my preschool worries and bully-stories and somehow there was yet still room for me to hold on to you.
i would clutch on to a different colored, chiffon dress you assorted to each day of the week; blue for mondays because you knew going back to school always made me feel insecure, green for tuesdays and wednesdays because the insecurity then succumbed to, "everyone is prettier than me," purple for thursdays because you said it's the only color in the rainbow with two shades and yellow for the rest because you knew the end of the week was more than just a liberation for me. it was the last day at the battlefield and i had made it through another week. it meant that yellow days are the happiest and you did
don't say nothey had said,don't say no in Free Verse More Like This
long before i met you
that the truth is known for its
punch in the gut;
it picks at the skin
on your forehead till it
peels off like the zest
of a pregnant orange,
bitter on your fingers
but so sweet
on your tongue.
is a typical symptom
of truth but
no one ever said
that you would exhaust
by the time it was
my turn to listen.
you are, you will bethis is meant to be heard: https://soundcloud.com/c-e-moore/you-are-you-will-be-by-your-methamphetamineyou are, you will be in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
try again with more
conviction this time.
my body is beautiful;
its curves ascend more than the rugged
fall like contradictions from a politically
incorrect statement, my body is the
pavement of my mind's highway but these
trapped under the debris of
(not self-esteem, that requires
a mind-heart team effort)
my lips have kissed all kinds of
royalty; my hands have polished enough
crowns and sworn fealty to the right
people. my loyal legs once opened wider
for you to go deeper but I don't like
thinking about that, I don't like
start over and this time,
my body is beautiful; have you
seen how my hipbones curve like
(when you find me stuck between your
gravestone-teeth, will you promise to be
break me homolytically?)
seen how my thighs purge out of
time-spared drawers of dreamsi. someday the sight-starvedtime-spared drawers of dreams in Free Verse More Like This
will find more than just the moon -
that i promise you.
we've seen all of what happiness
will never be and
like liquid stars in the milky way,
smiles will seep down
into the oceans of your laughter.
never mind what they said
about shady equilibrium;
it's only man's insecurity.
truth is, there is no
no rule, no eyes
watching over you;
just the forgotten remains of the
god that falls on us
every time it rains.
ii. someday, my dear,
those cranes won't just be
an exhibition of folded paper -
and those tears you cry now?
[which you hate so much?]
will leak into my arterial walls
and tell me they only tell stories of ecstasy;
we just have yet to realize.
love, it won't be long
till autumn will not be as forgotten
and between these
multiple shades of grey, will rest
the emptiness within yo[us]
and the broken smiles
of a shattered yesterday.
iii. grieve not, sweet traveler -
our draining journey has just begun.
and though you have been without comfort for s
Worn Out Siren TalesI was once the moon-rippled, crystal clearWorn Out Siren Tales in Free Verse More Like This
disturbance at shore
and you found hope, resting
on the borders of
sand and wave.
When I moved, you breathed,
It just isn't worth it,
I was carved on ship hulls for a
and I was summoned from sleep to
drown myself in the clutches
of a sea that disowned me
for one too-
and I wrote on woody parchments
for more attention than
So when you moved, I stopped,
Tell me this is eternal,
I had not.
to you, with lovethere have been threeto you, with love in Free Verse More Like This
recorded instances, where
I forgot to polish your
pedestal with the sweat
you brew to stay there
in my head. it takes far
too much of me to say
that it crumbled to debris
in four word messages
and a clumsy burial for
our dusted hatchet.
though it took three,
staggering years to
come up with a stand
angry enough to say,
your pedestal fell to its
grave when I swung our
hatchet into your
muteit’s two in the morning somewheremute in Free Verse More Like This
where it’s quiet except for breathing
that’s loud enough to hear from here.
convince yourself you’re alive;
you’re the only one that can.
here is a game we played as children:
we pretended language was something only
to be seen on paper,
we make-believed the worst injury
we could get was those made by
trees and rocks while our bones weakened
under the attacks we tried to endure
of words like, “fat” (before
we even knew how much we weighed)
or “stupid” (before
we even realized that it
doesn’t matter what 9 times 8 is
as long as no one figures out you don’t know.)
sticks and stones may break our bones
don’t tell me words don’t do any damage.
don’t tell me you don’t think of yourself as a weapon
every time you open your mouth,
don’t tell me what exactly you think of me,
don’t tell me anything, i think you’ve said enough.
