the commutei keep your kissthe commute in Free Verse More Like This
under my bed:
i won't lose it
just because you aren't here.
i will hesitate in the spaces
between the weeks
we are together,
and we are
i will write you letters
and gaps and commas
when my head stops spinning
and my pride takes a bow
to the lion of my heart,
and feel the stinging air
seep out of its balloon.
put your (love) affairs in order, dear
and find me under your blankets;
i want the places i know best
to be the ones made of skin,
secretly tucked away
in the crook of your elbow
where my body rests, or
behind your ear,
like a pencil-
i want you to write me words
that make me start to hum.
breathe deepbreathe deep.breathe deep in Free Verse More Like This
breathe it shallowly if you need to,
if filling your lungs to bursting
is too much,
but breathe the depth-
of tree roots
and ethnic roots
and the roots planted by love.
and the orgiastic fullness
it gives the empty shell
you try so hard to stuff
but nothing sticks;
because deep is star-soaked
desperate with creeping beauty
like attar and trellis
and the june moon.
this is how you keep her.
this is how you say,
this is our permanent address.
this is how you say i love you
with something more than words.
his mother in readingit might've been the weighthis mother in reading in Free Verse More Like This
she gained in her
hips and stomach
her only child,
or the heft of responsibility
brought on by jobs and bills
and eviction notices,
but she wasn't beautiful
some key element
left her skin empty
and let it sag
and slump like her shoulders.
she looked like wet laundry
hung like papier mache
streamers dragged down
by a cold summer rain.
it choked the life out of her
i can see it in her eyes
in her face
she just sits in front of the television
she doesn't feel love anymore-
telling a story that has no end,
breaking her heart just to feel again-
there is a big nothing
where love should be.
for those who want to be in loveyou want to fall in lovefor those who want to be in love in Free Verse More Like This
hard enough to break your bones and
lighten your feet
lighten your heart
so softly that the butterflies you feel
pattering with their gossamer wings
beneath the cage of your ribs
and the breath,
blue in the summer,
can kiss you and the monarchs
as sweetly as your love
and her lips.
you dream of them at night.
silken like clean bedsheets,
familiar as your favourite chair
when you curl up with
a mug of herbal tea.
you feel at home
with her body curled in yours,
only able to sleep
with her skin under your fingers
scenting the blankets
with something no perfume
could ever mirror.
you write love letters
you dream emptily
unless she is there.
you want to fall in love
the way the gods drink ambrosia,
you want to treat her
better than their nectar,
sweeter than honeybees
and their summer-sticky feet.
you want a love beyond poetry,
from winter flurries
to springtime rosebuds
to summer sweet lemonade
to autumnal red leaves u
you call me an angelyou call me an angelyou call me an angel in Free Verse More Like This
in spite of the bruises left on the fronts of my knees
stains of sin left on my skin;
the knots in my back,
you liken to the wings soon to burst from my shoulders
&tell me you can feel no sadness
when looking at my face-
eyes you analyse
into paints of the colour wheel,
several shades i have yet to see;
despite its crooked nature
thinning enamel from my sickness-
you still find me amongst the heavens.
as this once,
i kissed you to shut you up.
my skin is removing itself after my clothes
in the winter,
too unlike the white night of russian summers.
i kissed you &it was wet because i was crying
&every time our lips parted
another sob stuttered its way through the gap.
you heard what words i couldn't swallow,
the ones straining to pass over my tongue
yet drowned upon existence.
you listen to me until i lose my headstrong aim
to starve back to bones,
to see the angel wings i've lost in my skin
you touch &feel are there;
the sickness of breathing emptinesstoday:the sickness of breathing emptiness in Free Verse More Like This
and my god, there's no way to pretty that up. pain is not beautiful, it is painful. use your common sense. there is no glory in suffering, there is no sparkle to sacrifice. hurt is hurt is hurt. and you can't take it for someone else, no matter how hard you try.
what i hate is that you're leaving. like, a thousand miles away worth of leaving. and don't tell me that distance means nothing to the heart, because it does: enough to make you break me before you kill me. honestly, i wonder which is worse. honestly, i'd probably rather you kill me because i've broken enough times that i don't have much left to break.
what i hate more is that i love you. i have fought harder against it than i've fought against anything else in my life, i fucking swear to god. i didn't even consider that i could love you for months. an
first weekend and realisationsyou begin to talkfirst weekend and realisations in Free Verse More Like This
because talking means that
someone else can't
&you start to realise
(as most girls do)
that you have a boyfriend
he's not just a boyfriend;
he's your boyfriend
&he's not just better than
anyone else in the world
he's better than
anything else in the world
&you would trade years off your life
to spend a little longer with him
or to see him smile when he's sad
or to feel his face in your hair
the way he does when he hugs you
&you can't feel it
because right now he's too far away
but distance is only the space between
point a and point b
between you&between me
&if you give it just a little more time
you'll realise nothing has changed
and the disjointed rhythms
your heart beats out like a drum
sticks like a song in your head
the moment you watch recognition
hit his eyes
when you walk in.
the scars on your shouldersthe scars on your shouldersthe scars on your shoulders in Free Verse More Like This
are braille to me, so that i
can read your skin, so that i
can know you better.
