The Stepmother's TaleI found a man in my garden bed,
Picking herbs for his wife, he said,
For she was hungry and heavy with child.
"For greens, your daughter is mine," I smiled.
So after the birth, I took her away
To a tall, doorless tower where she would stay.
I was her mother, she my one care--
"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your fair hair!"
But then a prince came and stole her young heart,
So I cut her long locks and let her depart.
I took her tresses for my own
And saw how beautiful I had grown.
Then I wondered: could I, too,
Find a prince so valiant and true?
I married a king, to my delight,
With one daughter named Snow White.
Though his age was quite obscene,
I was his happily cherished queen.
Until -- "Mirror, on the wall,
Who is the fairest of them all?"
Was my stepdaughter fairer than I?
Jealousy declared that she must die!
I followed her deep into the forest
To where dwarves mined; "Hi ho," they chorused.
Disguised, I fed her an apple so red
That after one bite she was thoroughly dead.
counting to infinityi.More Like This
Capitalization is bad for days like this. When the sky is grey, who needs grammar? Grammar is rules and rules are a box, a great glass box with no seams—seamless, faultless, perfect, unbreakable—like rules are supposed to be. Rules are what kill you. The words are like light; they bounce away from the glass and are lost.
But if you are content without the words then rules are what save you, because too far from that box and you are not safe anymore; you will be shot at, you are a target, and you will never run fast enough to hide from sound like bullets. The box is a cage and a shield. Both at once, like halves of a circle—impossible, unfathomable, like truth always is.
Sound travels at three hundred and forty-three meters per second, faster than you can throw something even as small as a memory.
To think that I can speak, one word, and before it has left my tongue behind it is already a lifetime away, too far to reach, too far to take back and c
does he love you?Other boys dreamed of flying, of seeing the stars, of fighting in wars and in firesbut you dreamed of physics. While your friends sword-fought in the backyard you were discovering electricity, the bulbs lighting in your hands as if by magic. The wires were warm under your fingers, the batteries dense and perfect, and you knew what it meant to be happy. Soon you graduated from high schoolbut you were not thinking of freedom or even of college; you were thinking of becoming an engineer.More Like This
And at this moment you are at a school four hundred miles from me, at a place where your professors can give you something I never could. You are hungry for electronsyou thirst for computer chips and current. You long for knowledge and all I could ever offer you would be words. For you, a story would never be enough. I could never make you cry with only poetry, I could not whisper anything into your ear that would make a difference. You could never love me the way you love science.
LarkWhere are you going to go,More Like This
stealing past the dawn
is it worth it to know
if the battle is won
if there's future below
or just sunlight beyond
walk on, my friend
Nothing to see here, nothing to feel here
the wind blows memory of pain away
a life is so easy to disappear
gone into the day
walk on, my dear
someone will pay
but not this time
not this way
The sun heals the world, the land, the sky
peace on earth drives evil to flight
but you have nothing to live by
no good, no right
no reason to try
no love for the light
destined to fade
Walk on, my love, into the dark
while the sun in the sky grows higher
over mountains and Mark
and the green of the Shire
the song of the lark
song of pain and desire
forged in blood
and dying in fire
Love and War: PrologueThey were seven years old when they first met.More Like This
The boy was squatting in the dirt and watching a beetle as it flailed on the ground, stuck on its back. He prodded it gently, turning it over onto its feet as the girl came up behind him.
"Whatcha looking at?" she asked. The beetle flicked its wings indignantly, and sunlight flashed off the iridescent green. "Ooh, that's a pretty bug."
She reached down to scoop it up, but he grabbed her wrist. "Don't touch it!" Sensing the danger, the beetle began to crawl away.
"Hey!" the girl exclaimed. "Let go of me!" She yanked her arm free and shoved him backward.
Startled, he landed on his bottom and stared up at her. "That's not very nice," he informed her. "Girls shouldn't push."
"Oh yeah? Well, boys shouldn't grab. It's your own fault you were beat by a girl."
Now the boy was glowering. "I could beat you any day.
Lord, I Am Ashamed.Sleep and IMore Like This
Have grown distant lately.
Back when the air I drank
Was more naïve,
We were friends sometimes
And sometimes enemies.
We bickered and loved
The taste of the wind,
The song of the chickadee,
The color of dreams
To warm my life.
The acres of that country
Are now reduced
To a single small lot
Encircled by a
Gray cyclone fence
That holds bitterness
Rather than keeping out
The worries of the world.
But I suppose
I don't really notice it,
Trees used to whisper to me
Of an earnest jay
Building her nest
Or of two squirrels
Caught up in the heat
But who really detects
Over so many
My own skull throbs
As if I'm diving
Down, down, deep
Into a scummy lake.
What breaks my heart
More than anything else
Is that I don't recall
My familiarity with the sky.
With silly and necessary things
To realize I've forgotten
lie to me.IMore Like This
am the way a child knows without being told that her father will never return home. (I am the reason why the fatal moment strikes hershe is too young to understand what the hurt means but old enough to feel it.)
am the way a husband's heart stops when his wife takes her last breath. (I am the reason why their hearts beat in tandem, why his arrests along with hers.)
am the way you felt when your brother died, in a cold hospital bed too many miles away from you. (I am the reason why your heart broke when you realized that your bones and marrow and prayer did not save him.)
am nothing like death. Death wants nothing to do with you, is concerned only with his own work, is only a silent whirlwind, uncaring. Death walks in the dark and leads your loves away, and does not once look back.
but I look back.
I am the one who lingers after death comes to call, who stays to whisper and to mourn. I am the one who understands you. I have tasted your sorrow, I have known your ways; I am
StitchesI found an old blunt needle andMore Like This
A bit of thread the color of your name
So I embroidered you onto my heart.
Maybe I should have spent less time outdoors,
Since the sun leeched away the pigment and
Left my stitching faded and fraying.
When I can find a pair of scissors
I will pull out the worn string and wait
For the pattern of punctures to heal.
I hope the scars are faint.
Candy at a FuneralIn the face of bitternessMore Like This
I have mastered sweetness.
By the end of this day I will have calculated
exact measurements of cream
to wipe clean the face of gravestones.
I will have learned to soothe the aching
of windswept hearts,
to break open on my part
like a shell of chocolate
quivering open, full of cream.
I will have learned to love grief
as dearly as my own dream.
At the end of my childhood -my dream-
of owning a candy store:
a sweet shop, a bakery….
specializing in the art of the glazed.
The wedding cakes, the brick tarts,
memory of a birthday, of candles, happy catering
for happy occasions of all kinds…
will grow up with time,
and like the end of the day, seeing the look o
Spilled Milk 2.0The milk in the backseatMore Like This
is getting warm, condensation
pearling on the plastic jug
and dripping onto the bread.
