Storybook EndingHer ink-stained lips have kissed too many a forgotten page,
and phoenix down]
And her Prince Charming has yet to come,
shattering like stars]
So all she can do is gaze out her tower window,
concealing poisoned apples]
Clutch that corroded and timeworn blade,
tearing down castle walls]
Toss her childhood fables to the waltzing of the moon,
[even broken wings
wish for happily ever afters]
[once upon a time
there was a girl who became her own hero.]
WhisperI want to create an aromatic sea of jasminesWhisper in Free Verse More Like This
and stardust mountains of silver and —
Inkblot skeletons with paper mache
hearts, whose bones shall burn with one glance at the
sun; gravestones of blood diamonds and tears of thistles...
Harp strings ringing in grotesque harmony, screaming
for slender fingers to pluck and caress with devotion.
I want to write
-My mind- in Free Verse More Like This
s h u t u p.
Too many "fuck you's"
that morph into
drip off this
Try and make it better. Fail. Try again. Break down.
So many faults
that seem to just
turn me into someone
Look into the mirror. See nothing but a clone. Fabrication. No longer me.
I stare and want
to break that glass
so that I can also
b r e a k.
Try and say something. Turns into nothing but rage. Take it out on you.
This shattered heart
only wants to make it
and become one again.
"I want to hate you."
"But I can't."
"So I hate me instead."
"But why won't this stop?"
"Why can't you make it stop?"
"...it's not my fault."
Say what you want to say. Honest brutality.
"H E L P M E"
It's time for me to
s h u t u p.
are my words poetic enough for you?maybe not.are my words poetic enough for you? in Free Verse More Like This
because i will never be the fire-hearted girl with remedial stardust lips,
dancing with the astral wolves that hunt beneath her moon-kissed skin,
with the courage to plant wilting lilacs into every crippled soul she finds.
but what if they were?
then i would be the ink blots coating the archives of humankind,
the fractured jewel tucked away in a catastrophic dragon's chest,
and the lyric every mismatched bone engraves into their marrow.
lost.Wandering,lost. in Free Verse More Like This
waiting for your voice to
reach out for mine.
Fingertips of satin,
caressing the confines of my
whispering a thousand constellations to my waning sanity.
Promises upon promises,
mosaic labyrinths etched into mutilated
Trembling lips — July's blasphemous sun
lingering above December's intangible moon,
and these looking-glass limbs scream for your
tongue to shatter me into one million
Rose eyelashes; iron thorns and liquid petals
flutter open to the dull luster of our
and in the end, your nebula fades away
in the disintegrating morning, just like my [heart] broken
Poetry is:Poetry is:Poetry is: in Free Verse More Like This
the adhesive to
a fragmented soul;
broken wings that still dream of
F L Y I N G
how snapdragons breathe stardust
and orchids perform ensembles.
when 'imagination' and 'reality' at last discover a
c r o s s r o a d s,
and rush to embrace one another with fervent limbs.
why gravity seems to f
l, taking the world with it.
what flows through the veins of every pair of [shipwrecked; star-crossed] lovers.
who I am; who I was; and who I want to be.
Open Heart SurgeryI've got ink throbbing through fissured veins,Open Heart Surgery in Free Verse More Like This
poisoning every atom of my soul.
"Bite your tongue," they say.
How I'd love to chew the damn thing off
and suck down every filthy syllable
just like the rotten bone marrow it is.
They'd all watch as my body spontaneously combusts
and becomes nothing but convoluted karma.
And so I wrote,
Teach me the ways of ripping out a human heart,
and stitching it onto ink-stained parchment."
The answer that came was rasped from a cauterized throat:
"Read your future in the collapsed palm of the stars;
find the abandoned pulse of your lionhearted muse;
steal their conformed scalpel and make it your own."
AimlessSpring forgot how to begin anew,Aimless in Free Verse More Like This
so Winter stole her amnesic heart and tossed it to the wolves.
"Devour me," the stars seemed to beg;
so Gravity plunged them into the ocean's nebulous depths.
These lips no longer offer hymns up to fallen gods—
so Fate sacrificed herself for the chance to be reborn.
NecromancyI wanted to see what makes a human heartNecromancy in Free Verse More Like This
so I took a scimitar and ripped apart your decrepit
and inside that primordial ribcage I found nothing but
And you merely gave a cruel parody of a
dug your bloodstained claws into your
and tore out that infestation you called a
"Analyze that well, my little necromancer," you
fangs dripping with the acid I once begged to
"Perhaps you'll be as wise as me once you find the
I could only watch as you sunk back down into
clutching that contaminated Philosopher's Stone
knowing you had replaced my heart with the poison known as
'l o v e.'
They say beauty is only skin deep,so hand over that defected scalpel in your bloodless handsThey say beauty is only skin deep, in Free Verse More Like This
and watch carefully as I peel away this tainted skin
to make way for my blackened and corrupted
And everyone can finally see
the grotesque monster that lies deep within
this soiled excuse they seem to enjoy calling
If beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
then why is it that I can't stand
gazing upon my reflection
every time I pass by a mirror?
.I stare at the screen, waiting for some burst of inspiration to rain upon me like a meteor shower sent straight from the gods of literature heaven.. in Emotional More Like This
A sigh escapes my lips, and I haphazardly bash random buttons of the keyboard, watching as the blank document before me is littered with an incoherent placement of characters. The monotone click-clack seems to just resonate with the narcoleptic beating of my heart, further fueling my senseless crusade.
Where has all my writing gone?
It feels like it was just sucked right out of my soul. Ideas constantly plague my mind, yet all I can do is write them down. When I go to type them out, nothing happens. And then, just as quickly as my urge to write appears, it is gone in a flash—and all I can do is slump forward and hope that maybe next week I'll get something productive done.
My fingers halt in their endless assault of the keyboard, and my eyes slide up to scan the nonsense I've created on the bright screen. It's n
Ways to conquer heartbreakDance with fistfuls of roses, shred their petals one by one and wear their thorns like armor.Ways to conquer heartbreak in Free Verse More Like This
Write your secrets between the folds of paper cranes and tuck them safely between the empty spaces of your castle ribs.
Open your broken heart to hummingbirds, allow them the warmth and shelter of your arms.
Rebel. Tape poetry to your limbs, Cummings and Sandburg and Sexton.
Take a walk outside of your skin for a while, run with wolves.
Extinguish that forest fire that’s been curling too long in your lungs.
Be that lionhearted girl those snobby poets always write about.