i like to listen to your heartbeat
and how it resounds differently
from mine, just so beautifully
like two songs played in tandem
to harmonise in rounds;
i like to hold your hands
and rub your back
so that maybe my love
can find its way through your pores
and seep into your blood
(never can i find the right words
to tell you just the way you feel to me)
and to think that and how i nearly missed you
makes me miss you more
every minute and mile we spend
i can't sleep with another body
in my bed,
but sleeping without you
leaves the space next to me
much emptier than i'd like.
my only company is
the sadness that comes from
being alone, and having no strong arms
to reassure me that i am beautiful
and no dream can hurt me-
i can only hope that
you are not the exception.
this is the pen finally knowing
this is how we hold onto the bones
we support in our bodies.
preemptive breakup poemif anyone ever tells you your sadness isn't physical,preemptive breakup poem in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
show them the ache in your bones,
the raw skin on your arms or wrists or hips or thighs,
the imprint of your foetal body on your mattress from the days you couldn't bear to leave.
and you see this?
this is what hurt looks like.
i want you to look closer, lean in a little until you can feel the sadness on my breath
and i want you to watch my eyes. count how often they blink and count how many of them are forcing back words i still can never say.
i don't want you to miss a second of how you make me feel.
i want to be what keeps you up at night
i want to be the reason you can't eat
or laugh at your favourite tv programs
i want to be the reason
you walk with your eyes on the pavement
because too many things
remind you of me
i want you to feel the soreness of a heart unloved
loudly enough that the beating is mute and slow
loudly enough that you keep your hands in your pockets
when you move through the city so you don't touch any
love letters from a girli am dangling in airlove letters from a girl in Free Verse More Like This
like the stars.
i am slow string,
forgetting your name,
i am the creeping silence,
the empty air that haunts
your sleep. i am a fish,
sending you my love
as i bleed on the hook.
the ebbing ocean
stings with salt, open wounds
with the departure of my blood
is the departure of my stability,
and i swoon. i am a fish
on the hook, sending you my
love like a bobbing lure
as i start to stumble and
Perfect on PaperWe cut heartsPerfect on Paper in Free Verse More Like This
into paper to make streams
That was my impression of it.
That you ripped
the pieces you didn't want
until you got something that was
It's no wonder
that I can't believe that someone
would think I was paper-perfect,
United, We WriteHear me read itUnited, We Write in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
0hgravity, if by some divine fortune you should decide that today is the day you will fail me, then let me soar through the ChemicalSkyline. Grant me a-lovely-anxiety that raises a storm InTheStarryNightSky for me to riseandbe above all else. Let me soar.
How I long to be the frail rider-on-the-storm and not a victim of the RoamingShadow, Rogue-Of-The-Night, that BlackVelvetNightmare of my nights and days. I long
You are not an islandI have been alone. This man is an island.You are not an island in Free Verse More Like This
The cliffs of my shoulder blades
hang heavy with grief, ore, suffering.
I am draped with the permanence of gravity,
So do not believe that you cannot move.
Come to me, water babes fully grown,
Allow yourself to be swept in salt and ash.
Tumble with your brothers into my arms
and be at peace, at last, on the shore.
I too was once drowned, but I arose
and as the caps melt, all things will erode
For no man is an island alone.
Sometimes, it's the little things.He always told me I was deep.Sometimes, it's the little things. in Concrete Poetry More Like This
An unfiltered distillation of a humanitarian ocean.
He accepted me, gills and all -
He knew that I needed my eccentricities to breathe
under the seascrapers of pollution
that hung over my head.
Or he said he did.
At the end of it all,
he tugged the gills open to expose me;
my innards trailed across the coral reef
as I swam trustingly forward, hoping for the best.
I tried to believe.
I believed him, gills and all -
But eventually, he left me, with holes in my sides
Where he had spooned out my intestines
To tether them to a boulder.
I tried to breathe.
He always told me I was deep.
It must have been a surprise to read:
Death by puddle.
You'll Never DieHear me read it!You'll Never Die in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
They say that if a writer falls in love with you then you never really die.
Instead your body is laid out in its funerial shrouds and moulds are made. Soft impressions of you to be pressed onto the blank faces of future loves.
Every time I write of taking comfort in a safe place in a storm, it will be your forearm. Every half-made smile will be on your lips, and every touch will be constructed from the residue beneath your fingernails.
When I metaphise of trees' blood, the leaves that give the energy so that a willow can provide shade for those in need, it will be your blood, it will be your light drenched kisses.
Every tear on every face will taste of the sweat that you put into keeping me happy. Every soaring song of love will be played through your windpipe, your trachea my instrument of choice.
For every time that a hero has the strength to walk on, I will use your feet. I will weld them to my own and walk a mile. Wal
BuriedUnder the paprika house,Buried in Free Verse More Like This
are the bones of my father
and nestled between rib
and reason, is our love.
40810If only you were soulless.40810 in Free Verse More Like This
If you were mindless, blind,
you and I could make a beautiful disaster.
The press would write of our brief affair;
they'd paint me (the woman in red) as pathetic.
They will not consider how I need your love
or how it pains me so deeply to throw myself at you.
