CrispTell me you love me
the way you love the sky when it rains.
Would that be a lie?
Then move on, move away,
let my clouds thunder
and my blood pour,
I am sick of this weather
but I'm even more sick of you;
diseased with a molding horizon
dancing along my hips,
I am ready for winter
so let it snow, bitch.
And sometimes that's all there isOnce there was a young girl who believed in three things: breathing, dying, and true love. Three basic things, that shouldn't be too difficult. What she didn't realize was that they are all intertwined. We breathe to escape death, while we also breathe to die. Then true love gives us breath, but true love lost causes us to die even slower and painfully so. No, she did not know it then but she most certainly does now; for she has breathed and loved and died all at once and then altogether. Inhaling only to exhale, breathing only to love, and loving only to die.And sometimes that's all there is in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
i want you because i shouldn't want you at alli want you like i want succulent strawberries dripping over a white lacy dress,i want you because i shouldn't want you at all in Free Verse More Like This
i want you like i want complete silence on a sweltering august night,
i want you like it's dead rats melting over hot gutters and then it's your hot guts on my body.
i want you and your collarbones tied to my strings of saliva,
i want you smelling like you're some wild wolverine with incisors as sharp as rose petals,
i want you broken and bleeding just so i can nourish your wounds.
i want you dangerously close and always so,
i want you angry as you are passionate,
i want you in ways i don't even understand.
And I will Always be the MoonWe have gotten so attached to these days and these months,And I will Always be the Moon in Free Verse More Like This
but a deer doesn't know a Tuesday from a Thursday
and a caribou can't comprehend that it was born on a September afternoon,
but they can understand this instant, this moment, this breath,
only now, no longer the past, and only the future when they get there,
there's a healthy lack of awareness in that,
escaping the fear of death but thriving off the instinct to live,
everything so primal and based off gut reactions,
I guess you could say ignorance is bliss,
but ignorance only actually applies when it comes to humanity,
oh I would like a life like that,
one that is organic, tangible, and ripe with bloody berries,
one where carnal creatures run rampant,
one where we rise from the dirt with muddy thighs
because we were bred into these earthly bodies
to hold seconds in our palms like newborn children,
and to throw our heads back and howl against the awareness that we are dying,
for oh this skin is only our host,
I let the water take controlIt's been awhile since I've been underwater,I let the water take control in Free Verse More Like This
so I drew myself a bath
and let the water rush itself into the tub
like blood to the brain,
as it pooled into the fiberglass basin
I felt the tides start to rise
while the pond I created began to
encase every limb,
my lips brushed against the water
in a liquidated kiss
and my blonde locks melted into the sea
as if my name were Medusa and
my strands of hair were snakes,
but my body dissolved into what it used to be,
I became the water and the water became me.
The Art of ForestryIf it were only appropriate to speakThe Art of Forestry in Free Verse More Like This
of a single touch, of what it means,
of what it feels.
Our forearms graze and so I hold very still,
I never want to lose a second of
you against me.
My entire being shivers along the
shores of your skin
and all of my nerve endings are electrified
when I imagine our relationship evolving into
lilac limbs, freshly kissed lips, and
lieing next to you on rainforest floors.
We create a completely nuclear reaction,
a mixture of fusion, friction, and fascination.
So believe me when I say, oh boy I love you,
I really do,
yes, I want you so,
closer than tires upon pavement,
and like a car you turn into me,
and like a car you take me places,
you even take my daydreams to extraordinary realms
where I wake in the midst of the woods,
the air is slick and crisp
and I can feel your muddy, autumn hands
dancing along my flaking, fir tree flesh,
the dirt runs damp between our toes
and we become nothing but creatures of the forest;
living off each other's lo
Tick, TockTo be honest, from the first day we met I knew you were going to be important to me. I don't usually get struck by people the way you struck me. Now it's more like the way you make me tick and I'm sitting here wondering if you even look at the clock. Tick, tock, tick, tock. That's the sound of seconds thrumming by alongside my heartbeats. I can't help but think that I might love you and how ridiculous a thought to have. How am I supposed to know this when I don't even trust myself? I'm second-guessing, under-estimating, and over-thinking. I just get lost in the way your touch takes control, causing me to lose any capacity to think, at least rationally. It's like the whole world vanishes and I'm sinking into your skin like sand. You take me away from anything real and that thrills me because I'm foolish and it scares me because it does. My common sense has dissapeared in your arms and my worry in your smile. That's why it pains me to be this patient and I don't know if it will ever be wTick, Tock in Emotional More Like This
waketrembling lips,wake in Free Verse More Like This
can't breathe, at least not steadily,
paint me turquoise
or be the forest to my fire,
actually I'd rather you were nothing, at least nothing to me,
now I can feel nightfall coming upon the manifestation of a July moon,
so let's let those clouds burst and rip wide open
just as though the clouds were my organs and
the rain were my blood.
I'm Not Ready to Let GoYour fingertips carve melodies into my songbird skin,I'm Not Ready to Let Go in Free Verse More Like This
carbonizing my charcoal bones
so I can write sonnets on the sidewalk
with the ends of my chalky joints.
Oh how your grazing hands
Your propane eyes
burn me up,
your toothy smile
ties me down.
I hold my breath
because these moments are fragile
as they are finite,
and I close my eyes
because love shouldn't be this ugly
or this hard to find.
as we become ghostsThe air is smooth and thin,as we become ghosts in Free Verse More Like This
running over my shoulders like buttermilk,
curling wax fingers
and smoke escaping my oak tree bones,
I don't know where I'll end up yet but
I know I'm close,
and I know I'm close because I'm still breathing,
inhaling that charred floral scent
where dahlias are breeding in the curves of my collarbone
and lilacs are blooming between each vertebrae,
intertwining with every rib, climbing them like strands of DNA,
oh you know I wouldn't mind if you used my ribs for a ladder,
go ahead and use me up like some sort of construction worker,
for my body is yours to take, my heart to break,
but I should let you know now that this love is a disease,
it will leave you in ruins with teeth like Aztec tombs rotting inside your mouth,
and it will leave your hands forming empty circles in the sky where the stars should be,
but all of this is okay because when we're together I can see the moon in your eyes
and the sun in your lips,
when they dare form a smile, your kiss
know your mind and your heartsome people are like second skins. the banter, the familiarity, is home to my tired soul and i am ready, always, to slip into that second abode and live out my life within its mobile security, to lose myself within another person's confines.know your mind and your heart in Emotional More Like This
yes, i am strong. and yes, i can make it on my own, but that doesn't mean that i want to. i want a home outside myself, i want the freedom that comes with their actions-- i want that second skin and no matter how many other things i control, i can never rein in this want.
