The dawn of beauty has sunk deeper
within walls
and the world has grown grey
the scars engraved on her skin is
what i see as "beautiful"
a man, hand in hand, with another man,
is what i see as "beautiful"
the curves of her shape, the freckles on his shoulders
but television screens, pages on magazines
only parades porcelain skin, thigh gaps
beautiful women, clumps of mascara,
curves drawn to our waists,
society can't accept us, if imperfection will hold us together
when we are falling apart.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 9:09 PM UTC
your mother is your
best scar
healing parts
of you
only she grew in you
do not dare to
pack your bags
and leave her door
all she ever did
is opened hers to
you
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 6:54 AM UTC
There are so many poems
I could write
if only
you were not an ocean away
but your eyes are like
a ripple into the sea
and the words you've held on to
left your body
shipwrecked and crinkled
If only your fingers
could find mine
underneath the ocean
underneath the surface
beneath the soil
the fire the land
where reality fills a gap
where imagination
sinks in
The world may pull
you from your sleeves
but Atlantis
can reach you
from the weakest parts
of your knees
to the lines on your
lips
There are so many poems
I could write
if only
you were not an ocean away
If there was an alternate universe
I would be writing
your name across the
spider web stars
I would dig into the deepest
parts of your mind
where you keep all
of your bad thoughts
I would collect each of them
with my bare hands
and I would remind you
"this is how I fell in love
with you."
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 11:27 PM UTC
Unlike some,
I do not want to be a masterpiece
on an artist's wall
I do not want to be the overplayed
song on the top 10 charts
Don't get me wrong
it's lovely to be the only
flower in a green field
I want to be the used
paintbrush the young artist
quietly learns to keep forever
I want to be the only pencil
the writer takes life notes with
I do not want to be a favorite
book, sitting on the top
of your shelf.
I do not want to be an abandoned
word you left unsaid,
I want to be the analog camera
you use when the world is
flickering in fuzzy city lights
I want to be the poet's
stanzas in prose
I want to be the failed
color shade of mistake
on an artist's art work
I want you to learn that when
the tides roll in,
when the sand dusts oxygen
in thin air.
the shreds of my heart
will curl like burning photographs
I am the napkin you use
when there is no paper
or phone or notebook
to write down every inch
of your feeling.
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 9:33 PM UTC