AbsenceShe used to lie awake all nightconsuming letters with voracity;it was the utopian lair she createdto slip away from the turbulent world.Only too soon she learnedthat you can't always hidewithin parchment crevices.(reality always finds you)Even now, when she yearns to fall between printed canyons,she can't help but curse those passive and lethargic days;"It's too damn easy to fall in love with words on a page."
AstrologicalI have lost myself toVenus & Mars,tangled in their mismatched limbs.Just dream dust & shattered prayersbegging for a new set of skin(she can't remember where she orbits).Pluck these fractured wings;the Sun & Moon no longer acheto see me fly in their luster.
lowercasei carve insignificant poetry into my tongueand hope the world will pardon the lack ofbated silence, for i write in nothing butdespondent screams and uppercase;i've forgotten how to let everything goand i'm tired of my incessant howling,because it seems to me that the quietwords are the ones that are the mostheard.
pretty little poet fingersfabricated gods rest between thelanguid crevices ofher fingertips, scribbling profanitiesall over her skin.she's just mismatched bones& blue bruises, telling of forbiddenlove through archaic letters.a tongue made forwanderlust, & eyes madefor the stars,even the devil fears her.
curiouser and curiouserseventeen years &still chasing white rabbits,it's no wonder i've neverbeen in love.we're all mad here;no one can find the road toyesterday.(i don't knowwhere to go)let's fall down a hole.(i'm just a chrysaliswith no butterfly wings)off with my head when itcan only imagine nonsense& clockwork hearts.give me a cheshire's smile-i want to knowwhat it feels liketo be in wonderland.
Unheard of and undefinedSometimes,I have this sudden impulse tobite off my tongue.It wasn't made forpretty words and kept promisesin the first place.Back to back andstraight on til daybreak,our soliloquy seems never ending.You laugh,I wince;I whisper,you interrogate.When was the last timeyou remembered to cry for all the broken heartsthat were not your own?
IcarusSun girl,the whispering stars& feathered clouds dancefor you tonight.Do not let anyoneclip your wings;you were made for the skies.
Perennial BloomsI want orchid fingers,gossamer & shy.But my reflection,she charms viperswith bloody thorns.Too many corroded anemoneshave taken root in my soul.My rose-tipped lipswill shatter the mirror,& her poisonous seeds willincinerate inside my nowphosphorescent heart.
Howling For TreacheryI wish I could liveon nothing but air;killing the hungerto consume everyimprovised lie. (Maybe all along, I've been the wolf in sheep's clothing.)Why is it that whenI exercise my ownfeeble infallibility,these fangs justcontinue to honeon fraudulence? (It's too painful to continue howling at this contorted reflection.)Yet every timeI take an ax toexterminate thecounterfeit beast,its claws just leaveanother patch ofscars on the insideof my skin to remindme just what I am. (The girl who cried wolf will never be able to butcher her own heart.)
NaPoWriMo- Day 5She used to try and catch butterfliesuntil she realized their beautyrubbed off on her fingers;but she will always be loving youwith those digits.20 years from nowwhen even the love on her armsis unrecognizable.
confessions of a misguided poetcertain things in my mindwould be better left unsaid,such as:i. how I stared at a bottle of pillsfor an hour as if they would slide downmy throat on their own.ii. when I stepped out of the showerwith bloody knees and didn't botherto put a band aid over them. iii. why I can't keep a smile longenough for someone to takemy picture.iv. who I wanted to be when I wasa little girl and who I amright here and now. v. where I tried to jump off abridge and landed in waterdeep enough for me to swim in.vi. what I wanted to scream atyou that day but I just stayedsilent and hoped you would forget.no more pretty words andludicrous metaphorstoday; just life,the truth, and everythingthat I never want to tellanyone else.
Witch OilThere's magma boiling in her frostbitten veins;incandescent pixie dust and soot-stained stars,sluggishly making its way througha childish heart — wishing for one last chanceto spread her wings and soar to Neverland.
AimlessSpring forgot how to begin anew, so Winter stole her amnesic heart and tossed it to the wolves."Devour me," the stars seemed to beg; so Gravity plunged them into the ocean's nebulous depths.These lips no longer offer hymns up to fallen gods— so Fate sacrificed herself for the chance to be reborn.
skinwalkershe was a vicious prion,anomalous & infectious—my fractured mind was theperfectly unsuspecting host.i was so ashamed of life& you had all the answers."don't let me go,"she hissed each night,coating my flesh in adespondent cancer.(it was just too damn easy to grasp your viral hands.)i know my ribcage is almost on empty& my heart is converting to toxic waste,but i still have a feverish serum in my veins& a voice not yet conquered by broken bones.your plague of malevolenceshall never govern me again.
are my words poetic enough for you?maybe not.because i will never be the fire-hearted girl with remedial stardust lips,dancing with the astral wolves that hunt beneath her moon-kissed skin,with the courage to plant wilting lilacs into every crippled soul she finds.but what if they were?then i would be the ink blots coating the archives of humankind,the fractured jewel tucked away in a catastrophic dragon's chest,and the lyric every mismatched bone engraves into their marrow.if only.
