Prose
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I peered out the windowI saw you leaveand somehowI was not surprised.
You hated it hereyou rebelled against mebecause I never couldI never could replace her
I want you.
You know its true.
I'll say it again. I want you. I want you.
I want you badly. Have you ever wanted, badly?
I badly want you. Sometimes I think I only want it as its bad.
My physical body aches
Terribly as it resonates through my bones like a chord plucked on worn acoustic guitar strings
I beg for the release of the metallic chains of my inability to see beyond the depths of my own soul
I need to write something. I need to write what I feel, or perhaps what I’m thinking. I have yet to learn if those things are different. It seems they’re supposed to be.
you don’t really know me
you know what I put on Instagram, and what I tweet about on Twitter or what I hide behind these Snapchat filters.
but truthfully you don’t really know me
I met him in the deep black-coffee night,a milk-cream moon pouring between us. I came to a crossroad with rum and gun-powder (like all of the books say to do)to seek a favor, but all he wanted was
It is there with me
every day
all night.
In the morning when my alarm blares,
and in the evening when sleep evades me.
PRESENTING:
"Technological Habits."
Paid in part by the subliminal masses.
(OFF MIC)
"We could start by listing all the reasons why we can't have this.
For instance,
Class.
It's interesting to have to even consider what my Village would be, considering I am supposed to be in a village. Yet, I find myself having to define what village I am in, because the village which was assigned to me feels foreign.
Personally, I've always liked sunsets more than sunrises. Call me sadistic, but I've always found endings more beautiful than beginnings, if for no other reason than to watch how the universe ties up the strings.
you can
be as
kind &
as loving
as you
want.
but
i still won't
believe that
i deserve
you. i'll
disappoint you.
suck the light
i should probably
thank you.
when you left,
i had found myself.
in pieces.
when you had
gone, not just with the
flat screens & fine
china, but with the
i'm too depressed for poetry
so i keep writing prose
that never goes anywhere
looking for happiness between
my legs and handstand kegs
Rainfall, thunder Crashes, electrifying lightning, there is something in a storm that is incredibly poetic. Past the metaphorical washing away of sins and literal lifegiving superpowers that comes from the rain.
You are an ocean I promised myself I wouldn't get lost in, but I went into this with no compass, no map, and no intention of asking for directions.
Let's get lost. Get in the car and drive until the buildings no longer look familiar. We can sing along to our favorite songs, ones we're embarrassed about knowing all the words to, but then scream them at the top of our lungs.
I can feel myself beginning to drown in you. My lungs are empty and I need the soft exhale of your breath as we kiss to keep me alive.
She taught herself how to lie. Through gritted teeth she claims that she's fine, but the world sees otherwise. She has fought for so long. Collecting purple hearts from the battles her soul has faced.
i taught you how to love again. i helped you open up your heart to more than just the familiar. the love you had grown to know.
Oh, fire walk with me?
Dance with me,
Kill me,
Push me.
Ignite the words I speak.
Kiss the people I miss.
Burn my memories.
Let your flames dance with me,
Before it goes on eternally.
Lark,
My voice could never reach your ears, but I hope this letter might. Listen for a moment, nothing more. Let my moonlit misery reach your heart and fall into you.
Soft peach cheeks
Fat and lovely sweet; my babygirl
Her voice is soothing and deep
Like the ocean’s waves
She is a caterpillar
They say candles bring peace and so I dug some out from the back of the linen closet,
lost under a shuffle of old rags and never-been-touched placemats.
I was caught between a rock and a hard place. The ancient cliché was literal. I was in the dust storm and the moon seemed tiny. 18 was the number and it seemed it would stay that way. 22 was the catch; I was ready for release.
If I had more time
To unwind rewind the fast forwarded
Crime in the brain salted lightly
Not everything is flighty
Alrighty
Every morning the dawn before the sun
As clocks tick life to dust
When the one you love most is getting hurt,
what do you do?
I knew her the best; we spent so much time together,
it's impossible anyone surpassed our closeness.
About 3 months ago, there was a depressed girl in college. She was depressed because her mother was dead and her father was a drug kingpin with a different chick.
My mind is a constant war,Brewed from the dross of the emptinessAnd confusion drawn from decipheringThe concepts of reality and falsification.
I love the way a flame dances;Slowly and gracefully moving aboutWrapping itself among the wick and emberMelting the air that we breathAnd how it does it’s gentle danceIt brings everything else to move with it
His moansAre more beautiful than any songI could ever listen toBecause through such a simple soundThat escapes from the depths of his lungsHe is capable of expressing more emotionThan words could do alone.
She knew that loving him would be disastrous, but she was already a disaster. She knew that by holding onto his hand meant that she could be left all alone, reaching out for a hand that was never meant to touch hers.
It comes suddenly, doesn't it? That feeling, that prickling sensation, crawling across the nape of your neck.
standing at the mirror and i look like a shell of myself skin stretched over bone, barely hanging on, but so am i dark circles reflecting dark corners of my mind that attack me at night like monsters playing hide and go seek impossible to catch i
It's so strange and almost silly that I noticed little things about him, sometimes things he might not have realized about himself before...
"Hello this is the Plum Wood Police Department. How may I help you?"
"I'm calling because there is a dead woman in the woods by highway 77. She has no face or eyes."
"Who am I'm speaking with?"
She touches the cool surface, the reflection of her hand a shadow of herself
A suburb in Utah drifts light through the small window
Have you seen the news today?
