Chalk OutlineA chalk outline waits for mesometimes it slips into bed with my shadowand I can do nothing but roll my eyeslike a mis=abused and weary parent,but every night when my shadowmerges with the edges of the day's pageand blurs into a dirty midnight orangeI lie in bed and shudder;without my shadow's protection I feel it,a chalk outline waits for me.
Double NegativeI have never loved you.I did not love you from that mistySeptember morning when we met.I did not love you the first momentI gazed into those saccharine eyes.I have never, in fact, loved the roughnessin your soft voice when it says my name.I have never loved the look on your facewhen you smile over your bagel at me.I don't love the cocoa streaked in your hairor the way it ruffles its feathers uprightwhen you fall from your warm bed-nest,half asleep, vulnerable and shy in the morning.I do not love you.I did not love you in that very momentwhen your breath snagged against my lipas it finally brushed yours - no, I did not.I did not love you the first, second, or last time.Listen to me carefully, my sweet -I have never loved you, I will never love you.I will not love you until my very last breathand the absences of breath beyond that.I will never love you for all that makes youthe warm, compassionate fighter in my corner.I won't accept you for all your innocen
For JDBA lot of people talk about when life begins. Some say it begins at conception. Love, however, can begin a long time before that. You can love the idea of a child, the notion, the plans for a future. You can love the dreams and the hopes. Similarly, although a life has a definitive ending, love does not.Even when a child is taken from us far too early the love remains, the traces that they were there remain in our hearts and minds, because love is not tied to a finite space of time. It doesn't know days, weeks, hours. All love knows is the beauty of another being and the pain of the loss of them.The only comfort we can take from all of this is that if our love for a child is not linked with how long they are alive for, it makes sense that neither is their love for us. That is how love endures, and surrounds us all everyday, and helps us survive the difficult business of living on without them. So today is a day for tears and healing and remembering the spaces in our hearts where those
What a terrible thingSometimes life is painful,not for a discernible reason.Not for a route to something betteror a perversive remedyfor a wound long forgotten.Sometimes we drown in it,in the not yet,the not quite,the not at all.Sometimes even our eyelashesare too heavy,and keeping our eyes open enoughto see the truth is asking too much,and other times?Other times the truth isthe bacteria binding in your bloodbeneath your skin- it's inside -and it knows how to feed off of you.It tugs,it wretches,it wriggles until at last -it lets its forceful pair of handsslip tenderly under your ribcageto compress -down,down on your lungsuntil they are flatand stick to themselves,and leave you gasping; oh, oh the truth. What a terrible thing!
WhoreI thread a vein out through a scalpel notch;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 mouthand it reminds me of the prostitution of my soulas I pour myself over other men's empty handsin 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.
BriefLife is full of fireworks;a brief moment of artimitating the stars -They are not stars.Stars are born, they burn,they die.Fireworks are merelypromises made andnot kept.When a fleeting timeof light and beautypretendsthat the darkness is not so.
CopperThe underside of my hearthas rusted through the shell.Smooth tissue hangs, sodden,through the ring of oxidised needles.The frantic muscletakes on water, tries not to drown,in the body of fluidsyou spat into my chest cavity.Heavy barnacles of regretcluster cancerously 'round 'til,like all else, they disintegratewith the acidic memory of you.
Barkley and II used to give spare change to homeless guys when I saw them. Particularly if they didn't ask for it, because confrontation scared me and I didn't like people I didn't know speaking to me. It was my own little way of trying to apologise through actions to all those people who had asked for change and received nothing but a panicked squeak in reply.I never gave money to the ones with dogs though. I read somewhere that they drugged the dogs so they would lie down and look sick, and that way they got more money than those without dogs. It seemed like cruelty to me so I pretended not to see them.I loved my dog, Barkley, a seven year old black lab who likes cuddles, water and playing fetch. He had lay by my side as the crippling depression had swept over my life in waves, and he had patiently waited for me when those tides subsided and I tried to find my own feet in the world.I knew, with absolute certainty, that if I ever ended up on the streets I would give Barkley to a shelter. It wou
For every boy I ever kissedi.you took my hand 'neath the magnoliaat a christmas dinner party I held.your mouth was cold. so were my affections.ii.you were the first man to listen to me.i let you listen to my heartbeat; butwhen the day fell away, you bruised me deep.iii.you were my safe harbour, and i your stormturning your misery to naught but airbut i squirmed away from your tongue, repulsed.iv.you were my cradle, when i couldn't sleepyou would hold me close and pray for something,anything, to keep me safe. (it was you).v.eleven months spent sleeping with my phone,i still couldn't believe when you kissed meeven after midnight struck us again.vi.i don't miss those guitar-player fingersyou wrapped me 'round. i loved enough for youuntil i realised you didn't love me.vii.we fell into our love by accidentand like one, there were some fatalitieswhen you said you loved me using her name.viii.opposites attract. i fell hard for you.you kissed me in starlit castle ruins.we par
Sweet CornHe shuckedher cleanto the spine.Broke off the gold untilnothingbut the stalk remained;bareand broken open.The ribcage spilledher secretsand gushed her painupon the sheets.She lay in the bloodand wept, for the lieshe had lost.
