what we're not supposed to talk aboutI could make a story out ofwhat we're not supposed to talk about in Free Verse More Like This
this. The blackout epiphanies
blinding me like a total eclipse
of any sense of rationality I ever
stole out from my parents' blind spots
when they turned the other way. The
boy I fell half in love with and
my therapist's unassuming questions
about why he was different, the way I
was never beautiful to him but he
still looked me in my bokeh eyes,
betraying and quiet, so that was enough.
My vain addiction to anything
permanently damaging and
more or less glamorous. The dreams
I can’t swallow no matter what shade
of delusion they come in, about
the imminent death of stars named
after deader lovers, and places
where the air is intoxicated with
the promise of Ecstasy, or whatever
name heaven goes by after you begin to doubt
the reality of putting one foot in front
of the other will get you anywhere at all.
I could write novels about my path
to self-martyrification and the moments
I cried for no reason except that
I had no reason tor cry. I could write
resonanceiresonance in Free Verse More Like This
does she know the astrological significance
of the bruises starring along
your wrists? if I could, I’d
run away somewhere where
the sky is silent and the people
hate honest eyes. here’s my problem,
I’ve wasted all my time daydreaming
in the universe of your scars. I wonder
if substantiality is lethal.
[when will you move on
like you know what
you’re doing with your life,
like this tiny existential
failure is only a hazard sign
on the roadmap of your journey,
like the world weighing down
upon your shoulders is an
exercise in vanity and quietude
instead of someone
lists of necessities: methods of
starvation, hours to fall asleep by, sharp
objects, words that mean nothing.
I’m sorry this isn’t better. I’m sorry
I’m not better and I’m sorry
nothing is bright anymore.
things you remind me of:
the november sky
right before it rains.
excuses for why I'm shakingwe live in a world of apologies.excuses for why I'm shaking in Free Verse More Like This
I made a mistake a year back,
choosing my addiction to oxygen
over less demanding things.
I’m sick of trembling for problems
that aren’t mine and I’m sick of trying
to romanticize black holes and
the indiscriminate nature of lithium and
I’m sick of waking up every morning
feeling sick. and truly, I’m sorry
but I’m not ready to accept my role
in the making of myself. I’m not ready
to lament for those with a smaller
pain tolerance, and for my dislike
of anything that requires commitment.
I’m sorry I miss you and I’m sorry
I won’t admit that out loud.
how scary is it to be something
so unalterably heavy, to be diagnosed
as your own worst enemy, but god,
you’re so fucking beautiful,
and not in the stereotypical boy
meets girl meets fairytale way, but
the kind that makes my heart
bleed a million miles quicker.
I just wanted to cry on all
your scars and wash them clean.
when things are bad for
honesty isn't a weaknessI have a headache and not enough timehonesty isn't a weakness in Free Verse More Like This
to explain the irony of how I want to be
every pretentious poet making art out of
themselves, cutting open their side and writing
in blood and pixie dust; or how difficult
it is to make a good allegory out of carsickness
and household complacency. this
is every secret I ever hid. when I was 9
someone dissected the world in front of me,
showed me it was a living, wanting thing
and that I was just a lonely cell, functioning
through my dysfunction; when I was 11
the boy I liked told me he’d be interested
if I were prettier and I learned starvation
was more a state of mind than a presence
of being. when I was 13 I researched the lethality
of cleaning products, because god, I felt so dirty,
and nothing can clean you more than a couple cupfuls
of bleach. when I was 15 I was old and decrepit
and mostly dead, returning from war with flowers
for graves that weren’t filled and a heart of
tragedy, vulnerable and draped in every shade
of mourning f
why we pity angelsto him;why we pity angels in Free Verse More Like This
you are afraid of phonecalls. you
are afraid of your own voice, and
opening your ribcage to let
your heart come live on your sleeve.
you are afraid of living without caffeine
or alcohol, whatever the day calls for;
you are afraid of being real
without laughing afterwards, becoming
everything you worked so hard to get
away from, acknowledging all
that you still are. know this:
I am afraid of loud noises.
I am afraid of honesty and drowning,
people I don’t know and words
I won’t say. I am afraid
of growing old and living alone and
you not accepting me. I am afraid
of myself. In that, we are the same.
I have the compulsion to grab you
and cup you to me like you are some
half-alive bird, like that sound
as the lazy sun paints you a portrait is
your hummingbird heart and not my own
shallow breaths. in the beginning,
you were my peace of mind. you traced
the contours of my being with a scalpel
and held me up, a shadow puppet,
as the darkest, blackest figures I gav
to the girl with hungry footstepsI'm sending all my words backto the girl with hungry footsteps in Free Verse More Like This
to the people who need them--
people who wear scars like
war trophies, like jewelry, like
an identification for those suffering
from the same acceptance of
self-hate. this is to the people
who sleep with one eye open, who
cry when footsteps enter their room
at night; this is to the girls
who love by cutting their hearts
into snowflakes and watching
them melt. I left you behind and
I can't be sorry for that.
you are the type of beautiful
that kindly asks the world
to fuck off. the days we buried
have decomposed, headstones are
snapshots; sanitized breakdowns,
rusty tongues, sighs laced
with fear, I love you, I love
you. saturdays were the best
because we could sleep through
the nightmare. you painted me a
picture of the world with your words
and they made us wash it away
for being transparent.