let’s just be silent,
Hallelujahthere is an angel sitting next to me.Hallelujah in Free Verse More Like This
her hands are tucked like wings against each other,
each blue life-vein peeking out through
too-white, too-thin skin.
a dog-earred copy of The Great Gatsby
waits in the pocket of the seat in front of her.
any other day, that might be a metaphor,
but today it is just a lonely book
whose owner is even lonelier.
there is an angel in the plane seat next to me.
while i am closing my eyes to say goodbye to the ground,
she is opening hers wider to say hello to the sky.
her spine is bending against the metal side,
like maybe if she pushed enough she could be free.
as the plane starts moving faster and faster,
the ground tells me, “see you later.”
and as the wheels draw back into the plane’s belly,
the sky tells her, “welcome back old friend.”
there is an angel sitting next to me on a plane,
and it sounds like the start of a bad joke.
she is beautiful with spindly fingers, fly-away hair,
green eyes and a feather soft smi
you break it, you buy it.1. someone came up to me the other day, and told meyou break it, you buy it. in Free Verse More Like This
that if i didn't start using capital letters in my poems,
she wouldn't read any more of them.
i just told her in a quiet voice that i was tired of screaming
at people who would never listen.
the thing with me is that i always
read too much into things-
people, newspapers, fucks, metaphors.
and usually i fall in love with things that
could never love me back.
2. i destroy the things that mean
the most to me, and i've never gotten the hang
of writing in stanzas.
most days i walk around reciting numbers
and other people's poetry, but usually
i just count the seconds i spend falling apart and
avoiding the things that make me whole because
self-destruction will always be my forte.
3. broken people seem to have a way of finding each other.
like we work under this assumption that we can find
perfect in each other's missing pieces,
even though we all know two wrongs will never make a right
"do you want me to fuck you?" yo
count to infinity before you sleep.cause i knowcount to infinity before you sleep. in Free Verse More Like This
there are days when
it's painful to even breathe,
your throat closing up on the knowledge
that you don't know
how much longer you'll be waiting on this
band-aided, superglued planet.
every cell in your body vying to be the next to die,
and all you have to tell them is
maybe. maybe next time.
those are the days you spend
cutting rose thorns into your palms
and clenching your fists tight around
jagged reflections and prismed rainbows.
the days you realize
we're losing so much faster than we're learning.
we're maturing faster than we're growing.
adults stuck in the bodies of kids,
moving around, making the mistakes
no one ever wants to look back on.
those are the days you realize
it's not worth living here anymore.
you're using too many burnt-like sugar words
to get what you want, a mistaken human in wolf's clothing.
your lies are becoming louder than your screams,
but if the knife fits wear it on your skin.
this is the age where you feel caught between
Laurynlauryn is the best example of the reasonLauryn in Free Verse More Like This
i like writing about people.
because i have waited too long
and now i have forgotten—
because now i do not even remember
if i spelled her name right.
lauren? laurin? lauryn?
here's the three things i remember
about the girl in the back of my spanish class
who showed up late for video rehearsals,
but pronounced español like she'd been speaking it all her life
lauryn is the only person i can
remember asking me to write a poem for her.
the rest of them just sat back and thought
that eventually i would write a poem about them
that they could steal and read.
she is the only one who has ever
wondered if i had better things to write about than her.
her sleeping bag during one of the school bonding trips
was bright yellow with a spongebob face on it.
i would know, i shared a tent with her—she woke me
up in the middle of the night because she thought
she heard something out in the woods,
and "please grace, won't you go with me?"
you put the 'u' in dysfunctional1. your lips taste like spun sugar and your wristsyou put the 'u' in dysfunctional in Free Verse More Like This
hold him down like razor blades.
he is bending into you, he is breaking because of you,
he is telling you not to stop.
if you were drunk, you would mistake this as love.
2. here is the jaded world, banging on your door at seven a.m.
you’ve been the same person ever since freshman year,
gravitating towards the people who don’t care
whether you break them or take them.
you’re a slut who lost it in high school,
but at least you’re not the prude who didn’t.