Allow that cavern of stars in your throat to speak your truths in uppercase letters, in free verse yet to be proofread.
Write about wars and victory.
Be the hero.
Heart:a rebellionHeart: in Free Verse More Like This
in her chest.
she's got skin
unworthy to write
she tapes those
to her limbs
It's all about her,-I had never wished to know the moon,It's all about her, in Free Verse More Like This
or the burning gaze of her lover.
I am merely a forest of silences,
old dogwoods & untamed hair.
-But, I made a promise
to a bone collector once.
He could have my spine,
my kneecaps, &
one flowered rib,
wrapped & bowed-up
like a present
-if he could fall in love
with things that slip through his fingers:
-“It would be a sin to love you,
my dear sweet wolf;
you will always cry for the moon.”
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.
free birdit’s a need to feel the suns golden fingersfree bird in Free Verse More Like This
teasing figure eights along my back,
& the wind on my cheeks.
i must have been
a bird in some past life,
a swallow or a hummingbird.
because, i swear on some nights
i can feel the growing pains of an atlas
ready to burst through my skin like wings.
i just want to be
roadkillYou told meroadkill in Free Verse More Like This
I was November’s ambrosia
sweet on your tongue.
But now all I feel
is discord, sieging
the 3,000 year old tree
inside of me.-
Centuries to grow so tall
9 mere minutes to
You no longer smile anymore.
And I am here,
silent as stone-
the carcass of a dead...
hoping you don't leave me
on the side of the road.
Milky Waymy body is a road mapMilky Way in Free Verse More Like This
of hazard signs
but on the days
when the mirror
is nice to me,
i can hear
like little racing
beneath my skin:
you are not worthless.
you are strong.
your ribcage has a meaning-
these bruises are
ste ti & you are the Milky Way.
A lion among sheep.There are ghosts in my bloodstreamA lion among sheep. in Free Verse More Like This
kissing concrete cells &
the bedroom eyes of nerve endings.
( foreign words
engraved into my marrow, birds in my chest
& wars not yet fought between my hips. )
I've taken myself apart every night
since I learned how to swallow a pen
limb by steady limb.
Passed around by grabby hands,
a sold, & borrowed daughter;
I am a lion among sheep,
drunk on life & ink.
Poets have the loneliest hearts.I drink morphinePoets have the loneliest hearts. in Free Verse More Like This
like peach tea;
down 6 pills by morning
just to keep my mind
& I know I can go days
without speaking a word
I want a moon shy girl
with wolves at her back,
bite mark ankles &
a bottle of writer’s tears
tucked under one arm.
I want to be end of the war
kisses bruised into her hipbones;
the epilogue written over her
With these wisteria limbs
February cold, &
these weak lungs
exhaling coralline whispers,
I’ve got a tongue for words
but still have no idea how to love
a universe girl.
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
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
Painted SkinPainted Skin:Painted Skin in Free Verse More Like This
He smiles at you, as you enter the office;
Wearing eyeliner made of contempt and disdain.
His cheap cologne invades your nostrils immediately
And you quickly suppress a cough.
"Yes, yes, indeed we have to review this...er, many things are involved."
His face is powdered with a layer of self-importance;
Lips reddened by the polite harshness he spews.
His forked tongue flickers as he prattles on
And you're really getting quite tired.
"Oh I'm sorry! Of course, of course I understand; but my way is much better!"
You're getting really bored now, so you take a look around the room.
The expectation is to see it bedecked with acolades;
Yet bare walls, cold and empty, are all that greets you.
"Are you listening to me, I'm telling you why this isn't good enough. LISTEN TO ME!"
You take a look at the cup of coffee you were offered,
Cheap and lukewarm; you narrow your eyes.
"Is there a problem? I'm being honest, this is for YOUR OWN GOOD!"
We Poets Are Frustrated...We Poets Are Frustrated...We Poets Are Frustrated... in Free Verse More Like This
I am sure that you have all experienced this feeling:
A masterpiece eclipsed by the baying of a brat!
A raucous rhyme, so emotionally raw;
Shadowed by a child's melancholia...
Alone in the darkness, you lick your lips and growl.
Your anger, so evidently understandable; yet you forget your own abilities!
In despair, my dearest sibling, you have forgotten — yourself
Why fear an obstacle so easily overcome?
Why shred your works with such heavy tears?
Have you forgotten that we are the original craftsman?
Our tongues birthed as our chisels and axe!
We need only take these simple themes
And corrupt them with all our twisted fears...
This hatred inside of you, this bubble of frustration and anxiety —
Let it swell like a pus-filled abscess of anger!
And with your words unleash this vicarious plague!
Take the unblemished works that have scorned you,
And inject them with the very darkness of your soul!
Let bleeding lips,
Practice Poem - Poor Little TimmyPractice Poem - Poor Little Timmy:Practice Poem - Poor Little Timmy in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Down into well, poor Timmy fell,
Down he fell into the pits of hell.
Brought into hell by an eldritch spell,
Poor little Timmy who fell down the well.
Alone he cowered and shivered and shook,
He shook for hours, so long it took,
So long it took for him to feel well,
Well enough to explore this hell...
Through pathways littered with scenes most gory;
Most gory indeed was little Timmy's story,
A story of fear and suffering defined,
Poor little Timmy, he ran out of time...
Now then, I think I'll go welcome my little guest...
-Chen Yuan Wen, 14th December 2012
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
Six Words for a SlumpSix Words For A Slump:Six Words for a Slump in Free Verse More Like This
You're tired, unable to create anything.
You feel angry; the anatomy's wrong!
Why won't these words come together?
"Nothing's right anymore, my hands tremble..."
Yet the solution is fairly simple...
I'm showing it to you now;
Break up your ideas, smaller sized.
They come together, like in Tetris.
Rotate the blocks; shape your art.
Draw chibis and stick figures too.
Instead of epics, try a haiku.
How about a six word story?
If your mind is blocked, overheated.
Let it cool; take it slow.
By attempting all the smaller things,
Your art is sure to grow.
-Chen Yuan Wen, 5th January 2013
Sending Me To HellSending Me To Hell:Sending Me To Hell in Free Verse More Like This
I close my eyes, as the black smoke fills the air.
Incense burned to create a semi-choking sensation.
A tiny inkling of the perceived suffering,
But it is enough to make this difficult...
Next, wounds are carefully opened.
Patterns carved into the flesh,
Resembling the nine circles of suffering.
As each begins to form a red river,
An ocean pools beneath my stained elbows.
