Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Oct 2021 · 38
Francesca
Ava Weiland Oct 2021
She is too kind to me
And never seems too careful
She must think I am cut even
She must be blind to the stripes behind my hair
I forget the dark locks that crown her lovely face
She does not ask me any questions
But gazes
Will address two topics
Two only!
The mountains and the shut-down
She is too familiar
She is too close to saving a part of myself I thought was lost
All the work to retrieve it alone
But quick smiles are so enticing
I could give into it
Let her take me to coffee
Ground the space behind me
I don’t really want her
That voice so easy in my head
They all say she speaks in sweet music
I could learn to depend on coffee
But I am not lost
(Perhaps)
But she is shaped like the other one
I thought I’d lost
Oct 2021 · 45
Airplanes
Ava Weiland Oct 2021
The words have left my head
The words used to slide through my fingers
Now I simply sit
on a blue couch
Thin spread velvet, with strips of dark
Shaggy beside me, warm and white
The fluff of his fur, morning delight
I sent my sister links to dresses
Fashioned by snotty-nosed children
And class is done, class is over
And four hours to go and class is over again
And work is over, and work comes again
I dream of airplanes
Thrusting into the dawn air, at first cutting a line
Like the ten of swords out of the sky
Then curling, wings falling over themselves
Somersaulting into clouds, cold and white
Cumulus fluff, morning delight
A pilot, in control and out of control
And in control again
Always curving, sailing, glinting
Occasional apprehension of fatal mistakes
Fatality, fatality
Life sliding out of you like the words
Paint me sky blue with dark strips
Dress me in white fashion
Somersault me through the sky
Oct 2021 · 40
Somersaults
Ava Weiland Oct 2021
My backside hugging the grass cushion
His face above mine
Flushed like a child

Quick motion
He somersaults over my stomach
Landing awkwardly on the other side

Distracted boyish grace
Has my eyes closed
Has me frozen, like the seed I lay waiting
Oct 2021 · 27
Morning Rain
Ava Weiland Oct 2021
When I awoke
In the back of his car
I closed my eyes for
The fifteenth, hundredth time
Was afraid of splintering supernovas,
Smashed metal
Was afraid for my body
Was afraid of the heat center in my chest
Watched the rain watercolor tones of grey
On the car windows
Encapsulated, fetal
Wound still raw
Body shaking with affection
Trust and damp windows
Mellow and trust
Trust and music
Grey-toned streaming
Grey-toned banner way
Unwashed hair
Tender smiles
Car ceiling
Promises
Oct 2021 · 34
Meditation
Ava Weiland Oct 2021
I close my eyes and sit up almost straight enough
Count to four and eight and seven
Slowly sink to the wider blacker bottom
Feel butter soft and pleasant
And ask if I really deserve to feel
Sink into bliss forever and forget

Good morning I’m a visitor in your world
Do you even have mornings here
I didn’t mean to intrude
What are you doing for the greater good
What are you doing for the greater good

Nothing so far I’m doing nothing
But sitting and not listening
And not listening for most of my days
How do I help them, all they do is change

A certain time was allotted to him
I took all his harsh qualities and embodied them
I’m selfish and insecure and sorry
It’s okay it’s okay honey don’t worry

What are you doing for the greater good
If they sit shoulder to shoulder all the wars end
I can and I will and I would
Be a better me and a better friend
Oct 2021 · 127
Untitled
Ava Weiland Oct 2021
We have only a short time
We have
Oct 2021 · 31
Untitled
Ava Weiland Oct 2021
Star street Mickey Mouse
lemon balm ice cream jellyfish in jars
Distance Hollywood
Feed the homeless skip the bars

She finds a sidewalk square claims it her own
And we come back years from now
To assess it
Menus on the boardwalk spend too much
We’re stressin
Oct 2021 · 33
NY Summer Poem
Ava Weiland Oct 2021
I kissed the season
And turned to the curtain
French music in the garden
A man combs his hair with a wooden brush