Dandelion QueenI dream of the ocean;that paper-thin line wherethe current swallows the starsand the water churns violet(you tell me to bequiet,dandelion queen, we'veheard all these words before)tonightI will sleep heavyand wake a few hours before dawn,only to forget my namemy wave-weathered heart will cry,I will cry (my biggest fearis drowning in too manyof my own weighted wordsyou tell me to bequietso I can hear the world breathe)I want to go home
unfilteredii’d tell you I hated youif you had a voice or a face,or any sense of tangibility asidefrom the spider fingers you useto crawl through my brainyou are not beautiful, likeall the other poets protest. youare the red in my eye, likea pen bled; the ragged tomy fingernails, the hitch of my breathwhen it catches in my throat.iibefore i go, i’ll write a million letters (a millionpennies for my thoughts, bitter, embeddedunder my tongue) and send them to peoplei’ve never met, telling them how my eyes were bluewhen i was little but now are the same grayi’m choking on, how i am maddie and how that’s shortfor a name i was never graceful enough for, howi tell myself stories of lives i’ll never live so ican go to sleepbecause when i’m really gone, that’s all that’ll be leftof meiii(it’s funny what peopletry to justify with words)ivyou never loved me,you selfish thing, i wonder whyi wasted so many nights relivin
it's the little things that follow you to sleeplately, i’ve been wasting every minutechoking on inevitabilities; wonderinghow many times i’ll promise myselfthis year i’ll be different untili move on to something lessunattainable. truthfully, i’m just sorryfor the ones who still thinki’m tryingand i have been waiting anugly amount of years for myprophetic completion-- a love likei say you’re beautiful when really i meanyou make my heart stop, likei was born to meet you or perhapsi’m actually breaking some universal lawof equilibrium; loving somethingso unnaturallybeautiful.i want a love like that:napkin poems, handwrittenand tender and accidental collisionsigniting a thousand forest firesbeneath my skin; me,blossoming like a wildfloweron a california highway, baskingin the sun and ignored definitionof earthly limitations. i want to believethat somewhere, there’s a boybuilt of summer sunsets and shooting starsfor every homesick girl who neverquite fit in, t
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.
NaPoWriMo Day: 1I’ve got 30 daysto defy Icarus:teach this rose thorn hearthow to fly.[ All I want to be is the space between the stars. ]But, I’m here,ripping holes in blank pageswhile nursing nebulae knuckleswith white plastered walls.
as numerous as the stars under your skinand here I am, reinterpreting the definable universein relation to you, the poet, and the gravitationof your hips (the parentheticals of your sighs, the longingin your star-ward cries, the vespertine scent lingeringon your weary skin).I would love every piece of you. I would stay up too longand watch the night crumble away, to whisper togetherthe scraps of your misdirected sanity. I would call you perfectwhen it wasn’t true, and become the answeryou spent an entire existencesuffering for.You owe me this, sugartongue; the sweet silenceof your teeth. [this story is like a million othersrejected before it, glorifying earthbound angels:please]rewrite the world for me.
Poetry,Poetry,it’s like cultivating a greenhousewith broken fingers.-dp
I'm talking myself in circles,I screamed,"There is nothingwrong with me, not a damnthing.”I wanted to believethe big dipper on my armmeant something morethan sun marks & kisses.But, how can I trust wordsthat slip through my teethas easy as breathingwhen this starhas only ever learnedhow to f a l l ?
S u p e r n o v aI left my heart in the elevator1,000 floors above your own.Humming mismatched melodiesto the fallen starsin your outstretched palmsYour curling fingersreached out to empty galaxies.You always longed to leapfrom the tallest of skyscrapers,Believing yourself an angelwho'd merely forgotten how to fly-As I forgot to tell you: dying starsaren't as pretty as they sound.
A Poet's RomanceShe was the quiet sort,tsunamis tuckedwithin her eyes,anxieties pinnedto pottery skin;she would mold herselfinto moonlight butterfliesand glist'ning calla lilies,pure and white andbeautiful.and when night castitself upon her inheated, hard'ning flames,she’d smash herselfupon the rocksand in morning startagain.
ZenSometimesIn the zen gardenRocks contemplate people
scraps and sacramentsyou,beautiful siren girl with melodiesentangled in her hair: you areshell-shocked and sea-struckeven though you cannot standthe sensation of sand beneathyour toes.you have fingers for prying, picking,pulling at your skin and nestingin that hollow space betweenyour bones. and if anyone asks,you will swear there are monsterssleeping in the concaves of your ribs;there are ghosts beneath your tongue,embittered, and you are not the wordsyou speak.they say there is an answer, little girl(sometimes you begin to believe you area scarecrow on the border of realitybegging people to turn the other way;and the mirror will agree)how far have you gone? a feather inthe breeze who won’t promise to returnagain; there is a wandering warmth inthe hesitation of your harbored fear.where will you be in six months whenthe future has become itself and youare still astray? little one, no one is like youin the way you sway to the cadence of adissonant night. no one knows your
AquariusShe is the winter's heartand a January zephyr—amethyst ankles frozen in time.(eleven stars circulate her glacial ribs)Forever shin-deep in the seas ofa conformed humanity,she shall always sanctify the stains.