Today, I am DrowningSome days,the pastweighs nothing--snowflakesfloatingin a tiny glass globewaitingto be carried awayon the wind.Other days,the pastbreathes with the sea--kelptangling about my anklesbeneathturbulent waves.
Project Save MeDon't ask me how I amwhen I'm silent too long;tell me you know I'm pretending,tell me it's okay to fall apart,tell me you'll catch meif I climb too highand can't finda safe way down.Don't tell me I deserve betterwhen I get hurt again;tell me I'm an idiot,tell me you're not surprisedI crashed and burned,tell me the truthbecause no one else will.Don't offer to swap war stories;I don't want to hearabout your heartaches,I just want someoneto fix mine.Don't tell methey'll get what's coming to themafter they've left me broken;understandthat I give too many chancesbecause that's the only thingI really know how to do.Understandthat when I forgive them,I'm not thinkingabout the factthat they've hurt me a thousand times;I'm thinkingabout how much lighter I feelwithout the weightanger adds.Tell me it's okay,tell me it's not my fault,but don't ever,EVER,tell me to just get over it.That's unforgivable.Tell meyou'll always be thereand then prove it;people
Strangled StarsSomehow, I thought you'd changed;I slid cloud veils over my eyes,I let the mists of forgiveness take over.I cared too much, I guess.I slid cloud veils over my eyes,pretending I didn't notice the cruelty of your hands.I cared too much, I guess--I couldn't admit you strangled my stars.Pretending I didn't notice the cruelty of your hands,I let the mists of forgiveness take over;I couldn't admit you strangled my stars.Somehow, I thought you'd changed.
Cracked VeinsSun-spackled leafparts ways with bare branches--daylight's last child.
Shy TruthsI spilled a cup of oceanand opened my handshoping to catch the truth.Empty seashells,broken clams,and a palm-fullof worn pebbleswere all I caught.I guessthe truthis shy.
Hinging TimeAutumn's diarydances in the breeze--pages ripped from barren branches.My father's father's bloodwas the same color, once--an angry, untamed flame.My own blood is an oil-spillchasing the metal of my joints--each move creaks.
Dresser DrawersStuff the pastinto the ugly sockshiddenat the bottomof your dresser.Only pull them outwhen you needto be remindedwhat you're fighting for.Let yearscoat the carpetwith fuzz,but don't let timewear holesin the heels--memorieshave a way of slippingthrough the cracksand the worldalways noticesthe dust bunnies first.
He Comes with the RainRain slides down Yesteryear Antiques' cheap stained-glass windows in lazy swirls and spirals. Tracking a drop with narrowed green eyes, Shay wrinkles her nose and steps around a haphazard stack of Life magazines. A sheaf of her thick auburn hair falls across the right half of her face. Pulling a hair tie from her wrist, she scoops the locks into a messy bun. The lights flicker, thunder rumbling. Shay glances again at the rain's path on the windows. Turning to a set of dresser drawers, she rifles through pens, paper clips, and crayola markers. A wad of teal tissue paper crinkles under her fingers and Shay pulls it from the drawer, unwrapping its contents. A pair of hand-carved bamboo chopsticks, topped with snarling dragons, roll onto her palm. She pokes them through her bun before diving back into the drawer."I could have sworn there was a--" A flashlight skips across the debris and Shay snatches it up. Grinning, she clicks the button. Clicks it again. Frustrated, her grin fading, she
Lost LightsPeter Pan, with his hands cupped,tempts the Moon Mother with his smile.Shy stars peek past her skirts,wondering why such a soft soulholds heartache an ally."Look closer, children; he's hereto guide ghosts--lost lights--home."
ocean lungsyou weigh something like gravityin my tired expanse. you aresand;(my once splendid mountain)my love is the oceanthat has worn you down.with my monstrous tongue,i pulled you in.as you fall,sweeping peacefully into the depthsand filling each crevice,i am learning to inhale shores.some would say i'm suffocatingand bring me buckets of air (only to have itescape my slippery grip).no, the tides need something heavyto make of hera home.
ShellsShells Shells of hideousness conceal shattered beauty.
.he splits hearts likeoranges in themorningsinks his teeth intoripened flesh, andleaves nothing but therind, too hard toswallow
pollenwasp-waisted beautypray into my collarbonelet your snake tongue slitherwith the syllables.i wish for soft-chested nights,and the trickle of champagne down crystal glass.poppy-lips, lull me to sleep,nurse my coiling tongue with yours;tap my scalp like a silent drum,and wind my hair in between your fingerslike broken guitar strings.(serenade me with the buzz of pollen in your kiss.)