Souvenirs in boxes
Little pieces of sunshine carried in my purse
I wonder if he is sitting on my love

Man wandering in optical pants
She is strange
It is okay to feel like this

When a storm lifts my heart
Am nowhere but here
Every moment is too familiar
I am not afraid anymore

People painted white
I think I was homeless in a past life
With a leg up in the sun
All kids are homeless
They sleep with the butterflies

I have to go buy a bottle of oil
Maybe that’ll solve all my problems
I’ll let u know how it goes
Oct 2021 · 20
The Midnight Orchid
Ava Weiland Oct 2021
Shine in the basement
She thought she caught a glimpse
A sprig of light, gentle sublime glow
The hallway was a greyscale tunnel
She didn’t know how to walk through
But the Midnight Orchid
Was in her hand

Clutched in a claw
More than money but it was dying
Slow, dried into beautiful, twisted paper
And she held it like a cross

When the hallway got darker, the petals
Dropped in a row behind her
When the shadows grasped
Every sound was thunder
And her eyes were white with terror
But the Midnight Orchid
Was in her hand

About half past 3 am
When the sounds got cloudy
Muffled by a violating silence that
descended from every direction
She moved like a wasp
From the circling doorway
And the Midnight Orchid
Was in her hand

Perhaps these didn’t didn’t transform
The way she saw herself
When she peered through curved glass
At the next “her” that would arrive

Through a dream that beckoned
And exploded her insides
Like infinite spirals of fire
The truth witnessed her
When light finally washed bare feet
And the stream of hallway petals
A moment gone
And a trillion moments come
The Midnight Orchid
Fell.
Oct 2021 · 31
She
Ava Weiland Oct 2021
She
She says she loves her boyfriend
And me and her are ‘just friends’
But every time we do it
She’ll break up with him again
Then I get all freaked out
And they get back together
And it goes on like that
Forever and forever

Never mind, did I tell you about the guy
Who walked in smelling like a stranger
Wanna buy him rose of Jericho
He’ll probably keep it forever
And I got a case of something
That’ll probably go undiagnosed
Yeah, I'm like everyone that way
Yeah, I'm like everyone that way
Oct 2021 · 19
Ripped
Ava Weiland Oct 2021
All this is here for you
We float and make a mirror of you
Hey little one did you talk too fast
Hey little one did you try to take it out of my mouth

Sorry I knew you were on the phone
I roll my eyes and put in the back again
Would you make it about me
For a night and forever or I’ll love you in space
I’ll love you in thousands of miles

They make it about you and so will you
Choose to do what you choose to do
And choice is loss by nature it’s a scale
So be analytical weigh what you’ll gain

I can’t keep coming back here
Every time the weather seems frozen
And the dust is stranded in the air
The rain is confused about where to fall

I ripped my shirts down the chest
Blackened the lids of my eyes
And life never seemed hastier
And I put my face in the street

Did you take me with you when you left
And leave some pain in my place
Is that why I get so distressed
When they ask me what I’m gonna do next

They pile up in the dented wall
It was I who braved a tragic fall
Into the ocean that sparkles and bounds
Till you’re forced through the surface and drown

I know you’ll be back but not forever
I know you’re too dumb and too clever
They’ll fill you up until tomorrow
And then you’ll find me in your sorrow

I know you will
Hold me by my favorite tree
And tell me I’ll always be
The friend you want in your life
The one you’ll make your wife
Oct 2021 · 19
Trust Fall
Ava Weiland Oct 2021
They divide us two and two
They line us up in rows
The catcher stands strong
While the other one falls

And I close my eyes and fall
Into the arms of strangers
What an exercise they say
What an illusion of danger

Till you stand behind me
And the instructor says ‘fall!’
And I stand strong instead
While they let themselves go

And beside me I am aware
All the bodies still as boards
Heaving through the air
While I move not a thing