the quiet musings of an almost dead womani feel the world. it weighs on me in the empty hours between dusk and dawn, the hours when the birds are nested and the grass can do no more than whisper beneath the touch of the wind.the quiet musings of an almost dead woman in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
i feel the world and it is both new and old, both stillborn and throbbing with well-lived life, and it is heavy with its own weightlessness.
i feel the world but the world does not feel me; i do not feel me. my skin is a prayer to the soft curves of the oceans and the hard ridges of the mountains instead of a testament to my being.
i feel the world echo within my confines-- i feel myself become the world.
within patchouli's gracecandle girl, your sparkwithin patchouli's grace in Free Verse More Like This
is more than a flame:
your essence is not sadness,
but the dusky tones of rose
amidst sandalwood and sage --
a cacophony of life has been
let loose in your soul,
filling your stardust skeleton to brimming
with hope and possibilities.
echoes spill from your lips,
and there was a time
your fingers shone
with potential, your toes curled
with joy; it is in you to reach--
find your centre, burn the stars
in the wild land of your heart,
learn the cry of the eagles,
travel the great depths of life
on a whale's tale and come home,
flushed and breathing,
to spin your tale.
an end to boys like josephthe problem with boys who paradean end to boys like joseph in Free Verse More Like This
as ghosts is that they force your
heart to leap into your mouth
so that you're too busy choking on it
to tell them the bitter truth that
courses through your veins;
they stopper your reality and slam their
fantasy down into your bones until
they ache and thunderstorms rock your soul.
a year later, when their
arms are tired from pressing you down,
you're too lost to find your
way back to scream; too tired to
stir your battered bones and fight
for a right that has always been your own.
but year by year, their arms
loosen and their eyes distance themselves
from you and finally, your lips are red
instead of blue and your bruises have
healed and you scream, and scream again
just to be sure you've been heard.
you spit fire into his wounds and exorcise him
from your soul until you can stand on your
own two feet and make your way back.
he lets you, and you feel the sti
don't name your daughter eleanorit's 4:06 a.m anddon't name your daughter eleanor in Free Verse More Like This
eleanor has developed an
complex within her stardust confines.
oxygen shimmies, lung
glitter on display,
into the hidden places between her lips.
an owl screeches and
it tears at her inner workings until they
grey rust and breed dichotomy.
anxiety triples beneath
the weight of the moon and
presses on her temples until they collapse.
the world touches her irises
and arches its belly into her memory
until she wakes coherent and pale.
it is 6:04 a.m and
eleanor has developed a taste for the
falsehood within dreams.
#3 (my love was born still)i remember the colour of your hair the day that you were born#3 (my love was born still) in Letters More Like This
and the way that your eyes gripped like vices,
refusing to see anything more than your own inner sanctum;
i can still hear the first, curdled cries you let loose into the world.
i remember holding the talisman of your birth against myself
and hearing your gurgling as we drove,
desperate to find relief at the end of yet another road.
i remember the curve of your mouth as you ate softened apples,
the way you struggled to fit your fist between your gums
and the saliva that coated your fingers when you finally gave up.
but mostly i remember the ways i tried to love you,
and the ways in which i managed to fail.
i won't run from this quiet fatea quiet storm crashes onto my calves,i won't run from this quiet fate in Free Verse More Like This
half empty and needing,
and the sun has swallowed herself
out of pity,
and out of spite for colour.
decay chews at me,
gnaws at bones already brittle
and watches as they splinter into
coral and catch on the breeze,
swept by thunder into the arms of the storm
as my flesh and flowers wilt together--
and this will be the time when god
buries me in his neverland,
fears dismissed and anxieties
lessened into non-existence in the half-light.
poem #9 - jealousyshe had the most beautiful blue blousepoem #9 - jealousy in Free Verse More Like This
& i admit, i wanted it;
i wanted it so badly that when she laid
herself on my bathroom floor & wept,
i took it & pressed it
tightly to the rivers on her thighs &
once she was gone, i wore it
until it faded to the colour of dead pine needles
& never thought of her again.
#1we have lived within close proximity of one another for years but it has never been peaceful and now, when i am twenty-one and vacant, all i can say is that you have driven me from grieving for never having had your love, to the silent insanity of not understanding why i should have to try to earn it at all.#1 in Letters More Like This
catch a falling star, put it in your pocketthere's something about those little brokencatch a falling star, put it in your pocket in Free Verse More Like This
dreamer girls with misproportionate promises
and lingering whispers,
who walk like angels, lost, and trying
to find a way back home;
whose hearts bleed abnormally loud
and resonant- those girls with
shadows like ghosts [dead and haunting],
that make them a flavor
to taint your tongue.
if you listen close, you can hear the
unraveling words that once knit the hollow space
between their bones,
you can hear their shallow sighs like
sun sets for a final time.
you can hear their ticking time bomb lungs
and you can touch their secrets, because they
wear them on their skin. not like wounds,
more like sun kisses or wispy tattoos
ingrained into who they are; you won't know
what they mean until you connect the dots
and find answers in their questioning stares.
they'd like to remain something unknown, because
they've identified the world as a disease- vile and
insidious, with the capability of sinking
underneath your flesh and changing who you are.
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.
Poets Always Lieambrosial fabrications arePoets Always Lie in Free Verse More Like This
easier to swallow down when
incandescence is a blessing bestowed
only upon those with silky tongues.
deceptions are beautiful
in the right words
because they are salvation, like a
rapture, they save the sickly,
self-indulgent souls from those
tragedies they used to write on the insides
of childhood notebooks about who
they could never be [themselves]
they rescue them from tremulous
corners and closets, hideaways
where they've grown too akin to
the demons they nurse; and drag
them into a land beautiful enough
to wear light as a second skin
(where lies are never discussed
but always shared)
are so much more comforting
than the absoluteness of reality
because self-resentment is as
natural as a heartbeat to those
who were born breathing and
abhorring and denying all from one
steady gasp of what the existent world
had to offer to them
back then their eyes opened, and
their fingers fumbled, born, they realized
the world wasn't as pretty as promi
Amnesiacsmaybe you forgot how toAmnesiacs in Free Verse More Like This
wake up without screaming.
she smiles like a broken dawn
and the meek will inherit the
earth, if they don't drown,
first. she's barely breathing;
trying to grow gills because
it's only in the state of dying
that we adapt.
and you won't see the colors
pouring out of her chest, you
won't hear the ebbing swansong
she hums so quietly.
you didn't come to be reminded.
you inject a little further, a little
closer to the heart. numb.
