it’s dark where the lies come from dark like a forest at its deepest spot dark like coffee before the milk and it’s dark, so dark that i am blinded by it so dark that i cannot see my own fingers so dark that i am blind to the sound of my own voice bouncing off of far off planets, burning up, echoing it goes on for so long i don’t know the feeling of open eyes, to the...
A Poem (That I Didn't Want to Write)
i never wanted to write - at 11:40pm, friday night, more sober and awake than I can ever remember - a poem on the tiny keys of a blackberry glowing only just enough in the light of late night tv and if i had to write this way i didn’t want to write that i miss you didn’t want the phone battery to still feel warm on my fingertips after an hour long call you drunk on the other end of it ...
speak words spit words scream words carve and write and engrave words cut words into glass and gold become words like your heart pumps to the beats they make live words like words keep you living
i’ve been hanging onto this hope like it is some tangible thing as solid as bone
i had a dream in which you fell asleep in a wooden chair, spine curved like a splintered tree limb neck slumped forward like a bent cigarette and the rest of us - your withered trail of ex-lovers - were warriors with blood fingerprints as war-paint smeared across our cheeks our hair knotted into dreadlocks tied up on our heads we lifted you and the chair up toward the sun over our heads,...
i put all of my demons into a poem hoping, thinking that if i could get them out of me onto the page i would be free but i’ve found that it’s more like breathing life into a flame and giving them a second chance to destroy me, enter me one more time with more oxygen in their blood
i don’t want to be worshipped or even loved but i’ll pry open my ribcage let you crawl inside to keep warm or to know what it’s like to be close to something with rushing blood all i ask is that you don’t stay too late, or too long and that you take any little pieces of yourself with you when you go because i’m warm enough with my own stomach acid and the...
dearest, you’ve left me completely broken now, after months of piecing myself back together. glue between the cracks in my skin, pulling the splinters from the roof of my mouth, my tongue, the raw back of my throat. i aimlessly wandered without lust, drugged my head until i only tasted cotton, no blood. my eyes lost their color but i dyed them back to their natural shade in an attempt to...
my organs are working just fine beating, pumping perfectly right in time with my breathing but my eyes are as pale as my skin and I’m starting to think that sleep won’t be enough this time
taste versus loneliness
i sing along to songs i don’t even like so don’t count yourself out just yet
i'm too late
i cannot write today because my head is swollen because it’s raining because i have nothing in my system save for black coffee and nicotine and because i am worried about how these words will sound if i write them the way they want to come out i wonder if they’ll fly from the page like a birds disconnected feathers or if they’ll sink down so far onto it that even the...
this city is too heavy the buildings are made of lead painted up to look like brick and from the highway you wouldn’t know the cold chill that radiates from them until you run out of gas and lean against one to light a smoke, feel the ice of it as your skin freezes to the sides, stuck there until you decide to pull away and bleed you can see the spots where others have been bits of...
watching cigarettes explode on the freeway, in my rearview mirror
i like kissing you whether with coffee tongue fuzz or cigarette breath early morning before spearmint toothpaste kisses, too even with thick whiskey spirits in your throat i like kissing you
i ate a pear
i ate a pear last night because you told me ‘you’ll like it’ but it made my tongue swell, my eyes cloud with stinging salt water, my throat itch, my gums go needle-point numb and the mealy flesh of it burrowed between my teeth, made little bubble homes of my taste buds kept me up all night, tortured from the sight of its bulbous body sitting idly at the top of a trash bin...
i hope i live just long enough to be able to pick flowers from your dust and tie them into my hair before i join you there in the earth
quietandconstellated asked: you write beautiful poems. they're raw and human and true and i'm kind of in awe. please keep writing them, please.
the streetlamps are lighted angels with hazy halos following me home the pavement is intoxicated rounded at the edges, molded like soft candle wax burning for hours just to fade the scent of sex in the backseats of passing cars and i with my left hand on the wheel am guided home under starlight streetlamps with hazy half-halo spirits hauntingly flickering here and there to show me the...
[author’s note] i was actually quite...
taking a brief break from the poetry for a moment for two reasons. one, i would like to thank each and every one of you who follow, read, like, reblog and message me. your support means the entire world to me and i am so beyond happy to be in the company of such fantastic writers and people. second, i have the urge to record a spoken word piece tonight, but not the urge to write something new...