I will not be remembered as a poet warrior.
I'll be the eternal survivor no more.
All who think of me will shake their bowed heads
and tearfully remark;
If only you were soulless.
If you were mindless, blind,
You wouldn't have been such a bloody disaster.
The DescriptionHe drinks coffeeThe Description in Free Verse More Like This
its the art of seduction,
and quite honestly
when he does it
it might as well be.
You'll catch him
frowning into it
as he hastily scribbles
in a notebook
to make the world
El cambia a español
en la mitad del frase
and I don't think
he even realises.
He loves the world
that to be a part of it
leaves you feeling
He makes the world seem
to contain his love
and when he smiles,
because he reminds me
that there is hope
to be had.
For the world,
For people like us.
He is soil,
Salt of the earth,
of everything good
that will grow from
He is a ramshackled
waking up to
the realisation that
he is an innovator;
and that his passion
could change the world.
MatterIt is only a matter of timeMatter in Free Verse More Like This
until the stone lays down with the sheep
Rested firmly above the holes
where our eyes used to be.
It is only a matter of matter
until epitaph and eulogy diminish to dust
becomes the eternal home,
not where our souls used to be.
It is only a matter of fact
that our words will become reductionist, redundant,
the world will forget
where our words used to be.
MutantHear me read itMutant in Free Verse More Like This
I am a mutant.
| My skin does not sallow in the sun
and I do not blush jaundice through my cheeks.
| I do not have extra fingers, or toes -
although my spine;
it boasts an ironic vertebrae,
it is a long tally of the hearts I have broken
and when I straighten my spine the bones Pop out of place.
I am out of place.
| I do not have a super power,
I lack exceptionality in all but my ordinariness.
| there is a vengeful bacteria feasting -
on my shoulder places;
.the sun did not. in Free Verse More Like This
kiss my skin
yesterday, he slept
face around noon
and then went back
to bed; the
.little robin, wings. in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
outstretched in the dirt, a smear
of red on your breast
.you forget that. in Free Verse More Like This
roses have thorns;
a prick of the
skin will tell you
that you're holding
her too tight
.hangman, could you show. in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
me the ropes? i'd rather do
it all on my own
.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
.i was born with the. in Free Verse More Like This
cord wrapped tight
around my neck; it
would seem fitting to
die the same way
.a scalpel from. in Free Verse More Like This
wrist to elbow-
you will not be
living under my
.some warm blooded beast. in Personal More Like This
smells something here;
eyes move over small lives slowly
cooking in the sun, roadkill
is no fun -
(but there are things he cannot see)
No wander about it, just lust.You were a mid-morning train wreck,No wander about it, just lust. in Free Verse More Like This
the embodiment of poetry.
& my clavicles whispered too many nothings
about your summer storm hands,
folding like paper cranes
to make wishes upon themselves.
wishes are for the weak-
do something about this quaking heart
& freezing fingers.
I think I found God then,
fly.this is hard for the world around us to grasp:fly. in Free Verse More Like This
these wildfires raging in our retinas
& the sins we wear like demonic similes
on our tongues- they are not enough.
& i am so fucking sorry of saying i'm sorry.
but, tell me,
what is a young poet(ess) to do
with veins made of kite strings?
Muse:She corrodes star shapes intoMuse: in Free Verse More Like This
the hearts of sleeping poets,
NaPoWriMo: Day 8I was toldNaPoWriMo: Day 8 in Free Verse More Like This
to slice through the thickest
of scar tissue this evening.
Let all my inner demons
fall to the floor
& write them out
in my own black blood.
It’s not red anymore,
even though needles
& the bruises
laid out like war-lands
on my arms
I don’t think it ever was,
My mind is a mess
of free versed insecurities,
cat’s eye marbles,
& untamed forest fires-
I still don’t have the nerve
to slice open my skin
& bleed for her.
NaPoWriMo: Day 4I might have a scrappers knees,NaPoWriMo: Day 4 in Free Verse More Like This
wildflowers growing on my knuckles,
& I might remind you of every nasty thing
you ever did,
but I don’t see you in my mirror.
I just have the right
to hate my own face.
I think this hitchhiker’s heart
is breaking &
I don’t have the medical skill-
or the time
to suture the pieces
back together again.
astrology.i lost my cigarettes today whileastrology. in Free Verse More Like This
sparing kisses to too many witches
with apastron blackberry tongues.
& like the scattered stars of scars,
saturn's rings whispered secrets
to the telescope eyes of these strangers
cradling galaxies between lovely bones-
( their fingertip heat
knowing nothing of intermissions. )
NaPoWriMo: Day 10 Have you ever been so cold, Sweetheart,NaPoWriMo: Day 10 in Free Verse More Like This
your knees q u a k e d like that Jenga piece
that buckled just before your whole foundation
& no matter
how many times
I've restarted your heart,
one would think
I'd grow tired,
I'm still writing you in poetry
(in the most inappropriate of places.)
You forced yourself beneath my blades
& my fingertips,
Licking unstable knees,
you were death on my tongue:
angry apricot eyes, unforgivable sin
scaring my limbs &
haunting my dreams.
& I'd still try to save your fucking life.