The Boy Who Wouldnt EatIf you can flutterI have failed you,for you were not forgedto be so insubstantial as thatYou were writto be an epic fableof endurance,of endings ignored,of outlasting your bodythrough the sheer willof a writers starving heartpumping geniumthrough a broken, bowedbut bravely abiding bodythat fights the soulto comprehend Beauty.
Circus: The Bearded WomanI do not conform,this is not by choice but by condition.When people look at methey see a freak, a travestya mistake.As do Ibut not for the same reasons as them.Those who gawpand gape and gruntgruesome words at me.They see my wiry beardaffixed to my delicate jaw and cheeks;they laugh and laughand laugh-laugh,and laugh at The Bearded Lady.They see imperfectionon such a superficial irrelevant levelas they spin me in my cageto get a better lookat my flaws.Hair growing on my facedoesn't make me broken, or damaged.The cysts do;popping tiny kernels in my ovariesand flushing hormones through methese are the things I worry aboutwhile others mock me for my features -and take photos for mementosof their time at the circus.I don't care about the beardI care about the children,bearded or otherwise, I'll never have,and the ache for their limbsentangled in my arms,their breath on my skin.Who cares about a preconceived --( unable to conceive ? )- notion of beautya
You'll Never DieHear me read it!They say that if a writer falls in love with you then you never really die.Instead your body is laid out in its funerial shrouds and moulds are made. Soft impressions of you to be pressed onto the blank faces of future loves.Every time I write of taking comfort in a safe place in a storm, it will be your forearm. Every half-made smile will be on your lips, and every touch will be constructed from the residue beneath your fingernails.When I metaphise of trees' blood, the leaves that give the energy so that a willow can provide shade for those in need, it will be your blood, it will be your light drenched kisses.Every tear on every face will taste of the sweat that you put into keeping me happy. Every soaring song of love will be played through your windpipe, your trachea my instrument of choice.For every time that a hero has the strength to walk on, I will use your feet. I will weld them to my own and walk a mile. Wal
NovacaineShe clenches her jaw in her sleepand there are furrows in her foreheadwhere mountains are being madefrom mole hills inside her dream-mind.She wakes up and takes two aspirinto relieve the bite of her headachebrought on, I'm sure, by the repeatednight to night, day to day, grind.The daily grind of life pushing her downas almost dead pencil onto paperLife tries to squeeze every last atomof her capabilities from her time.She grits her teeth in her sleep.Toothache festers as she bites backall the things she refuses to say aloud,all the pain she tried to Novocaine.She grinds the words into the enameland chews up the dust and decayof a half swallowed tooth, truth,and tries to rest before starting again.
Jacked UpMy boyfriend slashed one of my car tires.I didn't realise it at first. I had the day off work and we'd been lazing together in our seasonable bed, when he suggested we go out for lunch. Now my boyfriend is many things but keen to leave the house he is not. He likes to be at home, tinkering in the shed and whatnot. I should have been suspicious but it had been such a hazy dreamy morning that I just wanted to spend time with him before Monday morning ruined it all.It took some time to get out of the house though, because as I was brushing my hair he commented on how it was all lit up from behind by the sun and the look in his eyes simply had to be kissed away.Can you blame me?Anyway we got to the car eventually, although he had to rush back into the house to get his wallet. I tried to protest, I could pay, but he insisted. That's when I noticed the tire. At first it only seemed like a flat tire but as I knelt in the autumn debris I saw the hole. I swore."What's up babe?" - he was co
ellie.she was always agalaxy, and i am not allowed to touch stars.
