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 2sometimes,NaPoWriMo: Day 2 in Free Verse More Like This
i have this
sudden urge to cut
most of the time,
i just wish I were anything
other than me.
a rocket ship, a bird-
the sweet flavored smoke
I promised my girlfriend
these briar patch lungs
would not in.hale.
i have fallen in love
with the strangest of things-
eyes that intimidate
the way my scars
play hide and seek
with her hands. -
the love letters
that start and end
pressed against limbs.
i make promises
i know i can not keep.
but if i were a liar
i would say i was tired
of writing to the stars.
Sun Child,I am freezingSun Child, in Free Verse More Like This
& I am hungry
for fever’s lips-
her inky fingers
a dry stomach.
My body is an ocean,
my limbs, but oars.
My tongue & teeth,
a life raft
keeping this madness
from sinking into blue.
Offering up 102 degrees
You would think
I had something to say.
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.
Muse:She corrodes star shapes intoMuse: in Free Verse More Like This
the hearts of sleeping poets,
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.
NaPoWriMo: Day 9More respectNaPoWriMo: Day 9 in Free Verse More Like This
for hungry lions,
doesn’t want to write this poem.
As she forgets how to use words
(on most days,)
relying on curses
like casting some witch's spell-
with only ten dollars to her name.
The oldest daughter:
she’s still somewhere in the middle,
because they had no other way
to categorize her.
Getting her first gravestone at three-
not to the gods,
but to the lily stargazers
in her palms.
she would become a bird,
& never come back.
She doesn’t want her death
laid out like a fast-food
how does she begin to explain
cultivating in her breastbone?
I'm talking myself in circles,I screamed,I'm talking myself in circles, in Free Verse More Like This
"There is nothing
wrong with me, not a damn
I wanted to believe
the big dipper on my arm
meant something more
than sun marks & kisses.
But, how can I trust words
that slip through my teeth
as easy as breathing
when this star
has only ever learned
how to f
NaPoWriMo: Day 3Today,NaPoWriMo: Day 3 in Free Verse More Like This
I wanted to pluck my ribs
from out my chest &
hang them about my house
like wind chimes-
a taunt for hungry wolves.
I didn’t grab for sharp objects,
I just wrote about it.
I never knew
I wanted to be a writer
until I lost something.
I still don’t know what that is-
(my mind, maybe.)
they fill gaps
that had no stories
to keep them
from hollowing out
in the first place.
NecromancyShe thinks there are nebulaeNecromancy in Free Verse More Like This
in the rough of my gutter bones,
some stargazing sanctuary
for lonely outcasts to lay their heads.
I am but a car crash,
& red inked corrections
on crosshatched skin.
Made up of moans,
the clutching of bedsheets;
I am contemplating
ripping my ribs apart
I never had a heart at all.
But my moon shy love;
she is determined
to try & wake the dead.
I Didn't Hear YouWhen you say goodbye to me - said goodbye to me. I didn't hear you. I didn't really consider the tangible loss of us. I was busy. Because in my mind I was hearing years worth of goodbyes, that run in a steady loop of vinyl to make the white noise soundtrack to my tears. I was busy listening.I Didn't Hear You in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
You left me for a logical and reasonable reason. I'll never understand it. I'll never really process what your goodbye meant or how it was intended. It was lost on me. I was busy. Because in my mind I was listing all the reasons that I told myself you would eventually leave me over. It was the hummingbird heart of our relationship that behind what I would say, there was what I thought. Two very different things.
Underneath a less than gracious acceptance of you moving on, there are cracks so wide that the substance that the cracks are between becomes the cracks in the emptiness. My head is empty space with slithers of pain far and few between.
But on those cliff blades that make up the terra
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 The StarsIn the stab of the night,In The Stars in Free Verse More Like This
when there is no moon
or modern light to guide you -
there will be stars.
They will burn themselves out
with the vehemence with which
they shine for you.
They will desperately radiate
their message to you
across lightyears of dead air,
they are full with it.
They are children
holding their breath
until you beg them to stop.
They are waiting for you
to be ready to hear them.
In the ache of the night,
when there are no whispers
or echoes to guide you -
there will be stars;
and those stars will be couriers
baring these words to you
emblazoned with their royal seal.
They will be eternally pressed
in the spaces between space
Somehow in the cracks
of infinite nothingness
you will find my words.
Wedged behind a stereo
until you think to move it.
They are waiting for you
to be ready to feel them.
In the grimace of the night,
when there are no tears
or smiles to guide you -
there will be stars.
They will be distant eyes
full of my love for you
that will watc
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
How Do You Like Your Eggs In The Morning?Sunnyside up.How Do You Like Your Eggs In The Morning? in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The pan was still warm when I dropped it into the sink. We had eggs. You had them sunnyside up, but I couldn't bear runny egg whites and so I had scrambled. Just in case. You found your right shoe and left. I sat at the kitchen table drumming my fingers against the buttercup plastic cloth and thought about Life with a capital L. What was it all about?
I started to think of breakfast as a metaphor for us. You had it all together. Sunnyside up. I was scrambled. A convoluted tick of a person. I started to consider my life as being thoroughly forked. I watched the birds outside the kitchen window for a while and did not relate them to what I had just eaten. After a long slither of time had passed I got up and washed the pan until the eggs were gone. You never came back. I learnt not to mind.