August Lover,I want to wrap myself in your air,August Lover, in Free Verse More Like This
hold your secrets between my
ribcage-embrace & just
Collection of poetic nothings.We were opal Tuesdays,Collection of poetic nothings. in Free Verse More Like This
tattooed into the
rose garden curve
of my vertebrae,
gliding me through this wild youth.
But, like Icarus—
I was a sky conqueror
& these silk wings
touched the sun.
My inhalations are heavy,
like the earth he bruises
beneath his fingertips
as I chase silence.
"You've got a tongue
made for words." He says
against the arrogant thorns
of my briar spine.
"Learn to love yourself."
How do I say I love you
without saying I love you?
"I want to replace my heart with you."
You are spider silk woven
into my harvest moon
limbs traveling this road map
of songbird sin.
You are not just in my head now,
you are dancing in the lingering stars
of my night-witch frame
& setting me on fire.
You're not bruised enough
to write poetry.
Allow these bones to tell your story, Love.
ConstellationShe is dream dust,Constellation in Free Verse More Like This
too bitter or wise
for her own good.
A timeless dragon's soul
somewhere inside a
scaled shell, burning
the silence in her bones
alive, honeysuckle sweet.
She collects fireflies only to
set them free at 3am,
crying to an uncaring moon.
& she's begging for the stars
to take her away,
make this house a home
rigged in the sky.
She is already naked fever
swimming through the cosmos
& I orbit her.
*True Love*Robust heart infiltrated by gentle lover.*True Love* in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
*Sweet and Sour*Sweet and sour personality, fusion desirable.*Sweet and Sour* in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
*Surgery*Devastating results from cosmetic surgery, unrecognizable.*Surgery* in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
*Once We Were Lovers*Brittle bones embrace*Once We Were Lovers* in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Macabre midnight moment
Dead tears fall unseen.
"All rights reserved"
*The Lie*Lie to me, is love hopeless?*The Lie* in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
*Lure*Haunting siren song*Lure* in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Echoes through the morning mist
*Poacher*Poacher targeted small game, dinner tonight.*Poacher* in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
*Crushed by a Kiss*Males beware! female android seeking partner!*Crushed by a Kiss* in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
*Smartphone*Smartphone's my nemesis, constantly out smarted.*Smartphone* in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The Way We LiveThe Way We Live:The Way We Live in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
We all have our own little struggles;
Pushing on forward as the tragedies double.
A life led with pain and exhaustion too immense,
I'm pushing down walls as my muscles go tense.
But these are the words that you'll never hear me spit.
I'd never say I'm 'giving up' or if I should 'quit'.
I'm really freaking stupid so just tell it to my face,
And even then I'd never give up the right to race.
I'm like a lone arrow drawn and shot from a bow,
Blustered by the winds of all the things I don't know.
I'd never figure out if I'd reach the final mark,
But I know that I'd never lose my glowing inner spark.
And that's all it takes just to keep this body going.
With calloused hands in this ocean I'm still rowing
Searching for some land out amidst a sea of black;
A wandering gypsy bearing burdens on his back.
- Chen Yuan Wen, 14th January 2013
UndyingUndying:Undying in Free Verse More Like This
How many days do you spend now, putting me down?
The coffin call for a dead man waiting around
"He's just an underground laughing stock, never to rise"
But on the seventh day I'm coming back; these are my ties!
The kind of promise that you made with the devil inside
You try to take away my soul, but I take it in stride
I ain't a doll that is crushed by the weight of his pride
I am the real and the raw of the things you denied!
You're playing snake games, selling oil, pass it off strong
You're just a pot head, weed dead, smoking your bong.
You try to look away, play and hide; apathy's best
But I'm the kind of bad boy you don't put to the test!
-Chen Yuan Wen, 7th February 2013
These Words Aren't PrettyThese Words Aren't Pretty:These Words Aren't Pretty in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
My verses are ugly and I admit to the fact
I can't use pretty language when I'm working with rap
Because the things that I write, are just the things that I feel
I ain't an Edgar Allan Poe or a Danielle Steel
And I'll be honest with you, I've got an envy inside
Because some poets got a flow that's as smooth as the tide
I read some stuff that they write, it's just so dope I ignite
Burning shame and my anger at the beautiful sight
And like birds of a feather, they're flocking together
These poets are the Gods and I'm nailed by the weather
But as the rain pours down, lightning resound;
I try to write pretty words but my lips remain bound
So deeply silenced by fear - the darkness I hear,
Afraid to be unloved by the ones I hold dear
I've hit the limit of time; my lyrical crime
These words that I've lived are just turning to grime.
So I wish I had their talent; just a sliver of that
If their skill was a mountain then I've broken my back
It's like t
Practice Poem - Artistic FrustrationPractice Poem - Artistic Frustration:Practice Poem - Artistic Frustration in Free Verse More Like This
Wrong, wrong, wrong, WRONG!
Everything is wrong.
'As then sun dew drips from her eyes'-
Do I really think that'll be good enough?
Hours spent on each piece -
Punctuated only by sound of ripping paper -
To lie crumpled upon my wooden floor,
Unable to be forgotten.