(she died the day she
was given a name)
she made you promise never
to be a number, or a majority;
she made your heart beat in a way
that made you think you were alive,
but you can't believe in anything
that lasts longer than a minute.
you shut down. fingers
close around an empty bottle,
a flaccid tongue writhes
and it tastes bitter.
she's too close, you can hear
her thoughts unwind, you can
taste her mistakes. it's too real.
you were never human, you
tell yourself so you can be
convinced it was never valid.
she's too close and
Idylliche always spoke of the romantic stance in a smokerIdyllic in Free Verse More Like This
whose every gasp was like a suicidal swansong, he
wrapped himself up so tightly in unwarranted wishing, when
they stripped him free, he then stumbled into the sunlight
and burnt [out]
no one laced his pillows with lavender and moonbeams
and all the other things that call dreams out from
hiding; but he still prayed upside-down overdone
every evening for a falling star to find its way
instead, they surrounded him with [a grain of]
salt circles like curses to draw out the weaknesses
temptation had embedded in him, because
nothing beautiful was ever built atop a rotten foundation
(one exception: architecture of shattered resplendence)
and no one ever got anywhere by treating the
thorns in their side as a reminder to remain
more prominent than the injuries they would inflict.
he's broken (he does not reflect) he wanes and worries
as his heart choruses "not enough," ever-growing
as his fears acclimate and his pulse sings- some
Almost Perfectthe sun is melting away,Almost Perfect in Free Verse More Like This
we call it romantic when
all good things die quietly;
I feel like I’m always transitioning
through different levels of sobriety:
spent up on the people in my life
like the girl who doesn’t remember
my name and the boy who thought
I was joking.
(I will care for myself, and
then the world will stop and
spin in the right direction;
the mirror will blur and
I will finally see me,
unfiltered and beautiful)
I just want to believe
that somewhere there’s a boy
ready to sing my bleeding ears
with a cinnamon voice, he
will tell me I couldn’t
possibly be human: something
otherworldly, a moonmaid with
starry eyes come to make
and it would be almost perfect,
floating in that jagged gap where
devotion seems to breed and
where I could finally sleep,
untouched and sober.
don't forget to let me go(the worst thing I’ve ever beendon't forget to let me go in Free Verse More Like This
is an accident)
my words have no filter and I am
too many apologies bound
together by the stringent belief
tomorrow is worth more than today—
remember that summer when I was
beautiful? all covered in amber fog
and delivered like a dream. I was
a porcelain promise, a lavender
whisper, a breathtaking cancer,
and so many other precious things
I just want to go back to that
time where I was unmolded by
mistakes and words unsaid
(it was never you
I have spent too long trying
to drain out every tear from
the ocean, my love,
simple tasks are for the
weak of heart, it was
I am still beautiful at night:
a perfect collision on a road
going nowhere, (please
do me one last favor
and remember me.)
Keepers of My Hearti.Keepers of My Heart in Free Verse More Like This
you are in love with being in love
like you're caught on the train tracks,
tied down by want, waiting for that
insistent collision to
steal you away into the land
of concussions and self-medication
and hearts that barely heal
and stories confessing the notches
in your bedpost, the lines in
your smile. the sour note in your
liberally dissonant melody.
you did not want tangibility
cotton trees cascading and butterfly
innards, serenading clouds and
(until the sky came crashing down
and you reoriented the earth)
you did not want me
I am solid and as notable as
the ghosts sleeping in your ears,
their snores telling time as
the days blur together
I am not of starry kisses and
back porch promises-
I am the wrong kind of accident
on the train tracks.
I am broken,
(but not in the right way)
I am real
these are the things we carry with us:
a knife in the side and a
cramp in the lungs; a longing
in the mouth for words or tastes
or people or something m
Nighttime Ramblings and InsufficiencyYou drop your jaw,Nighttime Ramblings and Insufficiency in Free Verse More Like This
and you pull words out from
hiding, deep in your throat.
You wretch up a mass of
unfiltered, unedited, reality
because you believe that's what it is
to be understood.
You leave a trail of mutterings
wherever you go
no one will ever want me
it's not enough
and i'm sorry, i'm
so so sorry
Do you remember the difference between
a shadow and a ghost? (the world ends
the day the sun won't shine)
Instead of sleeping (maybe
tomorrow won't come if you
don't say goodnight) you wait;
you will not be remembered, and
that is the scariest part-
you were never loud enough.
i'm so sorry
The night presses too hard,
pulling you down, even though
you plead for one more day to prove
you aren't just passing through.
In the margins, you breathe:
expired warningsI hate to break it to you but we're all betting on the day whenexpired warnings in Free Verse More Like This
your nightmares will swallow you whole and you won't
remember how to open your eyes. we forget your voice,
it broke and no one buried the pieces. we're giving you up:
secessions (your ribcage is a civil war, your heart is the victim.
there will be no memorial; there are only red flags)
obsessions pick your bones dry, vulture needs, vulgar
mortality argues at least you're not alive
at least you can't see us anymore, counting the knots
in your neck and catastrophes in your mouth. in
your summer cage you were a soggy butterfly bearing
a cumbersome cross. now, we leave you naked and
seizuring on winter's doorstep as the little lamb who
never loved enough.
they haven't paid you for the dreams you pawned years ago
in exchange for a little sleep, no, they tied more rocks to your
ankles and begged you to fly - they said they traded your
misformed hopes for something a bit more fitting, a solid
dose of reality with a hint of self-h
the biologist.prelude.the biologist. in Free Verse More Like This
i’ve found you many times
written in the frays of an
old biology notebook;
blue was your favorite color
& you lived between margins
of summertime grey. you loved
the idea of science & studied each galaxy,
nebulae, & cluster of stars
as if they were your own. you had scars on your
fingertips & chipped teeth,
but you still managed to smile
even while you were trapped beneath
i’ve found you many times
carved into the canvas of
you never once left a cut
that i couldn’t bandage &
overlook. but i do miss your
familiar sting, your hollow name
etching crests in my
irises. helpless, are the spirits
you once prayed to,
yet here i am:
just as helpless as you.
body & chapters.
i’ve found you too many times
splayed across my living room
eyes adrift in an ocean of
melted fire that trickled
down your young throat
so many times. though i can
recall your heart
entombed within my ribcage,
speaking against my wants
& hating me for
ocean, suicide.let me slip forward, off the algae-ocean, suicide. in Free Verse More Like This
covered cliff, so i may rejoin my brothers
and sisters in the waves;
so i may cuddle the sunrise and mourn
the dusk at dinnertime. i swallow blood
by mere chance, the meal a
steal to the shark
nibbling away gently at my wrinkly toes;
eulogizing and crying,
froths embracing my face, tears a foreign delight
to my tired eyes.
the sea and i,
are one. a mother and child,
anthem to appraisal, living to death, contrast
b e a t.
jaws of ocean sweetness snap shut, holding
the fingers of sugar and
saltwater still at my throat’s opening,
bursting through my lungs
in the end: remain! air, not water; no,
air. i inhale the tempting brook, choke;
c l i m a x
the physicist.phase one: heartache & alcoholic beverages spilled beside her (the girl).the physicist. in Free Verse More Like This
equation: a sleepy girl that understands
loneliness & hurt ^ years of being alone x a physicist,
trapped under debt & a wanting of physical contact.
i’d never entertained the idea
of leaving the scars along my heart
without stitches or hydrogen peroxide,
though now that i know
the eyes of our cosmos,
a vast & oddly blue universe,
i can say i’ve tasted chaos,
& precious damnation
all mixed into the mimosa of my
very existence. i can say
that nothing had ever felt so good
than letting the fibers
of his irises stab my heart,
yet heal me all the same.
we are but a single stretch of life,
smeared across our
twisted up in gunpowder
that would never ignite during our days
spent in the countryside,
cradled in the arms
of the milky moonlight
as my fingertips trace butchered
russian over his hipbones.