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.
I Didn't Mean, I Didn't MeanI didn't mean to make you cringeI Didn't Mean, I Didn't Mean in Free Verse More Like This
when I mentioned the strength of your shoulders
- didn't want to see them fold in
to protect vulnerable organs
from words protruding rudely
out of disguised compliments.
I didn't mean, I didn't mean -
I didn't mean for you to shut your eyes
when I admired the specific shade of chamoisee
- didn't want to see you wince
as you prepared for an unfelt slap
and the long-lasting sting
of a bare, misshapen insult.
I didn't mean, I didn't mean -
I didn't mean for you to laugh
when I said that I find you beautiful
- didn't want to see you shake
and hear your voice choke
on the ridiculousness
of a misspent commendation.
I didn't mean, I didn't mean -
I didn't mean for you to hiss a sharp inhale
when I smiled at the sound of your voice
I didn't mean, I didn't mean -
I didn't mean for you to frown
when I stared at you too long
I didn't mean, I didn'
Thy lips are warmOf all the words that mouth at loveThy lips are warm in Free Verse More Like This
and soften it with tongue and tooth
None will ever justify this breakage.
Never will there be diction enough
To make a heart salve, or tears unwept.
There will never be a word of woe
That suits to the shape of the thing.
Though many mouths may speak
of love and all her many expressions
airs, graces and confabulations.
None will correlate the meaning truly
how I loved for him, and he not for me.
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
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
Snow White SyndromeI seem to have forgotten the sound of my own heartbeatSnow White Syndrome in Free Verse More Like This
Splitting apart my limbs I've found the source of my insanity
Coiled around veins and arteries
Star dust and a lazy man’s drug
Has put me to sleep under fictitious pretenses
Of forbidden apples and two faced prince charming’s
A half visible mirage rots in broad daylightI think I fell down a holeA half visible mirage rots in broad daylight in Free Verse More Like This
That was six feet too deep
And I don’t know
If I want to climb out anymore
Because it’s so wonderful down here where the stars
No longer hold meaning
And voices can no longer be heard
Over the sound of decaying matter
Waiting to be recycled
On reality and other fictitious thingsI chewed out a pieceOn reality and other fictitious things in Free Verse More Like This
Of the sky
Spit it back out, again.
Maybe I’d be better off
From my fingers
Wiping down your
Bed frame spine
And collapsing your easel
Joints like a puzzle.
I swallowed the
Rains sticky heat
Like a shot
And it burns
Just the same.
on seeking solace in strangersAnd she felt like homeon seeking solace in strangers in Free Verse More Like This
her arms gave
way to the sand
castle of her
i loved her for it
she was a dragon
of a girl
beneath her eyes
from the corners
of her lips
like a faulty tap
to me she was beautiful
like those obscure
lapses in time
at 3.25 AM
with her legs
stretched across the
smoking my cigarettes
as she let her words
into the quiet
s p a c e s
she still sparkled
with this rebellious
twinkle in her eyes
and those eyes
they felt like home
all the doors
The unabridged memoirs of a teenage drop outI’d be lying if I saidThe unabridged memoirs of a teenage drop out in Free Verse More Like This
I didn’t want to spend those nights
Watching the moon hang between your pupils
Like a cadaver strung up high and dry
In the brittle November air.
But there’s something about that road kill smile
That was too fast, too cruel
You were intangible and indistinct
In the way you’d shake your cigarette packet
Hearing the contents rattle like a self-contained thunder storm
You were always like that,
So painfully self-aware you tried to suffocate yourself
In such a way that it was neither poetic nor beautiful
Rather disjointed in mathematics and skewed logic.
You were not romantic or tragically beautiful
You were a boy with a spine that could fracture the sky
If you pressed against it at the right angle
You had hands like braille
That shook when you thought you were alone
Slumped against a wall in an attempt to look blasé
When clearly there was a witch hunt seeping through your bones
I saw the way the knee jerk reaction
Of your carefu
Been there, done that, got the fucking t-shirt.I left my conscience on the doorstep alongBeen there, done that, got the fucking t-shirt. in Free Verse More Like This
With my battered red sneakers,
As we curled ourselves into the floorboards of your attic.
Letting the dank air suffocate,
the screaming angels
Residing in the back of our lungs.
Aching to be burnt out with surges
Of nicotine fueled suicide.
We we’re the type to store pain in ounces
And place them in jars,
As though they held some kind of worth,
In a world in which pain is the latest trend.
Teenagers are the hormonal disease spread out like
A plague, that everyone grows out of
Or at least can medicate.
We were the lucky ones, who made it out alive,
Or so they say.
A chip off the shoulder
A fish in the sea
We we’re nothing special, just burnt out carcasses
Trying to get by.
We’d spend our days on concrete rooftops,
Humming constellations under our breaths
Hoping for our dilated pupils to focus on the ground ahead
And not the oncoming traffic.
