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?
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.
the center of the universewhen i die, the earth will remain unchanged.
mountains will still soar above the plains, and
the moon will stay in control of the oceans,
repeating its orbit around our planet.
when i die, cities in africa will remain the same.
buildings will not tumble to the ground, and
the citizens will go about their daily lives,
repeating their orbit around the sun.
symptoms of red a materialist
inside of you
unknitting your sweater
& in your dream
you are a wolf eating
a flower in an orange field. the world
is ending. an unnamed girl stains you
as if she were tea
giving up to a
she writes a story: the unrequited
blurry visions of two visionaries
On self-loveMaybe who
she really loves,
is the name
of the boy
she thinks of,
while she lines
her chatoyant eyes
maybe the name
she really needs
to think of,
is her own.
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
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,
GrowingThe friends I had,
the memories we shared,
the lessons we learned,
the persons who cared.
Words gone unsaid,
the lives drifting apart,
my school life ending,
my true life given start.
Regret growing inside,
of the words left unspoken,
the lives I wished to touch,
my heart torn and broken.
Those friends so far away,
distant and grown mature,
my memories beginning to fade,
the life of my childhood a blur.
A familiar smile,
comes in to view,
my eyes begin to open,
thank God, it's you.
Rhyming in PoemsWhy do you all want to rhyme
all the time?
You don't need to do it,
that's perfectly fine.
You think it's so cool
And it leaves poems gleaming,
But it desecrates flow
And can ruin the meaning.
It's so bad to rhythm,
It's like a bad day
You wonder why you're not
Sleeping it away.
You think it's the root
Of your writing's salvation,
But we all will hate you,
All parts of the nation.
You think it sounds nice
But you don't even know
How ruined the sound is
How badly it 'goes'.
So the irony's over,
Your poems can mend,
I'll stop myself here,
Before you meet
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.<