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.
NaPoWriMo: Day 8I was toldto slice through the thickestof scar tissue this evening.Let all my inner demonsfall to the floor& write them outin my own black blood.It’s not red anymore,even though needles& the bruiseslaid out like war-landson my armssay otherwise.I don’t think it ever was,honestly.Therapeutic,they said.My mind is a messof free versed insecurities,cat’s eye marbles,& untamed forest fires-but,I still don’t have the nerveto slice open my skin& bleed for her.
NaPoWriMo: Day 2sometimes,i have thissudden urge to cutmy hair.most of the time,i just wish I were anythingother than me.a rocket ship, a bird-the sweet flavored smokeI promised my girlfriendthese briar patch lungswould not in.hale.instead,i have fallen in lovewith the strangest of things-eyes that intimidategodless boys.the way my scarsplay hide and seekwith her hands. -the love lettersthat start and endwith kissespressed against limbs.i make promisesi know i can not keep.but if i were a liari would say i was tiredof writing to the stars.
NaPoWriMo: Day 10 Have you ever been so cold, Sweetheart, your knees q u a k e d like that Jenga piece that buckled just before your whole foundation t o p p l e d over? I have. & no matter how many times I've restarted your heart, one would think I'd grow tired, eventually; I'm still writing you in poetry (in the most inappropriate of places.) You forced yourself beneath my blades & my fingertips, Licking unstable knees, you were death on my tongue: angry apricot eyes, unforgivable sin scaring my limbs & haunting my dreams.Cardiac arrest & I'd still try to save your fucking life.
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 ?
NecromancyShe thinks there are nebulaein the rough of my gutter bones,some stargazing sanctuaryfor lonely outcasts to lay their heads.I am but a car crash,spellboundinside eyelids,& red inked correctionson crosshatched skin.Made up of moans,the clutching of bedsheets;I am contemplatingripping my ribs apart& provingI never had a heart at all.But my moon shy love;she is determinedto try & wake the dead.
to the starsI’ve got this arrowcurled around my fingerlike Apollo’s heart& your nicknamesengraved on the insideof my lungs.I don’t want to writepretty little stanzasor pick at the seamsof your poetrylike some deadbeatpsychology major -I want toscribble profanitiesall over everything;shoot down your moon& wear herlike a charmaround ink stainedwrists.I want to take you to the stars, & leave you there.
I loved a girl.i loved a girl.i loved a girl with a lovefor cummings & sandburg& sexton.i loved an unflinchingpoet of a girl.& with no better diction:they called the shaking fistsat her sides, her silent actof pacifism, cowardice.i’m the coward;she bled for the both of us.
roses and brier“I’ve never planted roots-“she said,believing her body to beon a road tripto nowhere.“Well—“ I smiled,“let’s be like roses & brier.We will go nowhere, together.”
free birdit’s a need to feel the suns golden fingersteasing figure eights along my back,& the wind on my cheeks.i must have beena bird in some past life,a swallow or a hummingbird.because, i swear on some nightsi can feel the growing pains of an atlasready to burst through my skin like wings.i just want to be free.
NaPoWriMo: Day 9More respect for hungry lions, than man's greedy fingers,she really, really doesn’t want to write this poem.As she forgets how to use words (on most days,)relying on curses like casting some witch's spell-with only ten dollars to her name.The oldest daughter:she’s still somewhere in the middle,filed under miscellaneousbecause they had no other way to categorize her.Getting her first gravestone at three-she prayed not to the gods,but to the lily stargazers in her palms.One day she would become a bird, fly south & never come back.She doesn’t want her deathlaid out like a fast-foodrestaurant menu-so, how does she begin to explainthe greenhouse cultivating in her breastbone?
RelapseIt’s like countingSaturn’s rings,hash marksalong your limbs -remembering a timewhen‘just one more’made you feel better.- & you’re sitting therewondering whyDraco, stuck in limboalways looks like he’sfalling.-dp
Sun Child,I am freezing& I am hungryfor fever’s lips-her inky fingerspurginga dry stomach.My body is an ocean,my limbs, but oars.My tongue & teeth,a life raftkeeping this madnessfrom sinking into blue.Offering up 102 degreesof skin;You would thinkI had something to say.
Hear me howl.Tell me again, Father,I’m the perfect daughter-when all I want to beis the crescent moonsresting like strong soldiersin the grooves of my palms.I am but(outgrown)lonely bones,quaking with frostbite,numbed with rage.A wolf's jaw:locked, teeth tearinginto the chilled fleshof your neck.
binge eatingi have a buildupof black holessuffocating my arteries,having swallowed downthe bitter taste of too manygirls with galaxies travelingthe length of their spines.i ate them in mouthfuls,gaping & sad like a bingereaching for the skies-unable to hold them all in.i don’t think the universeis as vast& wondrousas it used to be,thrivingbetween theintercostal spacesof my ribs;i am hungry.& with a collectionof moon sighsas a reminderin my pockets,i will just have to learnhow to calm this swollenindigo pulse while eating.
