someone I once knew.
A wolf in the dark
pressed against my window again.
Not you, but me
Not you, but me
I've crossed every stone,
A trail through the bay to your heart.
Tossed among sunken ships,
Just a wreck in your deepest harbor.
You're the coral I cut my knee on
And the salt in its wound.
I swam over you at low tide,
Should have known not to.
Torn at the seam,
No comfort in the folds.
Just an old towel hanging out
On the porch to dry.
I'm a stagnant bay,
sand trapped under my tongue.
No words to undo.
You drew a line as you
walked away from me.
Further and further,
A distant island hidden by the clouds.
My heart is tethered
between wrought iron
and quick tempers
In the house, a man was waiting:
silver skin, sharp chin
eating the remains with his corbeau mouth
My cloaked heart slips through the gate,
and past March, April, June
my palms are stained with the smell of rust,
dust and rotting wood under my tongue,
unopened mail behind each rib
What's heavy will hurt.
I took a small boat away
Half way there
I lost my oars
Flung and tossed like a child
into the channel
"Are you afraid of what's below?"
you're just froth below the horizon.
you're just a speck in time
The dark whale should swallow me whole,
but instead I lay my head in the day's end,
like resting on warm thighs
My mother's own.
An owlWhen I was younger
We moved into the new house
my father built.
In the evening an owl flew in.
With heavy wings
it threatened us,
cutting through the dark
with hardly any room for flight.
My sister and I
held our breath
and played dead until my
father came home.
When he saw us he laughed
while we lay still
and then opened all the windows
to let it fly out.
the poisoned branch,
I pulled myself up on
to see another.
now an ant nest in my heart
you stepped in and
By myselfWhen I'm alone
I steal pieces of night.
Without another to share,
I eat by myself.
The meat is spoilt.
Only acid in my throat when I wake.
without a goodbyethis is the last time.
just empty space and time passing
I am at the other end of the room,
and you have opened all the windows
and doors to let yourself out.
the netI'm rot.
Was sliced at the gill,
thrown near the rocks
under sun and flies.
Flesh exposed, a little girl with no t shirt on.
Dead amongst scavengers.
lost my armor all scattered like
and soaked into the stone.
Swam into the net.
Thought it would get me there fast.
My life through the glass,
a million pieces scattered (splinters in my thumbs)
A spectrum (colours of fear)
Forced through me like knives.
Here, smoke and doubt intersects false light.
A journey queued. Where I had begun.
This time alone
What am I fighting for?
bitter.somewhere between his
gasping green eyes
there is the lip print
of a woman he doesn't remember.
she doesn't exist to him anymore
(speck of ash in a city that she is),
but she does to me.
so when he comes home,
grab him by the tie
slam him to the wall
until the press of my lips
defiles the grave of
a girl who once
thought he was beautiful.
Brown Eyes Compliments, and AnalogiesBecause I'm sick of people saying there aren't any.
Your brown eyes are like the deep intoxication of campaign wine, bubbling with hazing richness and expensive taste.
Your brown eyes are like the color of mahogany wood- comforting and home-steady toughness that lets me know you will be the beams of supporting me.
Your eyes remind me of Dove chocolate, smooth, creamy, delectable, and melting.
The color of brown eyes remind me of mountain terrain and nature, something subtle, but beautiful in every form and season.
Brown eyes make me think of Devil's cake, taunting and tempting, curtained by black lashes, the symbol of rich seduction.
When brown eyes delve in love, they become the color of a leather book, promising a story of loyalty, long-life, and devotion.
Your brown eyes remind me of mysterious secrets, dark to cover the pain of ignorance, opaque to cover to want of another.
Brown eyes are like the stable ground, steadier and prepared to embrace you when you fall, into a nurturing a
How to love a girl who can't love herself.one.
When she cries herself to sleep
six out of seven nights a week you must
say nothing. You must simply take
her in your arms and kiss her gaunt,
pale cheeks and wait for her to
slumber at the sound of your heart.
