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The Un-TitledThey work in cafes.
They work in bars.
They work in schools
and clean lecture hall floors.
They scrub tables.
They are writing prose inside of their heads.
They are quietly subversive.
They are adding experiences to the internal data bank.
They are counting change.
So forgive them,
if they appear a little vacant,
for their minds are not on
(Though they will serve yours with a smile.)
They work in cafes.
They work in bars.
They are waiting.
EnoughWhat do we have in common,
apart from a few ideals
and our inability to live
up to them?
What do we really have?
(A connection that I can't
because I don't know
what it is made from.)
AnticipationIn my head I am a romantic person.
(Not a drunk.)
We dance around the kitchen and reality is spinning,
I want to travel
to Iceland and Orkney and Munich and
Botswana and New Zealand and Greenland,
Thailand, the Grand Canyon, Thebes,
Suffolk, the South Downs and the Eiffel Tower.
The dancing remains mostly in my head,
but the spinning,
the spinning is very real.
I sketch letters when I could write them
and I hide my thoughts away on scraps of paper and laptop screens (and memories)
I say, 'I,' too much,
you are good and kind and warm
and everything I could wish for
and I shy away from you.
AbysmalSome days she thinks poetry dribbles from her lips,
Some days she is barren.
it is the lens she chooses to look through
which creates an uneasy beauty in everything
because there has to be a reason
there has to be a reason
there has to be.
She fights very, very hard on the days when she believes there is nothing.
You Might Read ThisI say,
"I miss you,"
when I mean,
"I love you;"
I don't know
and partly because those three words terrify me more than any other mistake I have previously made.
Or Maybe You Don't Care AnymoreEvery time you see my name light up green
you think I am sat here talking to someone
else where I used to talk to you. It makes
you feel dizzy and a little bit sick. I am not
talking to anyone. I am just here looking at
A message flashes up on the screen.
It is from you.
All I feel is guilt.
I Just Passed My Driving TestI met a wonderful couple tonight.
They were shriveling; your age or older
and we talked about important things
like how not to die and to be glad
that our friends were still alive
and they left me, like I will leave you, with
"It was nice to meet you,"
and we both meant it, we really did,
as we walked away.
You Are Not A MonsterThe most forceful I remember you was when
you chased me around the house and said,
"Let me see then."
It was reported by another,
my most selfish of cries, but
I think you decided on that day that if
I wouldn't show you the blood on my arms
then you wouldn't let me show you the blood in my heart.
You haven't seen the marks left afterwards by
the men I allowed to carve their love into my skin
or the women who wouldn't let me sink my teeth into theirs,
but you decided on that day that
if I wouldn't show you the blood on my arms then
you wouldn't let me show you the blood in my heart.
The Boy Who Wouldnt EatIf you can flutter
I have failed you,
for you were not forged
to be so insubstantial as that
You were writ
to be an epic fable
of endings ignored,
of outlasting your body
through the sheer will
of a writers starving heart
through a broken, bowed
but bravely abiding body
that fights the soul
to comprehend Beauty.
................written in a frenzy and run-on
and exclamation points
used in rapid succession
words all blurred
so bare bones it's bloody
strung out and on display
in a frightening combination
of paragraphs and stanzas
punctuation gone mad
ellipses my new black
used and abused
then spit out
in gratuitous repetition
there is no word count here
no hearts dotting the i's
just a string of letters
done up in cursive
but not very pretty at all
To Be ThinYour eyelashes fall
on tablecloth cheekbones;
fine, white linen,
to an unsustainable point.
Your tears spill
and stain the cloth,
of grey, of grey,
spoiling that unattainable dream.
you're just a question marki met you so long ago
but back then our bodies were made of metal
and nowadays they’re made of the blades of
grass and dirt settling
underneath my fingernails.
my fingers are having a hard time
reaching the keys and
my organs are shaking mostly because i haven’t
eaten in two days but also
because i’m worried about the things you're doing to yourself.
we didn’t meet very long ago at all but it feels like forever ago
and you say you don’t know me
that you don’t know anyone
but baby you're turning into a skeleton and i’m peeling back my skin
to try and reach my bones, just like you.
i hope you're happy,
i’m covering the hard wood floors now
the bits and pieces splattered.
they are calling it a suicide but i’m calling it
a way to see my brain and
just how dark it has become, and honestly
i don’t want you to try and see about your’s.
i’m mourning the loss of my heart and wish you weren’t either -
BeautyI'd rather wear flowers in my hair,
forming a delicate chain
Than diamonds around my neck,
covering my tender blue veins
For with every precious petal
and every lucent leaf
I'm a living lesson
teaching beauty can not be bought
But rather it grows and flourishes
with every living thought
Sound PoemIthrumden, ithrumden delsum
nith mul thruss elmrissull.
Eth rut mundelliss
Curmiette dessel renrin
irme trell ithrumden.
Fearing MeI'm not afraid to cry
and I do it
a lot more than you would guess.
It isn't always sadness,
I just feel like I need to,
feel everything so strongly
that it's the only way
to let go for a moment
because if I hold on for too long,
if my grip gets too tight
I'll break myself,
I will break you like glass
and we will both
I am a good guy
who hasn't yet found a way
to show it,
I am a good guy
who still identifies with the villains,
hides everything important
anything to throw you
off of my trail....
and I don't know why,
but I am trying.
Maybe I think
that if you could see me,
the real me,
you wouldn't want to look anymore,
want to be anywhere near me,
and the idea
that I can't add up
to be enough for you,
to be enough for me,
is so fucking heart breaking
I can hardly fathom it.
I can't say that it doesn't hurt
because it does,
it hurts a whole hell of a lot,
I've come to depend on pain,
to befriend misery
The partyFlashing lights
Smoke all around
About to pass out
My head starts to hurt
I can't take this anymore
So without saying anything
I find the exit
And escape that place
"How can someone have fun in there?"
Coming HomeComing down the ramp I spotted you in the crowd
Your tenderloin skin always stands out
Your aura was particularly bright that day
Whirling dervish colors in the pale sun
You wore a chauffeurs cap and held a sign that said “Anyone”
I knew that I wasn’t anyone, so I walked away
“Strange days,” someone said, and I agreed
I hate crowds and old garbled memories
Arriving home, my wife and cat didn’t recognize me
I looked in the mirror and noticed that I was someone else
Still carrying my old baggage, I turned away
I should have taken your limo
LatreuophobiaI wash off sick-sweet orange lipstick in front of a mirror as dusty as gothic romances. It tastes like oblivion, that is to say, like nothing my tongue can detect.
The door opens with a creak no private restroom could emulate. Some chick with blue bobbed hair and smeared eyeliner. I looked like that once. Ten years ago.
Getting the beer out of my hair is harder. Some men just can't take it when I'd rather they not kiss my feet or call me an angel or-
“Dayum girl, you look like a goddess.”
I gulp, taste of acid.
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More