you were a ******* masterpiece;
a shattered hurricane
of broken hands
and ****** knuckles
and mascara stains
that never really washed out
so impeccably broken
so wonderfully flawed
you tore the ocean to shreds
you scattered the sand
and ripped apart the sunrise
like an old picasso lost in the basement
like that god **** whisper in the oven
like poetry written in broken bottles
and empty sandboxes
i guess i've always had a penchant
for a beautiful disaster
i've always touched the edge of the fire
and waited for my fingertips to burn
but i didn't mean to fall into the flame
now i've got ashes in my bones
and embers in my skin
and when i touch the fire
it just ******* freezes me
i didn't know what it was like to miss something
until i felt it in every single cell in body
i didn't know what it was like to miss something
until i didn't know how to feel anything else
we broke twilight in half
and crawled inside the empty space
and somehow it still doesn't feel like home
nothing feels like home without you anymore
i'm still ticking off the calendar backwards
for when i can finally count time
on my own hands again;
i want to count for you
but my fingers just don't bend that way
and i want to prove to you i mean it
i always meant it
but i can't make my knuckles turn past
the black and blue
i'm sorry i couldn't love you like you meant it
i'm sorry i couldn't make you believe it
i hope the roadkill in your driveway
at least makes it to the graveyard
since you never did lay me to rest
i hope your own dreams at least get a eulogy
even though god himself knows you don't deserve it
Oct 22, 2016
Oct 22, 2016 at 12:39 PM UTC
i’ve been dancing on the clouds again,
whispering all my secrets into a dollar bill every night
because i’m too cheap for a twenty
and i know i’m not worth the extra,
but there’s a storm inside
and the clouds keep turning to mist
before i can ever finish a song;
the thunder is an earthquake in my bones
and i can feel them crumbling
every time the snow melts,
turning to ash until i’m too limp to dance anymore,
and the rain is a tsunami in my chest
that keeps tearing through the cage around my heart
every time i remember the flavor of the month
coursing through my veins
and dripping out my nose;
i’ll tell you a secret:
sometimes i even lick my lips.
but the lightning only comes
when i’m thinking of
the way the golden rays of sunlight
peek out from behind the clouds,
and the way the salty tide brushes up
against my fingers in the sand,
and the way the heartbeat of the ocean
engulfs my whole body
while the water clings to the thirst in my skin;
sometimes i bathe my throat
in a harsh bolt of white lightning
before taking a dive in that musky swamp
just to see if it’s the same,
but the bruises on my thighs
still make me wash my hands
until my knuckles bleed;
i finally realized pandora’s box
is the place where hope dies;
so bury me in the graveyard of
all the moans that died those nights,
carve out the epitaph with my own fingernails,
don’t give me a funeral unless it’s storming outside
and the lightning finally strikes me;
maybe one day i’ll stick my fingers
in a power outlet just to know the feeling,
since i know i’ll never be good enough
for the real thing
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 5:40 AM UTC
i close my eyes every night
and pray to a god i don’t believe in
that these dormant volcanoes will finally erupt,
that they'll finally burn away
the ashes under my finger nails
from every touch i can't ever give back,
that they'll finally drown me
in a scorching pang of apathy
so i can stop holding my breath;
I close my eyes every night
and take the hands of
a devil I don't believe in
while he leads me down to the fountain
and holds my head under the water
just so I'll stop begging him to do it for me,
just so I can wash down
the bile rising up in my throat
with a poison i’m beginning to reek of,
a poison swimming in my veins
and washing me away to a beach shore somewhere
with the salty tide tickling my tongue in the mist;
i can almost taste it.
but when the sun goes down
and the sky turns black
and the whisper of a
sea breeze behind my lips
fades back to broken mountains,
when i finally open my eyes
and i’m wading in the same swamp again
with that familiar sweaty scent
of musky resolution clinging to me,
i can't help but remember that it’s all real,
and yet none of it is;
i can’t help but scrub at the regret in my bones
until my skin turns red;
i can’t help but try to wash away this empty memory;
it chatters in my teeth
until my gums are raw and ******
*there’s a volcano stuck inside me
while i’m praying for a hurricane
to come and set me free*
nobody ever taught me
it wasn't supposed to be like this.