And you say honey trust me
And then it sets in
And the awkward truth
That it’ll never be the same
Jul 2020 · 58
we jumped in the water
Ava Weiland Jul 2020
we jump in the water
the sea's full embrace
the sea of our bodies
free of time and place

we're waving like angels
from the end of life's crooked highways
dabbled with ghost stories

I watch you, I kiss you
I need you, I love you

I'm a drowning sailor
I'm a circus
performer
and I'm sailing through the air
a sparrow
dancing on a wind-strand
on the sea
on the jewel-studded carousals

we jumped in the water
or maybe we capsized (tough)
the sea in our bellies
we said we were doing well

we swiped like pirates
or flowers sprouting up from the sea
we raised our heads

I like you, I tell you
I need you, I love you
Jul 2020 · 59
space built
Ava Weiland Jul 2020
Once closing the light
they tell us to find our fire in July
I said I was crazy
He said she was crazy
To step into something
that would ******* out "crazy" too
is something I would not do.

We have everything though
but not everything
or I would have stayed with him
brown eyes, white smile
said it would take me a while
and by "a while" I meant "never".

The time has come to close certain doors
To open my windows instead
Open my walls and extend the floors
There is no space for anybody else here
We fill it up so beautifully
When it rains we make patterns on the floor
When the eggs are swollen we crack them
Stack a heaping plate of crepes and eat them all ourselves.

There are no elevens here
only thirteens that spit at you from every corner
There are no apologies here
but there is forgiveness under every table
if you're willing to flip them over
There are no gardens here
but life sprouts its way through every crack
Trunks rise from the floor like silent thunder
Flowers bloom on the ceiling and in the corners
and on the tables.

We make messes here,
clean only on the new moon
or when the mood strikes
We plant poison poppies by the front door
and sweet lilacs by the back
We take everything and give nothing back.
We take everything and give nothing back.

We swing unshaved legs over the sides
of an enormous stained white tub
We dance without shoes or want of music
We squat to greet the cats that slink around books
and perch by candles
We find birds to sit on our shoulders
and sew wings out of silk.
Jun 2020 · 41
Fruit
Ava Weiland Jun 2020
Twist and reconcile
Abort and capsize
An abundance of wishes
Sparkling on the water
and in the water
and inside the water.

Lay me down within the summer
Dress me up in fruit
Pink cheeks, plump legs, saturated skin, crimson mouth.

Did you know you can have winter and summer, together?
Icy eyes and warm weather
Did you know the branches stay at the top of the tree?
Out of reach of lustful limbs that long to swing.
(You may be an artful dodger but you can’t dodge this.)

Trees bear fruit in the summer
Fruit springs from shedded jeans and ripens and grows rosy.

The trees will droop and the fruit will be digested by the ground
When you have eaten too much and grown fat the winter will come.

The cold will bring only hunger and the crunch of your warm head in the snow.
Feb 2020 · 438
Untitled
Ava Weiland Feb 2020
when you stay
because you are afraid of losing what you had
you do not lose
the past
you lose
the future.

be brave.
Dec 2019 · 76
Bird Dreams
Ava Weiland Dec 2019
A woman sits at a wooden table
Elbows on the trailing lace tablecloth
She takes a silver spoon
She mixes sugar into coffee
And glances at the plump yellow moon.

"Where is the snow?"
She asks a mouse
As it slides under her arthritic feet,
Disappearing between two floorboards.

There is a bundle of letters beside her.

With a sigh she selects a quill
From a deep desk drawer
And dips it in sloppy ink.
She writes:

The night spreads its cloak around my house
I have no use for the day
When the moon draws my feathers out
They sprout
From my skin
Gold-tipped and I always knew
I always knew they were there
I knew all along
You will miss the way my songs
Always ended in a whisper
My sleep always ended in a deep set chest pang
Your hand was soft at the back of my neck
And I no longer have use
For the skin
That keeps this rage in
That keeps this jealousy in
I will spit it into the snow
So the light inside me can grow
And you will see only
The resilient flutter of my wings
Outside your window.

