this is a poem for you
as all poems sometimes are
yes, the morning poems
and the evening poems
and it's open to interpretion--if you wish
or maybe and or but or hmm
consider my intent, if you'd like
question the line breaks and word choice
and all the things that i didn't write
(that's subtext--context cues, sure)
you probably want to ask about things
that aren't written and that's okay, too
questions like, "how are you doing?"
or, "are all of these poems really about me
because that's obsessive and sort of
yes, these poems are for you, but--
there's your but, your wait,
your moment of pause, take a breath--
but note 'someti
The Sun returns my love
in freckles and burns,
in heat and sweat
and a permanent flush across my cheeks.
And I daydream of things I cannot have,
like your weight upon me.
The laughter of crows echoes across
dried lakes and scorched grass.
The breeze carries the sweetness of withering magnolias and I--
I think of you in stillness,
beneath a moon I cannot see,
in cool and comfortable darkness
when I'm meant to be asleep.
And if I listen closely to the quiet, well.
The Night returns your love
in intrusive thoughts and lavender dreams
and strange shapes upon the walls.
Sometimes, I feel a soft finger down my spine or the brush of hair from my
I cherish you like the feeling of
cool breezes on warm nights
and the thrill of fireflies
dancing along dark streets.
Your home is the comforting idea
of domesticity that I haven't
quite gotten down yet:
whipped butter slathered on burnt scones
and fine china for guests I never see.
You are one of them and that's okay.
I like to think of us together sometimes
as we drift further apart--
like trees whose canopies share sunlight,
but dare not touch while the grass withers below.
I suppose our circadian rhythm is out of whack and I can't figure out what we're supposed to be doing or if I'm meant to make time for you.
Lately, I'm a crepescul
In my experience, there's three things that the side of the road is good for: cops, whores, and dead things. Carrion, I mean. Dead. Animals. Don't take that the wrong way. I loved her. She didn't belong on the side of the road. If she hadn't of been—I mean, if you had seen the way she looked that day, you would have loved her, too. You would know it wasn't my fault.
She didn't realize that the side of the road ain't...Isn’t a place for girls like her...Dressed like that. She said she was goin' to a party. She was walkin’ to a party halfway across town. Only no one told her it was halfway across town.
She wouldn't of made i
You wake up and ask the world,
“Hey, am I good enough today?”
Wondering what’s so special
about being someone’s baby
or the one that got away.
When everyone’s paired off
until it’s just the Universe and I,
do your thoughts drift to me?
I have always loved you.
Even if you don’t remember my name.
And the idea of our past is future tense.
When the pain gets to be a little too familiar,
a little too comfortable,
you are mine.
Is it better to play pretend at happiness,
to hum forgotten lullabies in darkness
when you think no one is listening
as tears slide down your cheek?
Are you de
this is not my intent
you are not my intent, my intended
and so, I must steel my resolve
steal myself away
from the corners of your thoughts
where you keep me neatly stashed away
and I can't let you in
to rifle through my consciousness
to flaunt my feelings
you are not my intented
and so, I must go now,
and close the door on the idea of us
there will be others
and we'll move on with time
even if we--
this isn't my intent
“Honestly, Fox. I would have thought you would have shared that you were a writer before clogging the whole bookstore for a signing,” Kate laughed, shifting between handing over a giant book of love poetry and balancing the handful of classics in her hand.
Derek looked down at the book and then back at Kate. “Fox?”
“Y’know. You…. aren't Fox. I'm sorry. It's just you look like--I’m Kate.”
“Hi. Did you want me to sign this? I mean, I didn't write it.”
Kate blushed and stared at the book with its gilded heart cover. “N-no. Yes! Please.”
Jela always wanted a pet.
“A loyal one,” she insisted to her mother over dinner. “That goes with me on adventures. And is super cuddly.”
“Are you fighting with Ren again?”
Jela had been getting into fights with her boyfriend a lot. Her mother attributed it to the throes of a teenager in love. Jela attributed it to the fact that Ren was a stupid boy who never wanted to do anything exciting anymore.
“No...Well, maybe,” Jela said, sticking a fork absentmindedly into her bowl of pasta. “But I still want a pet.”
“How about a Birb or a Galaxy Dog?”
“Nah. I want to
There have been disappearances for as long as there has been a path through the forest.
It began with bands of travelers just passing through. Then, with residents heading into town. The old. The young. The sick. The stragglers.
The circumstances would always be the same: a group moving through the forest at night; a rather sudden bout of mist, the fortunate appearance of lights along the forest path, and the sudden loss of a party member.
Rumors were that the forest was relieving itself of whoever was the most burdensome: the misbehaving child, the ungrateful city dweller, the cripple brandishing a cane at shadows.
And so Ostleans took t
“Don’t go in the potty,” Chloe told Ryoko as she pushed past her with her arms full of perfume and an assortment of Yankee Candle tea lights in shades of pink. “I’m using it.”
“Did you eat too much taco pizza again?”
“Excuse you. No. I’m doing a love spell to make James fall in love with me.”
“What. You just met him this week. And you barely know him?”
“I know he is The One. Because women’s intuition and this spell from Google that is going to make it so.”
Ryoko rolled her eyes. “You’re going to curse him into loving you? That̵
If I could contain the universe
in an hour, in a minute, in a room,
I’d fit it with mirrors, drape it in satin, drown it in champagne,
stuff it in pink crinoline, and set it up spinning.
Ours is a dizzy waltz of missed signals and broken dreams.
All those afternoons strutting about an eight-hundred-thread-count queen,
holding court with flushed cheeks and sweaty palms.
“Courtesy please. Do not disturb.”
Oh, but who am I now, my darling?
An unwelcome guest, stealing away your sunset.
With no heart to call my own,
I’ve no use for your bedroom eyes or your nesting sighs
still echoing in the hollow thickets of my soul.
It's August 29th which means it's that time of the year again and your special day is here! We hope you have an awesome day with lots of birthday fun, gifts, happiness and most definitely, lots of cake! Here's to another year!
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