Of course it’s the LAST day of 28/28 and I have literally nothing. What a fucking month. The shambles of my personal life aside, this exercise helped me in ways I never thought it would as a writer. It forced me to break free from my normal pattern of writing, which is usually as follows: 1) Come up with idea for poem. 2) Write 3 lines. 3) Obsess over said 3 lines for at least a month and...
Peace I never knew you existed in things like Finding socks that match Or the thrill of being scared by the toaster And yet here you are As brilliant as only small victories can truly be Standing boldly in front of Goliath I have read you in tea leaves Smelled you in fresh linen Heard you in the crescendo of my best friend’s laughter You feel like the glow of the winter sun A welcomed beam...
pleasureswithmeasures asked: Your writing speaks to me... (:
Have you ever written a poem With such uncanny foreshadowing You wonder if your words Played God? Like if only you had written Instructions instead of questions A practical plan of action instead of passion Maybe you could have stopped The tsunami you had already warned yourself Was coming Maybe you could have ran When you heard those sirens blaring Instead of closing your eyes Holding your...
thisetherealheart-deactivated20 asked: Your writing is wonderful.
Admittedly, I am scared Of these love poems I fear that they fall upon deaf eyes Like subtitles distracting you From the bigger picture I know that I have pried into you With the feverish impatience Of someone who feels their time Is running out But there are moments When I confuse the way you call me baby With the sound of karma coming So I can never apologize For holding you a little too...
How blissfully unaware you are That your fingertips are architects You build thousands of cities By drawing a single line Along my collarbone Each raised bump is a castle And your name echoes In the valleys between them 28/28 is a ridiculous initiative I agreed to, where I write a short poem every day of the month during February. They are rough and unpolished, much like myself.
I fear I don’t have roots deep enough For you to latch onto So when your branches reach out to me They will find only shrubs Desperate for your stories And just waiting on the rain 28/28 is a ridiculous initiative I agreed to, where I write a short poem every day of the month during February. They are rough and unpolished, much like myself.
They say laughter is the best medicine And that God is a comedian But I fail to see the healing power In the divine punchline of your absence So I just call it blasphemy 28/28 is a ridiculous initiative I agreed to, where I write a short poem every day of the month during February. They are rough and unpolished, much like myself.
You do not scare me Even in the darkest corners of your cavernous heart I will stubbornly set up camp And wait out any storm This was never going to be painless We have not earned the right To love like God They told you It was your fault You were too hard Too damaged Too fucked up They just couldn’t see your light And had no patience in dark tunnels 28/28 is a ridiculous initiative...
Try to tell me One more time That you are not beautiful And I will carve your reflection into my palms To turn everything I touch Into a shrine You will not find The answers In his eyes To questions You cannot bring yourself to ask In the mirror And I would gladly Turn my hands into martyrs If it meant you would remember this 28/28 is a ridiculous initiative I agreed to, where I write a short ...
Your body speaks morse code while you sleep You twitch to the irregular rhythm of your secrets And I spend hours Trying to learn your patterns 28/28 is a ridiculous initiative I agreed to, where I write a short poem every day of the month during February. They are rough and unpolished, much like myself.
Before you escaped the cold grip of routine For the warm embrace of Recife I said to you, in earnest Over shaken drinks and mixed emotions That I was looking forward to meeting you Again Knowing you will never abandon The rock-solid thesis of your core I can only imagine the depth That this journey will weave into your being Although you may not recognize this new reflection You will walk...
Ode to the sucker who marries me There will come a day When I will be a wrinkled photograph of the woman you fell for My waist will expand with the fullness of anniversaries My breasts will sag with the relief of a job well done I will tell you That my calloused skin weathered these storms So that you would know What unconditional really felt like I will want you To use my moles as anchors for...
There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.– Maya Angelou
He is a ghost Every night I feel the familiar chill As he slides underneath the sheets with me He carries razor blade questions that Cut into my neck like a seat belt stuck at an awkward angle Chokes the remnants of remorse left in my belly Up into my throat I wake up gasping for distance He is a stain Stubbornly stuck on the inside of my conscience I bleach it Until the vivid images of his pain...