His glass doll eyes do not see
this now, slumped against the
steering wheel, windshield
scattered across his lap like
candy from a pinata. His face
is stretched in a caricature of
surprise, saying, But I was
only going for milk.
She is impatient, pacing their
living room in her high heels,
smoothing her dress with her
trembling hands, casting acidic
looks at the green numbers on
the stove that insist on marching
onwards though he should have
been back fifteen minutes ago.
He only went for milk, down the
street, and they are going to be
late for their own party, and she
is furious, but that fury is tinged
with an icy vein of panic that is
threatening to choke her, and
she checks the clock again, the
scream of sirens in the distance
pressing against unhearing ears
as the floor mats soak up the last
warm and living parts of him,
and the milk warms in the backseat.
Death of the ArtistRoland Barthes said, "Death of the Author," and society said, "Hey, why not?"More Like This
They didn't actually kill them, and it wasn't just the authors, either, though there isn't much written about the artists in those early days. The theory was to pretend that there was no author, to better separate the text from the experiences of the writer. Of course, that's impossible to enforce. So society went the other way. If they couldn't separate the author's experience from the text, they'd separate the author from experience.
It worked well, at first. What author or artist wouldn't leap at the chance to live in a commune full of no one but other artists and authors? They lived a kept life, with nothing to do but further their art. Everyone chosen to go for those first test runs was ecstatic. So they say.
Non-fiction authors don't go, of course. I've always wondered if they resent that.
I like to think that my parents are glad that I never showed the artistic talent to get myself shut away in one of
the speed addictthe speed addict knows if he stops moving,More Like This
he will die. so when inertia takes hold
his heart falters and his head slams against
a future, lit by the dashboard. he hears
his veins stuttering like gears grinding out
a staccato refrain, while the wheel spins and
goes numb. as his breath twists away from his grip,
rasps a hol
memories, making glorious mudhis memories are making a glorious mudMore Like This
it is a lumberjack's wife whose veins are budding twigs,
arms feeble as every dried branch to soak a shining star.
it is her who bares such troubled wrists for oven mitts,
so ardently delivers her hoggish assembly some hulking bird
whose body cavity is crammed tight to the sphincter
with a spiced bread. instinctively, she goes for the knife.
there is some raucous applause as she serrates
its oiled, peppered and flightless skin and on
into its succulent chest meat as every spectator
dreams of flying. her blade burrows farther in
and under enough to dredge up a pinkish marrow,
where she stops, lets the carver out
to start again from the beginning...
no lumberjack lives here,
no whiskered axe-man wakes to the rooster.
a daring cedar deadened him flat as toads who nap
beneath some winter stones. his brain was stapled to earth
with a mighty red branch and there have spread rumors.
the truth? his memories are making a glorious mud.
distinctionThis is what I cannot understand.More Like This
There is an understanding that nothing is ever black and white. Good can be achieved through bad means, what's wrong can sometimes be right, and if you turn right for long enough, you eventually go left. Boys can be girls who fall in love with girls who sometimes think they are boys and the lines between everything end up irreversibly blurred.
Or so I've always thought.
But this is a line that cannot be blurred. This is the only remaining clear-cut line that separates black from white as perfectly as a color wheel. And that is the fact that everything is until it isn't. We are until we aren't. We breathe until we don't. We live until we die. There is no gray area, no matter what the talk of doctors and comas and life support and brain death might say. Your heart beats until it doesn't.
This goes beyond just life and death. Emotions are until they aren't. As are moments, definitions, seasons. Two people falling in love, well, some of them inevitably cra
BipolarToday I am the rain,More Like This
Poison coursing through thickened veins,
Feeding from your disgust and distain,
I am the sickness, I am the pain,
Today I am the rain.
Today I am the storm,
A plague of locus, a cloud I swarm,
The purest evil in human form,
Words laced with rage, the air still warm,
Today I am the storm.
Today I am the sun,
Like petals from flowers, I come undone,
My heart and the earth both beat as one,
Nothing to fear, ill laugh through this fun,
Today I am the sun.
Today I am the breeze,
I am injured and yet there's nothing to see,
I am none and yet I am all of these,
I am the sick so help me please,
Today am I the breeze?
Broken BipolarThey judge me by what my darker side contians,More Like This
Instead of the real me holding its reins,
Which does not conform to its hate,
Also called its bipolar state.
They laugh, they mock, they break my heart,
All without giving a hope for a new start.
It leaves me broken inside.
But no matter where I hide,
They will find me.
Will I ever be free?
Free of the hate and scorn,
Free of being broken and torn.
But for as long as I live, "free" is only in dreams.
So what is life to me? More impossible for me, it seems.
So I step in line with other broken souls,
And watch my life breaking like ancient china bowls.
bipolarI feel I'm chained up in a cageMore Like This
Emotions all around
Catch one, keep one
Feel for awhile
When I'm done let it die
Find a new one, feel it, too
So used to change at random
My thoughts are set on shuffle
Almost feels normal
But I'm a freak
Not Okay, Never fine
I can't get out
I wish i could
Then maybe I'd be free
Or maybe it would follow me
The Confusion could live on
But for now I'm still locked in
With emotions all around
I'll catch one, keep one
Feel it for awhile
When I'm done I'll let it die
Then find a new one, feel it, too
The cycle keeps repeating itself
Until the day I die.
bipolarmy emotions are likeMore Like This
spilled paint, flooding
the streets with an array
of manic colors. the fumes
rise into the air like the
angel-sweet smoke from
a stick of incense, and my
peers are getting high off
my mania laced with misery.
[they'll never forget me after
i'm gone, my epitaph
depicting my fame].
i'm staring at the city
skyline from the edge of
a cliff, questioning my
existence yet falling in love
with the incandescent lights
under the midnight sky,
reflecting in my midnight eyes.
i try to refrain from leaping
off, slowly letting go of my
education, my enemies, the
memories that haunt my
head like wailing poltergeists.
[i spread my arms, wondering
if i'll fly, but the stars hold me
they're all watching my
neurosis, laughing at my
journeys back and forth
between grandiloquence and
melancholia. i'm a pawn in
this game of psychotropic drugs
and therapists with plastered-on
smiles, a game i'll be playing
until the end of my days.
i shut my eyes to the remarks,
the expectations o
BipolarToo young to grow upMore Like This
Too old to be a child
These feelings pent up
For more than awhile…
Too quiet to be noticed
Too loud to be ignored
With all in this life
How can I be bored?
Too thoughtful to give up
Too selfish to care
How much more of this pain
Can my poor soul bare?
Too blessed to be abused
Too violated to feel free
How in the world
Could all of this happen to me?