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 10:06 PM UTC
it's 1619
& the boats are all docking, bodies pouring onto the land as freedom pours out to the sea
it's 1724
& the shackles are all rattling beneath the beaten but unbreakable who never gave up
it's 1864
& the abolitionists are all cheering, but lucky 13 never translated to equality
it's 1870
& the voters are all gathered, but the bleached out crowd still managed a loophole around the number 15
it's 1896
& the crows are all preaching. separate but equal, they say, like you can really separate equality
it's 1955
& the front bus seats are all taken, white hot anger sparking 381 days of determination
it's 1957
& the students are all shocked, the little rock needs a thousand Feds just to blend
it's 1963
& 200,000 people all have a dream,
gathering in unity for the 'greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of the nation'
it's 1965
& the voting booths are all open, the wealthy pallid mass finally forced to share their ballots
it's 2008
& the white reign is all done pouring, the flood is still flowing but at least people have the chance to try to swim before the drown
it's 2016
& the trumpets are all singing, waning out the songs of the last 400 years like we still haven't learned anything
and maybe we haven't,
maybe i've just been too
hopefully ignorant
to hear the paralyzing
sound of the TRUMPets
all along
maybe i'm searching for a tomorrow that doesn't exist
because the sound of the trumpets is thrusting us all back into yesterday
but i refuse to join in on the symphony
'this is the new sound just like the old sound, just like the noose wound over the new ground'
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 2:33 AM UTC
it's not that i hate you
i don't
it's just all the saturday nights that
i poured into your empty beer cans
when you were so ****** up
you never even noticed that it was
me holding your hand
through all your nightmares
and it was me losing myself
in the fight against your demons
and he couldn't even see
that you were drowning;
it's not that i hate you
i don't
it's just that i can still hear you
crying over him
when the wind blows in the right direction;
i wasted all my breath
trying to remind you that you loved him
even though we both know you never did
and now my lungs are as empty
as the rest of me has been since
the moment you said
you didn't need me
i never took another breath
from anything but a cigarette again
it's not that i hate you
i don't
it's just the beautiful way you broke my heart
like it was your destiny
and i want to hate you
for all the hangovers from the nights
i couldn't let myself remember you,
for all the tears i left in my bestfriend's shirts
from every night she had to listen
to me sob your name,
for every piece of me that i gave up
trying to become someone else for you
i spent a year choking on the pain
seeping through the cracks in your voice
when you whispered to me
under the moonlight about him
and i wrestled with a typhoon in my chest
every time you sold yourself short
just to give a ******* to a boy
you knew you'd never love
and i listened to you complain
ever 'morning after' about wanting more
why wouldn't you let me give that to you?
it's not that i hate you
i don't
i hate myself for falling in love you
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 2:07 AM UTC
i’m choking on the sunlight washing over this world like it’s
trying to bleach out the blood stains soaking into the soil
from all the times humanity has proven to the universe
that we’re too ignorant to notice
that we’ve desecrated the land we call home,
even though ‘home’ is a feeling i buried a long time ago
when the earth is stripped inside out,
all you’ll find is a graveyard of broken promises
from every parent in the world who swore to a pair of infant eyes
i’ll always protect you
and instead found themselves in a hurricane of despair
cursing their own breath for letting whatever god they worship
make them into liars
if there is a god with the existential powers that be,
why won’t he make the angels wait?
closing your eyes to the universe makes it easy to ignore
the pointless wars fought over a petty man’s pride,
and the way children in some countries are no more
than expendable pawns on a chess board,
and how cultural individuality is perceived as a degeneracy
instead of one of the few naturally beautiful aspects of humanity;
but blind ignorance has been the root of most of the societal plagues
since the beginning of time;
*when are we going to learn that
you can’t fight blindness by closing your eyes?*
the blood painting our history hasn’t even dried yet
and we’re already abandoning our morality like
the last 200,000 years hasn’t taught us anything
about the souls giving themselves to the face of evil
or the lives we’re tossing into the wind without cause
i can feel their shadows clawing at my skin
and until we can own up to our flaws and our mistakes
and accept the guilt behind our actions
and fight to make a change in the way the world spins,
we really are no better than animals
our evolution is moving in reverse;
we're paving the way for our own armageddon
take a stand~
fight for the sake of your morality
~m.k.
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 12:22 AM UTC
infinity
i stare at the walls for hours on end
and dream about a time when
this box felt like home
and this chipped paint looked like something
other than a reflection of the fist-shaped
holes in my heart from nights
where ****** knuckles were the only
security blankets familiar enough to cradle
against me all night long
the clock keeps ticking,
all day and all night,
like the hands on the glass
that measure the feeble idea of some
meaningless notion from a corpse now
rotting in the same earth he dared to
test the limits of
actually means something
in the big picture
but in the aerial view,
the hands on the clock are all
snapped in two
because time can't save anybody
from vituperative parents;
from profligate neighbors;
from the entire volatile essence of humanity
time does not, in fact,
heal a broken heart,
or toss aside the muddy rug
with footprints of those who whispered
"i love you"
into the pillow case but never
came back in the morning
time can't protect anyone
from even the most unholy
truth of all:
there is no rapture on the brink
of delivery,
there is no antichrist plotting
a resurrection of hell,
there is no divinity coming
to save you from the darkness
inevitably forcing its way
into this world
people are destroying each other
because humanity is flawed
and no amount of time can
ever find the piece of the puzzle
that would sync us all together in
a symphony of lives untouched by the
execrable blood pumping in the veins
of this earth like a poison
time can't save you from yourself
*and so maybe, the hands
on this clock are better off
broken.*
m.k.
