Oh my Lady Malady, your presence is a melody!
Forgive my nails if they dig too deep
beneath the paint that covers you.
Please free my hand, the one that tries
to shove you off the train.
I serenaded you when everything and everyone yelled
"YOU HAVE CANCER!!!"
I thought
you had a soft-
er heart, oh Lady Malady.
I, guess, not.
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 7:23 PM UTC
Last night you took my photograph,
the sky dark like a hand that sinned
within the winding wood. We laugh
and find peace in the wind.
After the night
the morning mourned: you looked lifeless,
foaming overdose. Disappear,
for I grow fond of your breathless
death. So run away from here,
as fast as you can,
run-
away -
Runaway as fast as you can.
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 11:10 AM UTC
Je suis née éblouie par la ville des lumières
and grew up in a city that once couldn't sleep,
dazed by the lights, my whole life I fled from
a heritage I wasn't told I could keep.
Je suis née des trottoirs, des rues noueuses et sales
and grew up on a block which remained much cleaner
than my conscience because I remember seeing
through blue eyes a black man being clobbered for a
misdemeanor.
Je suis née dans un pays où les fleures se fanent
and grew up in a place where the flowers were fake,
a house where anything that wasn't of plastic
was soon tossed in the sky, left to plummet and break.
Je suis née à Paris
J'ai grandis à New York
Je mourrai, ailleurs
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 4:31 PM UTC
There's a storm in my mind it's awaiting
because the harp's hum is abating (softly,
softly; you only hear it now
that it is but a fading vow)
with the years; it seems like the intercept
read a promise that was stolen and couldn't be kept.
*You lied, how you laid your lies with truth,
how the truth was lain and slain in lies,
how the trees burgeoned after you were gone
with blossoms like decaying wounds*
i remember, I remember your sparkling words
words that unfolded their black wings like birds
and collapsed into the wind current, and unlatched,
and abruptly arose, wings rigid, propelled by your smile,
propelled by the thought that our characters matched,
only to buckle within the next mile.
I felt the premonition. I just couldn't accept
that your eyes were a promise stolen,
(as your conscience became swollen)
and what is stolen can never be kept.
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 5:51 PM UTC
No, no - I don't love you, lover, not quite,
Not in the way that I love this fair night.
The cyclic kingdom of a waxy moon
Reigns o'er the darkness like a sparkling spoon,
Ready to scoop up the mess that the Sun
Has caused in passing, its garments undone.
But this night, this lithe, obsidian fire,
Nurtures the cloudless cloak: somber pyre
Where those who blanket themselves go to burn.
And I, puerile flame, wait in prayer my turn
To be tucked in tightly 'n' sent off to bed
In that still place where the astres are wed.
Night is the time when my thoughts bathe in light,
When musky warmth wafts in without a fight,
When even the most stubborn dreamers yield
And the fear and the love in my heart are revealed.
No, I don't love you in that way, for
As much as I love Night, I love your eyes more.
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 12:01 PM UTC
Because yesterday we were one of those frustratingly simple paintings,
(maybe a blue one with a dark streak in its center);
the Pragmatic find it laughable and "an insult to art,"
the Artsy tear it apart until it has a meaning, and
you and I, the Artists, want it to represent everything we are and will ever be.
Because tomorrow we'll be an umbrella in a trashcan,
(maybe a dotted one with the complexion of a dead, twisted spider);
the Realistic will attribute it to the strong wind and showers,
the Fledglings will nod at it like a tombstone in a cemetery, and
you and I, the Hurricane, will regard it as a mistake, a blunder, a bump on our mutual journey apart.
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 11:38 AM UTC
Well if I sound depressed enough,
maybe I'll scrape together enough followers
to be taken seriously
when I write with
the melancholic grit
of Sylvia Plath;
and maybe then this sadness draped over my shoulders
will flow gracefully when
I walk by all the things I did for you;
and maybe this statement piece isn't so impressionable;
and I don't have to wear something plain to go with it,
because I'm tired of being told I'm 'over-the-top'
like a teddy bear peaking out of a garbage can;
and maybe I'll post this the instant
fashionable sadness falls out of style -
and then your pity would be quashed
and then your pity would be quashed
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 6:35 PM UTC
I write in the trance of triangular years
whose reverse-osmosis has done but clear
the last memories I held dear
and somewhere along the line of
perpendicular feelings, Love
found its nesting in my heart like a dove
seeking the shelter it was deprived of
because maths and science concretize
my malady. Brittle beings, they vaporize
like mist exhaled for exercise.
These faces I try to exorcise
are the only ones I recognize
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 8:43 PM UTC
They say there are passions you cannot tame,
Which may beat you down until you see spots.
I don’t know why I have to say your name,
Every time I’m alone with my thoughts.
I say it in the elevator, I
Sing it in the streets, I yell it so loud
In my head it seems like this desp’rate cry
Is a trumpet sound on a holy cloud.
I say it like a passion I don’t want
To tame, like something big that has to burn
Brightly and scorch my skin, and taunt and haunt
Me, a prayer for your presence to return.
There is a sea I can’t ever sail smooth,
There is a fire that water can’t soothe.
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 6:21 PM UTC
, but depression seems the more obvious
topic to exhaust recently.
and i went running this morning to feel less fat
and stretched afterwards in a short-winded burst of resolution.
An hour later i collapsed into the arms of a friend
and exchanged ambiguous signals with him until night fell:
(he wants a friend, i want a kiss, you see).
I'm actually happy right now,
energetically kicking the can down the road.
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 10:41 PM UTC