.fistsclench; i brush myheart frommy sleeve, thenditch thesweater
.the oaks crouch to greetme, i sit with the ferns andthe forest listens
He doesn't write poetry anymore.He doesn’t write poetry anymore,even if he still collects it, reads it, saves it, treasuresfaded verses from his wife the way connoisseurssavor vinyl over metallic rainbows on disc.I don’t mind not knowing, but I can’t stand not asking.The record needle hits the groove wrong;he stumbles over words that aren’t there,rummaging for an answer he doesn’t really have.He doesn’t write poetry anymoreand his confusion is strangely endearing.But there’s a lyricism to his words that I love,poetic lines inserted between the daily grindof character names and who said what;voiceless boys in white and draymen carting the dead to saltwater lakes,elegiac undertones that haunt historians and forlorn painters.He doesn’t write poetry anymore –except when he does.
The DealWe made a deal, you and I.That I would remain, and you would love me.It was a compromisethat spoke of sunless days that were still warm.Of days that would shineand that would swell with your companionship.You made a promise, dear,and I, I was fool enough to keep it for you.I tucked it tightbeneath the heart that ached for releasefrom our promises, from life.I kept our bargain hidden, I kept it kept, for you.I made a mistake, didn't I?Forgetting nothing lasts forever, nor no one.I forgot myselfin my own desire to die, that others do without want.We made a deal, you and I.that I would remain, and you would love me.You broke your promise.You broke the space under my jailbird heart.The deal is doneand with no terms to endure, I've rewrittenthe history of us.For if you do not have to keep it, why would I?
don't trust me unhinged like a stolen surge of ocean, I become what your girlfriend thinks I am: drinking alone, forgetting your name until it flowers from my blackberry throat I wash my tangled hair in your kitchen sink, malingering
Light over darknessDarkness smothers lightEncouraging death and sorrowBut hope is not gone
The mirror of the soulStep closer and lookLook into my eyesCan you see it?Can you see the shadowsThe pain and the sorrowWithin me?Can you seeThe hopes I've lostThe dreams I gave up?Can you seeThe fierce battleTaking placeIn my mind?Can you seeWhat's leftOf my broken heart?Of my tortured soul?Come closer and take a lookIf you dare...(And I'll look into your eyes as well)
.tick tock, he saysi am coming for youand now i knowwhy they call itthe ticker
.i keep a garden ofdead leaves, their amberribs crack under myfeet, and i smilethe flowers turn theirbacks on me
Our DutyWe swallowed the path homeBecause we were hungry,Though starving is an ongoingStory, an empty bagDancing in the streets,Full of an unfastened voiceWalking through the house,Wind unchained, heart admonished.Heaven fills its eyes, crawls away,That sleeping boat content to followThe vacant waves, intervalsOf dying that we dare not interrupt,And we watch the kind ear shrinkingFrom our charcoal docks; heavenWith a full stomach crawls away.This is what we were put here for.
ChrysanthemumChrysanthemum Last night, I dreamt of us.We were together on a mountaintop,I was sitting on the edge,With my legs dangling above the bottomless pit,With a lone, white chrysanthemum in my hand as I pull the petals from the stem.While you were standing above me, looking on, languidly,None of us wanting to say anything,My own mental battle sewing my lips to one another,Unable to speak,While you were probably trapped within your own mental depths;In my mind, I was debating between venting and jumping,Simply over the fact I didn’t know what that look was in your eyes,But I think that’s probably the point, that we’re no longer of the same kind,Maybe I changed into something I’m unaware of, maybe you were the one to transform,But I don’t get the same feel of what used to be,This is foreign to me,An unapologetic feeling of extreme apathy,And that is the unfortunate reality of this situation,No matter how long
wrists that roarmama sayspull down your sleevesthey'll see, they'll seebut no-one's even lookingi say mamatigers are proud and strongand tigers show their stripesso today i'm a tigerand who saysi can't be a tigerwhen razors made me fierceand secrets kept me lonelywho saysi can't tiger-roarwhen everything unsaidripped my throat rawi made my stripeswith tiger-claws and tiger-teethso damned if i'm not a tigerand damned if i won't roarmama, i'm a tigermama, hear me roar
ShadowsHer silhouette is beautiful.Her eyes…when she cries are like ice.A face frozen in time.A wonder to behold.She stares back at me with grey pupils.Her brown hair dances in the wind.She tells me she feels dead inside.But to feel dead is alive.Or so I’ve been told…Feeling alone is alive.To feel something is alive.So I don’t push her away.I motion her to come closer.And she doesShe creeps closerAnd closer.Emotionless.Like the object that she is.Like the robot that she is.She tells me that she hates me.I shrug it off. I don’t care.But her words pierce meShe’s good at itLike she’s Ares.But we’re a single being,Whether she likes it or not.She is part of who I am.I am part of who she is.We’re made of each other,We’re made for each other.We see through each other like glass.We understand each other’s darknessBecause we’ve experienced it together.There
InvisibleWe are the invisible onesThe ones they don't noticeBut we're always thereTogetherUnitedLiving our livesOn our ownProudly unknownNot caring anymoreAbout what they think of usBeing ourselvesAlways
Hanging SkeletonsDo not talk aboutthe skeletonshanging in your closet--bones bleachedwith wishesand mistakesare nothing to be afraid of.Prop open the doorand talk to them--you'll findthe answers you seekin their silence.