I loved you today Every waking moment of thought Was offered to you as alms And in return You gave me peace Today, I walked with the glow of a young lover An unguarded heart in one hand A bouquet of blind faith in the other With the endless gushing Of a river untainted by man-made toxins I proudly annoyed the shit out of my co-workers I found your name in every nook of silence Picked it up and...
There is a special place in hell for women who don’t help women.– Madeleine Albright speaking to an auditorium full of women at TEDWomen in Washington on Wednesday. You go, former Secretary of State. (via washingtonpoststyle)
There are days I force this hand to write trivial offerings of distraction In attempts to appease the thunder between us into silence I’ve taught these words to dance around the truths held captive in my mouth Marionettes to keep the gatekeeper of our landmines amused I scribble ransom notes in love poems Hide bribes in haikus Speak negotiation through sarcasm Anything to keep the civil...
Mother Never will I be able to fill this paper With patterns of ink perfect enough To describe you Though many poets dedicate their lives To the depth of your meaning You are simply One of many But you are mine And I will live my life in your reflection Always mindful Ever present Never perfect Mother Never will I be able to fill this paper With words rich enough To afford your wisdom ...
The moment I became aware of my own mortality Was the morning I felt a hangover in my knees Creaking like my cheap laminate floorboards My bones ached in unison Chants of remorse echoed in every joint And faded stamps adorned my wrists They were vivid reminders of hazy memories Trophies of audacity For a grown woman trying to party Too fucking hard on a Wednesday 28/28 is a ridiculous initiative...
He said “I don’t believe in past lives” While our eyes told inside jokes that had not once tickled our lips Our fingers danced to the fluid choreography of Love’s resilience To a beat we were born to fall into So I asked him With the smug wisdom of everyone I’ve been before To explain this rhythm The question clung to the smoke in the room Floated on each note from...
You call us crazy Say we love like wildfire Reckless and irrational We spread your patience like thin ice Then shatter it With another dinner plate Against the wall But Lord knows We try Every muscle feels the thunder coming Long before you hear it We try to protect you We ration logic like canned soup for the rainy days ahead But the eye of the storm Can rob even the most prepared Of...
Superbowl Sunday I blame you for robbing me Of my eloquence Yep…a haiku, bitches. #todayishell 28/28 is a ridiculous initiative I agreed to, where I write a short poem every day of the month during February. They are rough and unpolished, much like myself.
(Short. Blame the Superbowl.) Your fingerprints branded me like a crime scene Five pressed firmly on my waist Five caught violently in the Venus fly trap tangles of my hair The curves of my DNA started to spell your initials I wanted your identity Thought that was how love worked I dug through forensics to find proof we were one There was endless evidence That my heart pumped to the rhythm...
He found self-satisfaction In masterfully baiting her affection Hand fed her hook, line and sinker His breath smelled of last night’s catch He kept a garden in the nightstand Said it helped him sleep As if he laid awake at night Plagued by fantasies Of new tantric ways He could fuck with her He found it arousing To play with the soft curves of her emotions Paid liberal attention to the...
Tick, tick, tick Yes child, I hear you But your beautiful potential is wasted Knocking on the doors of homes With no lights on Although I may crave Your large eyes full of tomorrow The harmony of our giggles And the endless stream of your insatiable questions Even though I may wonder What features of his you will earn What flaws of mine will plague you What a pair of combustible opposites Could...
When you watch your wife sleep Do you admire her stillness Are you envious of how peace Looks like highlights in her hair When you watch your children eat Do you feel insatiable pangs of fear Are you scared that you’ve lost the ability To let simple things Bring you inexplicable pleasure Does it feel like the mirror Is merely mocking you With the disfigured shell Of the man you once were...
Trust hung loosely from my wrist Like a clutch purse in a crowded bar I abandoned it recklessly In shots of quick fixes for your absence It burned going down Tasted worse coming back up Clutched harder Nailed spikes into the distance between us Pushed farther Crucified you as a casualty of my corrosive candor Like a martyr Spoke of nothing to you But love And I’m sorry For forever knowing...
So I do this poetry shit. And for some reason, I’ve agreed to write 28 poems in 28 days with two of the most talented poets I know. #JesusTakeTheWheel These are beyond rough drafts. Brainstorms, if you will. So judge not, lest ye be judged and kicked in the face by thine truly. 1/28 I’m learning to love you slowly Like deliberate steps on icy pavement in February Each one pregnant...