Too united to be missing
Too lonely to be found
I barely know what
Makes my world go round…
Too happy to ignore
Too troubled to acknowledge
How did I end up this way
With all of my knowledge?
Too creative to be ordinary
Too dull to be unique…
All of this uncertainty
Makes me feel like a freak…
Too difficult to be deciphered
Too simple to be misread
Unable to get this chaos
Out of my head…
Too pure to be tainted
Too corrupt to be clean
Powerless to figure out
What all of this means…
Too exhausted to keep writing
Too revived to end
This is one way
I help my heart mend…
Who'd Want To Be This Way?Stomach's weird, head aches -More Like This
I must have taken my pills too late.
Now I'm feeling anxious, irritated;
Mania can be so over-rated.
Adrenaline rushes, blood boils -
My anger makes others recoil
Away from me, the way I wish
I, too, could recoil from this.
Who'd want to be this way,
Full of anger and delusions,
Fighting every moment of every day
Not to shatter their illusion
That everything is fine and well
Outside of my personal hell.
Energy's lacking, sleep comes easy -
Just as well, I don't want to be
Awake to know just how empty I am;
Will this last my entire lifespan?
Heart aches, thoughts rush -
Why won't my mind ever hush?
Leave me be, all alone
So my self-hatred can be honed.
Who'd want to be this way,
Full of sadness and delusions,
Having no will to fight each day
Their stupid, blind illusion
That everything is fine and well
Outside of my personal hell.
Confessions of Bipolar Girl 1The depths of empathy and failure have succumbed to my misery,More Like This
And with the desperate throbs of passion I have chosen this ultimate path,
In which I find the answers to deny the future of all my sanity,
None of this makes sense,
And with knowing that sad, sick, statistic I have overruled my boundaries,
One second I find myself emensly and utterly madly happy-
The the next I am druken off my own sadness and morbidness,
With tears and cries and screams of doubt rushing through my empty soul,
And lost for words on how I feel,
No one even begins to understand what exactly I feel,
It all makes perfect sense in my fucked up ill mind,
But the truth is-
It never does-
And it never will.
bipolar nervosa.Today I am the sad tree.More Like This
My world is black and white and I cannot find the strength to be happy. Nothing's going right and I almost fell off a bridge on my way to school. I couldn't seem to get my clothes on right and I couldn't remember how to open my make-up. My homework was scattered in the back yard and the dog had gotten hold of my new shoes. There was nothing edible in any room and I had a breakfast of toothpaste. I didn't know where to get any water so I washed my hands with beer. When a strange ringing echoed through the house I ran out the front door. I tripped over concrete and couldn't recall the laws of the street. I swayed into traffic and waltzed on yellow lines, dancing in the headlights as they flew past me. Nothing made sense anymore. But, then again, maybe it never did.
Three days ago Jesus spent the night at my house.
God was meeting with the Strangers and the Dinosaurs again and Jesus didn't want to be alone. He slept on the bed and I fell asleep on the floor. He di
100ThemesChallenge - LoveDespite what people may think, not all guys wants a stick thin barbie doll with a fake smile and dull eyes. I like girls who curve. Girls who when you put your arms around her, feel like they fit perfectly against your chest, not like you're hugging a stick. Homely girls. The ones that wear soft cotton shirts and sweaters, and have a warm smile and eyes you can get lost in. The ones that walk around with a smudge of flour or toothpaste or paint on their shirt all day because they haven't noticed or just don't care. The ones whose apple-vanilla smell you could recognise from across the room, but still never becomes mundane. The ones who, when you curl up with her, no matter where you may be, it feels like Home.More Like This
LoversIn a bed do they lie.More Like This
Secuired in each others arms.
No light, nor sound, nor sense of time
Extracts them from their Eden
Recovering from a night of ecstacy.
No facade to hide their love.
No perfectionistic world to weaken their faith.
In blissful slumber they remain.
Forever in a peaceful lovers limbo.
Connected now by heart and mind...
Even after they awake.
Moving OnHappiness is like the brown leaves on the ground,More Like This
There are so many but they're lifeless,
You can't walk on them without making a sound,
And you can't give each one its deserved forgiveness
Stepping stones crumble in life,
As you try to create your own path,
It's like cutting your skin with a knife,
The pain is its own wrath
Something's telling me to follow my heart,
But something else is ripping it from my chest,
It's like I don't even know how to start,
Just roll the dice and hope for the best
I'm not sure if I can figure it out,
But I'm going to have to try,
I have no idea what life's about,
But that's no reason to cry
Dead in ScarletSorrow seeping through my fingers,More Like This
Somewhere, leaking, the blood on my hand?
Someone's weeping, far yet near.
The floor is creaking, my fear is here.
I try to move, my mind says "go",
But my body is still, no breath, no pulse.
The only warmth on my ice-cold carcass
Is the scarlet pool that surrounds me.
It BurnsIt doth burn.More Like This
It burns continuosly,
Through night and day,
And it will never stop
It burns my body,
It burns my heart,
And it burns my soul.
And it will always burn.
The fire and the flames surround me,
And engulf me.
The pain screams and shouts at me,
And expects my mind to slip into madness.
But the pain drives me,
It drives me to fight the madness,
Fight the fire,
And fight back for my freedom...
The Black HoleEyes that shine like stars,More Like This
A hand that cradle's my broken heart,
Lips of poison kissing mine,
Lost in the black hole that light can't find.
You promised me the universe,
From Super Novas to where stars disperse,
You told me you'd give it all,
Who knew with no gravity we'd fall?
I'm lost in the darkness you said was for me,
Lost in the sky in a deepening black sea,
Lost in the heavens where the stars alight,
Lost in your eyes that glow so bright.
Your eyes shine like stars,
You hands hold my broken heart,
Your lips of poison kissing mine,
Lost in your eyes where the light doesn't shine.
To speak of the pain would be breaking the rules,
So we'll float around like a couple of fools,
Suspended in the blackness around,
Where lack of sound and light surround.
Shattered like a broken star,
Lost from where we never are,
Following simple rules of pain,
Ready to die in some asteroid-rain.
Your eyes shine like stars,
Your hands hold my broken heart,
Your lips of poison kissing mine,
Lost in your
The Narrative OC MEMEI. Choose up to five (5) of your favorite original story characters that will embark in this role-play. If you don't have five (5) then leave them blank (or create a character on the spot!) Be sure to give a little description of them:More Like This
II. One of your characters decides to make a grand entrance into a random tavern. How does that go? Pick either Character One or Character Four :
III. Jealous, Character Three tries to make a grand entrance as well but somehow fails why is that?
IV. A character is surrounded by many enemies and decides that the only thing they can do is fight! How does that go? Pick either Character Two or Character Five
V. Character Three is depressed and decides to get drunk.
VI. An event like no other takes place and Character One and Character Two get into a battle to the death. Who wins?
VII. Character Four or Character Five accidentally drink a love potion. Who do they fall in love wit
Tribute to Crazy WritersA Tribute to Crazy WritersMore Like This
Here's to you,
The wild and insane.