& it was then i learned, as my cracked
antithesis.before you let your dandelion lipsantithesis. in Free Verse More Like This
caress mine and let the sun
fall below your
there’s a wasteland inside
my chest that
needs some light.
heart of nuclear waste
in a convenient cage of broken
fences, fragmented and rotting
shrapnel for teeth under this
angelic guise. my eyes – cigarette
burns to the atmosphere, to your
sky-blue ozone tucked
intimate, those parallel universes you
but my blood is a biohazard,
the radioactive words i spill about ending war
and metal lodged in my
harbors, inhospitable backdrops
in my nation’s waters and poison to my pain,
in my steel jaw that unclenches
sedatives; somehow we gas children
alive, leave regions devoid of life
lives full of stress
and disorder, countries wracked with
elapsed atomic memoirs.
the remains of my existence
splattered across a pink-pale slab
ruptured down the middle like the fissured
fingernails and the
mouths as the clouds inside
the mortician.january: when i was stupidthe mortician. in Free Verse More Like This
enough to embark down the
path of death.
mortician, teach me the ways
of understanding death
a bit too close
to the broken clock
in your equally as broken
mind. i have grown
quite fond of the
smell of formaldehyde,
of the citrus oxides
you deploy to
deter suspicious neighbors.
i want to sleep
& dream of a body all my
own (& maybe for you too), to forget the
scars that caress me, but what i
isn’t always death’s
cup of tea. however, it always
seems like it’s your pleasure
to show me the books on
burials & committals & cults
skirting the ideals of the bible
to better under the world’s
bible of empathy.
so i sit,
split in between an existence
bent on our nirvana,
or an afterlife sewn
into the paper-thin-morale of
july: when i finally realized
that love is real
even in the presence of death.
mortician, teach me how to
smile without my
skeleton wilting under
underage armageddon.listening to blood drippingunderage armageddon. in Free Verse More Like This
off your own fingers is surreal;
a pandemic for gods,
insult to injury
upon the wanting mouths of cracked
concrete as the acid rain
falls to split its skin,
to end the world;
“ a p o c a l y p s e ”
into the ears of our children.
(to spew a more terrifying
our lungfuls of air
no longer taste like air.
it’s your pride we smell,
our intestines we rip from our bodies,
to rid our beings of your
from our eyes, the notion of your
skylines of souls,
of my cherishing your precious
& forgotten inside
my belly. “i’m sorry,”
cannot heal the 10,000 cracks
you burrowed deep into the
of this nation
without even giving us the relief
of breaking the cycle.
wallowing in tiger teeth,
& lizard scales to adorn your
fragmented couplets about
broken heartstrings &
poisoned clock springs:
a direful nexus t
contagion.louse:contagion. in Free Verse More Like This
monogamous disease, sleet in my belly
over my lungs. climbing flowers
to itch my skin,
to bleed my wounds;
fluent in vernaculars of hurt and
paying for all my sixpence weddings
as the honeymoons
tear away at my constant need
for instant and passionate
eyes tender, fuzzy vision, no –
dreams projecting behind my eyelids,
tears hanging from their necks
sharp lashes: suffocating.
i push the infection out
with fingers in my throat, by melting
my soul down and
so that the illness will
dispel. hooks in my seven hearts,
scales on my collar
and a broken spine; ribs of
and a virgin stomach full of offspring:
the ghost of jupiter.it felt like drinking stars,the ghost of jupiter. in Free Verse More Like This
touching your silver
nebulous tongue to wrap & coil around
mine, inhaling your
suddenly slithering up my thighs.
your hands are cold,
eyes a dim, misgiven chasm.
but your heart is star-fire,
your chest a nursery for earths;
telluric jupiters resting on your
ablest & chapped
that i always thought tasted
like the moon
covered in milky mist (or
how it might taste).
you hold amid your ribs
the potential for another
an intergalactic thread of bodies,
comprised of molten words
& rosy locutions.
(the flimsy fabric that
cradles the fingers of our idealistic,
yet so tragically realistic
is rotting away, like old
paintings in the
corroded, spiral stairways
we call our DNA.)
but with your lips of moon-dust,
& your heart of dead stars;
your chestful of remote &
your irises sipping the celestial
tea of our universe
as it releases a final breath:
maybe you can change
the course of this distraught future
the sea lies.between scylla and charybdis,the sea lies. in Free Verse More Like This
i can only wonder whose
lips taste more like saline kisses
and less like misplaced misery. that could remind me
of broken impossibility, that could
allow me to lie my books of yearning poetry down. i
slumber in stories, of wishing that
when i hum to the ocean
mermaids and sirens would come to
seduce me, to steal me away –
hearts sink like stones in freshwater
when given too much
love and thought; though love itself is like freshwater
in the overbearing presence
of saltwater and
a shark’s blood.
waves speak to me, lapping for the sandy
shore: hoping for a child’s
fingers to appreciate its surprising
warmth, its hurtful sting
on freshly cut skin.
i slumber in stories, unrequitedly,
like breathing; painful when the
moon is high, and easy when
the whales sing their lonesome songs.
and someday, if the weather is
right, maybe penelope will let odysseus
leave home again
on another voyage to the great beyond. to lead the sirens
to me, to lure the
seven hearts.how long will it beseven hearts. in Free Verse More Like This
till i can ravage
your open seas,
into your silvery
like the sirens
that once sang there?
i can dry my eyes
with the seven hearts,
you wear on your t-shirt;
of the arctic
against my heat.
history writes itself
when given a reason
to set sail &
lose all reason,
in the tides,
my sun &
8 things optimism taught mei. I told him I wouldn’t write sad poetry if he gave me a reason, and he gave me three, pressing kisses to my temples, letting his shoulders lean against mine like trees into a breeze.8 things optimism taught me in Free Verse More Like This
ii. He told me that some poems don’t need words, beauty doesn’t always require eyes. He told me there is poetry in the slats of light encased within our interlaced fingers, that there is beauty in the slow passing of dancing minute and hour hands.
iii. I told him that I only saw poetry in the stamps emblazoned within my passport. He said that I was running from so-called misery, not stopping to see that sadness was a mesh, a filter, over happiness - that it was temporary, removable, transient.
iv. I told him that I only saw beauty in a woman sat in a café across from her handbag, as if it was the love of her life. He said that the beauty lay in how she thought the crumbs left discarded by her coffee cup spelt her soulmate’s name.