As the hours pass and the day wears on,
More and more worlds are crushed by my hands.
Realities sprawled upon a single piece of paper,
To die as quickly as they are formed.
A man's whose romance is torn in two,
A vampire about to meet his prey.
A werewolf standing against an army
And a boy facing the world alone.
These are the lives that I hold in my hand;
Fictional lives, but precious still.
Yet as soon as I see their imperfections,
I destroy the evidence in a throe of shame.
These crumpled masses that now surround me,
They aren't the proof of perfection's pursuit...
They are merely my feeble, worthless attempts,
To disguise my own ineptitude.
-Chen Yuan Wen, 15th Decembe
Where Angels PlayWhere Angels Play:Where Angels Play in Free Verse More Like This
A lonely spark appears before me tonight
amongst the struggles deep inside of me...
Should I give in, will I breathe in?
How much more can I be forced to take
before my soul breaks?
Shards crashing into me
letting me know I am alive
I am barely breathing...
The moon lights my pathway
deep in dark, where we will fade
I've walked past the archway
Where angels will play...
The warmest touch, upon my skin
Wings that glow with sacred light, from deep within
They have come to take me back, to where I've been
Gone away into the winds, my voice forever lingering
Do I alone escape this and find my peace
without concern for what is left behind
Even if I could close my eyes in endless rest
The thought of you keeps me breathing...
The angel that leads me, deep in dark, where I seem to fade;
The lonely spark that keeps me, is the warmth of your heart...
-Chen Yuan Wen, 30th September 2012
Eagle GirlEagle Girl:Eagle Girl in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
She soars above clouds,
Beloved, wild, unrestrained.
Ended by envy.
- Chen Yuan Wen, 27th January 2013
I Comfort MyselfWith a warm drink, whispering secrets to my own reflection.I Comfort Myself in Free Verse More Like This
The struggles that plague me, though none may know,
Are only for the ears of my quiet mirror, who smiles
Softly, warmly and with care. He tells me, I'm fine
I've done well for now and soon I may finally rest.
Though the silence continues to press upon me,
Weighing upon my soul like an iron crate.
Still I find comfort in whispering secrets,
If only to my own reflection - holding a warm drink...
-Chen Yuan Wen, 17th October 2012
Memories of WarMemories of War:Memories of War in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
What is this long-lost memory inside?
Where oceans turn; what have we left behind
With star-burned wings out above the sky.
The sleeping sons are lovingly left to lie...
A thousand tears you've cried for all,
Now its time for you to fall!
Will you open up the door,
To the future we ignore?
Are you simply lying broken,
From the memory awoken;
Are you simply living lies,
Bitter taste with ropes you tie...
And the world will soon forget.
Fill my heart with this regret?
For the victims written in stone.
Unspoken sin you now atone...
Yeah I've seen this world where we livin' in pain,
Wrap my body round with chain.
Now we both know we be broken;
Give this man his smokin' token.
Held up guns with both his hands;
Not a boy he's cause he's a man.
Order comes by a suit and hand.
Will you flee or will you stand?
This is a memory of our war,
Of all the things that we can't ignore.
And staying blind to the cries of pain...
Will lonely ashes be what remai
The PoetThe Poet:The Poet in Free Verse More Like This
He smiles as he sees her sleeping
& gently covers her with a blanket.
He goes to the window and looks out
watching snow fall, ever so slowly...
He sees people in the streets,
Chatting, walking. Some happy,
Others sad. Hearts beating,
Hearts broken; some warm, some cold.
He looks back at her, as she stirs in bed.
A yawn from her, brings another smile to him:
"How cute," he chuckles as he strokes her head.
He runs his fingers through her hair and is content.
Yet, even if he is happy here, again -
He is drawn to that window and finds himself
Staring out at the street and watching;
Marveling at the disparity and wondering -
Isn't there something that I can do?
Isn't there a better way for us all?
He looks back at her, sleeping peacefully;
He thinks about the future and sighs.
He wants a better world for her,
One where she would always be safe,
But unfortunately, he has no power.
He is just one man with little to his name.
He picks up a piece of paper, one found lyin
You Left Me StrongerYou Left Me Stronger:You Left Me Stronger in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Hey there, it's been awhile, do you remember me?
I guess you might not, since I wasn't very important to you.
You know, I spent so many days thinking about - what I did wrong
I questioned if maybe, I was at fault or if I was screwed up.
I thought a lot about the things you said...
The things that were my fault, my problems.
I took them to heart at first, but then I realised you were wrong.
I realised that you are selfish and ugly on the inside.
On the surface you pretended to care, but like a cancer;
You amputate someone the moment you think they've gone bad.
You hide from the rigours of life and only emerge like a parasite
When everything is good - when everything is fine and dandy.
I used to think that I was afraid of you leaving,
But now I know, that you've left me stronger than I was before.
You know, this was supposed to be an emotional whine; an emotional spill,
Maybe I was supposed to cry tears and beg you to come back, but you know wha
Love Letters On the TrainDear Stranger,Love Letters On the Train in Free Verse More Like This
I'm leaving this post-it tucked in the side of the train-seat. If you're reading this, you've seen it. I've seen you sit here every few Monday mornings, sometimes tapping a bent, unlit cigarette against your thigh, sipping from your tea (who brings a tea cup onto a train anyway?); sometimes staring at the rain outside, or reading your well-worn, beaten copy of Jane Eyre (I hate that you fold the corners down - it's bibliophilic abuse. I wish the book would papercut you to defend itself a little, but I digress).