It is the last letter.

With delicate, bony fingers
She pulls the strings about her envelopes
like a spider weaving a web

Glancing once more through the window
she smiles as the first graceful snowflakes
descend from the sky
takes her bundle outside
and tucks it away

In the morning a bird is seen
fluttering quietly out of sight;
it may have been a trick of the light.
Dec 2019 · 69
Street Heater
Ava Weiland Dec 2019
Leaves rustle like paper
I saw his body lump
over a street heater
I heard his voice cutting through the air

Halfway from the crosswalk,
a warm section of sidewalk
The lopsided blanket, he said,
was the roof over his head

So I sat with them
late that night
while one finished his joint
and the street grew quiet

He said the obscenity
came from his culture
He said his life
was all past and no future
Dec 2019 · 106
in our room
Ava Weiland Dec 2019
in our room
she watches beauty videos
sponsored by beauty sellers
there is so much you can put on your skin
while I hide you in the pages
of my schoolbooks
eat ahead
(chocolates behind paper doors)
and ponder
the back and forth motion of the life
the sea, the sun, the ***, the wind
the back and forth that has no end
and you are back
and my whole life is back
I wait for it all to come forward again
Dec 2019 · 76
i lost my friend
Ava Weiland Dec 2019
i wish
he would be my friend
again
but he does not call
and he will not answer
i wait
as the snow builds itself
into the pavement
i wait
while my mind ties itself in knots
don't want to spend
every moment
in your world
just want the option
not to be alone
Dec 2019 · 117
fast
Ava Weiland Dec 2019
I want fast
fast and all-in
and then completely over
like the trailer
of an action film
like the crash
of a jet plane
like a man
spearing a fish
in the belly
I want fast
like a dream
you are flung
into a canyon
flames on your skin
and you wake up
inches before you hit
you wake up
panting
Dec 2019 · 344
Untitled
Ava Weiland Dec 2019
maybe i want pain
because i am good at it
like wallowing
and going through a cycle
of fear, sadness, anger, empowerment
re-discovering myself
finding my own joy
done it so many times that
it's expected
so
when you offer me another kind of joy
i hang my head and don't answer
and you think
whatever it is
whatever conclusion you come to
i don't know
i don't give you anything
pretend i'm having a good time
until you get sick of it and leave
and it's too late
and the suffering is cold comfy familiar
always
Nov 2019 · 59
Day and Night
Ava Weiland Nov 2019
He said that I was the day
And you were the night
You nodded, I was flattered
But then
You were unprepared for my sun to set
The darkness behind my eyes
Full of galaxies
You would not allow yourself to see
Friend of mine
Let me revel in your light
Let yourself dance in my darkness
I didn’t know how to say it
So you pulled back in disdain
Afraid to see the mysteries unraveling in me
Said I was weak
For weeping
‘Cause you were born with
A steel throat and steel behind your eyes
Life is a blaze
You thrash through the world
Believing so strongly that you are in control
Unattached
Iron beneath your skin
You wanted me to be light
You wanted to take a feather
From my wings
To brush your skin on mine
Take it with you into the black
So unprepared were you for the sunset, the galaxies, the dancing
That I may not be flying above you
But sliding beneath
Ever soft, in love with my own night
You are afraid to accept all that I could give
Will never see my sunrise
‘Tis a shame: how lovely it will be!
Oct 2019 · 100
Untitled
Ava Weiland Oct 2019
I am delivered by
the girl in the pink overalls
smiles of danger
glimpses of roses

