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March Madness NaPoWriMo(Re)I’ve clearly got a wait problem. It is winter and I miss you.
Wait. Spring is just a few months away. Wait. We’ve got
Christmas to think about; another year alone. Wait.
There are some things that I’ve taken for granted. Wait.
I miss you every day. The warren is a wreck. Barren as I
am without you. Wait . . .
easy come, easy go NaPoWriMo(Re)I could write the same thing over again until I’m full of clichés.
Blue in the face, seeing red, green with envy at the fingertips and
temples you’ve blessed with words, motivation, and forward moving
ideas. I could write the same thing over again because that is all
that you left me with—caution. Maybe some things are better left unsaid.
A Flamboyance - NaPoWriMo(Re)“A Flamboyance.”
A broken clock is right twice a day and maybe I was wrong about you.
If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck it could just be pretending.
There are more bread crumbs than rabbit holes. I’m still trying to make
sense of this flightless feeling; a loss of potential. Maybe I should have
Last Love Poem for M. - NaPoWriMo(Re)“Last Love Poem for M”
And just like that I realized that you were not the disease, just the symptom.
There are some things you just can’t fix. Some bells you can’t un-ring. And
yet here we are, mallet in hand. Sometimes I think of you. Existing. Still waiting
to be struck in reverse. Sometimes I want that too.
Cricket on HolidayCall me Pinocchio and
I'll let you pull my strings.
But if you have it that way,
nothing between us is real.
can we just begin with the fact of how alone you are
and from there we can explore your downward
spiral into self loathing, your dreams were
whet from hours in front of tv
screens and you think
to yourself that
is more like you
yourself and less like
the version of you that was
filtered through screens. your worst
self falls through hour glasses, attempt to tell
time with the setting of the sun and the feeling of waking
up naturally, everyday that passes you become more of who you are
and yet there is a part of you that worries that sooner or later it will be too late.
on playing housethis is a sandbox,
a bed of glass with no heat. The parts we
play we hardly mean, it's the imagination
of it all,kisses revoked, dreams drowned,
we sober,repeat, pack away created characters
and make attempts at being real.
body, positivetake my love handles;
the way you graze my sides, run
trails down stretch marks, follow hills
and curves--your favorite was my smile,
full stretched lazy grin ready to meet your lips
Without UI.There Is No U
How can I explain the complexities of
cities and stars alike, lights and bridges,
the points of no looping back--
this is the compilation of dreams:
silver strings splayed like tinsel on christmas
II. At First
I'm still looking for ways to describe a set of
lips that don't belong to me. Perfect bow, meaty
while not too thick, my own failed at "hellos,"
they once had elegant dreams of passing pleasantries.
III. Threshold of Intimacy
Every time I sleepover, we play parents,
I smoke in bed, while some lazy fingers
switch tv channels, flip book pages,
trace from face to chest, sigh songs from
forgotten radio stations, provoke poems
from harried heartbeats. I never jotted down
a single word, and yet I wrote this poem all
You call meYou call me a freak
I say I'm unique
You call me crazy
I say sanity is overrated
You call me a sissy
I say I'm sensitive
And proud of it
You call me depressed
I say it's true
But I'm not ashamed of it
Five AMPre-dawn darkness again, seething, quiet
A monster hugging the city
How heavy, how suffocating it is
The clock has run down on time for dreaming
A void between night and morning
Ready to swallow everything up
A time for old men's reflections
On love, and loss, and sorrow
Oppressive black sky, you eat everything
But the all-night diner
Where lonely old men sit
Drinking coffee at five AM
QuicksandYou trapped me
Dragged me below the surface
And held me there
You chained me
Put brass around my ankles
And left me struggling
You broke me
Beat me with whips made of hate
And hurt me more
You changed me
Made me who you wanted
And killed me inside
You hid me
Stole me away from the light
And made me blind
You crushed me
Blew my dust in the wind
And danced on my grave
surrounding my body
And now I'm twenty feet under
With no chance of being saved
Guide MeThe shadows of my past, like trembling fingers, strum the song of warfare with my heartstrings and piano-key-ribs.
The ghosts of empty faces, empty shells, waltz to the tune of my miseries.
The war raging inside my head, like the waves of an ocean crashing against the sides of skull, cause me to drown in insecurities so deep within my tired vessel.
I am tired of this warfare.
I am tired of playing the role of some valiant soldier.