1. he sits you down at the kitchen table
and tells you over red wine that some people
are made for bleeding and you take a sip,
and tell him he has the perfect complexion for bruises.
make a list of what you know of love.
fill it with whatever clichés
you’ve thought of when he rolls away from you
in the middle of the night, like an empty confessional
the morning after a one night stand.
end it with a question mark.
ask him to do the same and he
fifty-one miles on an old country roadmy sister used to tell me, “Life isfifty-one miles on an old country road in Free Verse More Like This
a journey without a finish line. Some may fall
by the wayside, but get up and keep on trying.”
on the good days, i can be twelve again
and crouched outside her door
and hear her asking God to give her a sign
that he was listening, goddammit, anything.
on the bad days, i can look back and i still won’t
be able to tell you when she lost her faith in
the thing about suicide is that
people can tell you they love you
and they can tell you that they’d miss you,
but suicide is selfish. no one can talk down
a bomb. they just have to let it explode
and deal with the aftermath.
here is how i end and it’s in bangs and it’s in whimpers
and it’s in two o’clock unanswered phone
calls and all the scissors we’re not allowed
to keep in our house anymore.
it’s in being stretched out like a trampoline over too
many people and snapping because i care too goddamn
much about people who don’t car
cinderella died yesterday"burn your tiaras,cinderella died yesterday in Free Verse More Like This
bury your fairy godmother.
it's time for you to grow up now, you're
no peter pan.
forget never never land.
stars are just burning balls of gas that are
slowly running out of time- they can't
hear your wishes.
cast aside your dr. seuss books like you will
later cast aside your bibles.
after all, a fairy tale is a fairytale is a fairytale.
life will teach you that.
grace, you were born into a role
only a very strong girl can play.
see, society will hate you for being
what they don't want to believe.
surrender your throne, your castle is under siege.
stop being fascinated with the sky,
you'll never go there.
keep your feet on the ground, and steady yourself
before you help another.
your brain is more logical than your heart,
therefore take your instructions from it.
promises can be broken as easily as can be made.
do not rely on something as weak as miracles and love-
and if you only have one piece of armor,
defend your back from the people you trust the most.
the 'd' wordwhen i was seven years old, my mother, tear-streaksthe 'd' word in Free Verse More Like This
drying on her cheeks, fingered her wedding band
and told me, “love hurts, sweetie,
that’s how you know it’s a good love.”
two days later, my father came back home.
he was missing his wedding ring
and when he left again,
he left a handprint on my mother’s cheek
that she carried with her even after the bruise was gone.
i grew up without a father influence in my mother’s world
and without a mother influence in my dad’s.
neither of them got remarried.
they had found each other and that was enough.
they had found each other and that was too much.
i grew up a thin string attaching one man and one woman
together in a way arguments and resentment could never snap.
they met in restaurant parking lots and in the bleachers
of my soccer games the way soldiers meet on battle fields,
trading me across the asphalt and steel like a
deadly weapon, a bullet hurdled back and forth.
he took me out to ball games b
Audreydear girl i sit by in englishAudrey in Free Verse More Like This
this is for you.
this is for you because you are
the dreamer of impossible dreams, and the
doer of improbable things.
this is for you, because
you balance on two legs when your life
is spinning out of control
and poetry will always confuse you.
you love fudge brownies like you love
every single guy you like.
for so long, the only thing i knew about you
was the fact that you liked reptiles in second grade.
this is for you, because
you walk around swim meets without pants
and brush your hair in the bathroom before lunch.
you're a mess of contradictions and the most
securest insecure person i have ever met.
this is for you because
i still feel guilty about the reptile thing and
you once begged me to use the line,
"you played fruit ninja with my heart" in a love poem.
this is for you because
you told me in third grade that
grace, everyone has the thing they're best at—
ady's the artist, you're the writer, mili's the smartest.
what am i? what's my niche?
A Train Station at ChristmasA hasty surge,A Train Station at Christmas in Free Verse More Like This
an impatient tidal groaning
as the waves grow
and flow over roads and bridges -
such eager kinesis.
over fluid shoulder spikes,
they set their jaws firm
and hurry to-fro-to-
Barely ContainedCurled up so tightBarely Contained in Free Verse More Like This
that bones become
pliant and shift to
fit the imposition
of paws and sharp
ears, I feel you -
humming in my heart.
That tiny little space
that vibrates with
the subtle barely
of affection – are you
purring in my ribcage?
A little ball of raw
muscle wrapped in a
softness to protect it,
a furry shell to keep
it safe. The persistent
pressure and pawing
of an impatient feline
at dinner time – that’s
the weight on my heart
and the tugging at it
when I hear your name.
