Sound:
The hum of a patient amp
wraps around your moving lips
A silent symphony screams in my ears
but grows silent
as the clean ring of a guitar
flows from your dancing fingers
Dial up the gain
I can hear the toast crumbs
against chilling marmalade
hear the sing of smoke-ridden lungs
with the crisp chirp of an early bird.
Touch:
Callused taps
steel strings warmed
from fleeting fingers sliding up
and down the brisk wooden limb
waking up from its slumber.
Soft groove of a joystick
sweaty plastic buttons
you were the exciting buzz
that vibrated in my palm
when I hit that combo
Oct 21, 2017
Oct 21, 2017 at 5:51 AM UTC
When the nights get too long
and my heart gets too heavy
and nothing but regret and indifference
remains;
I pray for the twinkling spots in the sky
and the pale capsules in my palm
to take me
away.
Oct 11, 2017
Oct 11, 2017 at 5:02 AM UTC
I'm sorry my bones are fragile,
breaking from the touch of your voice.
I'm sorry my tears burned your delicate skin,
and sorry if my screams broke your ribs.
I'm sorry I ran away,
away from your charcoal claws.
I'm sorry I house a broken body
and tore my cracking heart.
I'm sorry I fought off the darkness in my veins,
but too tired to fend off your demons.
I'm sorry I was the one who carved your scars
and squeezed your creaking lungs.
I'm sorry for saying "I'm sorry."
I'm sorry for believing that phrase
can heal bullet wounds,
and align planets.
Aug 12, 2017
Aug 12, 2017 at 7:58 AM UTC
My name is Yellow.
As in the skin I bare,
and the heart beneath.
Yellow,
like the perfect grades,
and the failing student.
Yellow,
like the title stripped from my father,
and the title he wishes to strip from me.
Yellow,
unlike the parents,
and the silent daughter.
My name is Yellow.
And I am proud.
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 12:29 AM UTC
pacing breaths,
squeezing hands,
clenching teeth.
my lips move,
my throat knots,
tears pour instead of words.
hold my hand across the screen
kiss my shaky breaths and whisper
“you are Brave."
Jul 24, 2017
Jul 24, 2017 at 1:15 AM UTC
an orange hangs in the sky
air sweet of citrus
the falling star
paints clouds with the spectrums
of a youthful heart
the thin ebony fingers
at the edge of the sinking skies
reached for the
sink
in
g
darkness
goodnight.
Jun 18, 2017
Jun 18, 2017 at 3:47 AM UTC
My nails marked constellations,
rosé stars glistening on the yellow sky.
The deepest mark guides my frail bones,
weeping cherry wine across the heavens.
Let the crimson moons dangle on my skin,
painting my body with that scarlet lipstick.
Accent my amber stomach with shadows of my ribs,
lined up like the stormy clouds above my teeth.
I hold these flaws in my callused hands,
bury them deep in the veins that strangle my heart...
They keep my rusty lungs singing.
Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 2:59 AM UTC
I miss you,
every day a bit less
but I still do.
It's like an asymptote,
closer and closer to 0.
But never 0.
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 9:21 PM UTC
Tiny crescents lined
on my pale pink skin;
rosy moons hanging
above shaky lips.
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 2:04 AM UTC
I never really liked poetry.
I never really liked the crimson roses
that spilled from my fingertips.
I never really liked holding hands
with cosmos made of truth.
I didn't want the pearls
behind my eyelids to sing.
I didn't want to hear the screeches
that danced on my tongue.
I never really liked the ruby strings
that strangled my coarse throat.
I never really liked the charcoal fingers
that itched my ivory wrists.
I never really liked anything.
Until stars fell and galaxies
succumbed to my eroded feet.
I liked the way the burning skies
lived in the veins of my heart.
I liked the way my eyes bled
endless oceans alive with emotions.
I liked the sugar coated lips
perching on the branches of my head.
I liked the blossoms blooming
from the tip of my voice.
But still,
I don’t really like poetry.
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 1:30 AM UTC