Milky Waymy body is a road mapof hazard signs& do-not-touch-me's.but on the dayswhen the mirroris nice to me,i can hearwhispering voiceslike little racingheartbeatsbeneath my skin:you are not worthless.you are strong.your ribcage has a meaning-these bruises arecon ons, ste ti & you are the Milky Way. lla -dp
Collection of poetic nothings.We were opal Tuesdays,mosaic butterfliestattooed into therose garden curveof my vertebrae,gliding me through this wild youth.But, like Icarus—I was a sky conqueror& these silk wingstouched the sun.-My inhalations are heavy,like the earth he bruisesbeneath his fingertipsas I chase silence."You've got a tonguemade for words." He saysagainst the arrogant thornsof my briar spine."Learn to love yourself."-How do I say I love youwithout saying I love you?"I want to replace my heart with you."-You are spider silk woveninto my harvest moonheartstrings, spiderlimbs traveling this road mapof songbird sin.You are not just in my head now,you are dancing in the lingering starsof my night-witch frame& setting me on fire.-You're not bruised enoughthey said,to write poetry.-Allow these bones to tell your story, Love.
.the sea spitsme back ontothe shore -the waves saythis is not theright tide, theright time
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.
or maybe it actually is.thisis nota love poem:this is not aboutme and how i hatethe way realism tastes.this is about you.this is about how youare one too many shades arrogant,how nearly every night youtry to forget that time hasleft you behind. this isabout your laugh and the way itwhispers "i can't rememberwhat i was like before ibecame this." and,if i'm being honest, this is abouthow i will never see your toococky for your own damn good grin thatmakes me go weak in the knees.this is about youand how you're not real and how i wishto god that i wasn't either.
Your Poetry SucksYes, roses are redAnd violets are blueBut you have to understandWho said they had to,Its about imaginationEmotion and orignalityNot the reiterationOf dead men's practicalityThese words,They are your sentenceTo a world that has to listenAs you create the differenceWhether it beWith angst poem against loveOr how you set your heart freeTo fly like a dove,For these wordsWhether or not they be trueTheir beauty and idealsWill be used to define you,So yes,Hope ,in fact, has feathersAnd like a caged bird it singsBut these words will only be tethersThat strip you of your wings,Those are their wordsMeant for their timeAnd meant for their herds,But this your timeMeant for your wordsAnd whether they be meaningful, stupidOr completely absurdI'm sure they'll be amazing.
Do not be ashamed of who you are.At one point in your life,you didn't mind being a girl.It was only after you mether that you thought, "Maybethis isn't the right fit." Because,if you're being honest, shedeserves a knight in shining armor.You are not Atlas, my dear.Your shoulders do notmerit a world of troubles,but instead love-lined cloudsthat whisper, "Do not beashamed of who you are."A woman can be achampion whose heart burnswith more gold than a king'scastle holds. Perhaps ifyou had more faith,you might find that's just whatshe needs.
lion boyi knew a boy witheyes of gold & firein his footsteps.he would roar to thestars, declaring himselfas fearless as a king& as regal as a lion."ad lucem,"he would announceevery night when leowould coax the virginfrom her radiantcastle.five times around thesun & loyal fangs baredto shield his kingdom,my lion boydances with flames.
God called in sick todayGod called in sick today,and the sky is dancing.People walked hand in handsinging in tune with the damned.Running without stories‘this is what tragedy feels like’dead is the new alivebut misery loves company.Racing with the devilone doesn't dare stop againstthe lord of the damnedhe laughs against the concrete.Can one play with madnessas they dance on clouds of mind?Heavens a lie when butterflies are flying in hurricanesAnd God takes a day off.Wasted time throwing rocks at starssouls refuse their eternal restthey drink a cup of galaxy for breakfasthymn of the shameless.Obsession is an ugly word.When dead becomes the new alivethe devil walks the earthand God takes a day off work.
For every boy I ever kissedi.you took my hand 'neath the magnoliaat a christmas dinner party I held.your mouth was cold. so were my affections.ii.you were the first man to listen to me.i let you listen to my heartbeat; butwhen the day fell away, you bruised me deep.iii.you were my safe harbour, and i your stormturning your misery to naught but airbut i squirmed away from your tongue, repulsed.iv.you were my cradle, when i couldn't sleepyou would hold me close and pray for something,anything, to keep me safe. (it was you).v.eleven months spent sleeping with my phone,i still couldn't believe when you kissed meeven after midnight struck us again.vi.i don't miss those guitar-player fingersyou wrapped me 'round. i loved enough for youuntil i realised you didn't love me.vii.we fell into our love by accidentand like one, there were some fatalitieswhen you said you loved me using her name.viii.opposites attract. i fell hard for you.you kissed me in starlit castle ruins.we par
Evanescentonly the mostbeautiful of creatureslive the shortest.red roses and quiveringbutterflies and otheruseless things, like theway she wishes on every starshe sees for a differentsoul because she can't standthe way it's rotting inside.and it's only whenthe thorns beneath her skinstart to bleed that hermonsters whisper, "haveyou ever trembled, my dear?"because they knowfor every whimper that hidesfaintly in the dark,there is a pair of lips stretchedinto a smile pretendingthat all that is beautifulis timeless and unbroken.
Universe Girlshefell in lovewith Plutowhile he wasstill a planet;butshe could only manageto fall in lovewith shooting starsin the glare of your eyes.what more could you truly askfrom a universe girl?