An ear twitches and
ripples ticklishly on the
inside of my clavicle
and I spasm it out;
I love you --
Marinating in the Pervading Loneliness2.37 am sounds likeMarinating in the Pervading Loneliness in Free Verse More Like This
clenching your jaw
until a crack shoots down
into the nerve endings.
The crunch of bone
splitting and separating
and shearing pain
up into the naive skull,
that hoped for something else
to penetrate the malaise
created by fooling yourself
with love, with money,
It sounds like biting your tongue -
and that flab of meat
chunking onto the carpet
and violating your chin
with its copperstench syrup,
that stains everybody
the same flavour of red -
This is what 2.37 am tastes like.
Like the only warmth is from
that cyaniatic bouillabaisse
created by swallowing yourself:
your blood, and teeth,
Who Are You - I - KaniahliesWhen asked who she was,Who Are You - I - Kaniahlies in Free Verse More Like This
she panicked -
her heart blurred;
a humming pressure
behind the strikes of her ribs.
into the fizzling of anxiety.
Who am I? Who am I?
- 'Something wicked'
A Rainy Night on 17thGlitter on every surface.A Rainy Night on 17th in Free Verse More Like This
I hate the damp way it shines
& reminds me of those pretty things
that break your heart sometimes.
It convolutes my fingerprints
as I lay them on your door,
you'll never know that I was here
or what I came here for.
It'll shimmer 'til it rains again,
then wash down to the ground
but even if I was six feet away
you wouldn't know I'd been around.
The rain purifies this suffering
and washes me clean of crimes
& reminds me of those pretty things
that break your heart sometimes.
Road SideI want to have an impactRoad Side in Free Verse More Like This
that lasts longer than the life
of those petrol seeped flowers
placed ad memoriam at the road side.
Let my memory last longer
than the roses.
Shame on MeI thoughtShame on Me in Free Verse More Like This
that I could think my way
out of a brain defect.
That I could unlearn
the way my neurons fire
and the synapses wince
when someone raises their voice
that when he told me to trust
that it could be true.
That I could learn
the way that vocal chords moan
and groan, and growl.
When someone tells me to believe
to be myself
that might mean they meant it.
I Didn't Mean, I Didn't MeanI didn't mean to make you cringeI Didn't Mean, I Didn't Mean in Free Verse More Like This
when I mentioned the strength of your shoulders
- didn't want to see them fold in
to protect vulnerable organs
from words protruding rudely
out of disguised compliments.
I didn't mean, I didn't mean -
I didn't mean for you to shut your eyes
when I admired the specific shade of chamoisee
- didn't want to see you wince
as you prepared for an unfelt slap
and the long-lasting sting
of a bare, misshapen insult.
I didn't mean, I didn't mean -
I didn't mean for you to laugh
when I said that I find you beautiful
- didn't want to see you shake
and hear your voice choke
on the ridiculousness
of a misspent commendation.
I didn't mean, I didn't mean -
I didn't mean for you to hiss a sharp inhale
when I smiled at the sound of your voice
I didn't mean, I didn't mean -
I didn't mean for you to frown
when I stared at you too long
I didn't mean, I didn'
Wrapped Up In HerselfWhen she was six I came home one afternoon early and found her in my room with my box of art supplies upside down and my collection of long peacock feathers glued to her belt to make a lackluster skirt. The feathers were longer than her legs so when she backed away from me, surprised that I had come home, she tripped and smacked her head against my desk. There was an orange half moon on the horizon of the wood always after that. The funny thing was, I hadn't been angry in the first place. Seven days later she told me she had stolen the peacock feathers because she'd been learning about them in school. Her teacher had told her that peacocks were the most beautiful of all of the animals, and she told me that she wanted to be beautiful too. That night I'd tucked her quilt around her, kissed her sore little forehead and told her; you are already beautiful. I understood how she felt.Wrapped Up In Herself in Short Stories More Like This
When she had just turned seventeen I caught her again. It was Christmas and I had come home a day earlier th
your white blood cellsIn the city Safeway parking lotyour white blood cells in Free Verse More Like This
he turns catatonic. Throws his full weight
against the steering wheel so many times;
rigor-mortises his nails into the underside of the seat
into the palms of his hands until blood cracks open
like acid from a splintered vial.
I don’t know what to say to make it better.
I don’t know how to comfort someone so completely
out of the will of their own body.
I try and take his hand,
and once he takes it, he won’t let go.