we were afraid of nothing
but the monsters in our eyelids.
back then, we counted days
like shooting stars; it took 67
to wish myself away. this
is for you, skygazer;
butterfliedit is a snakebutterflied in Free Verse More Like This
coiled in my stomach,
the urge to vomit
everything inside of me, to purge
all the toxic not-
good-enoughs. to retell
the same story and expect
a different ending is
the dysfunction that landed
us in here. I'm sorry
I don't follow you into
your dreams at night. I'm sorry
my smile is not the moon,
I'm sorry I did anything
to make you notice
me at all. no finger
down the throat could ever
forgetting how to sleeptake two.forgetting how to sleep in Free Verse More Like This
a week past the end of the world,
and there’s something therapeutic
about not caring. I must’ve
really messed up in another life. I
wake up shaking and forget to sleep
shaking and hold your hand, shaking,
remembering the moment I became
poison. I feel crazier than ever; cementhead’s
good and gone with his plastic wrists
and missing soul. the boy who entertains
his unfriendliest nightmares couldn’t
muster up enough innocence
to make it right. (today, he writes
a letter; dear Sophia, he tells me
it doesn’t get better. I’m
locked up for a crime I
didn’t commit. you did it,
Sophia. you built me
wrong.) but you know me,
I fell in love with a problem I
couldn’t fix, a boy blinded
who’s never seen the light.
He was a stormy violet but I
am cyan graying with age--
I spent most of my life dying,
and the rest of it wishing I
was someone else. they tell us
only god will see your ugly;
and the girl who swallowed
something lacking this way comesshe smells of smoke, tastessomething lacking this way comes in Free Verse More Like This
of cheap dreams and cheaper makeup,
sounds like someone who's used
to giving; her eyes are two
glossy sunsets out of a few
trillion that have set before--
when she shuts them, no one
this won't end up as a suicide notethere aren’t enough momentsthis won't end up as a suicide note in Free Verse More Like This
to love you, or words
in the English language to call you
beautiful. there aren’t enough
heartbeats in me to dedicate you
something you might deserve.
you can no longer lie.
a vengeful earthquake births itself inside
your unkind frame-- bones and skin and
muscle knotted together as an attempt
at something durable; but when you scream,
you don’t wake up. your world
collapses in mounting seconds. words
are a currency and you are
finally rich. you have lived
in the mouths of ghosts for so long
that you can walk through walls;
you aren’t here, you’re choking
on other planets from a lack of oxygen
and understanding. but I will love you,
I will love you; dear wallflower,
your petals are not wilted. dear
anonymous, I could give you a name.
dear hopeless, there are not enough words
in the English language for how beautiful
you really are.
sati(ate)dit's ironic,sati(ate)d in Free Verse More Like This
isn't it? the way
they say "hunger gnaws"
like the way our teeth
scrape against bones.
for all the
calories that are counted,
you still feel
empty. you aren't
you are digesting
nothing but air
and maybe your own guilt.
that's just the way
living is these
glass shards to
slice up your insides so
you can ignore
the other kind of pain your
stomach is feeling.
but when people ask
if you're doing okay you just
smile and nod even though
you can't help but
think "if honesty was
tangible, i'd eat it right
an acquired taste and
some days you'd
like to rip your
Evanescentonly the mostEvanescent in Free Verse More Like This
beautiful of creatures
live the shortest.
red roses and quivering
butterflies and other
useless things, like the
way she wishes on every star
she sees for a different
soul because she can't stand
the way it's rotting inside.
and it's only when
the thorns beneath her skin
start to bleed that her
monsters whisper, "have
you ever trembled, my dear?"
because they know
for every whimper that hides
faintly in the dark,
there is a pair of lips stretched
into a smile pretending
that all that is beautiful
is timeless and unbroken.
an apology to anyone who'll listen It begins with a wishan apology to anyone who'll listen in Free Verse More Like This
and ends with a sigh.
I am in love with boys who
don't exist and girls who I sometimes
pretend are myself. Spineless,
spiteful, and one hundred percent
I'm becoming undone.
When I was
younger I thought it
was a sin if
your parents didn't
love each other. Now I
know that it's
just the way this world works.
I need you right now;
to tell me that
gaining four pounds in
three days is typical
to tell me that
living in a dream every
second is perfectly okay
to tell me that
I'm normal, that I'm
still sane, that I'm not
going to close my
eyes one day and never
open them again.
Don't look at me.
I can't remember
the last time I
had no regrets.
CapriciousWords have becomeCapricious in Free Verse More Like This
tasteless to me,
like rotten apples
fit for the worms.
it feels as
though I am
pirouetting my way through
a ballroom full of
tongues made for poetry.
wicked witch when
you need one?
All I seem to do is
dream while I'm awake and,
if we're being honest,
I was never much of an alluring tale
in the first place.
You WillIYou Will in Free Verse More Like This
Catholic school can really fuck you up.
“you have ugly hair”
Breasts at the age of nine.