In the distance I hear the cackling of witches;
Accompanied always by the mad shrieks of those beyond.
Already they can taste the red wine that I ooze
And eagerly, their tongues wag; anticipating the feast.
Concentrate...I have to concentrate
My teeth grind together, as I force them shut,
The pressure causes my jaws to ache and my body soon stiffens.
It seizes up like an iron vault, my mind its secret mechanism;
Twisting, turning, seeking the accepted combination.
I can feel them now, reaching for me...
Tongues begin to lick at my open wounds,
Lustfully salivating unto m
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
This is All About YouThis Is All About You:This is All About You in Free Verse More Like This
Most people giving you advice, might take a quote from a book
Most people giving you advice, have never had a real look
So from someone who's been watching, let me lay my heart bare
I want to show you all the special things, about the girl for whom I care
She always does her very best, no matter how tough the task
Even when she's struggling, she puts on a brave mask
She's always trying to learn new things, just for a chance to make you proud
She can be a little bit quiet, but I think that's better than being loud
She's not the very best in sports, I know she can be kind of a klutz
But she smiles and goes on anyway, now that takes a lot of guts...
She gets embarassed pretty easily and gets far too nervous to talk
But I know she'd like it if we held hands, whenever we went for a walk
She doesn't need a lot of pretty things, she just wants someone who cares
I bet she'd like to have someone, whom she knew would always be there
I remember when she tried to cook
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,
In absence of a poem.I chewed my pen to the nibIn absence of a poem. in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
and swallowed the ink thoughtlessly,
but no matter how long I thought,
I couldn't say what you mean to me.
I tried, I tried and I tested,
every word in my diminutive range,
but I screwed up more pieces of paper
and happened upon something strange;
I noticed words, which have served me,
for all of my formative years,
had no power to convey my gratitude
for the times that you dried my tears.
Whenever I doubt myself (often),
You're the one who tells me I'm wrong
You lift up my chin and remind me, wait
for the good things that will come along.
I can't find a way to express how
you are the saving grace in my head.
So words can't tell you how I love you -
I hope my silence will tell you instead.
MaybeJust give me one dream that isn't see-through.Maybe in Free Verse More Like This
One substantiated claim to reality,
that I might hold onto life with.
Every quivering cell, mid-osmosis, begs you
for a shred of dignity with my tea.
Just one chance for something heavy,
something hard and room temperature. Real.
I don't want to look through my day dreams
and see someone else's face there.
I don't want to dream of those people
who may make, or break me, in the future tense.
I am tired of milky white and reflective black.
It is time for a life of colour and hope -
and not looking back to see if the past
matches up with the jigsaw map to the end game.
I want to be in the game, participating,
feeling, like I might make it there one day.
Just give me something, that I can hold onto;
something harder to see through than a whisper
of that voice in the back of my mind that says
KonjukuYou think you are a pebble.Konjuku in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
That's not the most romantic thing to say to someone, so you'll have to forgive my clumsiness. You think you are a pebble. That you have been worn down and eroded to the point where all corners have been smoothed out. That you have allowed the awkward elbows and ankle bones, the stutter and the scars, to be rubbed out. That you've let them wear you down until you are no longer abrasive when you come into direct contact with what they expect you to be.
You are not a pebble.
You are not small or part of a greater pattern. You are not disposable, at the mercy of Poisedon's temperate shifts. You are not the sum of the parts around you. You are not a pebble.
You are soil; and some may say that that's not the most kind thing to say to someone. People will walk all over you. By that, I mean that you will rise to new heights and be the beginning of something beyond what we have now. Like a sharp cliff you will become the platform that others have to build from
Framed[ I met him at the county fair.Framed in Free Verse More Like This
It wasn't like the songs predicted;
I had mud up my shins and he
had grass in his hair. What a mess. ]
[ I kissed him at my grandma's house.
He swallowed me and digested me;
I became a part of his simmering self.
We fused together, and I died. ]
[ I married him in a triangular church,
When I turned up in white he grinned
and whispered "what, no muddy knees?".
I put a leaf from my bouquet in his hair. ]
[ He kissed her at my grandma's house.
She had left it to us when she passed.
In the house where I'd learned about love
he taught me all I know about betrayal. ]
[ He left me at the train station.
I'd helped him with his leather suitcase,
struggling to get a grip of the situation
I gave a habitual kiss goodbye. Awkward. ]
[ He met another girl in group therapy.
They had a mad, passionate affair for a year
then, it expired. Shortly after, she did too.
He came to me, life turning to sand. ]
[ I forgave him at my birthday party
surrounded by friends wh
with a whisperthis is how we rule the world,with a whisper in Free Verse More Like This
the forgotten, lobotom-ised,
of a long lost dystopast.
not with a SHOUT,
we do not argue.
we do not even unsheath
we whisper in your children's ears
the memories of what should have been.
the life we all crave.
the death we all crave.
WE do not discriminate
our opinions onto others
pressing the side of the blade
down onto the flesh
all are bitten
with the fever of our belief.
this is how we rule the world,
we tell stories,
we incite a generation
with their own scar/r/ed lungs
with a whisper.
The White ThingsNothing is as far away as a minute ago.The White Things in Free Verse More Like This
No matter how hard you row against the tide
we can never reach it, never return there.
It's hard to sleep in the light of my regrets
that creeps through curtain and barriers
to rot away and bleach all things white.
It's hard to sleep knowing that no distance
is as far away as sixty small seconds ago.
Immalleable, we rot, and things turn white.
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;
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.
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.
In a Little Girl's MindThere sits the girl with the things in her eyesIn a Little Girl's Mind in Free Verse More Like This
Monsters, destruction, and sweet butterflies
Hopscotch and daisies, surrounded by screams
Beautiful dresses now torn at the seams
Crayons and paintbrushes, villains and grins
Young, gladsome innocence, hatred and sins
Little red houses on roads left to fade
Gorgeous moonlight shining off of the blade
Blood pouring out as she cries her own name
Knowing she's forced to take each bit of blame
She could have stopped it and left it behind
All of these things in her troubled young mind
She could have saved them if she dared to try
Rather, though, she left herself there to die.
Now, others watch as she sits on the ground
Keeping their distance and letting her drown
In her own worries and things she won't tell
Waiting for her mind to kill her as well…
Bipolar DisorderLook over your shoulder. They're watching you.Bipolar Disorder in Free Verse More Like This
Tighten your stomach muscles.
Bounce your leg up and down.
"Are you okay?"