When he squeezes my hand
I promise always to squeeze it back tighter
when we finally peel our palms apart two hours later,
the imprint of an angel’s wing
still carves its prayer into my skin,
God I miss you.
The Gun is ShotThere is a rhythm, a pattern, a maddening repetition to this world that I cannot and will not fathom. The watch comes at fifteen minute intervals through the night. I wake to the door creaking on its hinges, a square moon of light slipping on the linoleum, and, for a moment, I truly believe I will die here, finally perish to the silent call of the reaper: his cloak catching on the doorknob. But it is a woman’s voice that calls “checks” to the dark mass of my body beneath the blankets. I swallow my scream with my morning dose ofThe Gun is Shot in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
anti-psychotics, dumped down my throat with mucus-y water at 6 am each and every day. My head hits the pillow and my dreams tangle with the narcotics seeping through my system: for 65 minutes I am a prison mate digging my way out with spoons for fingers. 7:30 jolts me awake to fingertips that do not bleed as I assumed, and a body that aches like an untwisted coat hanger.
I drag my corpse along bleached hallways smelling of ment
JackMy grandmother fell in love with my grandfather when his skin was still yellow with malaria.Jack in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
At twenty-four, he had just returned from war, his pockets heavy as his heart, weighed down with souvenir scars and unspent bullets. Gaping trenches hung beneath each of his dark eyes like open, sore wounds, or sorer memories. At nineteen, she had not known the taste of oranges. The first time she held one, she bit straight into the pasty skin, expecting sweetness and coming up with shell-fragments.
In the pictures, my grandmother, radiant in her gray wedding dress, stands before my grandfather. Those trenches are still there, still yawning beneath each eye like caskets, but they are beginning to fold under, to fill themselves in. Standing together, they are joined by out-stretched hands, his free fingers reaching up to hold her cheek in his palm, the pale skin there blushing the softest pink: a single petal, unfolding, held erect in his hewn hands. In the pictures, it is there in the space lef
hollowPowder up my hemic scarshollow in Free Verse More Like This
and lipstick my jaundice.
I want to be healthy
Reminders to Myself1. Every time you feed the goldfish, feed yourself. Even if it's once a day, even if it's once a week.Reminders to Myself in Letters More Like This
2. Carry yourself like a house-plant. Take your body outside when it rains; open the blinds to let it sip the sun. Remember to turn yourself daily, like the world, so your branches don't all grow one direction. Don't leave and forget to take care of yourself.
3. It's okay to draw pictures in the dust and leave them for a while.
4. Couch cushions don't always have to have romantic connotations. Sometimes, they are just another quadrant of what you call home, and all they are full of is lose change, pencils, crumbs, and cough drops, and that's okay.
5. Staircases are for running up on all fours and streaking down on pillows. Staircases are for a continuation: never stop moving. Even if you have to drag yourself down screaming before you can make it back up again.
6. One day, there will be a boy whom you serve yourself up to in your grandmother's china tea cup. He will not take milk or s
EraLiving isEra in Free Verse More Like This
four months ago,
I was in the house where I
wanted to kill myself;
three days ago,
I considered reintroducing the cuts
to my hips, but I did not.
Living is the
two seconds that pass
between when I think about
the way I hate my body,
and the way those two seconds
are always enough to stop me.
Living is saying
it changes daily.
three years and four months ago,
I had never thought about eating unhealthily,
my skin was taut and smooth as tain,
and I was happy.
I am happy now
even though two seconds from this moment
suspended in the fog, I
may lay down on the floor and
make myself into an angel in the
I have laid myself
in the imprints of
I feel the ache
of my amputated wings
in the silence
I am happy now.
the ghostly limbs
of where I was before
where I am now.
It is ignoring one, and answering the
other, right call:
the one that draws me southward, home.
On Being Loved By a Transgender PersonThe first time you kissed me with your lips naked andOn Being Loved By a Transgender Person in Free Verse More Like This
stripped clean like your slim shoulders of all their shields
- nervously layered shirts and vowel sounds -
I felt my body turn convex against yours.
We were like two petals lying complacent on the wet blacktop;
no matter how hard I threw myself against the gravel, I couldn’t make our bodies
graze without feeling myself shriveling a little on the outside.
My heart was bemused.