Bullying makes you someone you don’t want to become;
hide all that blackness in your heart
with overly cheerful hyperactive personalities
(that make others think you’re a little strange),
Friends can’t tell when you just want to
and be alone
because of how deep you’ve dug yourself in.
Afraid of yourself, you think and think, and THINK,
until you are terrified you’re going to give in
to those dark thoughts -
(and if you do, then you’re just numb afterwards.
Staring at hands blankly).
Faith in everything, the world, God,
people around you,
all you can see is horror.
You hide it, fake it, pretend to be okay.
Why would anyone care to listen?
Just one person of billions
with worse problems than you th
How to pretend that you are a writer.Act like you're notHow to pretend that you are a writer. in Free Verse More Like This
okay when you are and
that you are when you're
not. Run barefoot in
the snow. Stand out
in the rain for an hour
and think about anything
and everything you can.
Fall in love with
riddles and things that
aren't real and the
way some stars
shine. Cry when
you realize that life is
just one big sham and write
one hundred cliché poems
about it, and then write one
that you actually mean.
Use profanity. Be the
one fucking introvert
in a room full of
extroverts and scream
shit just for the fun of
it. Swallow every goddamn
metaphor you ever dreamed
of and write them down
with your own blood.
Eulogize your own
misery. Put a crown on
it and let it rule your
heart for six years before
you throw a coup d'etat
but just end up with
your head in a basket.
Ask yourself why
you feel so
empty and when
you forgot how to
laugh and where you
last left your smile and
who you even really are
anymore. Mean every word.
Don't cry at funerals. Cry
yourself to sleep every
other night for
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.
AquariusShe is the winter's heartAquarius in Free Verse More Like This
and a January zephyr—
amethyst ankles frozen in time.
(eleven stars circulate her glacial ribs)
Forever shin-deep in the seas of
a conformed humanity,
she shall always sanctify the stains.
It's not hatred, it's incredulity.when i was ten years old myIt's not hatred, it's incredulity. in Free Verse More Like This
teacher asked the class,
"if you were god, what would
and i remember
biting my lip so hard
that it bled. carefully,
i wrote about
how i would teach
kids from an early age on how to
love yourself and no one
else and that there is no such thing as
an almighty power that will pity
you and answer your desperate prayers
at three a.m. because you're the only one
who has that kind of control.
when i handed it in she just looked
at me like i was the
her child's bed. the next day i
was sitting in her office wondering
why it was so wrong to
talk about what's in your heart at a catholic
school when that's what the priest tells
you to do at every sunday mass and
the teacher asked me
another question, "do you
hate god?" and i
wanted to scream "yes, yes!" because
how can a god let the world
slip through their fingers like this one has?
but instead i answered,
"no. i just don't think there is one."
and sat in the chair,
staring at the cross on t
Within Temptationi am neither hereWithin Temptation in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
nor there - just a
hidden deep within
a dangerous mind.
it's the fear,
somewhere in the
truth beneath the rose;
& all i need are
see who i am -
the deceiver of fools,
pale & frozen,
an ice queen.
but i will
stand my ground
in our solemn hour,
lost in a
.she calls down angels. in Free Verse More Like This
just to burn their
to see them rise then
fall, those flailing
she tells them, this
is what it's like
to be human
and they say judgement
will arrive for you, my
girl, you will be
cleansed by burning
and i strike another match
.hangman, could you show. in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
me the ropes? i'd rather do
it all on my own
.all we are is cheap. in Free Verse More Like This
goldfish drowning in
the ocean, birds that forget how to
flap their wings, mid-flight
.i've been breaking out of. in Free Verse More Like This
hell, but the devil don't
he slips a return ticket
into my pocket and says,
you're gonna wanna
use this, kid
.i dream of drowning in. in Free Verse More Like This
lakes, belly up, a petal
shaped bruise of your thumb
on either wrist
i dream that what lays
in my bed is so much
more terrifying than what
lurks underneath it
.she carries more mistakes than. in Free Verse More Like This
there are stars, behind her
a lifetime of
a human supernova
.the cat keeps. in Free Verse More Like This
leaving dead meat
on my doormat,
a pile of bones,
bloody and raw
he wants me to
know what i'm
walking into, he
wants me to know
just what i am
.you said november was a. in Free Verse More Like This
kick in the teeth
and life goes on
get over it
and i thought god
now i know how the birds feel
lying dead on my kitchen floor
.they greet me like old friends,. in Free Verse More Like This
ivory hands gripping my
shoulders a little too tight
to be forgiving
i tell them that i'm sorry,
and they know what i mean,
their smiles fade and the black
holes on their faces start to furrow
and i explain that it's not
quite time, not yet
i still haven't worked up the guts
to let them out
but they've heard this spiel before,
and it's getting harder to
silence the rattling, a myriad of
skulls and ribs that i can no longer
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
It is 9 in the afternoon& I have forgottenIt is 9 in the afternoon in Free Verse More Like This
how to write in poetics-
tongue kissed & gaping like
a siren missing from her sea.
I have been coughing up black
for days. Unable to clean the taste
from my mouth, these broken
typewriter keys sewn into my
fingertips scream something fierce.
They ache with longing
to tell of a story
that left them
for a better high
a story that never deserved
to make a home under the skin,
to crawl breech through an
-& out through the wrists
of young girls much too ripe
to fall from their beds.
