.we are one and thesame, that old willow andme, we stand tall with thescars that life gave us -with the names of loverscarved deep in our limbs,and old burns from mydads cigarettes
.the cat keepsleaving dead meaton my doormat,a pile of bones,bloody and rawhe wants me toknow what i'mwalking into, hewants me to knowjust what i am
.i was born with thecord wrapped tightaround my neck; itwould seem fitting todie the same way
.my cat has ninelives and i fear he willspend each one doingthe same fuckingthingstaring out of thewindow at the birds onthe fence, when he could beout there, sinking histeeth in
.he splits hearts likeoranges in themorningsinks his teeth intoripened flesh, andleaves nothing but therind, too hard toswallow
.the sea spitsme back ontothe shore -the waves saythis is not theright tide, theright time
.the sun did notkiss my skinyesterday, he sleptlateshowed hisface around noonand then went backto bed; theearth exhaled
.sooner or later,the tooth fairy picks up ahammer and chisel
.he told me prayersare uselessand if i really want hisforgiveness, i should get onmy knees and beg
.winter gavebirth to a baby,cold and still
.when you claim your slotin the ground, it will claim yourbody in return
.i dug up thepast again, thosememories viciousand snarlingi set them looseinside the houseand now we haveto leave
.in the nighttime you arebetter; moonlightembroiders yourskin and stitchesyou up with apurer love, untilthe morning comes,the sun runs histeeth through yourseams again, splitsyou open
.you forget thatroses have thorns;a prick of theskin will tell youthat you're holdingher too tight
.does a weedever wonderwhy it isn'ta flowerdoes a treeever feel likeits roots areholding itdown
.i opened mymouth;you showedme yourteeth
.my head isthe apple and youare the worm;watch mesquirm
.you brokea heart,convincedthat there wassomething goodinside
wednesday's childit is the third of octoberand i am building a castle for usout of feathers, bird bones, ocean waves and library book pages. anything to keep our feet fromtouching the ground.you are sin, he whispersand his fingers trail cold fire down my side, scorching fleshand freezing bone;brittle pieces of me shatteras they hit the stained linoleum floor.don't wake me from this nightmare.i whisper a nursery rhyme as i walk down ourautumn path.kamikaze leaves fall, trailingfire as they throw themselves fromthe branches, down, down,to cold pavement below.your words echo in my minda constant reminderthat i am sinbut you,you werenevergod
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.
reasons to love a shy girli. men fear strong women,but she's far from strong.this wisp of a girldoesn't even need a hurricaneto fall apart.she'd glued and re-glued,old bonds wearing thin,but if you ask politely,she'll let you touch her scars.ii. her lips are fettered in rusted chains.you'd need a crowbar to pry upher whispered secrets.you are not worthy to hear her voicejust as she is not worthy to give it to you.she told me everything she knows,and i shut it away,kept it safe.i tied the threads into double knotsjust to make surethey wouldn't curl away from me,twisted up like a dead spider's legs.iii. she is hewn from shadow,woven from grains of sand.you might think she'd flow,breeze by on a sparrow's breath,but she's never been good atanything but sinking.she is buried treasure, and allthe things you wish you could forget.iv. you found her washed up on the shore,drawing pictures of her flickering soul,and knew she was too unsteady to love.when you reached for her heart,your han
Two Years LaterShe asked him gently, “Do you love me?”In his long silence, she found closure,And left her love under a willow tree.
IcarusSun girl,the whispering stars& feathered clouds dancefor you tonight.Do not let anyoneclip your wings;you were made for the skies.
i gave up on trying to write about youthere are millions of poemsdetailing the beauty of another’s eyes,but your eyes, my love,put all their cherry-picked words to shame.ew, that verse is disgusting.way too sappy.I’m no good at love poems.okay, hold on, let mejust start over.you’re freaking excellentno.shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?thou art more lovely and more temperatewait.i can’t take credit for that.sonnets aren’t my style,and anyway,shakespeare beat me to the punchfour hundred some years ago.uh, i mean, you’re funnyand really cute, likei seriously love your eyesbecause there’s meaning in theresomewhere.and, and, you make me laugh.you’re so hilarious.and I have the drawing you gave metwo years ago, still hiddenfolded up in my notebook.plus, i mean, you’re everything to me.no big deal, right,considering the fact that we neverreally speak anymore.it’s cool.i’m fine.really.oh my god that doesn’teven
Cancer has a smell.Old classics,lilac air-fresheners,the half cup ofpeppermint ice creamthat’s beensitting in your freezerfor weeks, and cat litter.He won’t eat anymore,but there arepiles and pilesof dirty dishessitting in the sink.He’s slowlydisintegratingbefore your eyes.You can wrapyour whole selfaround his tiny bonesnow.You can hold himlike he used to hold youall those years ago.And you are angry.You try to findsomeone,or somethingto blame.You hate doctors,and you hateNovember now.November meansbirthdays, diagnoses,chemo treatments,and realization.You have to force yourselfto stop crying,every day.This is the one personwho’s always had faithin you.He’s read every poemand hoarded every awardyou ever won.You ignore statistics,because rosesthey alwayssmell nicer.
and we'll rotoh, poet boy,you are notthumbed bruisesor honey bones& you have onlyever been a godinside of your own head
9729 kilometers away, to be exact.i have these bones like flowers-fragile and finely plucked,these lily stargazersare kissing ocean beds,making love to sirenswhile yearningfor a taste of herwander(lust).i want to tape maps to my limbs-throw caution to the windas i gather upevery love letter receipt,from every false attempti ever wrote her& forget for just a momentthat even stilllight-years away,she does not love me.
.hangman, could you showme the ropes? i'd rather doit all on my own