My skin was dismayed by the goose-bumps you conjured
at your touch: slender and trying to appear strong. There was never
any part of you that I would ever be able to describe correctly,
but I still felt you haunting me,
especially when the Portland sky
erupted down on us, weeping like a willow tree.
It always erupts here;
the rain always comes pouring down
and each time I turn the corner between my dorm room
and the stairwell to go down,
I imagine I see your red rain-boots dripping dry
in that same water-marked place where they used to be.
Red was your sa
queen - 1you are not mine, you willqueen - 1 in Free Verse More Like This
never me; I am not yours, though
I hoped to be. you are temporary
and evanescent, a fleeting
crescendo of movement
of a nightingale’s wings
as it lifts for flight
and above it the moon
spins and I fall to the
cold, packed earth
and wet grass underneath
a starry-eyed sky.
i’ll try to keep you
by tucking you into my bedsheets
in the morning and covering
your exposed thighs and
bare breasts as if I could make you
queen of my bed, and regent of my home;
you’ll feel the responsibility of your kingdom,
and you’ll stay where you are comfortable,
in your throne of pillows and bedsheets,
breakfasts-in-bed and a desperate lover.
you are a nomad and soon you’ll leave
unfit for a kingdom, too unruly to be queen,
too quiet to rule, too independent to rely
on I, faithful servant to your legs
and quiet butler to your whims.
you will leave once you are done with me.
I’ll cook and wonder if it’s the last meal
you’ll taste made o
Queen - 3You smelled of oreganoQueen - 3 in Free Verse More Like This
and roasted garlic,
in the way honesty,
and baring all,
is improper and vulgar.
You were beautiful,
and you smelled
like a homecooked
meal for the soul.
You made a salad of lettuce
and cherry tomatoes,
diced salmon fillet dressed
in glazed brown sugar,
tossed with black olives
and shaved zucchini and carrots.
There were bits of apple too,
and it worked well on the palette
and though we drank beer
- a fine microbrew, you argued -
it didn't feel any less indulging
You pulled on my beard and
your lemon kissed fingers invaded
my sense of smell, you kissed me
and your lips, warm, seared my heart
shut from objections.
Nowadays you're a stranger,
but I remember the recipe for
the salad and make it every once
in a while. I'll play Sade
in the background, and smile
of the thought of loving you
and your spice ladened skin
to the rhythm of your favorite song;
Your Love is King.
driveYou’re expecting a rough day tomorrowdrive in Free Verse More Like This
and I can’t do much to help you
but keep my cellphone on
and the ringer at full blast,
should you call needing to vent.
You’re headed off to tomorrow
to be amongst people,
doing stuff grownups do
while trying to maintain a sliver
of composure and peace; the noise
will get to you, and you’ll text me
your grievances with public offices
and the assholes complaining about
the line and service, while you wait
quietly and your mom sits by the
waiting area, urging you to do
the impossible to finish
a day’s worth of errands.
I wish I could give you a day that was
yours; a gift framed with the solitude
of your own company, as you
would prefer it. I wish I could
visit you then, and break
the silence of your retreat
with the usual inside jokes
and bad puns.
I can’t, at least now now, but I’ll be around;
Until then I will, at a distance I wish wasn’t there,
tease you about being an adult and being responsible
flutteringsI can’t give you my words,flutterings in Free Verse More Like This
you own them.
You own all the words
I’ve ever used. I borrow
them in short term loans
that become eternally
marked in the ink of
The stitches at your wrist
- With their incessant flutterings –
were not mine, but I made them
my own in writing; a loan and you,
calliope inspired, wrote poetry
and called me the muse.
I can’t give you any kind words,
you’ve stolen them all from my
lips and bundled them in verses
and gifted them to me;
you called me kind, and gorgeous
and I fear I cannot say the same
by merit of my unoriginality.
You’re beautiful, and you’re gorgeous, but
I can’t write it in a way you’ve not written,
I can’t capture the warmth of a dead star
and make it beautiful and poetic
as you can; I can’t romanticize my shame
the way you romanticize your perceived
notions of what I could be as a man,
for you are a poet first
and woman later
and I was an avid reader first,
and a bad ex
fati am not handsome, but i am endearingfat in Free Verse More Like This
and wearing clothes to cover my indecent
flesh and unhealthy habits i will charm you
with witty jokes, sarcasm, and a surprising intellect;
because, who would think I’d be social
and approachable, smart, and charming
despite being fat, and unattractive?
