presumptionsi know i'm a very common-,presumptions in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
i look like i floss my teeth
at least once a week
and have never worn
like i devour books like candy
and never talked during class.
it's funny when people are nothing like how they look.
so let me tell you something,
let me set you straight:
i'd have you believe
i'm not some heavily medicated girl
with snakes up and down her body
in bright red rows, all raw and scabbed and
constant, ceaseless, neverending reminders of fucked-up and failure...
but it never took much for you to talk me into bed.
letting you think i'm some perfect porcelain figurine
without cracks all up my spine is about as ok as forging your mom's signature;
meaning it's alright as long as it's nothing serious.
and maybe that's the problem.
playing hopscotch cross-continent all summer and
making a patchwork quilt out of our travels when the cold sets in
is a pretty serious stab at giving us another go.
i can deal with touch, i just might shudder
invidia.loverinvidia. in Free Verse More Like This
legs like stems
arms like thread
you are all but gone to me.
you sneaked your way
into my slumber
jaw heavy with bone
and body impossibly slight.
your limbs, branches
trees in their bark
weak and thin as water.
my stomach was nausea and invidia
seeing just how gone you were.
you were the heart's hardest ache,
you were the silence's most miserable keeper.
i fell in the arms of your brother,
all of six years old.
he was your blood.
he was your eyes when you wouldn't see me.
he was your heart when yours fell to the wayside
and all you could think of was
and wearing grey trousers
and making ugly hearted girls love you
in the palest comparison of me.
between two months is two shorti like to think of you.between two months is two short in Free Verse More Like This
sometimes you are a butterfly,
wings stretched back
in long arcs,
bones breaking into flight
behind your protruding chest-
you are beautiful.
i find myself sinking
into the irish kills in your eyes,
the gaps in your smile.
i touch the cauterised cuts
sealed by metal and fire
on the backs of your swollen knuckles
and kiss your crooked lips.
in two months you will leave.
in the wake of st. valentine's sacrifice,
i will send my heart to war with you.
look beneath your pillow
and find it there;
look in the space between your walls
and there it will be;
look within your chest, beside your own heart
and there it will stay.
look me in the eye
and tell me what it's like
to be loved by me;
i want to know that the way
you make my bones ache
with swells of ardor
i want to know that the way
my mouth dips into the
hollow of your neck,
finding its pulse at ease,
life without youi watched you,life without you in Free Verse More Like This
battered and floral
suitcase in hand,
as your knotted tree-branch fingers
grip the doorhandle.
i watched you
before the door swung
i saw your thin skin
slip between pavement
and cracks in the concrete
your keys sunk through
the hole in your pocket
and are sitting at the
side of the sink,
your lunch in the bowels
of the toilet.
i watched your mouth
of broken teeth
spit vitriol soundlessly,
your tendons splitting
from your frame,
you have unravelled into nothing,
i watched you
pack your things and
projected profitsi keep picturing us in fifteen years, but it's more like ten. we're sleeping and the quiet sun gently pushes on our eyelids. we turn softly in the mounds of white cloth covering our bed, one or both of us making those slight moans of vague consciousness completely against our wills.projected profits in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
we live in a house, or maybe a flat. it might be in europe, in one of the countries you visited when we found our ways back to one another. the buildings are smooth and white, but the garden is not lacking for colour. the greens are denser than water, the sky more saturated blue than our swimsuits, hanging off the lip of the small balcony.
maybe it's switzerland, or germany. neither of us speak the native language, but with signals and human understanding, we make our ways through.
in the mornings we both reach for our car keys. mine are on the table, yours are on the hook by the door. there is always coffee in the early
escape artist.my soul is swallowing itselfescape artist. in Free Verse More Like This
in faded seas of pale colour.
it is sad,
and it is sorry.
it is the wind without sails.
i want to starve myself
into something worth living
the thrum of the heart
beating the walls black and blue
with bones bumping in the breath
of the coldest mornings.