You seemed so sad this Monday morning past. Please smile again. I love it when your eyes catch the light of something I'm unaware of, something silently and intimately your own; a secret from the world that makes everything all the more meaningful to you.
- The Passenger
I'm not in the habit of reading post-its from strangers. I found a love-letter hidden in a newspaper once, that the author forgot or was too afraid to send. It made me sad to think
Hospital Collection: Room 11Im in room 11Hospital Collection: Room 11 in Biography & Memoir More Like This
and I think its a coincidence.
11 was always my favourite number.
Two lines, never touching,
but never alone.
The BestsellerYou are a poetry book reclining on my couchThe Bestseller in Free Verse More Like This
and I want to turn your legs like pages
fold myself into you
the way I dog-ear favourite passages
to re-read and re-visit in the morning.
You could be a sexy bestseller curled up
in my bed.
But I want to guard you from review
and keep you obscure
from publishers and popular culture -
check you out as unavailable in libraries
to keep you as my
and lie with you myself.
We'll clothe each other in dust covers
only to undress
over lazy cups of coffee in Sunday hours
our own personal bookclub
of bibliophilic eroticism.
(We'll slide our bookmarks in each other
and collaborate on the shelf).
First Night pt2I.First Night pt2 in Biography & Memoir More Like This
Theres a green line pulsing
Across an empty black screen
Im frozen under its stare
With my fingertips pressed
The dark blue hospital
Im feeling desperately beneath myself
Listening for my heart beat
Searching for evidence of red beneath
A strangers hands are cold
Against my body
Stealing the essence of my soul
From the vapour of my words
My mouth shatters into pieces
Onto the floor.
My shoes whisper
Into the silence
Forgiving my mortality.
A nurse pours gold
Into a coffee cup
Hands me a liquid lifeline
Of bittersweet orange juice.
And I wonder what I would have tasted
If the drugs had
Deep memory spreads
Into my subconscious
Drowning me in sound
And shades of grey.
I wake, breathing whispers
Onto the pillowcase
Too afraid to bite my lips
In my surrender
To find myself
In an echo of a dream.
I watch quietly
As my horror grows
Out of the gentle dark
Hospital Collection: A FishA Fish Without Lungs.Hospital Collection: A Fish in Biography & Memoir More Like This
The oxygen mask
steps over my mouth
like soft frog's feet
and breathes into my lips
sticky with blood.
And I cough up pale white pills
like tiny frog's eggs
sticky and ripe in the dark.
The air tastes heavy
and vapour drops.
Hospital Collection: NamelessThere's an anorexic patient with meHospital Collection: Nameless in Biography & Memoir More Like This
in the mental health ward.
I've never heard her speak
or touch her lips
to the plastic hospital food.
Her skull is wrapped in
the alien fingers of
a pale feeding tube.
And I wonder if she's still
the keeper of her soul.
Her wrists are as frail as
the silver threads
of delicate spider webs.
Her skin is fragile
I've never heard her speak
or touch her lips.
She's just another patient
(without a name).
Her eyes are lifeless,
And I wonder what that makes
who sees only
The Bus Stop DialoguesI.The Bus Stop Dialogues in Free Verse More Like This
A young man at the bus stop
turns to me and softly asks
"Why aren't you wearing shoes?"
He taps the faded leather
of his suedo-skin
and his eyes smile in a gentle lilt
before his mouth does.
I tell him that I like
to feel the earth breathe.
That textures keep my mind alive
and ticking like a clock.
I tell him that I'm trying to grow roots
so my pale limbs can twist into a tree
(the way L and I talked about it in therapy).
I tell him that my soul is lonely
and the ground is the only thing that's always there.
I tell him that bare skin is sensitive
and stroking it with every (twelfth) step
is a soothing form of self-care.
I tell him that I walk on water
and if I had shoes; I'd drown.
I tell him that my soles bruise
until they match my soul.
I tell him that my bones are soft
and the soil sews them back into reality
when I'm losing grip on sanity.
I tell him that I'm praying
one day I'll step on a syringe.
I shrug my shoulders,
open my mouth and say
"I just didn't feel like weari
Hospital Collection: SideSide EffectsHospital Collection: Side in Biography & Memoir More Like This
I swallow my meds
Even though I cant pronounce the name of them,
or remember why Im not dead.
No ones told me the side effects.