considering the question
i dared to undress and see my body
for the first time in weeks
-sagging belly, and a full stomach ,
fat breasts, stretch marks,
and my manhood asleep
as if it were impotent
people compliment my shirts,
or my beard’s red tint
but never my smile,
and rarely my eyes.
sometimes i am cute,
and i’m compared to big teddy bears
‘cause I’m ‘comfortable’ and ‘big’
but i didn’t quite hear the same compliments
when i was 60 pounds lighter.
i am not a man, i am an overweight child
with a bad knee and penchant
to dissimulate my pain
and self-defecating humor.
my beard is a mess, but it hides
queen - 2your eyes are angels bowed to prayqueen - 2 in Free Verse More Like This
in hymns and songs of praise
to the devil.
your smile is an oath to forged
gold and bloody diamonds
worn on over chaste
neck lines and pronounced
the dimples on your cheeks
are quotations for emphasis;
you smile, but it isn’t quite
as true as a smile should be.
it is patient, unkind, practiced,
and, to a point, surgical.
you speak a notch too eloquent
and a bit too perfect,
weaving lies expertly across
the tapestry of our relationship;
all this time, knowing you
knowing me I know I might
not know you; you are a ghost
of a woman, artifice of my dreams
now made perfect according to my
desires; that is, ultimately, you;
you are not a masked woman
who hides in her grief, you are
the mask, the mystery, the pseudonym
of a lover that satisfies her needs
by satisfying another soul’s desires:
I needed a cold queen to forget
my last warm, vivid summer love
and you acted the role with enviable
skill and positively stunning effortlessnes
I Am... A Loaded GunI Am... A Loaded Gun in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
I am a loaded gun.
I am a weapon for killing. Ammunition is my composition. Ammunition is my life.
I am useless if no one uses me. I am just a piece of metal until someone takes me. Anyone can use me. They can hold me in their hand and pull the trigger. I could do nothing but comply. It seems that I can be anyone's slave.
But everything becomes clear at one single moment. I could be anyone's murderer. I respect no one. My bullets can kill any individual who is foolish enough to cross me. I can be used for murder, robbery, rape, and even suicide.
I am danger manifested...
I am no one's slave...
I Am... SupremacyI Am... Supremacy in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
I am supremacy.
I am greatness. Nothing else comes close.
I close the case on both weakness and mediocrity. There is not enough room for me to expand. I transcend the standards of the earth. I am both envied and scorned by the masses. I am not something of the ordinary. I never quit. I was born to command and conquer.
I am a testament to the greatness of humanity. I am the best there was, there is, and there will ever be. I am not sympathetic to people who drown in self-pity and inferiority. I am the force that drives all. I am not one to falter. I overcome. If I am ever overwhelmed, I do not resign. I get back up to fight back. I know how strong I am. I know I will win.
I am power.
I am the avatar of no surrender.
The Wizards Have LandedThe Wizards Have Landed in Editorial More Like This
Life is just a ride. We have been in it for a while, and some of us could never believe anymore that it is only a ride. There's money, family, marriage, school, work, crime, poverty, rape, racism, war, and so on. It seems that it really has to be real. We can feel every painful detail. But, do not fear, because it is just a ride. We will get by, but only if we surrender and try to go towards that direction. There will be no need to fear death and we can live freely if only we go for it.
There have been numerous people who have been through the ride and they try to remind us that it is only a ride. They try to free our minds and clear up our third eyes so that we may see the true side of life. That life is without smoke and mirrors, without any magic tricks and without veils hindering our vision. We shall see what we really need to see, and we shall be free from any attachment to anything superficial. We shall finally be free to live as we should.
Those people are the ones who are impri
The OutsidersAll our lives, we have been measured, scaled, graphed and compared to people, counterparts and otherwise. Throughout history, human beings have become nothing more than statistics. Life itself has become nothing more than a charade. It was whether you conformed or resisted. Those who conform are then seen as a viable member of the common society. Those who resisted become known as outsiders. The outsiders who were inferior to them and were shun away from the world as they know it and are constantly treated with disgust and disrespect.The Outsiders in Academic Essays More Like This
We are the middle children of history with no purpose or place. We have become rejects. Nothing is sacred when it comes to us. We are the targets of scorn and the scapegoats in the very end. We have not been given the respect we should have deserved in the first place. We are treated as such, but we also don't want to be treated otherwise either. Because we know that out there lies a world full of lies. Everything we see are illusions. It is not a beautif
No SaintNo Saint in Biography & Memoir More Like This
There was once a time when I never needed to worry about anything. There were no dangers lurking around the corner and I could always breathe easy, no matter where I was. I was just an ordinary person. I loved the full moon at night and the clear blue sky of a Sunday morning. I believed in the news, movies, history books, magazines and commercials. Everything was flowing smoothly. It was just a normal world.