Thoughts of YouI wonder how many days I spent dreaming,Of all the things I could never say.And just when I'd written it all in a letter.You showed up smiling in front me.And all of a sudden, the letter didn't matter anymore... (^_^)
Do not be ashamed of who you are.At one point in your life,you didn't mind being a girl.It was only after you mether that you thought, "Maybethis isn't the right fit." Because,if you're being honest, shedeserves a knight in shining armor.You are not Atlas, my dear.Your shoulders do notmerit a world of troubles,but instead love-lined cloudsthat whisper, "Do not beashamed of who you are."A woman can be achampion whose heart burnswith more gold than a king'scastle holds. Perhaps ifyou had more faith,you might find that's just whatshe needs.
I wish...I’ve been sitting on your doorstep for three days.Here are the nothings I left under the mat:i.I do not feel like a lion anymore,an alpha wolf, a hyena orany other strong-willed beast.ii. Today,I want to take my scarsout to lunch,feed them your eyes,& your tongueuntil it bleeds sorrow,and “please forgive me’s”.iii. You wish I never existedas you grind those wordsinto my wrists like they arered hibiscus blossoms.& I’ll have you knowI am a flower, bloomed,rooted deep into the soil.You are just a combinationof 26 letters-an “I wish…”
His queen, my muse.Pomegranate seedshave the mostbitter of tastes.She is morethan a myth,you know;unsulliedand untainted,a spring'sbreeze withthe mostarabesqueof lips.There are moreflames beneath herskin than in all ofHades. With everybreath she takes,winter cries outfor redemption.She is magenta.A maiden ofjasper and agate;lily eyelashes andlocks of supple ivy.His goddess:eternal,unwavering—a hyacinth amongweeds and sweetharvest amongthe wretched.
What The World Is AboutHe said "Daddy, you're the best."He said "Son, I love you."He said "Mommy, hold me close to your chest."She said "Come here, Baby."He said "Sister, Why are you so mean?"She said "Because you don't know what it's like to be me."And every Christmas, he'd get what he wanted due to his father always at workEvery Spring, he'd play in the sun even if it was just him aloneEvery summer, he said he wanted a brother, and mommy said noEvery fall, he said loved going to schoolHe just wanted to have funHe was only five and never understood what the world was aboutHe just wished to be happy foreverHe said "Daddy, why are you so mean?"He said "Because, you wouldn't understand."He said "Mommy, when will my brother be born?She said "Soon. Come feel him with your hand."He said "Sister, Why don't you love me?"She said "Just leave me alone, I just want to be free."And Every Christmas, he'd get clothes for presents because Daddy got firedEvery spring, he'd play outside by hi
I do not like you poetsI do not like you poetsbreathing into my sorry headlike the air hasn't been wasted a half-a-million timesfolding up my lungsto place them neatly into a wastebaskethow can you make me stop hurting& then just leave mea limp lettuce leafon the backside of some dirty napkin verseI am not the jealous typebut I'm going to call up Melpomene & ask her where she's beensend her drunk textsall nightbecause I'm too tired of filling up my skullwith cicada skins instead of ledwhile you make it all too easyto sleep through a heartattack or twomy pygmalion, my god, my thing of legendstell mewhen you were being taught the siren's songwas I writing myself a migraine?
Writer's block.A thirteen-year-old poet,Whispers frolicking among her tongueAs a ballet dancer across a stage.What to write, oh, what to write… Her fingers wrapped around a pencil,Gently tickling the pageWith a language between herselfAnd her imagination.Thoughts race through her mind,One,Two,Three,Quick!Three,Two,One,Gone.Frozen hands on a silver clockTurning moments intoD r e a d f u l h o u r s .What to write, oh, what to write… Crickets stop their chirping,Birds start to sing.Five thirty in the morning,And not a single word on paper.What to write, oh, what to write… She begins to scribble across the page,Doodles and anything that crosses her mind.Words begin flooding her thoughts,As she wrinkles the paper and grabs a clean sheet.“A thirteen year old poet,Whispers frolicking among her tongueAs a ballet dancer across a stage…"And just as she nears the endOf these words,These messy,Crazy,
in which I become beautifulI drown my conscience inthe holy water of my wrists,I carve hearts from emptypaper for my galaxyboywith stars written in his skin,and I swallow moths tomuffle the emptiness andhelp me fly away.
Am I Good Enough...?Legs crossed on a cold basement floor,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 tearsWind 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,Tell me,Now am I good enough?
Vertebraewe dressed oursalt burns;purloined ribbons& bone crownsspitting static throughour buzzing t.v. teethyou're a silent migraine:blue-blooded, honey-soaked[& i want to be somethingtoo pristine totouch]
Take ThisTake this kiss upon your hand,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.Continue inspiring.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
How CharmingI'm desperate to find herto steal another kiss.Catching Cinderellashould be simpler than this.
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