Kneel at that river bend
in supplication
in silent meditation
and hold fast to the quiet whisper that say
Drink
between heartbeats
in a slow lazy way
so that it curls around you
but you look at the water
and your hands are frozen
it is not clean
maybe there is another river
or faster moving water
you rise from the riverbed
you are afraid
of the water
of the current
you can swim
but you do not know if you can stand
at the riverbed
the current is fast and unforgiving
it moves around you
through you
it does not touch you
the river moves forward
rushing
turning
roiling
it will drown you
Kneel
there is another river
there is faster moving water
but still
Kneel
Drink
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 2:51 PM UTC
This is the closest thing to honesty.
Every quote you’ve ever heard about
treating your woman like a queen
is right.
But it's not true.
A queen. they say. Treat her like a QUEEN.
But what is a QUEEN?
You, who have never bowed your head to kiss the earth, who have never sworn fealty, who've never beaten your brow against the rage of a world - how would you understand a QUEEN.
We have this image of spoiled royalty
a pretty princess dress
a tiara
a girl in a high tower
or a woman, on a throne, cold and dismissive.
But that's not right
a QUEEN is DUTY
to the people
to the land
to a kingdom.
A QUEEN is a country.
A QUEEN is only ever A QUEEN.
You have a choice.
Blessed are you, man.
You have a choice.
Be a peasant
a blacksmith
a merchant
be anything in the world.
But treat your woman like A QUEEN.
So be a knight.
Not a knight in shining armor
She doesn't need to be saved.
She's A QUEEN
She walks with crushed empires in her shoes
She rises.
Maybe blood drips from her sword
Maybe it’s a slaughter
But she builds the empire.
My head is my throne
My lip is my kingdom
My eyes are my army
My breath is my law
My hands are my sword
My heart is my crown.
I am a country at war
an empire in birth
a court on fire.
I am a warning
and a reminder
There’s a reason why, exactly, the QUEEN is the deadliest player on the board.
Nov 17, 2016
Nov 17, 2016 at 12:08 PM UTC
I am in love with a poet
I love the way he bends words and the world till they tie into his own view
The way he changes reality so that it fits what he thinks the world should be
Not what it is.
I'm in love with a poet. But I've never written a single poem.
I feel like poetry is a state of mind.
He's a poet.
He is a poet.
I grow weary of poetry
My poems always work in large weaving arcs
They make no sense. Changing meaning faster then I write
I don't understand them.
In short, my poetry *****
But still. It's poetry
I wonder if I say it out loud does that change it.
Do I change it.
Have I changed?
Do I want to.
Does saying something change anything?
I adore you? I love you? I miss you?
Stop.
He knows that already.
Poetry scares me.
So I am bad at it.
You have to learn to let go.
You have to fall into it.
You have to have something to fall into.
I am in love with a poet.
And he's in love with poetry
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 11:15 PM UTC
They say
You are what you eat
So I pick beautiful flowers
And devour them.
Don't be afraid
They take root in my brain
pinch my eyes closed
pry my heart open
Slip seeds into my bloodstream
I devour flowers
Because they are small beautiful things
And I want to be
Beautiful
In that same fragile and wilting way.
I take them from the ground
so that one day I can
wither in embraces
And die in glass containers
On your bedside table
In your living room
Still and stuck and slow
I put them in my mouth whole
Petals tickling my tongue
Sliding down my throat
Roots melding into flesh
And they taste like sunshine and dirt
And something distinct
that feels like
Breathing
I devour them
till I have a garden growing in my stomach
Breaking across my skin
And I will keep
Devouring
Till they take root in my heart
And I am made of fragile
Beautiful
Things
That you can devour.
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 11:53 PM UTC
If I was braver
I'd tack a world map to my wall
and put a pin
in all the places that scared me
little yellow and green dots
that show me
how little I know of the world
and I'd go to everyone of those places
slowly,
through my lifetime,
and stay for a little
or a lot
until I could remove
that coloured dot
off the map on my wall
but I am not brave enough
to wake every morning
to a reminder
that I am afraid.
If I was kinder
I would leave notes
on sticky pads
with little lines of poetry
or things that remind me
of you
and I'd leave them where I know you could never see them
encoded into paintings that I hide in drawers
in languages that I know you don't yet speak
I'd fill books
with slanted lines written in blue ink
and sketches of your heart beat
and I'd keep my kindness close to my chest
but I am not kind enough
to love you
without wanting you to love me in return.
Maybe,
one day,
I will put up a world map
and put blue pins for some of the places that reminds me of you
and never explain it, even when you ask
and fill a little yellow notebook with my fears and doubts
and give it to you in a grey box
with a scarf or a sweater
or something innocuous.
and I will consider that a good start
towards wanting
without needing.