I am dimming under the power of the shadows, of the ghosts, of the war inside me –
And my only beacon is you, dear mother.
When the fire rages on, and the music is gone, I will always look to you for guidance – and you will guide me to safety, always ending the war within me.
give me a challenge, give me you.i have grown
the blood in my veins
have become more
than plasma, and i
am now trapped
within my own hollowed-out
this haze of
has to be transitory--
i can't let it be anything
From Your 'Secret' AdmirerHeaven,
this is not a love letter
I will swear to God,
with a halo on my head
and a hole in my heart.
But the fact is I revere you
more than I have any right to.
After all, we are nothing except
who have awkward conversations.
So why is it that every time the line
falls silent I panic, worrying that your shadow
will make my efforts nothing but a distant memory,
when every word you speak strongly marks my mind?
Simple: I fear having something to lose
and losing the nothing I have. You are a
treasure to me, and this note becomes my confession.
Sincerely- I typed this, but I'm sure you'll recognize the handwriting.
Death, Judgment, RebirthLast Time in the ICU
Shadow rats, beady red eyes focused hungrily
Stay still too long and they’ll swarm
Sharp little teeth rending flesh
They know the sick and weak
They can wait
Tenth floor ICU, down with the disease again
He’s resting quietly, the nurse says
She looks like a huge black rat
Does she know what’s happening?
Closing the door
She walks away
Sweet childhood dreams are interrupted
Rats gnawing away at the edges
Toothy little kisses all over
Cleaning, cleansing scurry
Down to the bone
Sentenced to Live
Firelight, poker-faced patchwork man reading aloud
An old but vaguely familiar tome, his tone is somber
Was I one of the wicked? Weren’t we all?
Who can say that they were good?
Sentenced to live yet another life
I cry; I’ve had enough living
I want to sleep forever, leave my shell behind
To crumble to dust, useless, I won’t need it
Every door opens to the same world
Is this hell, then? The onl
I Dream of a WorldI dream of a world
Where none but I reside.
A place where no feelings are crushed
And no useless hopes are shattered.
I dream of a world
Where prejudice is a foreign thing.
A world where beauty is all around
And love is an accepting thing.
I dream of a world
Where fantasy and reality collide.
Dragons of infamous knowledge
And scientists with kind hearts.
I dream of a world
Where the imaginary comes to life.
Fairies of all shapes and sizes
And wolves of power and knowledge.
I dream of a world
That explodes with color and life.
My mind a continuous machine
And my room, full of inspiration.
I dream of a world
That is all around us.
Beauty and pain;
A life full of lessons.
I dream of a world.
Why You Should Date a PoetI could write a poem about your lips.
Not just about the want to kiss them, but about
the desire to have the perimeters of ourselves dissolve and
become one. I could write a poem
about the fushion of us; I start with the
flesh of your lip--
from my teeth, a gentle pull and
as I'm just on the lip of hooking you, I poet prolifically.
I let our lips speak for themselves, I let our eyes do the same, and
I make martyrs of ink pens; ink is spilled in the tracing of your lips and the
making of maps, from your lips to mine, we may end up lost at sea but
oh, the poems I shall write for you; if you want, I can write you
206 poems, one for each bone in the human body, Another 32
for the number of teeth. I'll add and subtract as needed. I'll
write about botched breakfast attempts and unpaid bills and
None of them have been written yet but they are on the tip of my tongue,
and, a kiss is worth a thousand words -- in my opinion--
so, as I said: I take your lip; i
a hospital bird with soot in her lungsshe slept through a car crash
that almost killed her,
through whitewhite walls
where her lover dies
nobody thought she'd make it
but she woke up a few months later
with flowers in her hair
and ash in her airway
trying to remember how to start all over
but forgetting to remember how to live.
fall slipped from her open eyes
and winter crawled in for a long hibernation
to her the clouds looked sick
and pale like they might
let everything inside them out,
but she opened up wide instead,
spilling blood where there was none to be spilled.
her heart slipped down the street
and with unsteady hands
she stitched in a bird and cut off its wings.
pray into my collarbone
let your snake tongue slither
with the syllables.
i wish for soft-chested nights,
and the trickle of champagne down crystal glass.
poppy-lips, lull me to sleep,
nurse my coiling tongue with yours;
tap my scalp like a silent drum,
and wind my hair in between your fingers
like broken guitar strings.
(serenade me with the buzz of pollen in your kiss.)
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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