I asked you what meeting me was like
And you replied
The boy who hides in drugstores and late nightsBlindfolded airwaves hide his forest veinsThe boy who hides in drugstores and late nights in Free Verse More Like This
Where not even the moon can touch the lonely heart
Resting on his tightly buttoned sleeve
Insomnia drawn deeply into the creases of his eyes
Galaxies humming in time with his stuttering heartbeats
He hides behind nightlights to burn out his demons
Because the devils in the detail
and he's one hour away from tearing down the sky
Splintered amber bones searching for serendipitous moments
He longed not for the stars but rather
For those moments where the horizon kisses the earth
Bonfire irises with a knack for chasing time
Longing for the sun to seem real again
Carving his name into walls to be remembered
As the boy who went down swinging
Joey had a smoke and burned the moon downOne night on a long road trip to NebraskaJoey had a smoke and burned the moon down in Free Verse More Like This
The skies opened up and bled onto my pupils
And the taste of gin burned my throat
As my star strewn spine strained against
The static of the radio blasting from your car stereo
We chased god
Only to find kerosene angels
And glow flies hanging from tree tops
A little punk rocker with a gift for singing songsGirl with the rock and roll smirk curled behind her teethA little punk rocker with a gift for singing songs in Free Verse More Like This
Burning her insides for fun because there wasn’t much else to do
Aside from skipping stones across car parks
And sipping the last dregs of forbidden liquor
Behind broken trees to keep up the act of normality
Late at night when the moon is asleep
She lies on dismantled bed frames
Counting stars because lambs are too often sent to the slaughter
Lucky star heartbeats and posy veins
Hides broken windows behind her pupils
Ceiling lights tracing patterns on her cheekbones
As late night contemplation's lead back to Rome
Atlas limbs curled into her ribs
With a sense of obligation she carries the weight
Of a small child tucked behind her jaw
Elder sister turned hero minus the cape and nylon
Angel torn knuckles scraped and bruised
Walks upon the dry cracked ground
Searching for Atlantis hidden behind a little girls smile
The lost one's weepingListening attentively to the burnt out soundsThe lost one's weeping in Free Verse More Like This
Rusted wrists don’t know how to do anything
Other than to harm
Crack open the loaded guns
Clench a cigarette between breaths
I’d come to realize lungs are suffocating
So I cut them out with dandelion limbs
And tore out my eyes to avert my gaze
Aching for salvation I was greeted by empty pews
And broken hymn books scattered among the graves
Lost lamb prodigal son, there is no home to return to
Only ruins and car crash features lay
Where tombstones used to stand
when writers cryAwake on strong, black coffee drinkswhen writers cry in Free Verse More Like This
Words on paper, liquid ink
Dreams of pen tips, future lies
Tragic stories, quotes of the wise
Nights have carved their dark, deep valleys
In the hollows of my eyes
For you see, my friend, when writers cry
There are no tears, their cheeks are dry
But ink dipped fingers, worn out wrists
Chewed up nails and bloody fists
You see, it's strange when writers cry
Their hearts are true, their words don’t lie
They mourn in silence for a few days
Of paper cuts and tear-less haze
Of coffee mugs and smoky paper
Liquid spills, and water vapor
Sorry dreams and wasted hours
Putrid smells and dying flowers
(Torn to pieces from inside
Tears are hidden by our pride)
To the child in WarYou've lost your home, and lost your peopleTo the child in War in Free Verse More Like This
You stand alone, in grim disaster
Your house destroyed, forever after
Your parents gone just like your laughter
Remember when you played there, my child?
Pretending as if you're a dancer?
Remember when your little friend came by?
And raced to see if he was faster?
And then you beat him at the race
And laughed at him and made a face
But now, my child there's no such place
For it was wrecked by airplanes
That rained explosives and grenades
I swear my child, I'll wipe those tears
Someday when I have lost my fears
The fears that you have never had
Your little heart, never learned to fear
Someday you'll grow up and wonder why
Your dad was shot by another guy
You'll want to know what happened when
Your house exploded in July
And why your mom was in the den
And why she too, just had to die
You'd blame yourself for leaving them
And hate yourself because you've survived
My child, you'll learn to fear armed men
My child you'll know that your world has
Heart CutoutI met loneliness on a desolate roadHeart Cutout in Free Verse More Like This
And I became the only friend I had.
I fell in love with noble words
And moonstruck dreams
And genius schemes
And flaky thoughts
And berserk quotes.
One day the hummingbirds
Laughed at me because my songs
Contain no music.
I shouted loud, "YOU BIRDS ARE WRONG!
My songs are poems and a poem is
An eerie song that plays alone.
I had a heart shaped cutout in my chest.
Sometimes it became a subway for fireflies
Sometimes a bridge for love and lies
Sometimes I hid there a pack of fries
And a coke with ice – extra large size
But most of all, I hid a secret –
A hope so deep it blurred my eyes.
I wish one day you'd read my songs
-and return my heart to where it belongs.
Dear friend,You have to understand, dearDear friend, in Free Verse More Like This
The reason to why I run.
I run away from reality
From the lungs that cannot
Take anymore smoke
From the heart that threatens to
I run away because
I'm a coward
Because I'm afraid of life
Afraid to care or love.
I'm afraid that every time
I'm glad it blows up in my face
And that every time I smile
I shed a million more tears.
That's why I run, dear
You have to understand.
I was destined to be a fighter but
I don't want to fight anymore.
I was destined to be a warrior
But how am I supposed to win when
The war I fight is against life itself?
I know that I always blow everything up but-
I keep stepping on mines, dear...
...I keep stepping on mines...
