Have you ever tried to hold close somebody who is crying?
You're so uncomfortable to offer
the impersonal tissue or the personal handkerchief
so you extend your hand, and shoulder, and chest
for it's right atop your heart.
Soon there is snort on your shirt you just don't know of from all the wet.
What's on your shirt is absorbed by your cloth
and is dispersed by its fabric.
There it finds contact with your skin
that is replete with pores that run very deep
but aren't armoured with the right toxins.
It stings- first sign of assault. You deny- first step to acceptance.
Your insides have all it takes to reach out.
So they do. And you, have traded iron for rust.
A binging blood can't tell that.
Your systems turning against you was just the first strand
of the crosshairs as you wrapped around me.
Salty fluid shards of me, inconspicuously stabbing into you.
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 4:35 AM UTC
Next time
don't give birth
to a child
if you can't
allow one a life.
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 3:53 AM UTC
I like it when sudden rains break my plans.
I can turn my bike around to where I'd rather be.
I like it when my plans, woven in reluctant compulsions,
outweigh themselves from absorbing all the liquid intent.
I like it when hollow expectations, culprits of my plans,
overflow due to complacent nature of futility.
My plans, an accidental pregnancy, have much to gall
And I like it for they no longer stand tall.
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 2:49 PM UTC
I was on my back.
His head moved away, downward,
clearing my line of sight;
I looked with wonder-
more of disbelief-
at a leaf held by the ceiling.
I felt him dig,
“Are you inserting yourself?”
“Just the finger. Look.”
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 2:18 AM UTC
I'm a button.
Plain. Inane.
The shirt, the frock,
silk or cotton
they call me a pain.
The thread of colors
Tempts me all right.
And then I'm held
in crisscross layers,
Helplessly uptight.
I make it a promise
to snip off and roll down
the clutches of the thread,
and make my way
into the refuge of
The supple fingertips
The dulcet touch
of your blessed hands,
without even frowning,
without a ping.
Even if it means
being stitched back again
into the piece of dull clothing,
a thousand times over.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 1:53 AM UTC
Lying in your bed
are strands of her hair.
She knows. She let them there.
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 4:21 PM UTC
Come back home, to warmth, to roof.
Come back home, I'll take a hoof.
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 1:17 PM UTC
Dreams that I slept
in your lap, on your chest
Pyres that I leapt
over and over, at your behest
Crevices I crept
through, while you'd rest
Will heave weeps adept
when their sights arrest
the unnoticed attempts.
my bereft nest, your thriving theft.
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 2:30 PM UTC
A simmering start-
Unjust behaviour
Or a broken heart.
Angry transformation.
Vindictive ambition.
Infernal condition.
Anguish and trauma.
All incurred.
Trespassed precinct.
Animal Instinct.
The wounded hath
The curse of Wrath.
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 6:45 AM UTC