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 12:57 PM UTC
**** you” She writes
and deletes it
“I’m Alone” She writes
and deletes it.
The best thing about texting is the delay
It’s not that you don’t say what’s on your mind.
It’s that you don’t say the FIRST thing on your mind.
I’m tired.
I’m tired, and I’m lonely
But most of all, I am a bad poet.
Jun 24, 2012
Jun 24, 2012 at 10:34 PM UTC
I'm worried you think I'm a ****
or a *****
or worse yet
lying.
I'm bad at putting myself into words
which is funny
because I can never stop talking.
I'm worried you think that I don't adore
that you think I'm drunk on his fingertips
that you think that I don't think about this
with careful measured thoughts
in between heartbeats.
I'm bad at showing my thinking
which is stupid
because all I do is think
I'm worried that you think he can forget you
or worse yet,
that I can.
no one can forget you, love.
I worry.
I worry about you.
which is silly
because why would you need me to worry for you.
but I'm beginning to feel.
to feel every single breath and every single blink and every single tug
I'm happy.
and I want you to be too.
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 10:52 AM UTC
Reality is cracking at the edges.
It’s stretching itself thin trying to make room for my head.
For what resides inside my head.
And I’ll never have this conversation because you need a whole day
To wrap yourself around whatever the **** it is you have to say
But I get that you are different from who I want you to be
I like you anyway.
I need the universe to stop expanding
I need reality to crack along the fissures
Create and destroy right along the fissures
I need to believe that it exist out there somewhere
And that if I just get better the world will just stay here
I want to stay here forever.
Here, with my friends in the corners and you at my finger tips
Where I can be wrapped in my own skin and feel free
Where I can dance on the cracks of the world. suspended.
and flying.
Feb 10, 2012
Feb 10, 2012 at 6:09 PM UTC
This is how you write a poem.
You close your eyes.
and you forget yourself.
you let your fingers ghost over the keyboard
and you press down
whenever it strikes you.
pick a key, any key.
a real magician never reveals his trick.
This is how you write a poem.
you close your eyes.
and you dive into yourself
you pull a part of you to the surface
and you release it out into the world
whatever part of you is screaming
the loudest part of your soul
the squeaky wheel gets the oil
This is how you ruin a friendship
you let something fester in the back of your mind
you let it grow and change and push
until there is no more space for it in your head
until you've made no more space for it in your head
and you push it out through your body.
I've heard alcohol helps.
This is how you ruin a friendship
you don't think of them until it's too late
Or you don't call them on there birthday
Or you laugh while you dance on their grave
Or you think too much when you hear their name
Or you give until you've given it all away
Or you play too hard so you lose the game
This is how you ruin a friendship.
I wasn't joking about the alcohol.
It's not because it makes you do things that you don't want
You don't wake up and immediately feel ashamed or regret
It's because it takes away the part of you that thinks about other people
It's only about what you want, It's only about you
(it's my party and I'll dance if I want to)
The regret and shame sneaks in afterwards
from the same corner of your mind that the force came from
and it's not that you regret your choice.
Or that you don't maybe want it to happen again
It's just that you remember there are other people in the world.
Sometimes I hate that there are other people in the world.
But only because other people matter so much in the end.
This is how you write a poem.
you take something in your life
you talk about it with metaphors and similes and flowery language
until your pen is falling of the page
until it's so vague not even the paper knows what you are saying
Do you understand that?
(is it crystal clear?)
Poems lack clarity.
I don't regret it.
I didn't find it weird
Actually, I kinda like it.
I'm worried that saying it so many times has made it seem like a lie
Something like me thinks the lady doth protest to much
It's not a lie
But he is not the audience of this poem
It's you.
I don't know if I need to apologize.
I'm worried I might.
I told you once that I have difficulty being a good friend
I hope you don't believe me now.
I hope you don't believe me ever
This is how you write a poem
you find a friend who writes better than you
and you try not to ***** it up for long enough to pick up a few tricks.
Feb 5, 2012
Feb 5, 2012 at 10:03 AM UTC
They say things like friends and hold your hand
and they think things like don’t run from me
and it echoes in the beat of your heart
old and ancient and forever
even if it’s the speech you first heard today
It echoes against you
new and old
terrifying and safe
short and forever
like a blue sky when you can feel a storm on it’s way
the words spill from their mouth
tumbling over their upturned lip
and it’s the first time you’ve ever heard a lie
and known it was the truth
it’s just the ice inside your grace melting
it’s just your soul being born
It’s just friendship.
its just everything
You think it’s the kind of friendships they would write books about
if there was a battle to be won
but instead it’s just the echo of notalonefriend, iloveyoufriend
and at the end of a lifetime there is nothing just about that
Jan 22, 2012
Jan 22, 2012 at 5:30 PM UTC