StoriesSomewhere between your dusty pagesStories in Free Verse More Like This
I lost myself for what seemed like ages
Somewhere between those little black words
I found myself another world
And along the lines you've given me
I finally set myself free
I'm not me anymore
I'm a Hobbit, a fairy. I'm Superman, I'm Thor
I'm a dwarf, I'm an elf, and I'm even a mermaid
I'm a tin man, a dragon. I'm Rapunzel with a braid
I'm what you think I am and all that you never will
I'm an ocean, I'm a desert. I'm a mountain and a hill
I'm the hero that will save you, or the villain that won't
I'm everything you want to happen or something that you don't
And when I shut your leather binds
I'll hide you where nobody finds
And dream about you in my sleep
I'll count your pages instead of sheep
And when I wake up I will write
All the memories in your light
A poem that will set you free
A secret just for you and me
Your cupid arrowsDear love,Your cupid arrows in Free Verse More Like This
I've recently come to think
That you're trying to kill me
Before my time comes
I've began to believe
That your cupid arrows
Bear suffering to their victims
Instead of hope
It seems to me that
Your invisible chords
Are lashing at me and sometimes
I can't get away
And I often wonder why
You've given me too much to love
All at once and then taken it
Away from me before
I got to say goodbye
But I want to tell you that
I will never let you cripple me
Because I've seen it enough for me
To understand the pain that it brings
I will fight your strange shadows
And I will get out of my bed
Every morning; I will dodge your arrows.
I hate you very much
MaAre you waking her?Ma in Free Verse More Like This
Are you waking her lifeless eyes?
Is this only the longest sleep she'd ever had?
And you'll shake her shoulders till you realize
That she'll wake up no more
I bet you never imagined that yesterday
Was the last chance you ever got to kiss her good night
That yesterday was your last chance to apologize
And yesterday will never come again
Except in your mind
In your mind, yesterday would be replaying itself
Over and over and over and over and over again
And until you believe that you've captured every detail of yesterday
You'll never stop replaying it
In your mind, you can still smell the fresh baked cakes that she made
You've even captured the slight sprinkle of cinnamon in the air
You can still breathe the warmth of the carpets, the pillows, the chairs
And the old jazz music that made her weak bones sway
"Pass me the coffee, son," she said, and it wasn't much but
They were the last words you've heard her say.
Ever imagined how much you'll regret the fact
That you nev
Death of a RebelWe sleep in peace and little knowDeath of a Rebel in Free Verse More Like This
How fearsome is the world around
The darkness in the velvet nights
Is even darker than your thoughts
And right beneath this scheme is might
A power greater than we sought
Like living love or living fear
we’ll never leave or go so near
A brutal source of all our pain
A realm repulsed by every vein
Where scars were opened
Tears were shed and blood was bled
A tired widow is now sleeping in a bed
She never knew this bed before but it is where
Her life would leave for a lasting visit to the dead
She spoke to silence her forever lasting words
“I’ll never let them break me up”, she always said
She closed her eyes and all her fingers, scarlet red
And left a world where her own words have sung a song
Have changed the minds of many angered rebel souls
Have changed the lives of those who’ve read
Her lively words. And even though she goes away
she weaved up stories that will stay - she weaved them up with golden thread
Roses and Green bottlesShe said it's fine ifRoses and Green bottles in Free Verse More Like This
The only love that she'll ever get
Came out of a bottle.
But there's a fire in her eyes and
It seemed to burn a bit of her soul
Like the thin crescent in the moon
Hiding in the dark.
"If happiness was sold into little green bottles, I'd be broke by now."
And she'll be broken until
The bruised roses on her cheeks,
Are tucked into the green bottles
And tossed into the blue sea.
SurvivorOn your left cheek bone, you had a long, dark scarSurvivor in Free Verse More Like This
That you've earned when you fought their brutal war
And five broken bones in your slender hands
That you've cracked in a fight of a few damned lands
You deny but I've seen the light limp in your knee
Twisted in a ship at the heart of the sea
You pretend it was fine just to hide your pain
But I see your tears through the thickest rain
And in silent nights I can feel your cries
Just beneath my skin. They uncover your lies
The lies that you've told of how you're doing alright
Though the soldier in you is in constant fight
In silent nights, behind your shut door
You still see your friend, as he bleeds on the floor
You still hear the bullet that pierced your knee
And the scream of a boy who tried to flee
And the smoke and the rain and the inch deep mud
And the deaths and the pains and the fresh red blood
And you know that beneath all your skin deep scars
It won't be the same. You forgot who you are
Words for the Young BloodsWords for the Young Bloods:Words for the Young Bloods in Free Verse More Like This
To all my ninjas sittin' low on the street side,
I want you all to raise your head with pride.
Because I'm callin' out, for the youth to come together
And get those big wigs off the fuckin' power ladder.
You ready? Because we're going at it hard:
See I'm the kind of guy that they're all playin' with
A systematic crisis workin' in the way we live.
The big shots still sittin' and they growin' fat.
With young bloods starvin' just to get their life on track.
We take psychometric tests and make a passing grade,
But ain't no job cause the corporate head is gettin' paid.
And when they screwin' with the money, they ain't never cut.
The young bloods be the first to get their letter up.
I say the system ain't shit and we all got it wrong,
The old mothers are just stayin' in for way too long.