On the days where she wishes she
were part of the stars, tell her
no. Tell her that there are too many
lights in the sky and that just one
would be forgotten the moment you looked
away from it. Tell her that she is perfect
the way she is: completely human.
Don't let her think about the scars
that no one but her can see. If she
says "I think I'm broken" smile like you
know a secret and say, "No, you're mending."
But do not be the one to fix her - no, she
EmoSo what if I'm emo?
So what if I cry?
I'm not THAT emotional,
I dont want to die.
So what if I dress in a different style?
There's no need to scream and run for a mile
I dont like to cut and abuse my arm,
I am not depressed,
so why cause self harm?
Could it be that I am just like you?
That I can smile, giggle and laugh along too?
Could it be that I am happy with myself?
It's just that I am not some pretty doll on the shelf.
Could it be that the only reason i dye my hair black;
Is because I dont want to be some barbie in a bimbo girl pack.
These are the reasons, and I'll tell you why,
that I dont look in the mirror and start to cry.
I know Im not perfect,
I'm sure you will agree
But I am so very positive,
as positive as can be
That Im not like you,
Oh dont make me laugh!
I dont spend hours on my make-up's mask
I'm totally self-confident,
Ill smile for all to see.
Because the great thing about being emo,
Is that I am happy, with just being me.
Dont be afraid of who you are.<
life is but an open wound
forever drowining us
people are foolish
to think that they can stop us
but they cant
each one of us is filled with flaws
good and bad
we are different
yet the same
no one can truely see
what we see
they will never understand
there might be others like us
but we are alone
Yes, I Have a PenisYes, I Have A Penis
Do not assume (if I hold the door for you),
that I am making a statement
about your inabilities
to open the door for yourself.
If you hold it for me,
I'll say 'thankyou'.
Do not assume (if I pay for the meal),
that I am underestimating
your earning capacity
as a woman.
If you invite me out for a meal,
Do not assume (if I defend your rights),
that I am belittling
the attempts that you have made
to defend your rights yourself.
If you defend my rights,
I'll consider you human.
.He nestles acorns
in the crook
behind my ear,
crawls into my collarbone
to mound pine needles
head and heart.
I hope he'll
spend his nights here,
secrets kept safe in me.
LesbianMy thoughts wandered back into my fourth grade mind frame.
She had beautiful blonde hair and blue eyes,
And a perfectly white smile that reflected the sunlight like a mirror.
She was a good teacher, mmmhmmm, good to look at,
And I even knew it back then,
Before I knew I was a lesbian.
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Ranbows are red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple,
And so am I!
My thoughts wandered back into memories of Sam, my first girlfriend.
She was shorter than I was, with wavy black curls,
And with hazel eyes that seemed so enchanting,
And she had beautiful pale white skin, mmmhmmm, lovely girl,
And I knew it then,
I was a pre-teen lesbian.
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Rainbows are red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple,
And so am I!
My thoughts wandered back into memories of "coming out".
She came out on accident, and 'she' was me,
Brave enough to accept the fact that people were noticing,
But smart enough not to get myself into trouble, mmmhmmm, that's me,
on free speechtry to write a poem about politics and it comes out treason. say
change is not the can or the street but maybe kick, or lack thereof.
the President says there is no need for panic.
the hero fires his rifle into the crowd hoping for applause
the hero was a quiet boy, always such a good kid
see: smiling child frozen on refrigerator door
see: weeping mother makes plea for salvation
this American daydream
say news exclusive, say family, or values,
say where did all these bodies come from?
the President says his prayers go out
say a mute god is better than none at all
say i must be lying or else not telling the whole story
say this ain’t blood it’s kool aid; at least it’s something sweet
who said anything about them?
in the dream a man lines his pockets with mouths
and takes a seat, bloated, at the table
in the dream this hero calls himself America
the President says the same old story
say here, the President is metaphor for progress. or