I am so damn tired
of looking over railings
& wondering what
it would feel like
dear,when i first met you,dear, in Free Verse More Like This
terror chilled down
& my heart
began to build
walls over walls
i won’t let them
hurt you, again.
i have a tendency
to get knocked
off my feet
& not know
how to get back up.
i’m still crawling around,
searching for your heart
beats under my bed
& between my tangled
i am pathetic.
you were all crooked,
& nights of forgetting
to take your zoloft.
i didn’t think I would miss that.
i didn’t think I would miss you.
you fell like a meteor
for him, hours after
you demolished me.
& i can’t hope you’re happy
because i’m still patching up
the war zone you left behind.
i taste bile in my throat.
i swallow it back down.
i won’t get sick for you.
To be a writerYou taste like decaying leavesTo be a writer in Free Verse More Like This
and October's bad habits-
when it’s halfway through February
that still haunts these bones.
I have allowed you to
claw your love
into my arms
and chant into my
for much too long.
I wish I was one of those girls
who could say wild flowers
grow up through my nooks
and my crannies just to tear
through my skin, screaming.
I’m just that dead eyed deer
on the side of the road dreaming
of shoving a pen down my throat
and writing these verses inside out.
I am no scribe, prophet, or spell caster.
I know it.
My skin knows it.
My pen knows it too.
Years and years
my mind will dwell
on the way your fingers
chain linked between my ribs
and shook my
to be a writer
is to be a masochist,
and I refuse to get off
on the pain anymore.
Once Upon a Carcass,I loved her like the flaws in barbed wire;Once Upon a Carcass, in Free Verse More Like This
it stung. & I needed to take her castle ribs-
but I was jealous of heaven.
She spoke through her bones.
She: a beautiful decay
draped along my apartment,
& the mess of my mouth.
When she left,
I cried big ugly tears
for the First Aid of her
I needed Draco.
I needed her.
“Is it sweet?” She meows even still
with all my self-doubt.
This thing, I must not feed it-
As I still long to leave galaxies
along the length of her entire bed.
NaPoWriMo- Day 5She used to try and catch butterfliesNaPoWriMo- Day 5 in Free Verse More Like This
until she realized their beauty
rubbed off on her fingers;
but she will always be loving you
with those digits.
20 years from now
when even the love on her arms
Scarificationblood oranges areScarification in Free Verse More Like This
slice them open
without a moment’s
their crimson juices
licked from our lips
& that is what
i want to be. -
i sucked from
your mouth -
along my spine.
- i was cut open
I wish...I’ve been sitting on your doorstep for three days.I wish... in Free Verse More Like This
Here are the nothings I left under the mat:
i.I do not feel like a lion anymore,
an alpha wolf, a hyena or
any other strong-willed beast.
I want to take my scars
out to lunch,
feed them your eyes,
& your tongue
until it bleeds sorrow,
and “please forgive me’s”.
iii. You wish I never existed
as you grind those words
into my wrists like they are
red hibiscus blossoms.
& I’ll have you know
I am a flower, bloomed,
rooted deep into the soil.
You are just a combination
of 26 letters-
an “I wish…”
NaPoWriMo Day: 1I’ve got 30 daysNaPoWriMo Day: 1 in Free Verse More Like This
to defy Icarus:
teach this rose thorn heart
how to fly.
[ All I want to be
is the space between
But, I’m here,
ripping holes in blank pages
while nursing nebulae knuckles
with white plastered walls.
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.
and we'll rotoh, poet boy,and we'll rot in Free Verse More Like This
you are not
or honey bones
& you have only
ever been a god
inside of your own head
Vertebraewe dressed ourVertebrae in Free Verse More Like This
& bone crowns
spitting static through
our buzzing t.v. teeth
you're a silent migraine:
[& i want to be something
too pristine to
shetar-tongued;she in Free Verse More Like This
bones & star-
fever burns &
Astrali'm the seraphicAstral in Free Verse More Like This
a hallowed body
like i am hellbent on
speak like you are a god -I.speak like you are a god - in Free Verse More Like This
with these vorticose veins
i am withering, a nightwalker
amongst young phantoms
the hangman in my head doesn't sleep;
he doesn't bat an eye
Celestewe'll kiss hell's palms likeCeleste in Free Verse More Like This
before we give sermons tonight;
pacing scaffolds, we long
to wake immaculate -
Elysiumi am alkaline,Elysium in Free Verse More Like This
speaking of star-stitched
harlots with a
tongue tinged ultraviolet;
love, you are selenic & i
am mercurial melancholy
Saltwater Burnsmend your brittleSaltwater Burns in Free Verse More Like This
poet fingers &
nurse your static head
cherry lips &
blue, blue fingernails
[girls like you are
Litmus Paperwe areLitmus Paper in Free Verse More Like This
cobwebbed & sinking
between piano strings
you keep your skeletons
rotting in the backyard
instead of your closet--
It's Not Polite To Lie.Hush, sweetie,It's Not Polite To Lie. in Free Verse More Like This
Do not let their judgments define you.
Do not let their hatred construct you.
Do not let their words build you.
Do not let your sorrow swallow you.