I say we cut them from the system that they fucked up,
And let the young bloods take it; we'll just fix it up.
They set the game, but we're the ones playin' main;
I guess t
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,
Dark Sadistic Muse:Dark Sadistic Muse:Dark Sadistic Muse: in Free Verse More Like This
I seat myself before the computer,
With fingers poised over fading keys.
Eagerly awaiting my latest epic;
Yet frozen by a lack of inspiration.
Here I sit, staring at the blank document.
The dark background mirroring the world behind me.
I swallow hard as my body locks;
Hairs tense as I sense her arrival...
Slender fingers soon wrap themselves around my throat.
With claw-like nails digging in painfully,
They prick the skin that lies just beneath my Adam’s apple;
Leaving me nursing a rather painful necklace.
"Your hands aren't moving," she coos softly,
Her clawed fingers gently stroking my chin.
"Why is that, I wonder?" she asks with a grin.
Her expression reveals a pair of pointed canines,
Both framed by lips as seductive as sin.
"I'm sorry my lady", I whisper in reply.
The excuse tumbles slowly from a paralyzed tongue.
"I have had no inspiration you see;
No dreams with which I am able to write."
She laughs at this; cruel and cold,
Tossing me from
An Oath to My FatherAn Oath to My Father in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
An Oath to My Father:
The chill of winter is nothing, when compared to the cold inside my heart.
A fire, once stoked by the warmth of family, has quietly died, five falls past.
I dream of my father, who watches from beyond the realms - and my ancestors
Who fought against an endless army of giants, to win the lands we have today.
Just as a devout man honours his God through worship, I honour them through my axe!
Each stroke of the whetstone, each screech of the metal, brings me closer to them -
Even as I draw closer to my doom. Oh how I can feel him, for the anger in my blood
Boils evermore as I sense him approaching my camp. He is hungry, he is eager;
Slacks of drool hang from his twin mouths, as a jarring roar shakes the mountain!
Though I shiver at the sight, it is not from fear - I shiver in anticipation
Of the battle that is to come. My steel may rend his flesh and break his bones;
Or perhaps I shall be sent to glory - but it is useless to think about such things,
I Like To Play With SkinI Like To Play With Skin:I Like To Play With Skin in Free Verse More Like This
My dear friends and watch,
As the feeling of life itself
Crumbles beneath each ounce of pain.
Needles slowly piercing into the body,
Paralyzing nerves and expressions.
A mask of pure horror; living terror,
Kept alive on the barest limit of the border.
Such tempting features,
Leave me eager to slip a knife beneath flesh.
Ripping soft layers of epidermal mache,
Tanned and dried, woven slowly into a loving mask.
And with my latest acquisition complete,
Only twenty spaces remain...
-Chen Yuan Wen, 28th April 2013
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
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
Player versus PlayerPlayer versus Player:Player versus Player in Free Verse More Like This
Elemental artisttry, as lightning weaves through the air.
I see the bloodthirst in his eyes, the hunger for victory.
A demand to be recognised, yet soon to be silenced;
Perfect and perfunctory - my opponent made defunct...
As I stand above this dying creature;
The flicker of life soon fading from their eyes.
I smile and whisper a word of parting,
For the fool who fell where he lies.
-Unfinished piece by Chen Yuan Wen, 10th April 2012
To The Beautiful YouTo The Beautiful You:To The Beautiful You in Free Verse More Like This
Here we are, sitting behind these screens of glass,
Reading lines of text, yet smiling, laughing and crying.
It's strange to think that I could have this much fun -
Considering that I've never met you before, but then again
Perhaps that's the reason why I don't have to pretend.
Some people might tell me, that what we have is just a fantasy,
I doubt I'll have the chance to actually see you in this life-time.
But even so, in the time that we've spent together - Well,
I feel as though I've connected with you, more than anyone else.
I feel as though I know you better, than those just a few feet away.
You might take this little confession as something silly,
Maybe you'll even forget about it as time passes,
But I for one could never forget about someone like you,
And so I'd like to dedicate this piece, to the beautiful you.
-Chen Yuan Wen, 17th December 2012
Whispers of the MadWhispers of the Mad:Whispers of the Mad in Free Verse More Like This
Your lips remain painted with the scars of torment
Carved so as to split with every word of speech
The glass that slices through your softened flesh
Bears the marking we know as 'Vinashuka'
And now he lies beneath the falling sand
Drowning in a world that is sinking away
Though his feet will seek the stability of ground
He finds himself caught by 'Vinashuka'
A disturbing word that rings hollow at best
For it carries the tone of a tainted solitude
A heart that has been corrupted by physical pain
Can only scream 'Vinashuka!'
How does a man know when he has gone insane?
To descend into a world where logic is naught
A moon that carries the colour of blood
Shall paint my skin with 'Vinashuka'
I have lost all sense of meaning in this place
There is no where else for my soul to flee
Caught within the whispers of delusory madness
I can only repeat Vinashuka...
-Chen Yuan Wen, 13th July 2012
SchizophreniaShh.Schizophrenia in Free Verse More Like This
Look behind you.
"Are you okay?"
Shapes, forms, bodies, animals, plants
Shifting, moving, being
"What's wrong with you?"
You're a freak.
No one wants you.