'Almost' is almost enough, isn't it?You echo in every lyric, blinking'Almost' is almost enough, isn't it? in Free Verse More Like This
with every beat, I am spellbound
and you are not quite mine, but
close enough to touch, close enough
to kiss. And I am not quite yours
but my pupils are dilating and
my feet are turning and nothing
holds me quite like your words,
quite like your tanned arms.
2. YouI have fallen in love with a poem2. You in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
the red roses blooming over your
knees, the blue violets threading
and coursing through your veins
I have fallen in love with the haiku
of your fingertips tapping syllables
down my vertebrae five, seven, five
I have pressed my heart like a bookmark
between the curled pages of your body,
free-verse freckles scattered across the
line-break nestled in the gorge between
your clavicle protrusions, stanzas faintly
whistling in the gaps amidst your shaped
ivory teeth, two eyes rhyming with mine;
I have memorised the stream of consciousness
murmured into my mouth as we kiss, as you
whisper spoken word lullabies into the crook
of my arms, hands bracketed around my hips
as if I am the metaphor crafted by your simile
smiling lips; the image ghosting behind words
I start to think we are the closing couplet of a sonnet
but darling if you were a word, god you’d be purple-
love, you are a poem,
etched in an alphabet
that I don’t understand,
that I can
And so the lion caught the lambMy friends told me it would be painful, told meAnd so the lion caught the lamb in Free Verse More Like This
how they regretted the who and the where and
the why. (mostly it was the who, that drunken
swagger translated into love, those wandering
hands into trust) but I never expected bright
sunlight, sober lips meeting with a quiet sigh
as your mother tongue slotted itself back into
your mouth (I couldn’t understand a word but damn
Turkish is beautiful) and I never thought it would
be halfway around the world with a boy who was a lion,
feline eyes heavy, ivory teeth sharp but when you walked
into the room how could I not realise before that your leonine
mane translated into beauty, that your hips were meant to be the
first to kiss mine?
It will be a hell of a story to tell, and my children
will call me lion-tamer as I laugh (and I will read them
the tale of the thorn in the lion’s paw with a smile) and you
will roar from the depths of my memory with startling ferocity,
vivid in my mind as black eyes stare back at me on the other side
Doubts fester like diseasesI feel like he is the anchor at my heelsDoubts fester like diseases in Free Verse More Like This
and his trellis walls are feeling more birdcage
than shelter and I am feeling unsure where I
once was certain.
Hunting starsThe reeds whistle and sing in the golden afternoon. Everything is stained with sunlight, coated in a warm honey colour that makes him squint to see properly. Around him, cicadas chorus louder and louder, reaching a crescendo just as the sun begins to melt into the horizon. The light scatters over the still lake, lotuses leaving liquid gold ripples echoing over the water’s surface, washing up his bare feet as tides. In his shadow, the waves are dark ink, spilling up his paper skin. He sighs, raking his fingers roughly through his tousled mess of hair. Eyes half-lidded, he lets his thoughts unfurl with each exhalation: the image of her smile, her frown, her scowl, dissipates into the drone of insects. He can picture her, legs set wide like a compass in the lake, her face blocking the sun’s descent so that the rays can only disperse around her silhouette. She is sick of him, her voice continues to whisper hoarsely through the reeds, she is sick of his job coming between them,Hunting stars in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
NapowrimoI have spent thirty days and thirty nights breathingNapowrimo in Free Verse More Like This
poetry, inhaling images and exhaling similes. And
now my bones are tired, hands raw, this pen empty
of all ink and I will spend storms waiting for the next
inspiration to rise above the horizon and capture my
captivated mind, will wait patiently for the next poem
to flutter in my lungs rather than searching through the
overgrown foliage of forgotten memories for scraps of
somethings I can string together free-verse and
scattered like migrating birds. I will wait, I will wait
for the April showers to pass and for the May sun to
call its siren song over waves of sleep and awaken my
inner author once more.
Spun sugarwords aren’t enough to explainSpun sugar in Free Verse More Like This
the feeling of your arms around
me at dawn when only the birds
can see and only the floorboards
can hear, as your chest rises up &
up under my spectral fingers, the
only time I feel real is when those
russet eyes catch mine, when you
whisper in turkish, I am a ghost in
the dim sunrise, melting into your
open mouth. I am spun sugar, you
are beautiful and the birds sing, a
floorboard creaks, the light slides
through me. Dreams chase & hunt
and I am an inconsistency in your
memory until you wake up; I wait.
Touchin the dreamless dark my eyes cannot discernTouch in Free Verse More Like This
where your staircase spine curls to,
where the mortar cementing your bones ends;
sounds are distorted, fragmenting through the ivy vines
weaving between roof tiles, you are derelict.
i cannot taste or smell, cannot hear or see,
all i can do is touch, fingers exploring the brambles,
the barbed wire fences around your heart;
all i can do is reach for the dead roots of rotten willow trees,
hoping they will curl around my fingers, bark scratching against my skin;
all i can do is hope that each kiss can plaster, can fill in
the gaping maws ripped through the walls, that my legs tangled in yours can
reweave the threadbare carpets, light up the chandelier glowing in your eyes;
all i can do is touch, feel the cobwebs disintegrate against my chest
and hope that one day when you are habitable once more,
you’ll invite me in.
(you asked me once why i kept my eyes shut whenever
we held hands but i can’t explain that
i can't recognise you with
Black and white movies play out in technicolourI’ve never been with a boy before himBlack and white movies play out in technicolour in Free Verse More Like This
who makes me want to listen to frank
sinatra, who makes me believe in old
hollywood films but he holds doors open
for me and doesn’t grab my wrist or my
hair or my ass and I never realised before
that that mattered so much. but this boy –
this boy has a 50s charm, table manners
and pianist fingers. suits suit him and ties
tie tight up to his top button, he brushes
up like a polished dress shoe and I've never
felt more screen siren than when he turns
to me with his moonriver eyes and asks me
if I would like to dance, or if I would like a
drink and this boy, this boy, this boy – this
damn boy has taught me more about
dignity and self-respect than any self
help book ever could and this boy, this
damn boy kisses my palms, my cheek, my
temples before my lips and his pianist fingers
play lullabies along my vertebrae and I have
never felt so big band soundtrack than when
his pupils dilate like trumpets blaring and
FireShe rules the heart as certainly as she rules her art,Fire in Free Verse More Like This
measuring and proportioning everything
into the image of perfection. Her hands draw
and quarter the contours of any shape
she can touch with her fingers, a talent
men gladly pay to see--at which point
she pins her eyes on their features,
ready to make everything they offer
into another piece for her portfolio.