Do not let your pain devour you.
Do not let your loneliness change you.
Stop telling yourself lies,
Stop screaming in a whisper that you're
Inside and out.
Stop telling yourself that you're
Stop telling yourself that you're
It's not polite to lie.
Tastes Like...Daddy likes to make meTastes Like... in Free Verse More Like This
Eat my words.
I see him hit Mommy
And I know she hurts.
So I tell him, to get her
He has to go through me.
And, well, I can no longer walk
And I can no longer see.
Daddy makes me eat my words
And reality starts to flood.
Yes, Daddy makes me eat my words…
And my words taste like blood.
All Her Little ThingsStop hating her for the littlest things.All Her Little Things in Free Verse More Like This
The things she can't prevent,
The things she can't save herself from..
Stop demanding her to do things,
Things she can't accomplish,
Things she can't imagine being done...
Stop lying to her,
Telling her you love her,
Want her, need her...
When all you've ever done is make her want to
Stop hating her for the littlest things.
The things she can't prevent,
The things she can't save herself from...
When those little things you've done
Take her down...
The little things won't matter anymore.
Take ThisTake this kiss upon your hand,Take This in Free Verse More Like This
For the ones who starved themselves,
Because "ugly" was written all over their mirrors,
Because "fat" was the only thing in their way.
Take this hug around your shoulders,
For the ones who cried themselves to sleep,
Because, unlike everyone else,
Their pillows kept their secrets.
Take this wish for your success,
For the ones with wounds blanketing their wrists,
Because physical pain gave feeling,
And feeling was so hard to find.
Take this whisper in your ear,
For the ones who live through pain,
Through sorrow, through regret,
Through loneliness in crowded rooms,
Through nightmares and judgement and hatred...
Take these words, darling,
These words I say to you.
Stay strong. Never give up. Keep breathing.
Let's keep going,
For the ones who starved themselves,
For the ones who cried themselves to sleep,
For the ones with wounds blanketing their wrists,
For the ones who live through pain,
For the ones forced to survive...
And for the on
Don't be scared, darling.We're going to try something newDon't be scared, darling. in Free Verse More Like This
Eating our meals, and swallowing each bite,
Not hiding the chewed up remains under our tongue,
And not making ourselves vomit through the night.
We're going to try something new,
Bringing the liquor down from our lips,
Not turning to the alcohol for comfort,
Until the addiction rips.
We're going to try something new,
Throwing away the needles, the pins, and the blades
Not searching underneath our skin for emotion,
Watching the wounds and the scars fade.
We're going to try something new,
Darling, I challenge you, I dare you.
We're going to try something new...
Why does that scare you?
Stronger than SuicideYou are so much stronger than suicide.Stronger than Suicide in Free Verse More Like This
You are so much more powerful than the cuts on your arm,
And so much better than your eating disorder.
So much more than your scars.
Please look me in the eyes,
And show me your wounds,
Whether they be on your forearm,
Or your heart.
Have you been skipping meals?
Have you been cutting?
Well, here’s something for you to try.
Think one thing,
Just one thing,
Just remember to prove to the world,
Are stronger than
Well, Honey...You think depression is a choice?Well, Honey... in Free Verse More Like This
Do you think I choose
To feel worthless?
To feel empty,
To feel sick to my stomach because I think too much?
To feel broken,
To feel hopeless,
Angry at myself..
To feel suicidal, sometimes without knowing a reason?
To feel the need to lay in bed all day,
Without moving a muscle,
Because getting up would just make me want to fall back down?
Depression is never a choice.
You don't choose depression.
Depression chooses you.
We don't need ignorant people to choose us, too.
Am I Good Enough...?Legs crossed on a cold basement floor,Am I Good Enough...? in Free Verse More Like This
Blood stains painting my flesh,
The wounds deeper than ever before,
A white gown now a short black dress.
Long tangled hair clinging to my tears
Wind howling through the trees,
Moonlight painting a sky so clear,
And darling, I'm going to be set free.
My fingers scratch at the blood on my skin,
A delightful pain at the thought of a touch,
And hey, everyone who said I wasn't worth it,
Now am I good enough?
BridgesKing being murdered upon the throneBridges in Free Verse More Like This
Dreams made out of solid stone
Learn to fly and learn to crash
Nightmares in a lightning flash
Life's what you get, not what you earn
It's not the bridges you build, it's the ones that you burn.
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
AsphodelA beckoning:Asphodel in Free Verse More Like This
watercolour sky shrinking,
too late, teeth fall; pearls
from a broken string.
Blink and the moon ignites—
but the sheets are still
1,001 NightsIn a land of1,001 Nights in Free Verse More Like This
dreams and dust:
the curve of
a half-hazed sun,
LiliyaBright-eyed,Liliya in Free Verse More Like This
mistress of light.
DuskCrowning glory aflame,Dusk in Free Verse More Like This
a golden Queen
revel in the coming
HaikuWriMo1HaikuWriMo in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Church spire, stretching,
weds the moon.
and a heavy heat;
steeds of elven knights,
armoured all in blue.
upon orange glass:
a specimen, fossilised
veined in gold—
fallen like snowdrops.
Eagle in flight,
great wings cradling
peeking from a soft,
smoky grey duvet.