Hospital Collection: BeadsI make my sister a clumsy braceletHospital Collection: Beads in Biography & Memoir More Like This
In the craft session
While the patients argue over beads.
this isn't a three a.m. topic you'll appreciatei have discovered, by way of frenzied wakings and the hesitant transmission of faces to familiar strangers in your imposed absence, that i am far from comfortable in the skin that you've chosen for me to fill.this isn't a three a.m. topic you'll appreciate in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
your newest words are soft-edged and i am both sorry and unashamed of my need for distance as i read them; an ocean and two wild, almost-free continents should be enough to satisfy any sane woman but it hasn't yet learnt to soothe my beginnings-- perhaps it never will.
see, in my mind, all those possible labels were left completely unstuck. perhaps i didn't communicate that properly but you sure as hell didn't oppose it, or let a demand for more slip from your fingertips, and i thought it was all understood. but with each recycled word, each repetitive tilt of your head, i can't help but wonder if we've miscommunicated somewhere down the line.
you have to know that i wasn't built to carry pixels in my pocket, that i wasn't programmed to sit and count back my hours to meet your ti
poem #1 - maryrosemary flustered flesh,poem #1 - mary in Free Verse More Like This
held in limbo by remembrance
of soft, brown ringlets;
all the lonely lilac reachings
lying immobile atop the dust.
fresh herbs for lisai'm buried up to my wrists in thick, moist dirt and behind my right shoulder a stranger is squatting in the unkempt grass, using my fence as an easel as he sketches a pair of familiar eyes.fresh herbs for lisa in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"why do you want to know, anyway?" i ask, my fingers finding the roots of an overgrown mint plant and tugging, tugging off the newest shoots; i'll replant them somewhere, maybe beneath the plums.
the sketcher is silent, his eyes flicking between my mother and the detective hidden by the wheelie bin at my side. my mother's brow is furrowed and i realize, i cannot recall her name.
"we'd just like to speak to him," says the detective, and i can hear him bouncing on the balls of his feet.
"don't do that. you'll squash the squash."
and then my mother, my beautiful, nameless mother, is speaking over me: "if you just want to speak to him, why are you taking his face in charcoal?"
the detective falls silent and the sketcher rolls up his paper suddenly, as if it's something to be ashamed of; he's still tucki
wet with winter rainbon iver said it right when he sat down in that cabin and said: i can't make you love me. and even though some other lovesick bastard probably said it first, i think it's fitting that it's this rendition that i remember first, best and last because i've never passed on a good winter.wet with winter rain in Emotional More Like This
now i know that i'm not always very good but i love winter as if it were a lover and maybe that's some sort of omen, you know, because nothing grows in winter and i can't manage to get anything to grow within me.
not that i'm talking about a foetus, at least not yet, but i've always wondered how those growing months really feel and if it's all as worth it as mother's swear it is, or whether that's just the sort of lie you have to tell once you've gone ahead and created a whole new person. but all of that is just another story.
the truth is that i'd settle for being loved in the early hours, for having someone to come home to when i'm thinking about drowning my sorrows in a bucket of fries, but it can't be
arthritic condensation held in elbow crookscontractions have lent their voice to muscular achesarthritic condensation held in elbow crooks in Free Verse More Like This
and i am lost,
aimlessly side-stepping through the heart
of a poor man's winter solstice.
my stomach is home to the grey earl,
his warmth extending far enough to provide
basic functionality to concave lungs;
every breath taken is a marathon run in reverse (and
speaking of marathons,
i've never run one with my eyes open--
blind-folded and cautious,
i've spent my entirety tripping over my own feet).
i have always thought that pine trees look best
beneath seasonal white cloaks and that i,
small as i have always been,
look better beneath their wide arms,
my skin flashing white in filtered light;
there are places upon me that ache for ink,
for the slow pierce of a sterilized needle-- they alone arc
from my flesh in prisms of blue,
enlightening the sky with my being.
cold-centred since birth,
perhaps it is fitting that my life is to be lived
chasing snow drifts and condensation.
poem #5 - taken by the chilllittle white breasted,poem #5 - taken by the chill in Free Verse More Like This
black eyed father
his children lie in the curve
of a handmade valley,
eternally unformed within
pale blue shrouds.
poem #2 - don't take heartbreak to the tattooistdo not lay pale white skinpoem #2 - don't take heartbreak to the tattooist in Free Verse More Like This
against midnight ink,
it will not heal you.
instead, it will pierce your flesh
until it reddens in surprise
embarrassment at the invasion.
instead, it will overflow your pores
and when they are full they will
absorb the pigment
and make it their own.
do not lay pale white skin
against midnight ink,
it will not make you beautiful.
The Problem With Elia.she could have been a violin;The Problem With Elia. in Free Verse More Like This
born a week too late, she had
melancholy in her bones: doctor lizbet
took time out of her schedule to pluck her
newborn strings - calloused sanitation against
mottled pink-and-yellow flesh & thrashing limbs.
in three more years, she will have
nothing in her bones at all: doctor estair
diagnosed her with iatrophobia to fuel her
instinctive chords - ripple-free shells of liquid
lobotomy & a capsule to callous her pink-and-yellow
flesh against the thought of just getting over it all.
ten years after that, her mother will
find her face down and thrashing: her dust
bunny bones will flex as she retches up her memories
for display - lawyers will spend the next few years pawing
through them with clawed hands and heaving breathing until
one day, they find lizbet and estair huddled amid the rubble of her bones.