You should kill yourself, let them out of their misery
Or we'll do the job for you.
"They're fake, you know."
No they're not.
"What are you doing?"
This is how I live.
Save me, from the monsters, the shadows
"What can I do?"
You can stop.
You can stop being ignorant
I am not a stereotypeSlide the blade across your wrist.I am not a stereotype in Free Verse More Like This
"Doesn't it hurt?"
I can't feel anything.
Punch your own stomach.
Does it hurt yet?
"Why do you do that?"
The pain makes me feel alive.
"I don't know."
"What's wrong with you?"
I'm dead inside.
I'm just depressed.
Stare at your arms.
"What are you doing?"
I just have low self esteem.
I'm just human.
I'm just me.
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.
Mind, oh MindSmiley face, smiley face, can't you ever see?Mind, oh Mind in Free Verse More Like This
So much to be sad about, so much that could be
Going wrong for everyone, going wrong for you.
Smiley face, smiley face, don't you feel it too?
Sad face, sad face, can't you ever tell?
So much could be going great, going oh so well
Sad face, sad face, can't you ever see?
Life is spend much better when your thinking thoughts of glee.
Mind, oh mind, why can't you agree?
Thinking everything at once is slowly killing me...
The Face At The DoorThe face at the door is a demon, a godThe Face At The Door in Free Verse More Like This
He smiles through stitches, his stare rather odd
The face at the door is a cruel, silent being
Yet, people are calm, and the children aren't fleeing
Quiet yourself, for you're the only one
Crying for help at the point of a gun
Learn how to fly, rather, learn how to fall,
The face at the door... well... there's no face at all.
Words on the WallThe sun melted into the glamorous skyWords on the Wall in Free Verse More Like This
The moon stood there, hidden by sweet lullabies.
But mommy was crying, her day had been hard
The tears in her eyes twinkled just like the stars.
Her face wasn't happy like it should have been
And though she was saddened, she forcefully grinned.
I wanted to see Mommy smile through it all...
I painted a picture on her bedroom walls.
I told her to look, just to come in and see
But Mommy was angry... she wasn't happy.
She threw me down hard on the cold wooden floor
Then picked me up, slamming my head on the door.
She yelled and she screamed, then she hit me once more
She slapped me till I couldn't see anymore.
My heart then stopped beating, my laugh went unheard
Then Mommy got up without saying a word.
She looked at the walls splattered with my young blood
Then fell to the ground in her tears with a thud.
She looked at my face, then she looked all around
Then wrote on the walls with the first thing she found.
Then, after she finished, she wanted self h
Well...Well, you're not anorexic. So you must be fat.Well... in Free Verse More Like This
A fat, ugly person.
Well, you fit in with the crowd. You must be a fake.
A fake wannabe.
Well, you're happy. What are you hiding?
You've got to be hiding something.
Well, you're sad. You must be emo.
An emo attention seeker.
Well, you're popular. So you must be a jerk.
Why would anyone like you in the first place?
Well, you're quiet. You must be a nobody.
Nobody at all.
Well, you're you.
What else could go wrong?
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'
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…
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."
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.
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.
Witch OilThere's magma boiling in her frostbitten veins;Witch Oil in Free Verse More Like This
incandescent pixie dust and
sluggishly making its way through
a childish heart — wishing for one last chance
to spread her wings and soar to
skinwalkershe was a vicious prion,skinwalker in Free Verse More Like This
anomalous & infectious—
my fractured mind was the
perfectly unsuspecting host.
i was so ashamed of life
& you had all the answers.
"don't let me go,"
she hissed each night,
coating my flesh in a
(it was just too damn easy
to grasp your viral hands.)
i know my ribcage is almost on empty
& my heart is converting to toxic waste,
but i still have a feverish serum in my veins
& a voice not yet conquered by broken bones.
your plague of malevolence
shall never govern me again.
Second star to the rightThere are days where sheSecond star to the right in Free Verse More Like This
forgets how to fly;
wings all tangled up in
"There is nothing wrong with me,"
"Nothing at all.
I just can't seem to
The clock strikes
she's nothing but
and withering pixie dust.
pretty little poet fingersfabricated gods rest between thepretty little poet fingers in Free Verse More Like This
languid crevices of
her fingertips, scribbling profanities
all over her skin.
she's just mismatched bones
& blue bruises, telling of forbidden
love through archaic letters.
a tongue made for
wanderlust, & eyes made
for the stars,
even the devil fears her.
Last night,I broke every bone in my bodyLast night, in Free Verse More Like This
so I could have a reason to drown
in the isolated ocean inside me.
when my dilapidated lungs finally caved in,
I swam ashore and crawled across the polluted sand.
Only glass-edged skin
and salt-licked eyelashes
can help me now.
constellations, ambitions, and things in betweeninstead of poetry,constellations, ambitions, and things in between in Free Verse More Like This
i want to live in
draco & orion,
wrapped in nebulae.
oxygen is too
want to breathe in
neither the gods
nor my demons can
stop me —
i will make the universe
Love letter to myself.Small handed girl,Love letter to myself. in Free Verse More Like This
you've written the truth
of your scars wherever there's
space to write it
and I love you.
They painted over
the rape you wrote about
on the front door of
your Uncle's house
and I love you.