She infuses plasma into all their veins,
burning them all inside out and setting
their fiery forms into clay casts
to make the metal statues with which
she decks her atelier. I'm telling you this
because it doesn't matter
whether she looks hot or cool; if they're dry
both fire and ice burn.
Across the WaterHopping over muddy puddlesAcross the Water in Free Verse More Like This
I returned to the place where I was born,
a particularly sorry-looking set of apartment buildings
overlooking a courtyard with a decommissioned bunker--
it's a midden heap now, like the overgrown victory garden
that had defeated and overrun it, my childhood playground.
There used to be a buzzing classroom there,
with more preschool children.
The wall my father helped to lay down
to keep the hallway from getting too drafty
was shorter than when it was built,
the top bricks gone missing.
Some nights here when I've no time to sleep
I look out of my windows westward,
remembering the buildings in that courtyard--
to me they'd appeared much higher once--
across the ocean.
Foolish foul-ups...Foolish foul-ups will not be tolerated,Foolish foul-ups... in Free Verse More Like This
the yellowed grass demands his greener self,
as if the only color worth seeing in the meadow
was the deep vibrance of summer.
Keener observation from above
discerns worth in every shade,
a lesson learned at night
when everything is cast in black.
The rainbow is not made of individual colors--
each one is an aspect of the whole.
you lied the night you kissed me.there is a thick exhaustion in the pit of my stomach, spreading to my shouldersyou lied the night you kissed me. in Free Verse More Like This
till they hang and to my knees until they buckle. and I will sleep for days on end,
and when I wake up I didn't really.
I hate you dear, I hate you so.
because there is so much to do, I could travel to the other side of the country and
paint a portrait of a stranger and I could sit on top of someone's roof and look at the
stars with a boy I don't want to know and I could fall asleep in his bed and listen to
him playing guitar without clothes and he'd take me out for diner and anywhere I'd
want to go and we'd have sex in his car and on the trampoline in my back yard and
we'd eat at my grandparents with Christmas and it would never be enough because
he's everything you weren't.
I think I lost myself, I think I fell out that time you ran away holding onto me and my
skin tore. I looked for her in that empty hole in your chest cavity, but all I found was
lost so long ago, and you wouldn't show me where it went b
monologueSome days I look in the mirror and I'm jealous of whoevers lookingmonologue in Free Verse More Like This
back at me, but then again I despise her. I like her smile but not her
collarbone, adore her enthusiasm but not her clemency, I appreciate her
trustworthiness but I know I could never trust her, because the only
one she'll always let down is me.
I'd like to be something I'm not for a bit.
Get out of this skin I'm stuck in and think in ways I don't, speak with
words I'd never say and maybe make a decision or two I would regret if it
were me. But I wouldn't because it wouldn't be
I met myself in a window one day and I stopped in my tracks to wonder
If she'd fuck me if I'd say hi, but she turned away with a hollow in her
eyes that kind of looked like the one inside of me, and I doubted if we
could ever be enough to fill those spaces.
I tried to explain in between hiccups why I was crying, but I couldn't
because I had no clue and I was stumbling over my words because
I had just started summing up everything that had
We were lightning but it passedI'm not sorry I loved you,We were lightning but it passed in Free Verse More Like This
I'm sorry I didn't love you enough.
despite knowing how good you feel pressed up
against me and how beautiful you are on a
spring morning I'm glad that it is over
and I hope you can be too,
because in the end we might have broken more
than just our hearts
[like windows or collarbones or spirits or
I'm never sorry that I met you,
I'm not even all that sorry that I hurt you,
because maybe the two went hand in hand like we
I don't have a clue who I am today or will
be a year from now but I can tell you
that half a year ago I was yours and back then
that was enough.
in the end we learned it wasn't, but still I loved
you like a spring morning in march;
brief and sudden, with my eyes closed and my
arms, legs and heart wide open.
I'd like to burn down town.She said I was everything she was looking for but I didn't want to beI'd like to burn down town. in Free Verse More Like This
found. Yet I was never lost, I wasn't even hiding. I was sitting stark naked
in bed besides her all that time and I don't know where she went looking if she
didn't see me.
When I met her I didn't want to belong to anyone but myself. Yet I wanted her, I
wanted her to belong with me and maybe she does, and maybe I belong with her, but
not right now. I can't sit still, can't sit stark naked besides her in bed all that
time while she's out looking.
My chest feels like a time bomb but in a good way. I'm out ticking and waiting to
explode, and once I do I hope I burn down the entire town.
I'm making houses out of people, building hotel rooms in the chest cavities of all
these guys and girls I'm falling kind of in love with, for a night or a week or a year.
It doesn't matter as long as I'm playing these games by nobody's rules but mine, and
I don't have a lot of them left.
I won't say I love you 'cause I don't,but I've got a feeling I will someday.I won't say I love you 'cause I don't, in Free Verse More Like This
Today is the second day of summer and it's raining outside, yet I'm sunny inside
because I've got your freckles to wake up to.
And I know this won't last forever but that doesn't matter 'cause you make me feel
like it could, which already scares me enough cause we're way too young to think
about forever. I feel too young to even think about next year. However I can think
about you, and when I do it's sunny inside my veins.
Come on close your eyes, let's not think about forever, let's not think about tomorrow,
let's just find out how our bodies work, search for ways they fit together and ways
they don't. I think your freckles taste like sun and your skin feels like blue skies,
so let';s bring the summer into the bedroom now that it won't get outside.
Hello November,I'd ask you to hold me close but you're soHello November, in Free Verse More Like This
cold on my skin and as I breathe you in I can feel
my throat thickening and my skin tingling and myself
wishing for someone to take to my grandparents'
I'm quite satisfied these days, I shouldn't complain
but I really can't handle the scent of pina collada
since that got me so drunk that night when my
rat died and my date stood me up and my bag got
stolen and I lost the key to my house. The music
this Halloween was terrible, though nothing
close to terrifying, but November, really, how do I
even dance to hardcore? Because my body doesn't
know the ways and I really, really want to dance.
I'm not alone a lot anymore, which doesn't keep
me from being lonely but it keeps me going. I feel
a little wobbly in my fishnets, with everybody
looking at me and nobody to hold but that girl that
kisses me all the time even though she's got a boyfriend.
Don't get me wrong she's great and I don't want her
to stop but it kind of would be better
I won't allow you to allow me to let you go.Darling, you fell asleep so close to me and woke up so very far away.I won't allow you to allow me to let you go. in Free Verse More Like This
I cannot let you go because of the euphoria in my veins when we are skin to skin
but sometimes I trace the blue outlines of mine and quietly long for the times
when they were still filled with the apathy and meaningless adventure of our
Love, I'm sorry for the wordless tears in your eyes that I don't understand, and
I'm so sorry that I can't let you go even though you asked me to,
and I'm so sorry that I love you, but I really, really do,
and most of all I am so very sorry that you
say you're sorry every time
I tell you.