Don't say anything.
Feel it, feel the thoughts melting from your mind.
"What are you doing?"
They're behind you.
Kill them before they kill you.
Please save me.
Crazy. You're crazy.
No one wants you.
Pull the trigger.
"Please tell me what's wrong."
You wouldn't understand.
"Who are you? I don't know you anymore."
I'm a nobody.
I am Bipolar Disorder.
... "I don't know."
Let's Play a Game Let's play a game.Let's Play a Game in Free Verse More Like This
I don't like the game we play
But he says we have to.
After all, I am
Daddy's little girl.
I'm too sad to move.
I don't like this game.
But I am
Daddy's little girl.
There. Wasn't that nice?
I don't like our games...
But I guess I have to
Daddy's little girl.
We can play again later.
I don't want to play later!
I don't. Like. Our. Games.
But I have to play them.
Daddy's little girl.
It's fun. Isn't it?
I don't want to be
I'm sick of being
Daddy's little girl
In Daddy's world
With Daddy's games.
Let me grab this knife, Daddy.
Let me hurt you, Daddy.
The way you hurt me.
I don't want to be your little girl.
I want to play a game.
You're Not?You're anorexic if you're thinYou're Not? in Free Verse More Like This
You're not? Then you're obese.
If you're different, you're insane
You're not? Then you're a fake.
If you're happy, you're hiding something.
You're not? You must be emo.
If you're dating, you're a slut.
You're not? You must have no friends.
If you're popular, you're a jerk.
You're not? You're a nobody.
If you're quiet, you must be disabled.
You're not? You obnoxious freak.
If you're you, you're wrong.
Then you must be perfect.
And Daddy always lied.My legs are covered in bruisesAnd Daddy always lied. in Free Verse More Like This
And I have a scar by my left eye.
I’m not allowed to smile, though
And I’m not allowed to cry.
I think my right arm’s broken
But shh, don’t tell my dad.
He doesn’t like to worry bout me
When he’s already mad.
I have a burn on my left wrist
From when he pushed my arm
Against the stove, the hot, hot stove
And did a bit of harm.
I have a bear, a teddy bear.
He doesn’t have a name.
He makes me better every time
I’m feeling hurt and shame.
Today, my dad came home kind of late
A beer still in his hand.
I closed my eyes and waited.
He screamed, he shouted, and…
Well, my name is Mary Starr
And this is how I died.
But daddy always loved me.
And daddy always lied.
RIP Unborn BabyTiny little bodyRIP Unborn Baby in Free Verse More Like This
Quiet little heartbeats.
See this little pea? That's how big you are right now.
But Mommy doesn't know that yet.
Little fingers start to grow
out of tiny little hands.
See this little peanut? That's how big you are right now.
But Mommy doesn't know that yet.
Your tiny legs start to grow
out of your sweet little body.
See this little pencil tip? That's how big your footprints are right now.
But Mommy doesn't know that yet.
Weak little heartbeat.
Weak little baby.
See these smiles on our faces? That's how loved you are right now.
But you don't know that yet.
Gone little heartbeat.
Gone little baby.
See us walking into the doctor's office? That's how excited we are right now.
But you don't know that yet.
"I'm so sorry for your loss."
See these tears on our faces? That's how much we love you right now.
But you don't know that yet.
A baby that had Daddy'
Once Upon a NightmareOnce upon a mysteryOnce Upon a Nightmare in Free Verse More Like This
Once upon a crime
Once upon a lullaby
Once upon a rhyme
Once upon a thunderstorm
Once upon a lie
Because every nightmare tends to start
With once upon a time.
I Love You, DaddyDaddy, please don't touch me.I Love You, Daddy in Free Verse More Like This
It doesn't feel good.
It makes me feel..
Daddy, please don't hit me.
I didn't mean to disappoint you.
When you hit me, it makes me feel...
Daddy, please don't hurt her.
Mommy didn't do anything.
When you hit her, it makes me feel..
Daddy, please don't say you love me.
I know you're lying.
When you say you still want me, it makes me feel...
Daddy, please stop screaming at her.
You already killed her.
When you scream at her, it makes me feel..
Daddy, stay there.
Let me sink the knife into your throat.
When you bleed, it makes me feel..
Daddy, aren't you happy now?
As you lie there, lifeless.
I'm only following your footsteps.
This makes me feel...
Daddy, please listen.
I know you can't hear me, but...
I still love you.
The same way you always loved me.
And it makes me feel...
It makes me feel..
When I SaidWhen I said I wanted a fairy taleWhen I Said in Free Verse More Like This
I meant I wanted a prince.
I didn't want to be locked in a
I didn't want to be fought by a
I didn't want
When I said I wanted a fairy tale
I meant I wanted to be a princess.
I didn't want to watch a rose
I didn't want to wear the gown
I wanted it
When I said I wanted a fairy tale...
I expected it to end in a
But i never expected it to end like this.
AnorexiaMeet a girl named No One, with a heart of shattered stoneAnorexia in Free Verse More Like This
Staring at the other girl, the one that's not alone
Girl with skin that glistens, with the eyes of crystal seas
Grin of shining diamonds and a laugh like a disease
Flashes just a glance and soon, she's every trouble's cure
She has everything… and No One's off to be like her.
Eating turns into a crime, she'd rather be away
Thrusting fingers down her throat to make herself okay
Watching as her very bones are seen behind her flesh
There she drowns in tears, for she has not yet seen success.
Minutes turn to hours, and these hours turn to days
Every moment slipping, slowly fading into grey
Rapidly, her body turns to nothing but her bones
As she fights for beauty, as she battles for the throne.
Broken hearts must learn to beat, and this she came to know
Learning it the hard way when her heartbeat grew too slow
Yet, she somehow managed still to shine from what's within
Lying in her casket with her hidden, unseen sin.
Final thoughts ins
Why I Hate Romantic Comedies1.Why I Hate Romantic Comedies in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Because they say that for every single boy who counts the stars, there is a little girl who is wishing upon one. (And they never mention what happens after the stars fade into morning and the other falls into oblivion)
Because they say that people fall in love when the time is right, they are true to each other and are ready to be together. (But no one ever mentions how she is so damaged she can barely think, and he is so cynical that he may never be ready.)
Because they insist that your soulmate is going to be a good, kind, caring human being who will love you from the bottom of their hearts. (This is due to the fact that even if there is someone for everyone, bad people are immune to the soulmate theory.)