When you hear or say a word too much, it stops sounding like a word and you question it, yourself, like, “am I spelling it wrong, am I saying it wrong?” and then “is this even a word?” that’s so odd, isn’t it? Why does that happen?
Whenever I hold a pencil, I get the feeling of social justice and the implication of empowerment.
Empowering myself and empowering others is something that America lacks, and I make up for.
I was once asked what I think God's greatest creation is. Some say people, chocolate, music, naps. She said love, he said Disney World, I said words.
The First, his bones creak. The kick of his artillery jolts his body
And he moves with it, a jerky dance that goes unnoticed
As the air is filled with the sound of metal and collisions –
image: desert background with magazine cut-out text reading, "but you always like it better when it sounds like i'm in pain".
We've been taught to hide behind prose So that no matter what the words say nobody truly knows What's going through our heads Ever hour until we finally turn in to our beds.
Her eyes were like shadowsReclusive and tauntingHis eyes were the sunShining, yet dauntingShe had seen him before but they never had spokenUntil one day she left him an affectionate tokenShe'd seen him at his locker, 46-BBut what she left he'd hav
If I were to be stranded on a deserted island, the one thing I would take with me
would be my empathy that stems from love that I always carry with me. In all the time of solitude that
When you say that you are fine,
It leaves me lost to where your heart lies;
What to make of such a quandary
With diction so abstract in nature -
I am granted the privilege akin to a diety:
I lie
to myself
to be
good
to my self.
I'll say:
I'm going
for a 5 minute walk
NOW!
:::::
An hour later
i return
smiling.
:::::
Tick
Tock
Two hands
On a clock
Six to twelve
At two o’clock
Five chimes ring,
Schoolhouse rock
Ticking red hand,
Metered like Bach;
Cursive Roman numbers
As the woman swallowed the man her child watched. Suspended in time, the child will peek around the doorframe having confused eyes. Slowly, slowly swoops the scavenger, down on the weak, white-haired bear. Once strong, now he is unable to claw
Change, change, change. What would I change about my appearance?What would I change about my life?What would I change about my world?
At any given moment you could ask me what's on my mind
and I could give you a categorized list with bullet points to spare
left blank for the few memories that are climbing out of bed
I can't see you, but I hear you. I don't know who you are. I can't determine if you are one or many, but I know you're here. Are you an angel? Are you a demon? I'll never be sure. It's too dark to see my tears.
She went for a swim. When the sun was high and vicious and scalded the ground she walked on, she went for a swim.
Old Nichol Street Rookery, named after the devil himself, scoffed its way between High Street and Spitalfeilds. The old Victorian slum was patched like a quilt, stitched together by the neoteric architecture.
Pride was a notorious lover and womanizer. His life revolved around his constant involvement with women. Pride could woo a woman into submission and bring her to do his bidding.
Determination became a cop. Her job was hard on her the moment she earned her badge. She fought down the demons that lurked inside the criminals, all in the name of Justice. Determination was unstoppable.
Virtue owns a fashion line. She has styles that are sinful and seductive. She makes it chic and timeless and appealing. Every piece of her couture line was made to bring out the desire and passion of every woman. Virtue doesn't play it safe.
Filled with rapture and glee,
You were chosen among several;
And now this is your departure from me,
You leaving was only inevitable.
The nature of your leave was filled with sadness.
The stylus I grip in my palm is a stylist. I can create tears of joy, as I can create tears of pain. A grin, or a sharp smirk on another person's face.
Remember when you learned to walk
Remember when you learned to talk
Remember when i taught you to share
Remember when i taught you to care
“You just told me you’re
taking somebody else home because
I,
Your girlfriend,
won’t go home with you.”
“At least I told you this time.
So you can’t get mad at me.
Many start out ordinary like another walk around the house, that familiar air all around you, protecting you, misleading you, paving a path into deeper regions and then dissolving, suddenly and surely, as your imagination takes hold and fuels a wh
Ears ringingNeeding to scream but can't because of fearVision blursCan still see shapes of friends as the collapse onto the floorPain of kneeling isn't felt Lower head in admittance that I will die
POP
Writing is a passion
Real truth in time
I write with compassion
To seek what is mine
Everyone will see the overwhelming passion that flows through my veins
Reality is fatal,
but only a small percentage overdoses
it can suck the life from you
leave you tired, depressed
an empty shell.
So my hobbies are my drugs,
my imagination my dealer
From friends from before, to friends I’ve never met…
Like playing cards they are, when the deck is shuffled
Same cards, different cards,
Or a mix of both.
You flourish an extent of bounded knowledge only within yourself. Ignorant, what is love you ask. Clasp this wonder, your mind not be inquisitive, but at peace. Listen, Let me guide you. A flailing heart only knows so little.
Your people claim their free, but is empty of leaders with faith. None can draw a single sword from their diminutive pocket.
This world's a ticking timebomb just waiting to explode. Our maticulous lives so carefully planned, our stories go untold. There's still time left to change our ways, before our rotting bodies will decay.Here.
(poems go here) x.
I said my goodbyes in kisses
And so did you. And when you did
You always waited
For the next goodbye.
xx.
You told me you were bothered by a man that said
The icy cold water of the shower races along your skin, leaving trails of goose bumps. Your breathing is shallow; your heart works endlessly to pump life support through your veins. Your mind is numb; your world desolate.