Then it came crawling, moaning, singing and screaming to life, clawing its way into my very existence. My first reactions were that of both shock and awe. Never had I seen anything like it. I wanted to see for myself what it really was. I never really wanted to try, but I did anyway. Before I knew it, it slowly came to me with impact. I saw how the world really was. Behind all the illusions of beauty and joy, there was a creeping form of evil underneath, corrputing everything it touches. Once I tore off the fabric, it was all bare. All the ugliness was exposed for me to take in. Th
.the sea spits. in Free Verse More Like This
me back onto
the shore -
the waves say
this is not the
right tide, the
.i will bury myself. in Free Verse More Like This
outside in the garden;
like the spare key
or the dead dog,
i'm never there when
you need me
What did he do to me? 1st TG CaptionWhat did he do to me? 1st TG Caption in Short Stories More Like This
I walked down dirt road still changing. I had finally gotten away from him, but whatever he did to me was still taking effect. My hips were still growing, my butt was growing larger filling the light blue panties he had put on me. My height was deprecating with each step. I had already lost my member and watched my waist turn slim and curvy. My skin was now golden and my hair had already descended past my shoulders. I knew from the pain on my face a few hours ago that my features had changed as well. I stopped in my tracks, stumbling a little. I began to cough something was wrong with my chest. I felt something begin to protrude from my chest. I pulled back the gray top I wore to discover my problem. I looked down at my chest in confusion and awe. Two fully formed breast contained by a black bra were now on my chest.
“What the hell did he do to me?”
It actually worked!! TG Caption shortIt actually worked!! TG Caption short in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
I smile ecstatically taking another picture. I covered my mouth trying to block any other escaping laughter.
“I can’t believe this actually worked, I mean there is actually stuff like this out there?” I said clumsily walking over to my desk.
The shift in gravity was going to be something to get used to. I picked up the small bottle of pills. “This Keith is really out there somewhere and his product actually works!!”
I held the pills against my chest thinking of all the things I could now do. “I can finally be with her,” I said happily. “Oh I got to go get dressed!!”
Luke's TG episode 13Luke's TG episode 13 in Sketches More Like This
Luke's TG ep 13:- Louise's boyfriend
It was early morning and as I got up I thought I was back in my old room for a few seconds, until I turned around and saw Trixie and Julie sitting up in bed looking at me with a grin on their face's. I looked back and asked what was with the evil grin's when all of a sudden Julie open my waldrobe, I was shocked to find they had got rid of my normal clothes and switched them with really girly clothes. "what have you 2 done?" I said shocked. "me and Trixie decided your waldrobe needed a change Louise", said Julie still holding a menacing grin. "seriously why did you change my entire waldrobe? I thought it was ok." I said trying to think what they had done. "We want you to get a boyfriend." Said Trixie checking the stuff making sure everything is there. "You want me to get a boyfriend, why?" I asked. "We just feel you need a special someone," said Julie closing the waldrobe, I opened th waldrobe and looked at the stuff and turned straight to Julie pull
Luke's TG ep 12Luke's TG ep 12 in Sketches More Like This
Luke's TG episode 12:- Welcome back "Louise"?!
Once on the plane I was informed I could use the wifi on the plane I looked at my phone, I decided to turn my wifi on and connect to skype. As it started up I noticed Julie was on so I messaged her to find out what is going on now. She was not happy that I turned on my Phone and turn on the wifi, she messaged me "TURN YOUR FUCKING PHONE OFF THEY WILL TRACK YOU!!" Almost instantly I turned the phone and thought to myself oh crap, what have I done?! After the plane landed I was greeted by Roslie. "I thought you went back to the UK Roslie," I said. "I did but you called me when I stopped off in Singapore for a little shopping spree and I stopped what I was doing and got the first flight to New Zealand. I got in a car with Roslie and was taken to a Lab, When we got there I seen the logo on the front door, I panicked and asked Roslie what's going on, she turned to me and said "I am so sorry Luke, then I felt something on my back it was a tranqu