Because they always have a happy ending (And real life begins after the sun has set and she has realized that he may not be everything she hoped for and he begins to have second thoughts about commitment.)
Because everything is assured in i
A Little Bit of WonderlandHer name was Alyssa, and when she was nine, her mother built her Wonderland. After being raised on a healthy diet of Charles Dickens, Enid Blyton and J.M. Barrie, it seemed like the natural course of action. She created it out of paper, each scene indispensably, indisputably perfect in its imperfection.A Little Bit of Wonderland in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
And she did it because Alyssa was terrified of the idea of falling through a rabbit hole, into a place that allows magic only when you are confused. Mothers do the most impractical, exhausting things to show how much they love their children. It seemed a pity that it was this very effort that kept Alyssa up all night, staring at the paper people like they were coming to get her.
(If Alyssa’s mother knew, she would have spent all her time trying to explain to the little girl that it wasn’t just paper people she should be afraid of.)
God appeared to have a sense of humour when little Alice became Alyssa’s best friend. She lives across the street, her hair always
I'm Not the Marrying KindI'm not the marrying kind.I'm Not the Marrying Kind in Free Verse More Like This
I have stones in my hair instead of flowers,
And a rosebush of thorns is more poignant to me.
I'm not the marrying kind.
My words aren't pretty or wise,
And I can't sing about anything but a broken heart.
I'm not the marrying kind.
I am the sort of damaged you see in an old recorder,
And the kind of old in an instrument that breaks into a billion pieces at a touch.
I'm not the marrying kind.
Neither neat, nor tidy, nor correct in my behavior,
And yes, I did in fact tell you to fuck yourself.
I'm not the marrying kind.
I do not stay silent in arguments,
And I like to lie compulsively, just to see your face change.
I'm not the marrying kind.
I am not the ideal of any lady, nor her likes,
And I do not allow any man to walk all over me.
No. I am not the marrying kind.
But I do like the idea of a little girl with her mo
Lying, Cheating Harlot“I have issues.”Lying, Cheating Harlot in Free Verse More Like This
“That’s a revelation.”
“No. Seriously. I have issues.”
“All right. I’ll bite. What’s going on?”
“I don’t think I’m ever going to find someone who’ll love me.”
“What? Why're you looking at me like that?”
“You aren’t serious, right?”
“I am glad my pain makes you so incredulous.”
“All right, let me try this again. If you can't find someone who loves you, who am I to you?”
“Don’t answer that. That was rhetorical. I am the girl who spends hours huddled in a corner of a library, trying to find what you love the most about Marlowe, just so I can write you a poem worthy of Shakespeare. I’ve made books my lovers, hours my enemies and you the only story.”
“You do that for-”
“I am the girl who will split her fingers in two and let the ink fall on pages and p
Crayon SoulmatesDear Stars,Crayon Soulmates in Free Verse More Like This
I have a bone to pick with you. You see, when I was six, I called myself the nowhere girl... and I coloured myself a soulmate. I made him on crumpled sheets, with broken pieces of crayon, on a playground that was too busy wondering whether growing up entailed stealing their mother's cigarettes and their father's dirty magazines (I suppose I was already wise enough to know that growing up meant choosing one of the many ways of breaking yourself in two.)
I hope you remember him, stars...he was important to me (My best friend threw that drawing away on my seventh birthday and told me that someone like me was not supposed to have such dreams.).
He had hair as ebony as deep onyx and a smile that never grew up (Peter Pan would have been proud). He was magic in soul form, and smelled like cinnamon and the earth after it has rained. His eyes rivaled a lions on the best of his youth, his words were story shaped. His skin was an ink coloured canvas of wonder and even in crayon
Forever NeverlandGrace disliked Tinkerbell. She disliked her because she had wings and she could fly whereas Grace stayed on the ground, catching fireflies. The fireflies, in turn, made it easy because they knew she would let them go. She would stare at their radiant light in awe and try to understand how something so little could shine so very bright.Forever Neverland in Free Verse More Like This
She tried to pretend the bread she had in the mornings was ice cream flavoured, and even imagined her little brother had never been taken from them but had been enthralled and forever lost in Neverland. When she tried to explain this to her mother, her mother would look away quietly, and sometimes, rise with a quiet shudder...and leave the room.
For a little girl who had the hope of the world resting quite easily on her head as a crown, she knew. She knew that one day, he would come for her and maybe, maybe they could be together again like they were in her dreams.
As she grew older, she slept on a bed of green, with a desk of wood and a massive window t
You call it Judgement, We call it SinEmily needs the words to understand that she isn't being unreasonable. She just wants them to mean something and not be a string of words which flows into itself over and over again.You call it Judgement, We call it Sin in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
She doesn't like her name either. Not because Emily isn't a pretty name but because she would rather be called something she feels like. (She has never quite forgiven her parents for choosing her name for her.) If she could, she would call herself Glass, because that is what she wakes up feeling like every morning. As if crystallised pieces of glass are edible and her insides tingle as she swallows them whole.
Emily lets the words call her names sometimes. She writes them on her knees so that she can remember them. Sometimes the words call her a whore, and sometimes stupid, and sometimes a loser and sometimes a tramp (She has never learnt that loving too much is a crime and boys with pretty eyes sometimes lie.). She sits in the bathroom with a pen the colour of blood and writes them carefully
Another Language called EnglishI took your adjectives for granted. There was something about the way you skipped over your 's'es and gleaned over your 'i's and 'e's, that never really made me want to kiss you. You'd sit there with your languid fingers clutching a book that was half finished, and read me words that were completely mispronounced. It would prickle me under my skin and I would grit my teeth, wondering when you would stop. I would never understand the english language you thought you spoke, and your confidence in your own words annoyed me.Another Language called English in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It was comical when you spoke in front of our friends. Your mistaken pronunciation of the word 'pronunciation' in particular made them giggle. I would stand in a corner, clutching a glass of rum and coke and cringe, flushing in second hand embarrassment. You would smile at me from across the room, and continue with your tangled tongue as though nothing was wrong.
I felt sorry for you. But not sorry enough when you took your favourite writing pen from my d
When Your Best is Not Good EnoughDon't speak.When Your Best is Not Good Enough in Free Verse More Like This
Don't hold yourself together.
Don't fall apart.
Don't pretend it is all going to be okay.
Don't act like it won't be all right.
Don't touch me.
Don't look away from me.
Don't be so needy.
Don't be so grateful.
Don't act silly.
Don't be so serious.
Don't have so much fun.
Don't be so sullen.
Don't love anyone too much.