The world settles;
the heavens awaken—
two arrows in tandem.
The yellow of an
crinkled paper moon.
Tangled in old web—
a spider, noosed.
of a smudged landscape:
pot of molten gold
along the treetops.
MizpahThe crying windMizpah in Free Verse More Like This
and blurred at
NetherThe world unfurls:Nether in Free Verse More Like This
becomes a gemstone, sinking
a mirror breaking
a thousand splintering realities
and I am lost —
forgotten who I ever was,
forgotten how to breathe.
NymphTranslucent asNymph in Free Verse More Like This
a dragonfly wing—
her hair fans
in the water, and
the sun bleeds.
Alla RabiosaScorpio's tail slips low—Alla Rabiosa in Free Verse More Like This
a mari usque ad mare:
from sea to sea
over me, a devil in the sky above;
and the Huntress
peels dawn like an orange.
amongst the stars:
the Mad Queen's cosmic mirage.)
to become a writer.parents divorce before you can talk.to become a writer. in Free Verse More Like This
write about it
like you don't care.
try to mean it.
go through months
of shitty pity-leaking almost-poems
before you get one
that actually makes someone feel
say that it was all a mistake.
only feel like a writer
when you're insecure.
fall in love
with someone. anyone.
that's it's just for fun. just for being
actually love the hell out of them.
mess it up.
write about it.
smoke 2-5 cigarettes every day,
but with the hopes
of saving your lungs for running
(a metaphor? another rule: never tell)
and drink and drink and drink
until you have the courage
to call up ex boyfriends
or lovers or dead friends
to say that you miss them.
write about that-
like you don't care.
everyone knows that you care.
write about that.
ellie.she was always aellie. in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
galaxy, and i am not
allowed to touch stars.
s. Midnight came like a storm. I watched it take him by the waist and drag him away, fingers clawing at his sheets and shivers climbing over his limbs-- fever dreams. Moans died out in the back of his throat. I sat still as a winter night on the foot of his bed and didn't wake him, because the only thing worse for him than being eclipsed in a nightmare was being awake for one. We all know that.s. in Short Stories More Like This
People told me that there was no way that I could have seen the signs; no way to know what he was doing behind closed doors. But they didn't know that I did know. I saw the marks on his arms; not just the ones made by a needle, but the ones that ran horizontal for miles down not just his arms, and the ones I knew father made (another thing that I knew). I was there when he tried to dissect his wrist the first time, and I joined in with the echoes of 'oh my god I had no idea' and 'what a shame'.
We used to sit by the fir
stars only die from drug overdoses.there's a boy i knowstars only die from drug overdoses. in Free Verse More Like This
who used to swallow coins
like hard candy;
stuck to his chin
from my own hands,
lucid in our lungs
and the road
a blur from our sadistic words.
he doesn't believe in hell
neither do i.
but i believe in the stars
and i want to know what happens to them
when they die.
we're legal murderers.how to love a writer:we're legal murderers. in Free Verse More Like This
will turn your passion
into works of extended metaphors
for death and decay,
slipping you scars
served sunny-side-up because,
hey, we all want to be
writers want someone, anyone
(usually the wrong one,
because pain sells more than
to try and pour cement
into the dents inside them
until they realize that they're really just
located in the wrong side of town
that cannot be repaired.
that is what we do.
we break people
for a living.
monster in the closet.anxiety ripsmonster in the closet. in Free Verse More Like This
through my bones
every night when
I pull the blankets
tight around me.
it's not the
dreams. those i
there's just something
that's burrowed deep
inside my ribcage
and clings on with
inhaling my mind
with foul lips.
my heart climbs
to my mouth;
and i choke (and
choke and choke and choke)
until i'm a mess
of tangled sheets and
a thousand different
ways that i could have
died. but here's the
catch-- i am not
afraid to die.
i am afraid
that i have already
i was doing so well at this happy thing.from age fivei was doing so well at this happy thing. in Free Verse More Like This
it was the constant
voices (at home
and in my head)
telling me that i was
and then for 3 years
i was nothing.
i was the child
that dyed her hair and
told her dad that
she didn't want to get married
because it was all
for 3 years,
i was the girl who
wrote stories and folded them up in
to hang above my bed.
at 16 years old,
my dad tells me
that i'm too
i don't eat enough.
and i know that it's not
true. i eat
what my body needs.
and i had finally gotten
to the spot where
i felt comfortable.
no-- fuck, i felt good.
when i look in the mirror
all i see is my dad
telling me that i am a mess
(even though he never said
and that when he was my age,
he didn't have anxiety attacks
and my brother
may be a fuck up but
at least he's
mentally capable (sort of).
no matter what,
will always be better
and so will my
neshamah.apollo's misstep.neshamah. in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
look at your clock. it's tomorrow. all the seconds and minutes of yesterday are gone, disintegrated with the window dust. 12:00 a.m.; re birth.
i've always had this theory that in between 11:59 p.m. and 12:00 a.m., there's this vast ticking of nothingness that hovers between the minutes. just for a second, you are nowhere. the day is both finished and regenerating, and that's sort of magical. i always think that apollo falters, just for a second, as he puts the moon away, tucked neatly in his teeth.