- untitled -she tries too hard to drown out the soft susurration of his lungs as he struggles for another breath, and then another. it echoes in her ears and her pulse pounds to the unsteady rhythm of it. she knows, with the keen instinct of a mother, that it is time and her boy will not live to see the shy spring unfurl beyond the cool white confines of the hospital room. she knows, but it does not make it any easier.- untitled - in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
after, she thinks that death is not what she had expected. anti-climactic and gentle, it whisked her boy away with a childish smile wavering in his cornflower blue eyes, his fingers small and warm within her own. death did not scare him and for that, she is grateful.
Hungry StarsAll the children were eaten by starsHungry Stars in Free Verse More Like This
The televisions don't work anymore
I saw you dancing in the ruins last night
Barefoot on the sharp stones, laughing
But your laughter rang hollow
And echoed through the caverns
Old blood is never satisfied with new blood
Ring the midnight bell and come home
Your efforts are all in vain, useless now
Like the fly trying to make its way out
Crawling, dying, towards the light
There is no light for the likes of us
Only hungry stars and the glimmer through
The cracks in the boards of the floor
Down there below where the masked ones
Hold their ancient ceremonies and incantations
Let me tend to your feet, love
And we'll seek shelter elsewhere
HeartI left my face in the parking lot, and flies carried it away. Standing faceless in my bedroom, I tried to think about sweet things besides you. I dusted off my glasses and looked hard into my heart, but it was as empty as the cobwebbed cupboard. Fry me up some feeling, let me drink some emotion; I'm dry as the proverbial bone, and looking for salvation. I never gave you a ring. The narrow path is closed now, and I've no other way through. Give me something that I cannot get for myself. Give me enlightenment, or at least hope. Stanly came knocking on the door, as faceless as I. We couldn't speak, but garbled to each other for a bit about shoes and horses and loss. I was glad when he left. My heart couldn't hold out much longer. It wants, it wants, it wants.Heart in Free Verse More Like This
Moonlight KayakingDrip.Moonlight Kayaking in Free Verse More Like This
You kayak in the moonlight
Black sparkling water
Smooth and easy
I dream of you as the liquid
in my IV slowly drips
My fevered imagination speaks to the moon
And is answered in a strange language
Waves of silence turn slowly
I see you from the shore
Reach out to you
But you're too far away
The swarming stars are friendly
And tell me there'll be another time
For moonlight kayaking
MorbidMoldy icing on a three-week old funeral cakeMorbid in Free Verse More Like This
Party hats on corpses sitting around a table
I dreamed you again in vast fields beneath the moon
Where the silence screamed out it's nothingness
You were so alone, so alone, and me so far away
In the farmhouse of blue light with my dead
I wanted to pour gasoline around and burn it all
But it would be improper to disturb the sleeping
My head is splitting with your obscene absence
And the rattling noise the dead make when they laugh
A Note To MyselfJumbles and tumbles of words, mockingbirdsA Note To Myself in Free Verse More Like This
There's nothing new here, fly away
Find the edge of the day and lift it up
from the darkness
Build a city of dreams and live in it
Construct monuments to the Somethingness
The something that exists once you've peeled
all the layers away
Stop the yammering and hammering of worn-out ideas
Circling the same spot where nothing grows
Find the light and bathe in it until an Eden-like
Life, with a capitol 'L'
(Last Night I Dreamed of) SnowFields of snow, vast expanse(Last Night I Dreamed of) Snow in Free Verse More Like This
Hard-packed, baled and stacked for delivery
Like cold sparkling cotton
The Truth About AutumnIndian summer eases into full-blown autumnThe Truth About Autumn in Free Verse More Like This
I put my jacket on for the first time since spring
And walk the path we used to walk
Alone now, the wind seems colder
The trees duller, quicker to lose their leaves
And bare the ugly truth between their branches
The truth that it was you who brought the colors
I pass by the pumpkins at the grocer's but do not buy
I Am A ManI wrap my pain in surreal blanketsI Am A Man in Free Verse More Like This
Even while howling it out
I am a man; I roar only in the darkness
Hoping it will conceal me
While I wait for a healing hand
I've Sang This Song A Million TimesBlack Ghosty-Os for breakfastI've Sang This Song A Million Times in Free Verse More Like This
In a cracked bowl that leaks sour milk
The chorus of voices in my haunted head
Sings songs about long days of labor
That ended at last all for naught
Where are you now, sweet baby?
Do you rest on a cloud in the sky?
Can you see my struggles down here?
Do you know how I die every day?
The tiny lights on your wreath went out
The house smells like mold and depression
The chorus has changed to 'Angel's Serenade'
The finest worksong is over now
Come and have breakfast with me
RemembranceLegends of the bridge of sorrow, wisps of smoke, dreamwalkersRemembrance in Free Verse More Like This
Hollow out a place in my chest for them to reside
I cannot leave them to the cold night, I will cherish and keep them
Those hallowed souls, those marvelous things, those lovers of moonlight
They will be with me always, though doors may open and close
Randomly and without reason, these are the ones close to my heart
The dark figure in the misty meadow, the breaker of dawn, they live
In my mad dreams, they speak in whispers of the coming of the end of all
The kiss of death is upon my cheek, I relish these times, times of love
Times of forbidden things tangled in the darkest stars
I will remain with them, and keep them close, let them envelope me
With the shroud of the woman on the bridge who jumped