They took the floorboards
of your bedroom out where you'd
carved the shape of your
father's fist into their
and I love you.
You shook the sand of
your fifteenth birthday out of
your hair and into a jar
you keep under the bed to
remember a girl with crooked
teeth and bony knees who
fled and flew
and I love you.
You've built yourself into a
fortress with nothing but your
fingernails and shredded skin
and you let him in when he
waited by the door instead of
forcing his way
and I love you.
Disabused.To tell the truthDisabused. in Free Verse More Like This
is to tear my tongue from its
root and spill blood
into a glass so you can
your mouth tasting
all I'd ever tasted in
before there were
roses on the benchtops and
kisses stolen between kisses
given and a hand on my hand
saying more in its touch than
you ever could with your words.
-- I'd learnt that love
isn't swallowing fists and blood between
I have been too sad to tell you.I have been too sadI have been too sad to tell you. in Free Verse More Like This
to tell you that I love you
when I am tearing my hair out
and smashing my bones on the floor
to make myself whole.
And I have been too sad
to tell you that I love you
when you are keeping my hands
from pulling at my skin,
when you are holding my body down to the
safety of the floor with your arms wrapped
around my chest as though maybe they can
keep my sadness still.
But lover, I am not too sad
to write this poem backwards on
your face with my lips.
I hope that one
day you look in the mirror
and it's there, loving you
as much as I do.
The problem with writing poetry.The problem with writing poetryThe problem with writing poetry. in Free Verse More Like This
is that real life doesn't write nice poems.
Your budget is not going to
inspire anything but stress, perhaps,
and the unwashed linen won't
make hearts soar.
To write nice poems,
you have to take real life and
twist vines into its hair,
set its bare feet down on the forest
floor and call it free.
Hands don't have to hurt, you know.There have been handsHands don't have to hurt, you know. in Free Verse More Like This
in my bed at night again,
only I let them in
Salvation.You need not walk in darkness,Salvation. in Free Verse More Like This
I will set alight the world.
As luck would have it.I have visited theAs luck would have it. in Free Verse More Like This
halls of the mental wards
three times in this
The first time
I was driven through.
with two left feet
and a thirst for
its own blood.
The second time
I was carried through.
Cradled and cold,
a child with wax wings.
I'd flown too close
to the sun.
The third time
was by my own hand.
I was tired.
I had had enough.
I was ready to be
For you, no more.I have spentFor you, no more. in Free Verse More Like This
most of my life holding my breath
above the waves,
just in case
they break me down
And I have spent
most of my life drowning in love
for hearts too full to home me,
propping myself up with cardboard
promises and sorry tarpaulins.
And I have spent
most of my life living for other
people; a doormat for woes and
loneliness; a spare body in their
bed at night.
I say no more.
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,
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
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.
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
for holden caulfieldwhen i was sixteen years oldfor holden caulfield in Free Verse More Like This
holden's words were echoed to me, ironically
in a voice not his own. phoney, he'd call it,
but as my literature teacher would say 'reading aloud'
but too softly
too kindly for the room, nineteen of us
all with bored, hooded eyes -
and wouldn't he just hate us?
the boy awkwardly ruffling his hair and turning to
his reflection in shiny glass, smoothing more strands
and the girl whispering and the one next to
her pretending to listen, smacking gum
and me, tracing words with my pupils
doodling stars and clouds on scrap paper
'what do you think of holden?'
'he's weird', 'he's right, i guess?'
but i pity caulfield.
and if i could travel back in time and
scoop up all of holden's baby teeth and
tie them in a little necklace and wrap them around
his neck, i would, and if i could tell
holden caulfield that childhood and cigarettes
are the same: both end.
but it is up to you what you do afterwards
and if you choose to grind it in the ground, do so,
and if you choose t
everyone gets a miracleeveryone gets a miracle.everyone gets a miracle in Free Verse More Like This
the thing with miracles is that who can tell a
miracle what it is? is it watching the sun bleed
into the horizon holding your lover's sweaty hand,
all cheap perfume and hour-old petrichor like a
twenty-first century version of numinosity, since
it's amazing you even found their heavy-lidded,
flecks-of-gold eyes in the first place? is it near-death
experiences where you're lifeguarded back into the world
by a kind stranger in a surgical mask? or is it nothing
spectacular, at least by those standards, but just
simply waking up in the morning, having the eyes and
lungs and heart to do so, the mouth to speak 'i
am alive and that is pretty awesome in itself'?
but, see, everyone gets a miracle.
a true, unrelenting one, the kind where your heart
swells up to nearly burst out of your body and your eyes
well up and the only word you can speak is 'wow'. maybe
you're twenty-eight or eighteen or forty-two and perched
precariously under fog and mist and shying away from the
mythi ammyth in Free Verse More Like This
somewhere beyond hurricanes made
only of butterflies
and carpets pushing moss
between your toes
and trees that rut green
against stained glass
and dandelion clocks that blow
june around the snow-capped peaks
of your shoulders and the mountain
valleys of your collarbones
"we are all just stories"
and i have mine to tell
if we're all myths
strung up on strings of dragonfly wings
let me walk on fire i stole from
mount olympus, let me open pandora's box
of phoenix flames flashing purple and blue
and let me be a girl wearing a queen's skin
or cloaks of thistledown and lost baby
wishingshe wishes she had pretty legs,wishing in Free Verse More Like This
all cotton and threaded silk
but masked behind an awkward, lolloping grin
stand teeth stronger than diamond, gritting
noiselessly when her arched feet fall
that churns with her motion and uproots
dandelion clocks, but leaves
tiny blue petals waving tenaciously
like garden palm fronds and her
effervescent eyes cast downwards,
where the girl with dirty soles
has forget-me-nots growing around her
An hourglass between his knucklesHe quit smoking because heAn hourglass between his knuckles in Free Verse More Like This
didn’t like the taste of his own
mortality; bitter, brackish, black
as his lungs. Didn’t like the pull
of nicotine, ashy fingers,
the way a cigarette looked like
an hourglass pinched between his knuckles.
