i wrote this poem. it hurt. each letter of it. hurt. people like this? i hate every poem i write. it's a necessary evil. that's all. i've never been good at playing numb. the trap i was born into is kept clean now. i write, it hurts. something hurts so i write. oh, i'll say i don't. but i do.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 7:23 PM UTC
the dirt on my hands resembles blood. i've gotten too good at this. my shovel kisses the earth. one more returns to where we all began. the blood is dirt, the dirt is blood. these hands are rough & the shovel knows more than it should.
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 7:45 AM UTC
how many ghosts live in these walls? family photos harbor dust. boxes cover the floorspace. furniture moves, it's unsettling. the impermanence of it all makes this place seem dead. it's odd how many things one person can own & still have nothing. love used to flow through each room. all that's left is dust. you can't make a home out of an empty building. you're just moving furniture around now. & when you leave, each memory will stay. the word 'home' will not be said here again. it's finally silent, save for the echoes.
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 10:23 PM UTC
broadway is black except for red & blue flashing lights. traffic comes to a halt then quickly resumes its slow crawl down the road. nothing happened. somewhere a fire is extinguished. a star explodes. all the roses wither away. a gardener hopes & prays that they'll maybe grow. no amount of sound could muffle the pounding of a heart with one beat left. on this darkened street corner, i watch one rose wilt.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 10:57 PM UTC
i watch my niece take newly learned steps through the halls of the nursing home her parents work at. death cannot touch her. "it's sad how many empty rooms there are here, i remember when they were full." one day these voices won't echo. innocence is bliss & i've watched it walk those now silent halls in baby shoes.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 5:20 PM UTC
my emotional state is all over the map. the house roars & with it, the brain. i miss the calm before the storm. peace is a lie. memories are made while thinking about how great a memory this moment will one day be. i miss living in the moment. years drag along, their feet are tired. the geography of emotion cracks slowly.
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 7:31 PM UTC
my father always told me to walk tall. i remember heading home with a ****** nose & no headphones. the next night we walked together. you will not be scared. i've grown since then.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 7:14 PM UTC
rain drips from the dead limbs of trees & i think about those old monsoons. the road trip was dead silent this time. those two years were a storm. he said we're going back home, i said my body's tired of making homes out of empty houses. my final house with him was drafty & small. i'm moving out but i'm done trying to find home. all i remember was how his chokehold blossomed into warm embrace.
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 7:21 PM UTC
this house is full of stories. it took decades to get this many pictures on the wall. we all exist together under this roof. but at night, we're all somewhere else. everyone coughs from one too many cigarettes. swallows always find their way back home. i wonder how many pictures line this wall.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 1:53 AM UTC
i can't remember the last time i was rendered speechless. no comforting words come to mind. that might be for the best. the sudden realization of a draining hourglass is a blow that cannot be lessened. silence might have to do. it's crazy to think of weird, stupid things like that. there will be no silence tonight.
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 1:09 PM UTC