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 10:08 PM UTC
one morning changed the lives of 280 million people
one moment ended the lives of 44
*10:03 on a Tuesday morning
in the fall of an American dream
a man is doing what he knows is right
on flight 93*
four righteous men gave their all
on that tragic morning
one was deemed a lesser hero because
of who he chose to love
*Loved his mom and he loved his dad
loved his home and he loved his man
but on that ****** Tuesday morning
he died an American*
he bled red, white and blue
he died for his country
his courage stained the grass
and yet his bravery was not as
valuable as the other three heroes
because of whom he chose to
spend his life with
*Even though he could not marry
Or teach your children in our schools
Because who he wants to love
Is breaking your God's rules*
40 innocent american's crashed into
pennsylvanian soil that morning
4 monsters crashed landed
straight to hell
4 men saved hundreds of lives that day
four men
not three
*He stood up on a Tuesday Morning
In the terror he was brave
And he made his choice and without a doubt
A hundred lives he must have saved*
he was denied marriage to
the man he loved
he was denied by your god
he was denied his rights
but he never denied his country protection
*And the things you might take for granted
Your inalienable rights
Some might choose to deny him
Even though he gave his life*
the land of the free and
home of the brave became
the land of silence and
home of tragedy that morning
and the dismissal of a man's valor
was a part of that tragedy
*Can you live with yourself in the land of the free
And make him less of a hero than the other three
Well it might begin to change ya
In a field in Pennsylvania*
bravery is the same color
on everybody's hands;
it's not black nor white;
gay nor straight;
man nor woman;
courage is in the blood of every american
*Stand up America
Hear the bell now as it tolls
Wake up America
It's Tuesday Morning
Let's roll*
september 11th, 2001 was a day of unimaginable cruelty
our land was desecrated and our safety was shattered and our families were broken
never forget
m.k.
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 3:07 AM UTC
i'm drowning in the waves
splashing my heart with
the ache that comes with missing you
was i nothing to you all along?
you played me like that favorite song
you could never get enough of;
one day i was the only thing on your mind,
the only murmur to escape your lips,
until you got bored of the same old tune
and turned the stereo off for good
now it's just white noise
fading with the rainy day sunset,
like apollo left his lyre in the sun to rot
and the music never sang again
my heart never did
even the air can taste the thrall
of dionysus in my breath;
it reeks of jack these days
did you grow bored of me,
like theseus grew bored of ariadne?
*maybe she could tie her string into a noose
and escort me to asphodel*
...but i already feel like i'm
the walking epitome of death
a ghost
a whisper
a shadow in the darkness;
there but never there
the music has been silent on
this lonely island of ogygia
where you wouldn't stay with me
and i couldn't seem to leave
i spend every night watching you
float back to another world
while i'm stranded on the outside looking in
i know you'll never come back
but i spend every night with my feet in the water
and i pray that poseidon will carry
your boat back to my shore
false hope is all i have left
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 1:00 AM UTC
i'm tripping over these old ghosts
trying to run from past licking my heels,
but i just can't seem to get away from
the bloodshot eyes in the mirror.
i've been playing these old records again,
looking for the voice i once had;
but i'm running out of words
and i don't know if i can find them again;
i'm not sure i want to.
the monsters under my bed
have all come out to play,
but i'm afraid of the emptiness
that comes with the silence
much more than i am of the dark;
i've made a home in the abyss of oblivion,
and i think the eternal chasm
just may be the shelter
i've been craving:
shelter from the perpetual vacancy that has
lived in my chest since you decided
i wasn't good enough,
shelter from the painful echo
of the right choices i never made,
shelter from the memories of the innocent eyes
that used to look back at me in my reflection
once upon a time ago.
that girl is nothing more than
a whisper in the dark now,
the outline of a shadow i lost long ago,
and not the kind i can ever sew back on.
sometimes lost things stay lost,
and even when the memory is long since forgotten,
pieces of us search forever,
search everywhere and search nowhere,
and we never do find what we're looking for.
i never did find you again,
nobody else tastes like the heaven in your breath,
nobody else takes me to paradise,
nobody else had my future in their eyes.
*these nirvana cds are all played out
but i still search for you in every song*
my papers are all blank
my guitars are all untuned
and these sylvia plath poems don't hurt
the way they used to.
i think i'm in love with the idea of you,
or with the beautiful way you
broke my heart,
or maybe i need someone to blame
for the mountain of bad decisions
that all began with you
i keep having the same dream every night:
you kiss all the monsters away,
but they're still lurking in my head
when my alarm buzzes,
and i know you'd never
dream about me too.
i once heard a fairy tale
where you gave me a home
every time you smiled;
i don't know how much longer i can
live there alone,
i don't know how much longer i can
hold onto you,
i don't know how much longer i can
hold on at all.
i surrender.
m.k.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 11:18 PM UTC