Don't be so selfish.
Don't ignore me.
Don't love me too much.
And hope? Hope is just a lie you tell yourself so that tomorrow, you can do it all over again.
MouthfulsYou take mouthfuls of meMouthfuls in Free Verse More Like This
Huge, selfish as they are
Leaving morsels of me behind
Teeth my words and chew up my heart
Bite through my spine with shark like jaws
I am used, you explain, damaged,
Dirty for existing.
Dirty for loving you.
I ask you why you like to hurt me.
"I love you most when you ache on the inside."
I have never hated myself more.
boys who love their grandmothersnever fall in love with a boy who loves his grandmother.boys who love their grandmothers in Free Verse More Like This
he will be too gentle with your lips,
too sincere when he whispers blessings into your ears
pleading that he doesn't deserve you.
his tongue will not slither between your teeth.
instead, the heat of his mouth will melt your scar tissue
until there is no trace of your travels.
never fall in love with a boy who loves his grandmother.
he knows patience.
you will try to convince him
that it is one of the many virtues
you don't yet possess,
but he will dig through the flesh in your ribcage
until he finds it lodged beneath everything
you're too scared to confess.
he will teach you forgiveness, remind you that you are not a mistake.
he will wipe the trails of tears that always seem to decorate your cheeks
and replace them with rose petals, saying that he chose the color red
to match the passion he knows flows through your veins.
never fall in love with a boy who loves his grandmother.
he will trace the freckles on your skin
starsi pray that someday soon, in a lonesome winter, your bones will cease to ache.stars in Free Verse More Like This
regrets will no longer break your morals like glass figurines,
you will not ask God to pardon your sins.
you will forgive yourself.
i hope, for your sake, that your butterfly-flutter eyes
will only be dampened with tears worthy of shedding.
your glory will shine out of those 2 crystal windows
and you will finally know what freedom feels like.
one day, in the midst of a dreary december, i wish for your wings to open wide
and carry you to heights far past any you have ever experienced.
your lungs will become blooming forests
with snippets of poetry carved into the tree trunks.
you will no longer be broken, but instead, crack into miniscule pieces
of yourself until all of the grace & goodness
buried deep within the crevices of your flesh
is soaked up by the atmosphere.
i am awaiting the day that i can finally lay next to someone i call lover
and point up at the stars to show him
fragments of you scatte
forest firesmy signature scrawled across allforest fires in Free Verse More Like This
of your sentences like a stain of apologies:
i'm sorry for anchoring you to my hip
like a one-sided promise, like a flood of insincerity.
i'm sorry for collecting you like a well of wishes,
for whispering you into every crack in these walls.
i do not have the depth to tether our limbs
with the tautness of our smiles, but i will
balance you on the edges of my knees until
you slip away.
i have been kneeling with my arms outstretched
but the divinity of your touch
never graced my expectant stance.
our bones built forest fires together,
but it was always my tears putting them out.
wastelandthe difference between alone & lonelywasteland in Free Verse More Like This
was one of them needed me.
i recluded back into the embrace
of someone who didn't deserve to
trace the wings in my lungs into
butterflies, all because of my
selfish desire for solace.
see, i am not practiced
in the art of loneliness.
or maybe i've wrecked enough
solitary canvases to stretch
me all the way back to the
fallen leaves of last october
when his arms constricted my mid-
section; a noose for my stomach.
i wanted to forget
how it felt
to be left.
so i let him stroke my shoulders
in an attempt to rebirth necessity.
september's winds brought
whiplash & slick hands.
he snaked in between my
2 good legs and robbed me
his eyes half-smiled with
permission & lust rolled
into 1 smolder.
i am still heavy with sin.
even though i want to,
i will never forget him.
the similarity between alone & lonely
was i wanted both of them.
patternsinhale forgiveness, exhale hypocrisy.patterns in Free Verse More Like This
life is meaningless;
existence is a series of patterns.
and then spread
wings or legs.
cage yourself in - tousle your mane a bit,
then stand all too glorified
like you deserve.
give me one true word.
i silenced your whimpers and missed your roars.
breaking clockswhen the desire to disembody arises,breaking clocks in Free Verse More Like This
do not wipe the sweat from your forehead.
cut your fingernails with a sharp tongue
until they bleed. do not launder your bed
sheets, do not dust off your insecurities.
& everything else.
make an excuse to visit the cemetery;
try and fail to put to rest the festering
that has become you.
hammer the nail so deep into the coffin
that you can hear your late grandfather’s
welding tools mold metal abstractly.
gargle salt water and then spit at the mirror.
tell yourself this will be the last time you caress cursed skin.
tell yourself you never saw him leaving.
call yourself a liar.
resist collapsing like a purposeless mess.
give in like everything else.
pull yourself together for the time being,
then break all the clocks.
Istanbulthe cracks in the walls of Istanbul purgeIstanbul in Free Verse More Like This
themselves of cowardice every full moon.
the apprehension seeps into the atmosphere
and into my skin, tanning it just the right shade of confusion.
i want to strip the city of its 1000 mosques
and crumble them to rubble.
their divine majesty whispers tu es sofia - you are wise.
and my teeth can't take this anymore,
the way the mortar between the bricks
reminds me of mistakes that only i took
the time to notice.
je ne suis pas sofia - i am not wise.
i am chattel chartered between each of Istanbul's bending limbs;
i am not practiced in the art of forgiveness.
you cannot take me places.
i absorb nothing.
the span of nights between every full moon
under the Turkish sky is empty.
i have not learned how to value promises.
i am only skilled in the craft of bodies:
flesh sketched within ribcages and
apologies drawn out on forearms
are the only form of nostalgia i know.
every rising sun in the heart of these bricks
is the marking of my f
vandalismI.vandalism in Free Verse More Like This
it was only under the weight of the stars
that vulnerability personified
and he floated into my arms like an honest promise.
we built castles with our mouths,
safe havens with our teeth.
after all this time, i still can't tell
whether he decorated my life
or vandalized it.
and i wonder if i will ever see him again:
painted and proud with those lips like royalty.
on making it countwhen the cracks in my palms wanted toon making it count in Free Verse More Like This
leak secrets like loose faucets, i resisted
stitching them back together with people
who did not deserve me.
i pressed my hands against a mirror, told
the glass to read all that i had been through,
and disregarded the response.
i won myself over like a trophy,
left my body crumbled in a heap
on the cold tile of the shower,
built myself back up again.