The ashtray began
to fill up again after his wife
died. Every day at first; an entire
pack after her funeral; a box
every three days; one flicker
of light in the evenings spent leaning
on the balcony railing,
watching the city go by through
a veil of smoke and memories.
I bought a pack for him once, just
to use my ID for something.
It’s still sitting on his coffee
table, one cigarette short.
Winter was never my favorite season.It’s 3:05 a.m.Winter was never my favorite season. in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
and I am thinking I just
made you up to hurt myself.
Remember last winter:
they blamed the snow in our hands
for our blue flesh,
ocean snow settled
where they used to swim.
It’s 10:33 in the morning
and I am winter.
I am ice;
snow and sunrise;
chilly mornings from another time.
Tales of my winter heart
beckon like a big, flashing,
neon sign that says steal compass,
It’s 4:15 p.m.
The snowfall is so silent.
I know a place where
even the crickets can’t be heard,
winter air choking
It was a cold,
winter morning when you left:
when we realized it was a different kind of cold
caused by 3mm of distance
between our fingertips.
This is about forgetting your silence
and my vague memories.
The weatherman didn’t fail me –
when love grows cold,
ice shards crystalize on the black
lake surrounding my heart.
voicelessi.voiceless in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I lost my voice one day. I woke up to a hollow echo in the base my throat and knew I’d lost something special before I’d ever had a chance to say anything worthwhile. I checked under the bed and tried the lost and found, but couldn’t even ask if anyone had heard it lately.
I found my voice one day. I took long walks with silent friends, made travel plans and came home tired but fulfilled. I pulled a pen from the junk drawer, or sat down at a keyboard, or bought a journal on a whim and found it curled up around my fingers, sleeping, rusty, but alive.
For the love of birdsThree little birds pitch on my doorstep.For the love of birds in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
I keep them in a jar
nothing I have is truly mine.
I am only the lonely,
waiting for it to come back to me.
Architects paint with light and concrete.I dreamt I was an architect,Architects paint with light and concrete. in Free Verse More Like This
a handful of doubts and
The clock tower has the most lonely
view of the industrial sunrise,
rising like the old Indian song inside.
From where I sit, sunlight
drips like honey fresh
from the earth over concrete elegance.
Sometimes autumn feels like winter.
Once a classy hotel
and now an urban puzzle,
consumed by kudzu creeping
all along the broken windows,
choking the windchimes.
How do cities understand
what soul sings behind their windows?
There’s so many different suns
desperate to connect;
the light through a dirty
windshield; the sun in an empty
room; something ordinary in the quiet
presence of light and shadows.
Some moments are golden,
as if even the city knows
the art of being perfectly still.
Metaphorically SpeakingPeople are like books;Metaphorically Speaking in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
full of stories and easily
broken at the spine.
We meet at the sea strandIf I was an old buildingWe meet at the sea strand in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
and if you were a sailboat,
the dialogue of the tides would
sing all the lonesome love
letters you never wrote.
Autumn was my first love.October, I follow you -Autumn was my first love. in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
from the magic lights of New York
to moonshines in Georgia,
until the colors dissolve.
The anxious poetry of autumn
made a memory of me.
Here’s to things I take for granted:
country road thunderstorms.
Unspoken words, unwritten ideas.
October, I follow you;
I thought I saw you on the shore
where the river runs through gold
on the last boat leaving the city of a hundred spires -
or perhaps Pittsburgh
(it was the lights I guess).
Here’s to the things we leave behind:
sunbeams in November,
letters addressed to no one,
poems, wounds, dead birds.
I’ve got that summertime sadness.
Maybe you’re gonna come back;
we’re changing our ways, taking different roads
and loneliness knows me by name
but October, I follow you;
without you I’m a winter heart,
a love story you don’t want,
a November shade of grey hunting ghosts
in cities that sleep inside our heads.
You told me you lied the night you kiss
ContactIt’s too brief to be a proper memoryContact in Free Verse More Like This
but I remember it all the same –
me, standing, hands resting on a chair;
you, bustling about the room
just behind me,
a brief hand against the concave of my backside,
and you’re out the door.
CopenhagenLet’s meet again in an alternate universeCopenhagen in Free Verse More Like This
where your eyes are brown and I dyed my hair black
because I hated being a natural blue.
I’ll teach you to play guitar
and you’ll show me how to fly,
scholars caught in an intellectual love affair,
a tandem bike going nowhere.
I’ll know you by the gentleness
of your fingertips and you’ll need
no identifier but the slant of my handwriting,
because, world to world, some things don’t change.