tonight is a night in which
the stars are all too small for me.
my eyes sink further into my head
and shudder behind their lids.
i feel my knees break their skin on
the rough shingles gilding the roof.
i want to fall, and fast.
instead, i lie in a cocoon of hot sheets.
hunger has hidden her bones
inside more deserving panels.
i beg for the mercy she grants in
homeless shelters, i beg for
her sunken cheeks and haunted eyes.
three days mark the walls of
my body and i am trembling.
i feel the harsh lines of red
painted across my sharp hips as they
are threatened to be swallowed again.
she is sucking me dry
the very middles of my bones
quaking with the emptiness
once held sacred among the birds.
she weakens my k
how not pretending anymore is a blessingi won't pretend to anyone that i'm not scared. here i am, standing before god-knows-how-many-people, telling them things i don't have the heart to even tell my mother. especially things i don't have the heart to tell my mother.how not pretending anymore is a blessing in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
i could never tell her how many times i've looked at the stars and used them to hold onto my wishes on paper strings, make them hold onto my wishes and me, mostly me, like a marionette
until the sky faded from black to blue, just like the bruises i put on my skin. sometimes a girl doesn't know how to cope, and that's why those paper strings, those thin, angry lines hanging from the heavens,
found their ways to my arms and bled me happy.
i could never tell my mother how i've dreamt of flying and dying and how i can't tell the difference anymore, just the way i can't look in the mirror without crying, just the way i can't look in the mirror and tell if i am human or monster.
it's impossible to tell the woman who put you into this world through hours of pain, becau
155this is not the time or place for us to speak like this. we are sitting in your car at the walmart parking lot. it's not a mile from my house, but it's better than stopping at the dead end of my street.155 in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
we don't move for the five seconds following the moment you cut the ignition; from there, your eyes drop to the stuffed animal you won me -- a token of the high-noon days of our summer -- that oscillates between your hands.
the sun shifts from low to lower, dipping behind clouds and city silhouettes until the lights come on. the list of things i need to tell you becomes unreadable in the failing light, so you press a button and i can see again.
i wish there was a button like that for you, and for me. maybe it would be between the fingers of our opposite hands, so if the webbings of our thumbs met in embrace, you would remember the way you felt for me in the nights we spent on friends' couches, just revelling in the feel of each other's bodies
alpengloweverything hard-kept in the heart is falling onto paper. each word so well-fought to be kept within the chest becomes a snowflake from november skies, but the winds are unseasonably warm and a fire is kindled inside each bone in place of a bitter chill.alpenglow in Emotional More Like This
there are ten thousand things i can never tell you.
the way that wars are fought, i wage battles among my selves to keep the quiet. you will never hear my voice, too soft like the pillow beneath your head each time our bodies find each other, say how my breath becomes a porch swing when we touch and i sway.
i can never call you by any name, given at birth or given by heart. you will never see my cheeks flush fires when asked what you are called, or feel the tremulous tunnels i do as your mouth twists into the shapes of words like "beautiful," or "babe."
i cannot tell you of the poems i write to keep my lips locked tightly; not even a winter wind can howl through its denseness, not even the chimneys stoked to keep the c
a like poemI want to write a love poem,a like poem in Free Verse More Like This
but I only want to be in love
if I have someone there with me.
I romanticise the efforts
of pressing pen to paper,
painting pages personal
and colouring them
the same green as your eyes-
that's something that never
strikes me as common,
as something permanent
or a given
like a constant variable.
to wake up,
and see the lids like curtains,
thick and deep like night,
I feel like I am a film photograph.
and when they open,
sealed with sleep
and more honest than ever
before a single wall can be erected,
I see a poem
as I begin to swim,
in place of writing it down,
I smile along with you
and we readjust
to be closer and enfolded
like paper cranes
in the other's arms,
with a connection,
of lips and teeth,
we drift off again
to a sultry sleep.