born in a typewriter.
i can never think of how to start anything. the point, of course, is to grab the reader's attention before they become bored with your work and leave, and i don't know if i can do that. i am afraid i cannot ever begin to tell you all of my story.
if i were to be chronological, i would start with telling you when i began to write. but, 1: i am never
fuck, here we go again.the back roads--fuck, here we go again. in Free Verse More Like This
a water bottle full of
god knows what,
and it burns a little going down.
that's okay. we all need that,
we touched a windmill.
and we leaned against it,
pointing at radio towers
with cheap cigarettes dangling between our lips
before we kissed,
sober, this time
stars screamed at us.
this is why
you like the country.
i wondered about our smoke
creating the stars
as it drifts out of our lungs
in clouds of post-code envy
(god, we need to get away from here).
that would take a long time.
that's okay. we've got time.
red.these cigarettes will killred. in Free Verse More Like This
me, but only if
i don't do it first.
(inhale, breathe, hold, exhale. then concentrate on the scenery. feel the smoke on your tongue and think about how you're killing yourself, when in reality, you're already dying.)
we're all going to
die, so what's one
day less? it seems like an
honest bargain to me,
but then again, you should never
listen to a word i
say, because i am
a class A fuck up
(or so they say).
see, i'm either too fat
or too skinny,
much too heart wild
for any man too marry.
("who would want to marry a girl like you? you're too stubborn," my father says. i am fifteen with purple hair and fire on my cheeks and my heart coiling away from my sleeve.
"fuck anyone who wants to take anything about you away," my mother tells me when i'm nearly 16, with sad eyes and a worn out expectation.)
but i think i realize now
that i don't
for me i am good enough,
good in general,
Goodnight MoonThe battered sky bloomsGoodnight Moon in Free Verse More Like This
as the dark teabag stain
under her weary eyes.
Like the couplet
strung around her necklace
with teeth marks -
jewels impressed into
the vast expansive sky
of her laden shoulderbones.
The bruise darkens
and the stars seem impossible.
Too far away
and smiling a long dead smile.
But somewhere a pomegranate lip,
swollen with the disdain
that he made her swallow -
somewhere, those lips
find the courage to say
Beautiful LiesYou painted a neon yellow streakBeautiful Lies in Free Verse More Like This
across my ankle
and told me I was art.
I raked a venomous red line
across your throat
and replied: and you're a liar.
Beneath the RoseI can't burn the street down, the tar will fill our lungs,Beneath the Rose in Free Verse More Like This
I can't fix the bridges, or the bolts bedded in our tongues.
I can't explain the constant, buried deep beneath the rose,
with all the other things I broke; death and all erodes.
How CharmingI'm desperate to find herHow Charming in Free Verse More Like This
to steal another kiss.
should be simpler than this.
For every boy I ever kissedi.For every boy I ever kissed in Free Verse More Like This
you took my hand 'neath the magnolia
at a christmas dinner party I held.
your mouth was cold. so were my affections.
you were the first man to listen to me.
i let you listen to my heartbeat; but
when the day fell away, you bruised me deep.
you were my safe harbour, and i your storm
turning your misery to naught but air
but i squirmed away from your tongue, repulsed.
you were my cradle, when i couldn't sleep
you would hold me close and pray for something,
anything, to keep me safe. (it was you).
eleven months spent sleeping with my phone,
i still couldn't believe when you kissed me
even after midnight struck us again.
i don't miss those guitar-player fingers
you wrapped me 'round. i loved enough for you
until i realised you didn't love me.
we fell into our love by accident
and like one, there were some fatalities
when you said you loved me using her name.
opposites attract. i fell hard for you.
you kissed me in starlit castle ruins.
WhoreI thread a vein out through a scalpel notch;Whore in Free Verse More Like This
and use it as a ribbon to present my heart to you.
I cough a little spare blood. I didn't need it.
I lick the copper from my silenced subterfuge mouth
and it reminds me of the prostitution of my soul
as I pour myself over other men's empty hands
in the dying hope that someone might hold on.
I smear my wrist against a digital canvas and cry;
I give it all to you freely, and nothing in return.
You smile. I break. You hear but you don't listen;
you just throw another single penny for my thoughts.
An Autumn Night with Thoughts of DyingSeraphim rusted and hung upside in a tree,An Autumn Night with Thoughts of Dying in Free Verse More Like This
lit umber as a lantern, spitting sparklers out.
We sat and watched fizzied children laugh
and clap together hands and happy mouths.
