Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 May 2017 Caity Rose
Tom Leveille
someone's in the next room over
having *** while we
are weeping
what a way to mark the occasion
the day my fingers found a wound
you let someone else doctor
it's upsetting see
the bible in drawer next to us
the way our hands still
fit together
like the torn halves
of a love letter
the way you got
all dressed up like the rain
and how we couldn't tell
the difference in the shower
it was the longest hour and a half
spent crying
the hot water wouldn't give up
so why should we
right?
even though it was scalding
neither of us touched the ****
we knew this was supposed to hurt
your hair
a black mess against my shoulder
my fingers
oil in the vinegar of your hands
our bodies
the great divide
all the sobbing
a river runs through it
without the courage
to carry or **** us
so we step out
and drip dry
down to a mute breakfast
composed of quiet
and last nights liquor
as we came back in
there were people in our room
at first i thought them detectives
dissecting things
to see who had died here
i had forgotten this
was a hotel
and they were only
cleaning up after us
i wanted to stop them
plead
that the sheets were still perfect
that if they clean the bathroom
no one will know
what happened here
someone has to remember
"please
i know
these cigarette burns
by name
i will bury the faucet
let me take the tub
i don't care how
if i have to
i will drag it home by hand
"
 May 2017 Caity Rose
Tom Leveille
kissing you was like swerving into oncoming traffic

i can never tell if i am more haunted by empty picture frames or the ashes of their contents

you taught me that the saying "pick your battles" meant not answering when love was at the door

sometimes when i drink whiskey i swear i can hear your voice in the creases of my bedsheets & i sleep on the floor

i still catch myself running my hands over things you touched the most, looking for the echoes of your fingertips

i practice things i'll never say to you

i remember the day you told me you didn't like poetry, how "everything's already been said" & how "nothing meaningful can be captured without being cliche" you know, i don't miss you like the sun and moon, i do not miss you like tide bent waves crashing on the shoreline, i miss you like a chernobyl  swingset misses children

rumor has it that drowning is a lot like coming home, that drinking bleach can **** the butterflies in your stomach

for your love of cigarettes, i would have been an ashtray

this halloween i want to dress up as the you when you loved yourself and show up on your doorstep

i never understood what you meant when you said i was an instrument, back when you would cup your hands around my chest and breathe through the holes in my heart, i still wonder if the sounds i made remind you of wind chimes

i never paid much attention to abandoned buildings until i became one

in my dreams all the flowers smell like your perfume

i am the only person who has ever wished for the same snowflake to fall twice

if i could go back, and rewrite the definition of audacity, it would be how when we lost the bet of love, you said "we never shook on it"

i love you, if the feeling is not mutual, please pretend this was a poem

the only apology i want from you, is to have you repeat the names of children we will never have in your parents living room until they *****

we are the same person if you find yourself up at 4am dry heaving promises, or if you are kept awake by the laughter of those who've abandoned you

nobody ever told you that goodbyes taste like the back of stamps

sometimes i'm convinced that the only reason we hug, is so you can check my back for exit wounds
 May 2017 Caity Rose
Drin Tashi
The feeling of swimming underwater,

missing someone,

standing on top of a mountain.

The feeling of shedding tears over a movie,

excitment over a kiss,

running for no reason.

The feeling of jumping up and down over a song,

smiling to birds,

being lost after a drunken night out,

is what we should live for.
it may not always be so; and i say
that if your lips,which i have loved,should touch
another’s,and your dear strong fingers clutch
his heart,as mine in time not far away;
if on another’s face your sweet hair lay
in such silence as i know,or such
great writhing words as,uttering overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;

if this should be,i say if this should be—
you of my heart,send me a little word;
that i may go unto him,and take his hands,
saying,Accept all happiness from me.
Then shall i turn my face,and hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands
Never fall in love with a poet
for their words are sometimes lies
on occasions they're a shield
on occasions a disguise

They will take you on a journey
upon which they bare their soul
in a bid to ease your burdens
in a bid to make you whole

But in every word they choose
for the stories that they tell
lies a little piece of heaven
and a little piece of hell

Tormented souls we poets are
sometimes quite broken and despaired
in search of lost expressions
missed by others who once cared

Never fall in love with a poet
unless you're prepared to share their pain
to hold them close on the darkest nights
over and again
Follow me on Twitter @athomashawkins
http://twitter.com/athomashawkins
 Jun 2016 Caity Rose
Raj Bhandari
Oh yes it is really sad,
No job, so he is mad,
No more particular choice,
Just any job,will be glad !

A lot of forms will have to fill ,
End result remains always "nil",
Friends ,family always grill,
finding job, a task uphill !

But oh boy, don't give up hope,
Hold your grip on the rope,
You are a big born fighter,
Will you give up, never, nope !!
 Jun 2016 Caity Rose
Sonia Thomas
Who said you're good enough?
You're not beautiful
Well, maybe, if you just tried
To walk straight
With your hair straight
Always smiling
Stomach tucked in
With your thighs at a safe distance from each other
But not far enough for someone to make their way through
Why were your legs open?
Why was your button open?


Maybe this is why you don't have friends.
You have opinions.
Why are you seeking God anywhere else but
A temple
A mosque
A church?
God says you're beautiful only if He can see you.
Maybe that's why you're not beautiful.

No one is looking at you because you're beautiful.
They look at you because you're a freak,
A circus phenomenon
You're on display
But in all the wrong ways
With your sides hanging
And your back in everyone's faces.
How dare you impose?

Stop being yourself.
**** yourself.
Build yourself up.
But, don't forget to go through the instruction manual.
countless voices
cry to life
the giver
seeking, begging
give us
'more, more
and yet more',
till they hear
life saying,
'I shall give
when I receive'.

between life and death
life stares
and so do we
silence and sound
we ask each other
' what did we give?'
He is a storm
and storms devastate,
but every time he hurts you,
you hold your breath
and bear the hurricane;
repeating to yourself
One more chance
One more breath
just one more,
and you'll fix him

Until one day you can't
hold your breath anymore,
and you are half a stormy evening,
one tear stained night,
two minutes and five seconds
away from breaking down,

And you realize,
you cannot fix  anyone,
not until you fix  yourself.
Don't become broken glass just to be someone else's mosaic

— The End —