my eyes left salt water streaks across my
pillowcase and i didn't do the laundry for
weeks to trick myself into moving on.
i wavered between wanting the impossible
and expecting the inevitable.
i created all of my tomorrows by holding on
as if there wouldn't be any.
scars are more than upside down smilesto put the parallel lines decorating my wristsscars are more than upside down smiles in Free Verse More Like This
like outdated wallpaper to use, i would peel
the scar tissue like the rind of a blood orange,
link the massacred pieces of myself into a chain,
and then throw it 300 miles right to the foot of your bed.
if there was a way to shift cities and collide hemispheres
until the stretch of miles between our aching bodies tightened,
i would do whatever it takes to bring you closer to me.
i would show up on your doorstep like an unexpected hurricane
and you would draw me in like a high tide. your porch light would
flicker like a fake smile and we would twist ourselves into foreign
tongues in each other’s mouths.
sometimes, our teeth rot in mason jars that used
to house fireflies in a time before we began this
downward spiral of inevitable events, and
you collected a basket full of skinned knees and
repeated apologies when you extinguished all of
my house fires with your bare hands.
my worn heart cannot fill the holes in yours.
I was taught right from wrong I was taught right from wrongI was taught right from wrong in Free Verse More Like This
By a murderer
I was taught truth from lies
By a magician
I was taught who my friends were
By my enemy
I was taught to be honest
By a professional liar
I was taught to always speak my mind
By being told to keep quiet
I was taught to be kind
By someone that beat me down
I was taught to smile
By someone who could never wipe a scowl of their face
I was taught to love
By being abused
I was taught to live
By someone who was already dead
I was taught to perform
By someone with stage fright
I was taught to be excellent
By someone that failed in everything
I was taught to rely on only my self
By being surrounded with people
I was taught to be perfect
By those that wanted to see me fail
I was taught to be loyal
By everyone that ever walked out of my life
I was taught to make people happy
By everyone who ever made me miserable
I was taught to control my temper
By those with explosive tempers
I was taught to take care of myself
By those who tried to kill me
I was taug
i write bad poetry.You are made of bone, sinew, gristle, synapse, skin, keratini write bad poetry. in Free Verse More Like This
not inkwells and Hemingway, galaxy-cuttings and star-trimmings
or dream, Edgar Allen Poe, absinthe, reflections and sin.
You know a hundred words to describe every pockmark that dots
your face and the way your pens fit into arrow-quivers by that
ricketty old desk of yours but
Words will not
from your mother-of-pearl lips
Apply cleverly-done descending letters here
and sprinkle one jaunty hyphen across the page
because after all, punctuation is a hitchhiker
and you're speeding down the word count like a cargo truck
till you crash into an abrupt ending or more likely
a lack of poetic inspiration.
Today and yesterday and seven days before, you might have
prostituted your muses, a penny for your thoughts, looked with
cross-eyes at your empty lined pad of paper and then
wrote seven pages about a cloud you saw that eventually scattered
into dreamy folds and smoke.
The sky is blue.
The sky is big.
Apply 'the sky is
Collab: holding starsDid I tell you about that girl?Collab: holding stars in Free Verse More Like This
I should have done, always talking of her
Always on my mind
Jumping on my mind
I have no ways to explain how she makes me feel...
What words in the world could we use to describe
What words could you use to describe how much
you really love somebody?
Maybe a thousand astral cords tied to the tip of
your tongue, and maybe just one spiral galaxy
wrapped around your ankles.
But what is as perfect as a hundred leagues
under the sea, that first gasp of ocean and rock
salt, with years of rainwater rushing through
the gaps between your ribs and the walls of your
Our love growing like the universe, by particle, by stars, by worlds, getting ever wider to line up our perfect future, our world together, her love is my star, the warmth of the sun by her touch, the smile as wonderful as the eclipse but never as rare but still as perfect.
The shooting I saw on its path,
wanderlust, and what i knowi know things.wanderlust, and what i know in Free Verse More Like This
i'd like to pretend to the listening frost on car windscreens
that i know these things from the song of birds down my ears.
'a little birdy told me' they say, but what they're forgetting
is that birds, if they could talk, wouldn't waste time telling
humans other peoples's secrets when they could be teaching
me how to grow featherdown and fly. yet here i am, a bird
telling scraps of paper what i do and don't know.
Compulsive Liar (spinning stories)The fox won't let me tell you the truth, not even a fragment. He is glintingCompulsive Liar (spinning stories) in Free Verse More Like This
at me from orange eyes again. 'Don't tell them anything. pretend. Imagine,
like you did when you were younger and spun stories from paper. It's all a big
game.' The dog has his ears pricked forward and is chasing his tail next to my
I don't think he doubts me.
The fox wants me to open up a conveyor belt leading straight from the back of
my mouth into peoples' waiting ears. He has made his own production line for
me: a thousand identities like shedded skins, two eye-colours, alternate beauty
marks, three accents and a past straight out of Shakespeare's quill. He wants
me to flick my tongue and weave an odyssey, spin on the spot and become a boy,
then a girl, then a woman, then a Hollywood star with sunken cheeks.
The hound is sat by my feet, panting. He wants me to smile widely, say that no,
I am one girl with one accent, green eyes, no frills on my clothes or gemstones
on my toes. The fox gla
What If We Were Poets?Do you ever wonder what it's like to come face-to-faceWhat If We Were Poets? in Free Verse More Like This
with the planets? To curl your fingers in the air without
meeting thousands of plaster ceilings? What if I showed you
how to cross Saturn's rings, inhale the atmosphere of Venus?
You would enter the Earth (and it's a strange place to call home,
really) with ice crystals at the corners of your mouth and ash
clouds stuck to the insides of your fingernails. Let me tell you,
it's a beginner's worry that you'll burn up in the atmosphere,
but I've had helium and hydrogen daubed on the base of my tongue.
Oh, and do you ever brush past the windows on train carriages
and wonder what cornfields are like when they're your sky
and your Earth's crust? What if I took you to the white cliffs
of somewhere or other and taught you how to spread your wings
and not hit the ground? What if I showed you mazes, and became
the red threads around your thumbs? If you'll just trust me, I'll let you
see that getting lost should only worry you in jungles of co
Colours I Never TastedIt is not worth escaping over.Colours I Never Tasted in Free Verse More Like This
No, sometimes the sun rises lopsided in the horizon and the
clink of glasses against teeth sets irate neurones off in your mind cavity
and fireflies extinguish on car windscreens in rain storms. Sometimes
August drops down into lake reflections and sometimes October never
sends a breeze to whisper into your ears. But they teach you that all of
that is okay, even when you're watching sunflowers writhe towards the
sun with grey blankets over humid-day hair.