Those who look at things not how they are-but how they could be.
Here's to you,
Parents of ink-and-paper children.
Devoting free time to people who only exist in notebooks and hard drives.
Here's to you,
Seeing the faces of characters in people on the street.
Here's to the writers,
Defying conventions and laws of physics.
Who first went to the moon and delved to the depths of the ocean.
Here's to us,
And here's to the tomorrow we hope to create.
Cats, Bottle Caps, and a DressMy grandmother left me two things the day she died: her wedding dress, and a box of bottle caps. Oh, and the pet cat Caesar, but I am not completely sure that counts. After all, I have been taking care of the little monster since I turned sixteen, which in case you were wondering was almost four years ago. I think that counts as already owning the thing. Nonetheless, these unrelated, pointless objects were all I had left to remember of old, crazy Grandmother Engrail.More Like This
"Look on the bright side honey at least she remembered to lave you something." My aunt, as always, was much more optimistic than she should have been. Aunt Amelia, as she wanted me to call her, saw my grandmother's passing as an accomplishment. Life, ending to spark a new beginning in heaven. She was the one who had happily enforced Grandmother's final wish to have a party, instead of a funeral. "You're cousin's didn't get anything except for leftover flowers."
I smiled slightly. All of my cousins had l
MorpheusEvery night I close my eyesMore Like This
And stand before the lord of dream
He stares at me, then raises a sword
Which shall expel from mortal world
It gleams in light, aimed to me.
And down my body, a snake of fear
Well he knows me and my fear,
How dark things shift behind my eyes.
The things that are tormenting me
He laughs at creatures in my dream
In his hands he bends this world.
A silent scream edged on his sword.
It is a shining sepia sword
The thing that widens, haunting fear
It vomits things frightful to me.
He sends me spinning to his world
I see no kindness in his eyes,
The coldest man, the lord of dream.
And now within his world, my dream,
I am the one holding the sword.
He looks on me with darkened eyes,
Filled with something unlike fear.
You cannot win in my own world,
He says, looking direct to me.
I feel the glory weighing me,
Heavy in the house of dream.
His is a dark and unkind world.
Perhaps, he tires of the sword.
I do not know yet what to fear,
But I see nothing in h
A greatful deathI lay awake in fields of wanderingMore Like This
as discontent rains down upon me
My mind lost in what if's
and could have been's
of this life's depressing overture
sound off to manifest
endless tears of agony
raining down a face of withdrawal
due to the physical dependence
of a lonely heart longing for your
which I am lost to forever
This discontinuance of our love
leads me down that path of dysphoria
where I slowly die without you,
or at least want to.
My mind becomes limp and flaccid,
existence loses its reason
but with all this
I want you to know,
With every passing day
every isolated grain of sand that falls
in this life's sentence
of pain to carry forever more,
it was all worth it.
Even for a distinct moment,
a simple trace of your existence,
a single memory imbued to my heart,
a dash of your dulcet flavor,
one mellifluous utterance
from your evocative lips,
or just to see that ebullient smile
and its efflorescence brightening a room,
Aah my darling,
The PoetAn old poet once plucked me a roseMore Like This
And asked me "What do you see?"
I told him I saw a rose, and he said,
"That's not at all what I see."
I told him it was because he was blind,
He said "I see so much more."
I asked what he meant, he laughed and he smiled,
Then asked me to sit on the floor.
"I see the dress of a young fairy queen,
The silken skirts of her gown.
I see the cape of a stern elven king,
Who sits on his throne with a frown."
"I see the scales of a dragon of gold,
And these were once its great claws.
I see the blood of many a knight
As he met his end at its jaws."
"I see the crown of the mer-king's child
Who frolics somewhere in the bay.
I see the feathers of angels fair
Who visit us every day."
I asked him how it was that he saw,
So many tales in a flower.
He said "There will be a day I tell you,
When you can handle this power."
The day came when he was dying of age,
And asked me to sit beside him.
He asked "Do you remember my tales?"
I nodded and sang his old hymn.
I told hi
Sifted SandSweetly sifting sandMore Like This
through fingers each
with lifted eyes, we engage
a Romeo star
on Juliet beach.
Comet trails of stolen
light plucked and
placed on gentle
tide, until at last
our sifted sand lay
scattered by the shorely breeze,
Monet, sea foam
where waters rose and
The wave, it came, its
breaker tall, like high
and skyward spires reach,
which severed from
the moonlit sky
a Romeo star
on Juliet beach.
TofaOf silent thought | or suspect mindMore Like This
Are fine and few aware.
To heed each mind | one meets with words
Is a lesson learned aright.
In cradle's cradle | half-conscious I lay
Next a white-armed woman bright.
From her warmth | and wiles of fire
And launder of lips I got.
Held together | next the hearth
With kidding connotation.
The bright made guarded | her garments well
But love lays low such fears.
A name she'd none | else no name to give
To rejoin requests made,
Yet with poise | with pose and words
She took my temper from me.
Along her lips | a lingering beam
And quick craft of her wit
Bestowed for her | my being inmost
And heart heavy-beating.
A name she'd none | else none to give
To rejoin requests made,
But five nights all | Did fires burn red
With lofty love akindle.
It was not soon | six nights after
In darkness her derth did come.
I feared that she'd | found yet a man
To confer quietly by moon.
By all the names | I knew for women
I guessed and called the girl.
Still a simple | smil
The PianistA warm, lilting melody wafted through the nightclub, nimble fingers dancing over crisp black and white keys as the song of the grand piano drifted down from the stage, filtering between the irregularly spaced tables to fill every niche and recess of the dimly lit room. The lone figure in the spotlight moved gently with the music, her long chestnut hair billowing down her back in loose waves and her wine red dress fanning out around her knees as she sat on the worn leather stool. It was not a complex song she played, with no difficult notes or intricate rhythms, but there was something about it that was so enthralling, so entrancing, as if each sound touched you, clung to you, whispered to you.More Like This
As the tune swelled, as the notes danced, and as music came alive beneath her fingers, the pianist began to remember.
She met him at a cheap, backwater club on a cool autumn evening while playing yet another of those low paid unambitious jobs that she hated but needed to make ends meet. While
death affair"there are ways and ways to have a love affair. Above all, one must not be serious about it."More Like This
i sank into my spine and my stomach flattened out like the bottom of a weather system, clouds rolled in and i thought i would see sun before another, cold lonely sickness.
the machinery behind my hips, coordination of my fingers.