I am not sure of what we areWe spent our Sunday afternoon blend together on your couch, high on hormonesI am not sure of what we are in Free Verse More Like This
and each other's scent. Without a single clue whose skin it really was we pressed
our lips against and whose hips we were pressing our own into. Now we're trying to
find each other between the sheets of your bed, but it's hard to actually see you
when my eyesight is blurred with lust and your pretty face sort of gets in the way sometimes.
I will have to admit I prefer biting your lips over listening to what they might
have to say, because your voice sounds best when you're moaning into my mouth.
Maybe we're doing this on purpose; maybe I'm doing this on purpose. Maybe I'm closing
my eyes when you kiss me because I don't want to see who you really are, and maybe
I smother your lips with my own all the time because I don't want to hear who you
But knowing I don't actually need you makes it so much safer to fall asleep in your
arms and not having to sleep alone makes me feel li
2. loveMy love for you is less than three2. love in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
but more than four or five.
I keep it in a box – it’s free
it’s dead then it’s alive.
My love is vast, my love is slight –
for many and for few.
It’s in the clouds, it sees no light,
it’s old but also new.
It has no cost or strings attached
so buy it with a smile.
Its life’s so long that it’s unmatched,
It only lasts a while.
Because of it I was a saint
and sinned away my wings.
I knelt and begged without complaint,
I feasted among kings.
My love for you is gentle, sound –
It’s dangerous and cruel.
It made a clever man, I found
It also made a fool.
My love will watch you walk away
And never let you go.
It’s since I love you day by day
That my love changes so.
46. dropthey’ll make it look as46. drop in Free Verse More Like This
easy as breathing –
[ words rolling off their tongues
like pearls off a broken necklace
& you may comprehend it not,
but their minds are so beautiful
that you are dumbstruck &
left (alone) to operate in a machine
suddenly too clumsy and dated
& this is the way it goes,
& all the money in the world
will not buy you a new one,
or maybe just one like that. ]
you might think that
the sky exists between the
notes in their voice, the universe
is their body,
(the stars are a map to the
soul & you simply can’t read it.)
you may find yourself believing
that they aren't even human at all.
[ the fact, however, is not
scientifically proven. ]
& this is how you dis
FearThere are eyes looming behind meFear in Scraps More Like This
But I can't see through the glass
I'm being watched
On the road
But the creature is coming through my door to make sure that I am asleep
Run and hide before the light turns red
The light is changing
It is darkest then
There are little people
Under my bed
They are my friends
A hand on the window
Close close close
I can't let them take my blood
One minute has passed
The colours have stopped
Turn the box
Find the two buttons
Which one works?
Bugs are crawling over me
I can see them in the dimmed ceiling light
Cry and stumble into the next room
There are people under the window
They are waiting
Monsters are coming
But he's here
you do it to yourselffeeling dead inside isn’tyou do it to yourself in Free Verse More Like This
so bad when you do it
it makes everything
I can’t write it out
but I can read it in,
the water and
one hour’s sleep won’t
kill you but
it’ll bury you,
everything moves a
little lengthier when
paralysed neck to toe
under six feet of soil
life is so much more
manageable in slow-
tiny white teeth –
feeling alive inside
isn’t terrible either,
it makes you want to
My LoveHe saw her as a fireMy Love in Scraps More Like This
Dancing like the autumn trees
A wild bird she was
Flying on the ocean breeze
He could hear her laughing
Her hair unbound as rivers
She was a lovely sound
The freedom gave him shivers
He could feel her breathing
Spinning on the frozen beach
Rhythms through chilly air
Sometimes only she could reach
He taught her how to love
She taught what it meant to fly
And on the sand they shone
Like stars in the midnight sky
SirenIt's cold in hereSiren in Scraps More Like This
Beside the crumbling cliff
The tide is slow
Unsheathe your silver tongue
Reach out to you
Come out your shaking frame
Let's dance young one
The dearest girl of mine
The edge we see
Don't fear the open air
Jump off with me
We'll be with each other
Yes, hold my hand
Together we will fly
Circus MonsterDon't look at the creatureCircus Monster in Scraps More Like This
Holding on the cage
Kneeling and slouched on the
Centre of the stage
The crowd hollers loudly
Jumping all about
The presenter stands up
And begins to shout
"Ladies and gentlemen
Roll up! Roll up! Here
The most horrendous thing
You will ever hear!
"A grossly deformed face
Seen by no other
Today I present you
The circus monster!"
Lights shone on the platform
It shied from the glare
But it was much too late
It caught the crowd's stare
Red, bulging, bloodshot eyes,
Scanned the giant room
Filled with glistening tears
An impending doom
Where can she be? It thought
Was hoping in vain
That the girl would be here
To help bear the pain
How the audience sneered
To view such a sight
They laughed and it suffered
But it did not fight
"You are beautiful," it
Remembered her say
"In your heart," she had cried
"You will find a way."
"Sing!" the presenter said
Or rather ordered
"Sing!" he then repeated
Its thoughts disordered
It opened its mouth wide
Love slipped through my handsWhen the stars collapsed--Love slipped through my hands in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Chilled, your smile
w a r m e d
Poets make the best liars. His black eyes were stars, andPoets make the best liars. in Free Verse More Like This
the c o n s t e l l a t i o n s in their depths
told me sad poetic stories of-
past lovers, grey mornings
Words are easier to loveI found little notesWords are easier to love in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
hidden between the
pages of novels
I only bothered
to read once.
and secret crushes
filled the slightly
paper of a lonely girl
with veins that
pumped a writers
a cage around
her own ink stained
[ h e a r t. ]
Paper HeartsShe tattooed love in a foreign tonguePaper Hearts in Free Verse More Like This
On her left wrist
Just so others would ask what it meant.
She sank her teeth into its meaning,
hoping one day the brand would bleed
Its definition upon her skin.
Lingering there, a forgotten kiss.
Lip-stick stained collars,
Little bones wired are ready,
Folded like patterned paper.
Sprinkled every which way.
Sharing herself fully with no one,
She made sure to leave her mark,
On every heart that beat her way.
So, I lied.I am a poet.So, I lied. in Free Verse More Like This
that's what my
skin tells me when
I'm slowly melting into
bed sheets not worth
lying in twice.
Half sick of shadows,
I think I've lost my mind.
My thoughts are s p i n n i n g
and my bones are shaking.
But I keep repeating re-peating
repeating your name like a mantra.
All I want to do is sleep.
But you see,
I bleed more than red
and there is this ink pen
digging through my skin.
Shhh...Whispering sweet little liesShhh... in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
along the narrow pathways of my heart
I caught the lurking shadows
behind your large city eyes.