There will always be a dawn. Stay awake for it.
You are not truly living until you have breathed.
And by that, I mean, take two feet and place them on the path
or the grass and inhale April. it doesn't matter if it is not April,
imagine the dandelions and the daffodils and the soft bleat of lambs
and that fresh scent rushing past your nose in long car journeys,
the one that tugs your legs onto the map and tells you 'this is home,
all forty thousand kilometres of it'.
The world is your oyster. Be the pear
Tomorrow is BelievingYesterday I considered myself a dust moteTomorrow is Believing in Free Verse More Like This
and climbed out of my window into the helixes
of peoples' ears.
I think I am a monarch butterfly surrounded by
peppered moths here.
They're all a hive of bees and what am I?
Perhaps a bluebottle on the wall.
They are ever-ready to say that there is no tomorrow
'I give up' 'I quit' 'There is just nothing for me
or for anybody anymore.'
They pulled me with their hook fingers and sat me down
and told me that there was once constellations, the clink
of champagne glasses against curved lips and they
once rode in the passenger seat of a car doing a hundred
and twenty down a motorway with the windows open and
the hot summer in their billowing hair.
They tell me that they wished at eleven minutes past
eleven and spent years perfecting recipes to what they call
'the perfect life' only to one day stop believing
when morning came knocking for them.
'Tomorrow I'll be sailing off to a new state
of apathy' I hear a body breathe.
'No, you won't. Tomorrow is m
Lo Que Sera Sera (Only the Ocean)Hair stiff and wavy with sea saltLo Que Sera Sera (Only the Ocean) in Free Verse More Like This
she wipes foam from her eyes surfacing
from a thousand fathoms below where
the horizon quietly hangs.
Two footsteps on the sand, forwards
and backwards. A story of an idea,
a brief spark, seaweed lacing over
'I wanted to find the bottom of the
ocean. Stand at the very depths
and cup daylight in my hands.
Some fish have never seen the sun
or felt a breeze and I thought I'd
give them that chance.'
Even those not prone to childish whimsy
and hope can show a vague smile at the
thought of glittering salmon and anemones
gasping flickers of sunlight, the gentle
wave of fronds and floods and croon of an orca
to mimic rushing wind.
These are the things
the ocean has never noticed.
We're a little jealous of glorious technicolor
pebbles and pearls. Can the water feel envy?
Show it trees and Saturday mornings with a cup
of steaming coffee and maybe it will say 'yes'.
'I walked into the sea to find the
horizon. Don't look at me like that,
The Lover and the LionLover:The Lover and the Lion in Free Verse More Like This
I am made of matchsticks and red ribbons and tiny
sparks of Saturday-morning duvet hopes ricocheting
around my brain into a pattern of torn petals from
daisies. Lovers are destroyers of flowers, we know
this. This is why we belong under trees and in wheat
fields, letting buttercups and dandelions grow between
our toes and around our shoulders. We are made to belong.
Whoever said that a lion is made by birth was
not telling anybody the whole truth. If you would
like to know how, when you stand up, when you roar,
does it feel right? Are you brave? Only the brave can be lions.
a sheep dressing itself in fur and mane will only convince its herd
that it is delusional. You can take the lion out of the desert,
but you will never take the desert from the lion.
Anyone who thinks otherwise must know that you cannot tame what is not willing.
I am made to serve my purpose. To hold anyone who is interested
in the palm of my hands and in the chambers of my heart, to chase
Girl as NicotineShe is the Mona Lisa dip-dyed in ivory, flecks of oilGirl as Nicotine in Free Verse More Like This
paint curling at the corners of her eyes. Her name is warped water
underneath rope bridges, ecstasy in a chalk pill.
It will go down easily with a pair of blue eyes and a cup of red wine.
Just don't choke when the signs of the zodiac rush in over your tongue
and you're overwhelmed with the taste of silk sheets. Sagittarius will take
you to the forest and to Jupiter's storms, Leo sounds like solar flares and
will show you a pride of lions hunting at the first waver of dawn, but it's
Gemini you have to watch out for. It will split itself into two
and replicate in your synapses.
'Addicted' is not an easy word to shape.
Star-studded lips are really just glued-on diamantes clouding
up a strobe light's vision, reflecting in disco balls as the world
cavorts around the dance floor. Piles of colours scattered around
are only clothes at the bottom of a single bed with rumpled duvets
that smell of cologne and 'how could you?' etched into the m
AbusiveGrip my neck tight and don’t let it go.Abusive in Free Verse More Like This
Forgetting to let me breathe.
So I can taste blood, as I bite my lip.
Today is the day I please him.
With my innocent body.
“Admit you like it”
Rip my heart out, and drink the remains.
Then chain me to the bed, a neck with scars.
“Oh my oh my, you've been such a naughty girl”
Pitied by the daytime, it’s when vampires like you sleep.
“Oh my oh my, you've been such a naughty girl”
I just want to rip out your wicked heart.
Please forgive these tears running down my cheeks,
I swear I’ll devoid myself of all emotion.
Ah, I will moan when you command.
Listening to every will.
“I love you”
It hurts so much, the whips and chains.
I hate being tied down like this.
“I love you too.”
Sorry“I’m sorry” are two words I find my frightened self saying.Sorry in Free Verse More Like This
More than once actually.
I have a tendency to repeat myself when I’m jumpy.
Or when I’m busy bawling my eyes out.
“I’m sorry” are two words that often I say for no reason.
Even when an apology isn't needed.
I have a tendency to repeat myself when I’m jumpy.
Or when I’m having an anxiety attack.
“I’m sorry” I find the girls like me often say.
When they can’t seem to find the right words.
Or do some trivial mistake.
“I’m sorry” is something we all seem to say.
More than once actually.
We have a tendency to repeat ourselves when we are jumpy.
Or are having an anxiety attack, from some trivial mistake.
The feelings I can't expressTimes like this when I can’t find the rights words.The feelings I can't express in Free Verse More Like This
Times like this when I find myself crying.
As I have no way to express.
But this pencil twirling in my hand.
Sometimes I’ll make art, and proudly show it.
Sometimes I’ll make shit, and quickly destroy it.
With either I find they both seem to end in the same way.
With a simple message, strewed through long and tedious words.
That could be said much simpler, and probably has.
But still I say it, for it’s all I have.