There are boys sitting next to my flowers made of 20 dollar bills,
they come up like stray dogs,
what are you doing here,
my you smell nice,
and may we kiss you on the tongue.
i looked at them and said i'd rather stick nails in my hands.
i went home drunk and closing doors and there was a heavy warm silence
of dreaming people,
under their closed lids the wind is coming from a russian whisper like a goddess,
under a heavy monsoon of hair,
white as bone skin
with a miraculous soft voice like the bete
running a salty tongue up the fat,
inner seashell curve of her thigh,
a sickly fairytale princess swathed i
La Pregunta CorrectaP o r q u é ? ?More Like This
Una pregunta demasiado común para mi gusto,
usualmente sin respuesta correcta,
y sin tener quién la responda,
es difícil imaginar una pregunta más original,
cuando lo único que piensas es el Porqué??
Más allá de tus razones terrenales,
y tus delirios mentales,
debiste contestarte ésa misma pregunta,
más de una vez y probablemente,
en cada ocasión la razón no era la misma.
Tus padres te lloraron,
tus hermanas te enterraron,
pero yo sólo veía,
me mantuve a una distancia segura,
bajo la sombra de un árbol seco,
el Cuando?, el Donde? y el Como?.
El "porqué" es:
Lo que nos impulsa a seguir adelante,
nos da esperanza y propósito,
pero... Cual razón te motivó??
Cual decidió tu destino??
Como tomaste la decisión??
Donde estabas en ése momento??
Donde planeaste tu desenlace??
y además, Donde estaba yo??
Debo confesar que no me sorprendió t
Loves InsomniaI relax comfortably in my endless insomniaMore Like This
as I watch you collect each delicate breath.
Your breasts rising like waves of the sea,
each strand of hair roaming wild and free
like midnight stallions racing thunder.
I remember the blissful hours before.
How could I not?
Your ivory canvas was still freshly painted
with marks of my animalistic hunger,
a craving that lingered eternally in my soul.
Lust led me on a conquest of your land
where I drank from your springs of love
and bathed in your warm comforting sun
washing away years of wretchedness.
You are the reason for my insomnia.
Why close my eyes,
when they can feast on you?
I cherish every morsel of you,
the way your glow
shows up the moon,
the way you look
not into my eyes,
but into my soul.
Is it wrong to be so in love with you?
Every single fiber of my soul,
like lonely grains of sand
blanketed by your essence
and swept away
by your ethereal tide.
Some may say this love is sinful,
Double VisionI don’t see what others seeMore Like This
The sorrow and pain of the killer
The joy and pleasure of the victim
The deceit and bitterness of a friend
The compassion and kindness of the enemy
They see what they want to see
That which is not there
But is there because they choose to
View it instead of the truth that stands
They blind themselves from reality
To live in a world that does not exist
A world only they see
I see the truth no matter what form
I see their world and the real world
I see all
Rain Could you imagine dwelling within a cloud? Being surrounded by nothing but white blur? For inside these white monsters reside hundreds of drops of water. Their numbers growing by the day, they know they must some day plummet to the foundation. What it looks like, they know not. They know only that there they must dwell, 'til, along with air and dust, they are altered into white giants as well. For that is what they call clouds: White giants. They know not the name we gave them, nor how hazardous the world underneath could be.More Like This
The white giants grew gray, a sheer sign that their children are about to plunge to the ground. One by one, the drops would dive down to the soil, several landing upon what the white giants illustrated as grass. Others, however, would not be as blessed. Down they fell, the wind blowing powerfully on them as they drew closer and closer the land. Everything around them was a blur. Different colors raced past them; colors they had never seen before.
As the gro
TransformationShe has a morning ritual,More Like This
and it's not just the usual
brushing her hair and teeth,
and applying layers of makeup.
Actually, she doesn't wear makeup.
She does were a bind, though,
to get rid of her chest.
So her morning ritual
transforms her into him.
No one at school knows of this.
It was when he transferred schools
that he started dressing this way.
His family doesn't approve,
but nor do they say anything.
Then he always turns down
any invitations to hang out,
because he doesn't want to take any chances
of people finding out the truth;
he's not ready for that yet.
So she will continue to just be him to them.
He tried doing this at his last school,
but it hadn't been accepted
by his fellow classmates
They were disrespectful towards him,
not approving of who he truly was.
Even his friends refused to believe
that she actually felt like he,
and they just began to ignore him.
He chose to let that part go.
He knew they didn't understand.
He was born as she,
but that's not how he felt,
Who Are You?Who are you, who am I?More Like This
Passing each other side by side
Have we met before, will we meet again?
Were you once someone I called a friend?
Our eyes meet as we look up
In my throat there is a giant lump
I recognize a face I once knew
And I can tell you do too
We pass by each other and I give a sigh
You look back and shout, "This is not goodbye"
And ran to hold my hand at my side
Memories of a Wall On A RooftopShe hangs on my ceilingMore Like This
like a poster
Hung less out of memories
so much as hung from
In her hair hangs the color
of the color
in the center of my roof.
Sometimes I think about taking it down.
I think about the times.
Sometimes I wish we'd
never painted it
so we could do it
And we'd do it again.
She is...Her hands are not flawless anymore. Her nails not manicured and perfect in polish.More Like This
They are worn, and a little wrinkled with cuticles that seem tired and old. Her nails are cut perfectly, but no polish or manicure grace them.
Her hair no longer falls in curled perfect ringlets of thick wavy strands... They are now mostly tied up carelessly, held in a clasp.
Her lips now wear an all day moisturizing gloss instead of that creamy lipstick that smelled like sun ripened fruit.
Her curves are fuller and her body seems to have grown to adjust for providing comfort and care... and not to tempt.
But her eyes still wear that sparkle... and they are livelier than ever. Her laughter rings out like peals of silver bells and fills up the house, overflowing, till it spills out of the doors and windows and lets the sunshine in.
She may not be the girl I brought home, years ago.... but she is the woman who stayed by my side, through hail and sun, as perfect smiles got replaced by visits to the dentist.
Dear JellyThey say I've been unnaturally quiet.More Like This
This is true.
I say that I have nothing to say.
When in reality, I do have something I want to say.
And everytime I speak,
I'm afraid I will tell you.
And you will know I'm a freak.
I, who you think am so fearless
That girl, is so afraid.
I shake and I tremble
And I long for the reassuring and
Of an understanding someone.
Will you still be the jelly--
To my peanut butter--
When you find out that your peanut putter...
Is really a walnut?
Will you still be my best friend
if I tell you that I'm really a
My Mad HatterMy Mad HatterMore Like This
You make me feel like Alice when she's ten feet tall
Teeter-teeter-tottering, balanced for a fall
But it's a leap of faith to me, if my opinion matters
You drive me wild and crazy, insane, you must be a Mad Hatter.