And with barbwire fingers,
You stroked all my pretty s c a r s.
[Don't say a word.]
What is loveShe has these long, storm fingers.What is love in Free Verse More Like This
The kind that leave me wide-eyed and angry.
This gargoyle heart that beats 6 times slower than it should
As she loves to leave me with half finished sentences
and a p o e t i c tongue covered in ink.
She spreads jealous heat along my cheeks,
as my nights are filled with stardust dreams.
Her words fight off hurricane nightmares.
She is a ribcage embrace,
warming these thin origami bones and
tattooing monochromatic love stories along my curves.
Magic -Collab-Do lessons spelled out in chalkMagic -Collab- in Free Verse More Like This
Melt into your brain when it rains
The letters twisting into scrawls
Like kindergarten art
Such a tender age when we
Still believed in magic
(At least, some of us did)
And our cheeks were the apples
We brought to our teacher:
She never complained.
I never liked chalk.
It leaves my throat
and hands feeling
d i r t y
as I always left
along the blackboard
proving to the world
I was there.
"I will not talk in class."
"I will not talk in class."
"I will not talk in "
lines repeated like a broken record.
[A child's punishment
for speaking her mind.]
I still believe in magic.
CosmologyShe left galaxies on his pillowcaseCosmology in Free Verse More Like This
where she slept the night before
of make up colors,
smudged and smeared,
blurred by silent tears
the stars leaked out with the saline
along with the residue of dreams
that she never meant to have.
Chips of polish decorate his bed sheets,
from her chewed and broken nails,
after scratching at the too-low ceiling
and his too-close back
while she slept fitfully,
searching desperately for space.
A Poet IsA poet is a liar with a silver tongue pen, and a bleeding heart on the other end.A Poet Is in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
We are anagrams and metaphors and sphinxes in sheep skin.
Every letter is an actor that we send into the wind,
And we're only as good as the words you believe in.
Addicted to HeroinesHe was addicted to heroines:Addicted to Heroines in Free Verse More Like This
those golden queens from screens of silver
that lined his shelves in plastic boxes
showcasing their greatest deeds;
and painted whores,
those sirens and saviors,
who stood half naked on shady streets.
They were steel wrapped in petals,
and petals draped in lace,
in their arms lay warmth,
in their hearts lay escape.
He prayed for strong women
that were not so far,
devastatingly far out of reach.
Though still small,
he would shun the sun
and bask in their blessed shadows.
He prayed for someone to stay
whom he could not,
He vowed not to use angels,
those sweet Nightingales,
who flew away from him in the end – –
to be high on their bravery!
He was addicted to heroines,
to the ichor in their veins,
and the lift of their wings.
He was a frightened boy
hiding in the hollows
of the shell of a man,
fearful of fractures
from his weakness.
On the verge of breaking:
terrified the w
Inspiration at Point BlankSometimes I feel as though I am a slaveInspiration at Point Blank in Free Verse More Like This
to a mad muse misfiring synapses
from the barrel of a gun; her shaky
finger on the trigger, locked and loaded,
fae and untamed as the moon, she shoots words
and images point blank into my mind.
Inspiration, oh so random, oh so
She cares not for the hour, or if I am
soundly sleeping and will not hesitate
to enter my dreams like a visitor
who was never asked to cross the threshold.
(I would be utterly lost without her.)
MelancholiaSoothe and subdue me,Melancholia in Free Verse More Like This
overthrow the ferocity
that harrows me nightly,
and all through the day,
when I should be
happy with you.
Say you will slay
all of my fears
and the forces that drive me
always to tears,
or this intensity
will surely devour me.
You won't escape its teeth, dear,
because you love me so.
You stand by your woman,
even when the wind is blowin',
threatening to tear our house down.
And the colder the winter,
you just hold me tighter,
will tear us asunder.
bravest of lovers,
have withstood all the tempests I bring,
but together we will drown,
stuck in its jaws forever.
Please don't ever say
I didn't give you warning
about the ghosts that I carry,
my love, they are hungry --
they want your everything.
I love you,
but it will be too late.
This is my destiny.
You chose your fate
when you held on to
the hull of this haunted ruin,
and the merciless,
mad allure of the siren
that has wrecked you
by leading you here to me.
Romance and RelapseWe lovers are blessed, we lovers are flawed,Romance and Relapse in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
we adore words of honeyed devotion,
for, when in love we are easily awed
and miss the candy coated deception.
Romantics will find their sweet teeth rotten,
strange, how we can fall in love with the lie,
but we poor lovers have an addiction,
and a craving that we must satisfy.
From a love whose honesty none deny,
or the lips of a silver tongued devil,
we need words of love or our hearts will die;
insecure, but reassured we'll revel.
With fear and hope, we are always searching
for true acceptance and love with meaning.
...But Not Your NameI remember us, but not your name -...But Not Your Name in Free Verse More Like This
names, that felt legion,
but none the same.
They fell into the slipstream
with whoever you are now.
But I remember your face:
how the hairs scratched
my chin and cheeks when we kissed;
chocolate brown eyes
that lingered, searched,
and looked for all the world
like love themselves.
You looked for all the world like you loved me,
I have memories of words spoken,
and of times that we had;
I will always remember us together.
I remember our song, but not the words,
you said you'd write them eventually
I remember the melody,
sweet, slow, delicate, romantic,
You played like a minstrel on your guitar,
said you composed it for me,
and gave the wordless ballad my name.
Perhaps it was a song that you'd heard before
and maybe you just liked the score,
and how the chords fit your fingers,
and thought that I would be easy to play;
because you wanted a harmony,
I went mad puzzling over your gam
AcquiescentAAcquiescent in Free Verse More Like This
A pact born of your apathetic scorn
And our grave-like silence.
You love me with my mouth closed,
But love was spoken with regret.
We will never speak of it.
My acquiescent, frostbitten tongue
Seems always to agree
With every word you do not say.
I cannot climb up the icy path
'round your treacherous cold shoulders,
It chills my weary, weakened bones.
I find myself passive and insignificant
As a blade of grass beneath your foot,
Crushed, but not rising in revolt.
I have already lost my heart to you.
Words not spoken are forgotten,
So we shall never speak of this.
Panic AttackWhat's this?Panic Attack in Free Verse More Like This
What fragile thing,
a bird with wings,
has replaced my heart?
Don't die, little bird.
Out of breath, out of time...
This is how we die.
This is how we die.
Struggle in your cage,
fight against the bars --
they tighten, they tighten,
and you weaken.
Don't die, little bird.
Out of breath, out of time...
This is how we die.
This is how we die.
And this frightened thing
with fragile wings
faster until it slows.
Don't die, little bird...
Out of breath, out of time.
This is how we die.
This is how we die.
This is how we die. This is how we die.