She told me oxygen is slowly setting us on fire
and as my blood oxidises into a heavy cop-iron
I thought to myself that if I burst into flames
it would be the most honest thing I'd ever done.
nightmares and lavender owlsdear night-bonesnightmares and lavender owls in Free Verse More Like This
do not marinade in the melanchor
and allow your feeble surfaces
to become slippy and
under the fingertips of sanity -
don't become a semblance,
of reality, just be.
there's no need for lavender
to perfumiae the dusk garden
that thoughtless flower
does not grow here.
after the broken attempts -
of cracked knuckles
as they claw a representation
of beauty, into soil.
oh, to that intrical fluid
thinly veined cribbages
of capillary and thought,
illusive thought -
don't slumber to a stop
and leave me destitute and dehydrated
of truth, of life.
do not betray me
with your sharp and unsoft pricks
of the reality
into my ribs--
don't sharpen my senses
to the point of self harm by thought,
oh bones and sanity
and the screeching owls
that herald in a death-silence
that coos the word;
do not ask of me more than i can bare -
don't, please, ask me
to endure the blade-in-brain
WallpaperShe leaves the window to let the rain in. She watches the lazy river form and fall, seeping into the designer wallpaper and staining it. She watched the rain tug at the seams of the walls and imagined the room coming undone around her. She imagined the ceiling caving in and crushing her. She lay still and watched the rain fall. She lay still and tried not to breathe, to burn, to break.Wallpaper in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
ShiverShe shiversShiver in Free Verse More Like This
and throws her head back hard into the pillow
(the goose down feathers spike her,
fierce into her scalp, but she thrashes again).
and bites her neck with a gurgle
(transferring an 'I love you'
from the tips of his teeth, to her veins).
her nails scratching a line into his back
(he crosses it, she crosses herself and prays,
she prays for nought - he exclaims; "Oh God").
He cries out
as her muscles contract in spasm
(he spills his guts to her, overjoyed
by her assumed compliance.)
as her body tries to force the intrusion out.
(and the muscle of her heart contorts once more
and, overwrought, shatters. Again.)
I was never a writer. I: HalfsleeperI was never a writer. in Free Verse More Like This
I fell in love, once.
A snowstorm melting from my hair - dripping cataract:
diluted coffee. A dark room filled with language
so beautiful, I almost understood what was said.
Children are getting younger, and this land has no end,
where do you rest your head?
All things are in a constant state of vibration,
a harmony in the space between
our fingers. our hands.
I’ve only ever stopped to listen
Halcyon Days Graveyards on the RoadHalcyon Days in Free Verse More Like This
I drive a street pot-hole paved the lightest grey;
tired eyes coupled with the pitch stained tracks of a younger man
guide me back, the press of tires into the rough, grained
surface of days long past that never lasted
and never last.
It’s funny how soft skin can feel to fingertips
so used to cigarette burns, see-saw doorknobs, a nibbling mind,
and everything but feeling.
It’s funny how often I find my hands so close
to my face, posing the question ‘Are you real?
Graffiti Dreams in Black and White The strokes are dreamt permanent,Graffiti Dreams in Black and White in Free Verse More Like This
the only lasting demarcations of claiming existence,
and the collective artists who painted them majored in Biology,
or Accounting, or English and Professional Writing, or dropped out
as so many do when they wake up.
The poet paints them into existence with his words:
“ideas are illusions, and all words are untrue.”
And we nod our heads and sip our coffees, indeed,
put a price to labors and words and even to thoughts
because we no longer want freedom if it costs us the freedom
of saving face and keeping pace with the ebb and flow
HyperboreanThe world we live in is a distorted projection,Hyperborean in Free Verse More Like This
And this moment, naught but a polaroid dream:
Fires dancing at the edges and ink collapsing upon itself.
These streets have melted into bad acid lust visions,
Abandoned shopping cart homes, deep inner-city arm infections,
And other various tripping hazards.
Resolved, we residentially meander along,
Keep our heads firmly fixed to glass floors shattering florescent and
The crunching of our boots gracing the bent forms of those beneath,
Finger-painting cragged gravel surfaces opaque with their pupils
And filling the potholes with Sisyphean shortcomings.
Hammer-handed, delusional, needle-m
Atlantic CityThe Only Shrine I’ve Ever KnownAtlantic City in Free Verse More Like This
The whole world is soft shades of grey
Punctuated by your eyes:
Clouded pieces of sea glass worn smooth
Through the tireless waves of nights lost to loneliness;
You lead me, hand in hand, to the oceanside,
"There is magic here"
You exclaimed excitedly,
"Here, words have power."
Ghosts on Magnetic Tape And you know that I love you,Ghosts on Magnetic Tape in Free Verse More Like This
here and now,
but never for forever;
The future is not, and it never will be.
What We Love
When I was born,
I opened my eyes.
I said, “I am value in a world of appreciation.”
Thine Sanctum, Darkness
There are two kinds of people in this world,
black and white,
Those terrified of darkness,
Who scurry to shoo it away with the sob of a lamp,
As unable to cross their boundaries as they are
Unable to see beyond them.
My deviantART StoryUnlike most deviants who seemed born to the endeavor, I was first inspired to start writing creatively the early Winter of my sophomore year in college when I stopped to admire the bare branches of a tree on my walk home one afternoon.My deviantART Story in Personal More Like This
I probably stood outside next to the sidewalk staring into a grey sky for an hour just watching the wind try to catch the arms of that oak and no longer finding the leaves that used to be there to hold on to. And me, bright-eyed with all the time in the world, wearing some black band shirt to contrast with my red nose, flushed cheeks and frozen tipped ears.
When I got back to my apartment, I wrote a draft which - while I didn't know it at the time - would end up indicative of all of my future writings as it would go through about five major edits over the course of more than a month which would lead to most of what I had written being stripped from it until it became this:
You see, I'm not at all gifted in the v