Mad Hatter, Mad Hatter, come and sit by me
We'll share a few cookies and have a cup of tea
Mad Hatter, Mad Hatter, won't you look at me?
It's just an Unbirthday, but feels like a Valentine to me!
The way you look at me from in under your hat,
You could drive a girl crazy looking at her like that
Use me, abuse me, seduce me, I'm your plaything
I'm your little puppet, won't you play with my strings?
Mad Hatter, Mad Hatter, call me your own
Your arms are the place where I feel at home
Mad Hatter, Mad Hatter, with just on touch of your hand
You can make me feel like I'm in Wonderland
Playing little love games, bursting into rhyme,
I'll never be okay until I make you mine
I glance at your clocks, listen to their chatter
I want to spend all my time with you, my Mad H
CollapseI met you in a side street meshed in silence, halfway between my home and yours. Just as I set out to find you in the heart of the doomed city, you did the same, heading for my place. It is amazing how we always are on the same wavelength, guessing each other's thoughts and actions.More Like This
Or maybe it is nothing out of the ordinary. It is normal that we want to spend the last hours of our lives together.
"Hey," you greet me as I put my arms around you. "You seem tired. Didn't get much rest, I suppose?"
"I couldn't sleep for days." Not with all the noise, shouting, chanting in the street. Not with the knowledge that these would be the Earth's last hours. That night, I stood at the window, meditating on the transitory nature of human endeavour while trying to discern the faint red glow of the sky caused by the intensifying cosmic radiation. With no electricity, the city was resting in darkness, but the intense glow of stars gave it an ethereal atmosphere. There were much more stars in the sky t
DAU Original-Lit Drabble 1"You're up early, the sun's not even set," Alastair said groggily as he walked into the living room and made a beeline for the sofa. He was still trying to get used to keeping vampire hours. He only had himself to blame for that. It had been his choice after all.More Like This
"Hmm?" Raeshion asked, sounding as if he were lost in thought.
"Is something wrong? You look like you haven't slept," Alastair said in concern as he sat down beside Raeshion. He'd been living with Raeshion for a few months but he'd never seen him like this.
"It's nothing, I just couldn't sleep," Raeshion said in a melancholy tone.
"I didn't know vampires could get insomnia," Alastair said with an awkward smile, trying to lighten the mood.
"Only those of us with a conscience," Raeshion sighed.
Alastair reached over and put a hand on Raeshion's arm; he was sure now that there was something more to it than not sleeping. It was up to Raeshion if he wanted to share, but Alastair hoped his offer of comfort would help in some way.
Cops Arrest Death for GraffitiToday, two members of the NYPD have arrested a black-cloaked offender for vandalizing the wall of a Midtown Manhattan skyscraper. Upon dragging them to the police station, they discovered that the person was genderless and used the hood of the cloak to conceal a rather troubling lack of skin, meat, eyes or nose on an otherwise lively skull.More Like This
"We realized," officer Jobson says, "that this was not your ordinary criminal - I mean, most of the people we bring over have some identifying features and while I suppose that having a skull for a head is identifying, it's just... Troubling. What do you write in the 'skin colour' or 'eye colour' boxes, you know?" Upon being asked how he fared with this discovery, he answered after some consideration, "I've never seen a real skull before. It was odd."
His colleague, John Daffodil, says about his near-Death experience, "My old mum got quite a fright when she called me and I said I'd met Death. She thought I'd been shot or something. Anyway, a policem
The Magician's Rabbit Delaine's hands were blackened by the fire's burning licks, bleeding a crimson fluid as she tried without success to clean her hands up with the little rainwater that she had. Her hands remained charred as the frigid water stung the already painful blisters. As she whimpered, the winds cried for her, rustling the leaves and frightening the animals back to their nests for the night. Only the waning moon could be her company, just watching her every move from above. It made her nervous, to think someone was always seeing her, and always knew where she was. It was her worst fear for someone to find her and take her away. Not again. Not like this. She thanked God He had made the moon silent.More Like This
She tore off some fabric from the hem of her dress and wrapped the strip of cloth around her bloodied hands. She knew she would soon bleed through the fabric, but s
Leaving WonderlandThis lovely bonescapeMore Like This
is no place for children,
our grins too big,
screwed to the skyline
as if looking
I no longer feel
beneath my feet.
It has been replaced
red and white damsels
dope-eyed with distress
who cannot make a sound.
Their hands are lilies
and I bear a mirror
on my back
will call you fair.
You will not remember this
when you awaken -
not the man with the cat
and hungry in the hallway
or the hat
I once wore to dinner
or the wine we drank
from the brown jug
only the smell
squirming in a jar.
launching chainsbeforeMore Like This
when your christening failed
we found another bottle, heaved it
against the side of the sea, watched the champagne
sizzle in the foam, and heard the rope snap.
crew scattered. the prince raised his hand, he said
something; I do not remember, but frowning
under his black hat he turned and later that day
rushed to his car. you denied princes the first time we
let you; or at least,
I tasted the wasted champagne in the back of my throat.
We did not move fast enough
to accommodate you, and so you shied
at the gate, protesting the locks and walls
made for smaller ships. Looking up, I wondered
how many in the crowd were betting on you sinking beneath
the weight of the iron heart in your breast: silver coins passed
from hand to hand as it was all maps for me: New York waiting
on white paper far across the servant tides of seas strong-fettered;
you would do this and many more. We simply had to learn you first.
We had to stretch out along the gaps and connect the count
Impossible ExistenceMine is an impossible existence.More Like This
Every day, I do the impossible. I get up, eat Cornflakes, go to work. I work in an office. It is quiet. I like that.
I walk through the park on my way home. The birds are singing. The boys are playing football between the trees. Brown, crackling leaves are thick underfoot.
When I get home, I kiss my warm, flustered wife as she hurries past me out the door. She is heading to her shift over at the hospital. She works the evening shift on Wednesdays. She does impossible things there.
The kids - Annie and Michael - are playing in and out of the hall, chasing each other. The TV is on in the front room. Tom is chasing Jerry round and round the screen, much like Annie and Michael.
Annie is seven and wants to be a nurse. She wants to do impossible things, like her mother. She is small and bright and blonde and has her mother's radiant smile.
Michael is three. He is my impossible child. He has freckles and dimples and mousy brown hair. He is giggling
HaikusIt's the cause ofMore Like This
A lot of problems
And bees stings
Which hurts more?
untitled 2I feel the cage doorMore Like This
For the first time
That I can remember
How long has it been?
What is the year?
Millions of questions
Flood my mind
I can let my
For my soul
Is finally free
From the bondage of
flip of the coinFace half obscuredMore Like This
By fallen hair
Eyes a misty grey,
Or are they blue?
Or are they restless?
She sits still
Or is she pacing?
She is beautiful
Or is she a wreck?
A pretty smile covers
Or is it a grimace?
Some see or believe
The attractive side
But is there more?
Pity no one sees
YanHe sees her leaveMore Like This
With a child
One eye his
That of a beast
He longs to
As he recalls
That caused his
Life to end
He had seen it!
He couldn't believe
What his eyes showed him
Was it a trick?
Some work of the
Was the same
Shade of color
As his beloved
A deep golden brown
He fled toward
He knew she
But that's what
He loved about her
To run under
The full moon
He thought her
To be a nymph
In a human
But not this
And killed sheep
He made a grave mistake
His brother, Zam
Who turned his
Trust into betrayal
Once Yan's head
Had never hurt
That she never
Lied to him
He always knew
She kept something back
He had noticed her getting
Restless as of late
But he blamed it
On her staying
In a town
IsabelI want to runMore Like This
For that matter
What is my reason?
My paws yearn
For the freedom
But my heart
Tells me to stay
But I can
Take him with
Will he want to?
Run like a wolf?
Be a gypsy by
I don't know
I run in a circle
Howling my confused
Tell me Yan,
What would you
Have me do?
Well you go?
You died that
The day I went
To tell you the truth
The truth about me
And my people
I sigh and
Say a simple blessing
As I lead our little
From the spot where
Your spirit lies
In the heart of the
Get over your damn selfI used to cryMore Like This
but now I smile
I used to scream
now I laugh
I used to hate
now I love
I used to be trapped
now I'm free
I used to feel dull
Now I shine
I used to be blinded
now I see
I used to be
so many things
now I'm so much
and its all
you let me
Last wordsI was trickedMore Like This
how could i be betrayed
in such a manner?
I trusted you
when others said kill you
I choose to spare you
only to be repayed
may you rot in hell
for all enterty
I grew to love you
thus, my down fall
As the army runs rampit
through the grounds
I lay dieing
from a broken hurt
not from the poison
shoved in my chest
A different type of addictionMy body shutters constantlyMore Like This
I never feel warm
as the toxin leaves my body
my mood is stuck between
to consent sadness and hopelessness
I gotta have it
I wanna have it
but that is only the poison
tricking my body back
into believing that
one more taste
well be okay
not going to fall for
I've been so close to relapsing
but I mustn't
for fear of getting hurt again
curse the addiction
One Phone callI hear the tearsMore Like This
as the splash the key bored
I feel weak
I feel as though
I'm losing you
is it wrong?
is it the
reason he left?
I pause as
the phone rings
you've heard my
I smile as
you tell me that
miles , seas
and many other things
can separate us
but "I will always
come back to you"
I hang up the phone
and fall into a slumber
hand and hand
If i walked into the woodsIf I walked one dayMore Like This
into the woods
and never came back
would you notice?
Would you notice
the dishes weren't done
the laundry pile continued to
The food went un cooked
the house was in disarray
well of course you
But would you wondered
what happened to me?
why I left
would you even care?
If I got eaten by a bear
bitten by a snake
ate a deadly plant
or drowned in the river
I'd like to say yes
but recently I don't know
least not anymore
So perhaps I should give it a try
and see if you notice
and perhaps if you do
you'll follow me
Because you remember
I'm more than just a person
who tidies the house
I am the one you love
breaking a writer's heart.never break a writer’s heartMore Like This
because your name
will forever belong to us.
you will sign it
into every broken bit
and one day, you’ll open a book
next to the words
"let me tell you about the time
i was hurt."
never break a poet’s heart
because between the beat
of the stanzas,
you’ll hear that heartbeat,
proving you wrong
with every line.
never break a writer’s heart
because we will take the pain
and make it into something
you could never live down.
you could live with heart monitors,
that measured the damaged pulse,
doctors who told you,
but you can’t live with the bold strokes,
smooth as a flatline,
that accuse you of being
the best thing
that’s ever happened to them.
you can’t live with it;
our soulmate, now writing.
You, now replaced
by a pen.
never break anybody’s heart
because you’ll cut yourself
on the pieces of it.
and see, hearts heal.
Girl Leaving a Barthe wind picked paceMore Like This
she could feel the sound
of the music, very
he was telling her
about his sister
through her hair
saying, "You remind me,"
"You remind me."
it was too early
stir with a sudden
turn of crooked fingers
as a car passes,
on broken glass
last night she dreamed
What Is Existence Someone Please Tell MeThe cashier who sold me salted peanuts says "dead animal can swim." She looks at her hands. But dead animal can't swim. It's buried in beauty and beauty floats through the air. Maybe you can bury beauty in a balloon and tie it to a mailbox. "I don't know" says the cashier while she smells the dead animal that is dead inside of her. "There is no time for these questions when there is living fire that does not yet live here." So we set to burning the gas station. We run away. We run up a hill to where music is handing out free emotions with no memories. The cashier climbs in through music's translucent body and becomes its memory. Together we sing you are not lonely, you are not lonely, you are not lonely while stars fall down through beauty and salt the burnt earth.More Like This
SomedayI was there in the playground the day Debra Mae told Penny Tomleson her mamma was going to die.More Like This
"Liar!" Penny screamed, eyes closed and fists balled.
Debra Mae just smiled sadly and shook her head. "She's gonna fall off a horse and die. Can't take it back, wish I could."
"Liar!" she screamed again, this time flailing at Debra Mae, who stepped aside calmly at the last minute. Almost like she could see it coming.
"My mamma doesn't even like horses! We don't even have a horse!"
The kids started chanting fight, fight, fight! in the playground, but I didn't join in. Debra Mae looked me straight in the eye, the very first time she'd ever done that, and smiled her sad little smile again. My heart went floppity-flop. I wanted to rush over and wrap my arms around her, defend her, protect her. But for some reason I didn't.
Penny spun herself around but there was no fight in he
Bringing Down SweeneyI asked him who he was, and he said, "I'm Sweeney," and I believed him. I probably shouldn't have, except that it was true. I can always tell when people are telling the truth.More Like This
Mum and Dad were still in the last battles of the divorce, so I was trying to keep myself out of their hair as much as possible. This was why I had packed two cornmeal pancakes and an old plastic dish of syrup and was heading out into nowhere, where I wasn't necessarily wanted but sure as hell wasn't unwelcome. Not that I was resentful about it or anything. Nobody wants to fight in an amphitheater. Well, nobody but gladiators, but you don't see a lot of those around these days. Goes to show you.
So out I went, with my book and my pair of half-crumbling pancakes and my yellow wellies and an old, oatmeal-colored jumper that had holes in the elbows. "Get a new one, Linnie," everybody was always saying. The truth was I had gotten used to it, and now it felt weird not to have my elbows out in the wind like that. Out
Let's Play a Game Let's play a game.More Like This
I don't like the game we play
But he says we have to.
After all, I am
Daddy's little girl.
I'm too sad to move.
I don't like this game.
But I am
Daddy's little girl.
There. Wasn't that nice?
I don't like our games...
But I guess I have to
Daddy's little girl.
We can play again later.
I don't want to play later!
I don't. Like. Our. Games.
But I have to play them.
Daddy's little girl.
It's fun. Isn't it?
I don't want to be
I'm sick of being
Daddy's little girl
In Daddy's world
With Daddy's games.
Let me grab this knife, Daddy.
Let me hurt you, Daddy.
The way you hurt me.
I don't want to be your little girl.
I want to play a game.
SchizophreniaSmile.More Like This
"What are you doing?"
Trying to escape.
Look behind you.
Are they there?
You'll never understand it.
Rip your hair out.
Cover your ears.
They want you to die.
They're out for you.
Shut the door.
Lock it again.
"Are you okay?"
You'll never make it.
Fall to the ground.
"What are you doing?"
"What are you going through?"
"What's wrong with you?"
... "I don't know."
She always fell for boys who needed saving.She always fell for boys who needed saving.More Like This
Giving them kisses in the dark
to numb their headache from
drinking too much and yet
not enough to kill lust.
She was always adored by boys, who,
if given the chance, would rebuild
the world for her.
But she wanted to be the heroine
and refused to see
she needed saving, too.
Emotions, Natural disasters?More Like This
My heart races,
Races in panic,
Like a boat stuck out at sea,
In a malignant play of nature.
My mind spins,
In a whirlwind of confusion
"Not a thought,
Does this mean what I think it does? "
Silence is replaced by ,
The constant pounding of fear,
Like the roaring of the ocean ,
Deep in my ear.
My soul crumples,
Like the buildings, in an earthquake.
My body shakes,
Shakes like the violence of a tornado,
My anger spews out like,
The molten lava of vivacious volcano.
My tears flow,
Like the waters,
of an ,
Over flown river.
And people move on,
Months of long winter
Are replaced by the fresh air,
Of spring, followed by the
Warmth of the sunshine ,
On a hot summers day.
My heart melts,
Like the ice on ,
the first day of spring.
If I had a time machine,
I'd never have a broken heart.
tiny vesselsgod cried for us that afternoonMore Like This
on the rocks, if I could be so
selfish; you had your hands
grasping at my empty vapors before
I’d had the chance to whisper
to you. I see you
shaking. I know you’re
hungry and I know
the temperature of your
eyes when you lie. you
said you were lonely.
half-truths are the essence
of symbiotic relationships, your
fingers trailing along my hips,
glacier blue eyes holding me
still. the rapids churned. god
cried for me that afternoon.
he was selfish, too.
Dark Matteri.More Like This
you are my bruises. welts
along my wrists, fingertips
dancing on my neck. bluebird,
you were a midnight mistake
leaking over the next morning.
you wept and all
the world called you beautiful;
we kissed the naked silence between your bones,
we watched you drown yourself in vodka and not-so-
secrets, and we brought you back to life;
we held you as you quaked
like a tragedy in its first bloom.
I called you beautiful,
and you used all of me
[I am as naked as the breeze, as
useless as a songbird without
a note. I am as hungry
the tide and as lonely
as the moon who calls
upon it; starlight,
you took all of me,
the negative space
I fell in love
first with the taste
of you-- good weed
and the resurrection
of unmet expectations. when
you kissed my neck, I was
alive; I was a series of
sparks in a vacuum night.
you were a million moths
blooming within my ribcage, you
were the beginning of the story
I was afraid to open. I fell in love
with the goosebumps tha
ValentineMany a time I've seen you thereMore Like This
within the dungeons murky-deep:
ever to seek me without care,
my shield is mine yet yours to keep
Though with gingered maw my cloth you seize
to nibble with such tender touch.
Might you truly hope to please
to hurt so little, yet take so much?
And could it be another way
of saying admiration yet unsaid-
velvet thought not for light of day
but for darker paths none have tread?
In my heart I wish it could be.
You are Like-Like, yet you love me?
beauty is a state of mindforgiveness is theMore Like This
scent the violet leaves
on the foot that stomped it;
I am beautiful in remembrance:
I am beautiful
in a body two sizes too
large, in eyes dilated
with questions (eyes
you cannot name; gray
like the ocean, blue
like the heart, green like
the fever dream I cannot
wake from) I am the
hair of a lion, a wild
thing, ignition upon
tempted glance. I am the skin
you cannot name, always fleeting;
you always see
but never truly take in.
and I know a boy
carved of ivory silence,
accidental exposurenewton’s laws neverMore Like This
applied to you. maybe
tomorrow won’t come, and
we will always be a
few gestures short of
you are that glint
on the edge of the
flirtation of a star, of
a wish whispered
into skin that
cannot listen. I
traced so many apologies into
your spine; Dear Amy, my
body is an empty bookshelf
and I’m sorry I couldn’t
give you a perfect ending.
Dear Amy, you are more than
the hands that hollowed you
and made you quiet. Dear Amy,
stunted emotional development
is a blessing but I’m so scared I’ll
hurt you I’m so scared I care
about you, you’re the first person
who didn’t want me selfishly,
the first person to make
there are so many shades
of blue in your eyes
I can’t capture; so many
poems caught in your
hair. I dreamt about you
every night this week;
I was the monster hiding
under your bed.
in which I gain sentiencesave roomMore Like This
for doubt, in the silence between
religious guilt and stolen
body heat. I am made of helium.
in my dreams they
pop me and
watch me flutter. I wonder if everyone
else’s head is so congested as mine,
hyperactive with inattentive people.
you are never serious--
he stares at me in a different
set of eyes; there are words
I cannot say, there are
things I cannot tell you.
(twice a week
I watch the people I love
leave me for good.
spiders in my throat,
unarticulatedtonight I ask myself:More Like This
where are you going with all these names
in your pockets? syllables that taste
unauthentic in the desperate American
repression is a series of images
earthbound angels breathing
flame, starving hands speaking
in tongues, glazed eyes
asking are you fucking okay
pale skin becoming moonlight,
reflecting and refracting and
the quiet understatement
radiantI amMore Like This
unrealistic ideologies of an
are toxic; breathing
is a chore. there is
a careful warmth in the
combined effort of
we are the forgotten.
we are the tangled limbs
and childhood stories for
a more sensitive future; we
are the longing, we are
we are measured
in the people we touch;
and I will love you
in the UV light of
hide and seek paranoia.
I love you in the red shimmer
of harbored dreams, I love you
in the industrial gl