grab yourself a glass and
find a seat
we got work to do

unbuckle your seatbelt
I am learning how to live
without a ****** up mind
I am learning what it is
to be well-designed
Oct 2019 · 74
***** eyes
Ava Weiland Oct 2019
jeweled eclipse
a hole that splits
the universe rips
into pieces
patch together
the folds your t shirt
shoulder sleeve holes
tender skin
leave again
the seasons change
you are so bright/I cannot see your shadow
leaves somersault
into darkness
your chair is empty
Oct 2019 · 74
Untitled
Ava Weiland Oct 2019
inside of his stomach
there is a furnace
but you don't notice it
when you put your hands on him
you feel only a dull warmth
which you mistake for
blushing
someday I will accidentally see
the pain in your eyes
I will not recognize his face behind them
only feel a jolt of nostalgia
if I could only find you now
take you by the shoulders and tell you
impish smiles are not worth it
and you're better off
unless
you're
different
how can I love that for you
Oct 2019 · 243
Untitled
Ava Weiland Oct 2019
there is blood
all through the inside of your body
red and
wet and
bright
each cell a message
carried carefully
Oct 2019 · 123
Untitled
Ava Weiland Oct 2019
majesty of mine
raise your bejeweled head
let me live you
the ocean of my eyes will shimmer
with the pearls you place there
Sep 2019 · 82
The Crack
Ava Weiland Sep 2019
For a solid three hours the world is gold.
Every streetlamp is an angel;
the red traffic light is unparalleled in its vibrancy.
Whatever may have been pleasant before
dazzles you now.
The temperature of the air is in harmony with
the temperature of your body.
The trees are what they always were and
you somehow never noticed the glow of light passing
through a maple leaf;
you never quite enjoyed the complexion of the air.
When people talk to you it is easy to forget
that they cannot feel it also.
When you dance to celebrate every cell of your body
they stand back and watch you.
If you listen to yourself you know exactly what you need to do,
if there is a particular song that will sound like melted silver.
You are an excellent navigator of your world as long as
you avoid those who are not living in it with you.
In the morning you wonder
if your experience of life has been tainted.
Whenever something beautiful happens you will know
it is not as perfect as it could be.
Sep 2019 · 85
"the next long time"
Ava Weiland Sep 2019
you would not have jumped on your own

you can remember your toes
gripping
the cliff's edge
you can remember his hand
pressed into yours
how firm it had seemed
how sure you had been
if there was doubt
you did not listen

you do not remember jumping
just glassy eyes mixed calls hot confusion
you forgot how it felt to be
safe inside only yourself and now
you are falling
and you scream:
How Did I Get Here

the hand that was pressed into yours
is not there
you do not know
exactly when the fingers
uncurled and slipped
away
you search the sky
rushing past
you can see his colors but
not his face
as you plummet
you realize
he is flying

the darkness catches you like a net
it swings itself over you
the thickest brush of sumi ink
the softest blanket the womb
it is still but
you are throbbing
there is a tiny needle in the center of your chest
a red halo is formed
tender like a splinter
you do not understand it
you are afraid

there are beautiful people everywhere
but you do not see them
you know he is flying so
you do not look up
instead
you bury yourself into the dark and
wait
you hold your own hands
they are warm and calloused and familiar

days and days and days

melody begins to
trickle
into the darkness
you don't know
if it is coming from inside of you
or outside of you
the music brushes the side of your face
you nudge it away
more persistent it grabs you
from behind
playfully
you snarl and swing around
you are standing in the daylight

the music grows and
you follow it and follow it
and when you get there you realize
you have forgotten his name
and can recall your own
Sep 2019 · 84
there is a girl
Ava Weiland Sep 2019
there is a girl I
love
but don't really know
she is always
bent
over the table
her hair is
ash brown unbrushed
it creates a frazzled
blanket
over her head
sometimes she lifts up
for a second
makes some cynical remark and
giggles
and puts her head back down
in a sea of runway wannabes
in manicured eyebrows
and dior shoes
she wears
tattered sweatshirts and
not a smudge of makeup
when you are beautiful
you do not need to be
pretty
Sep 2019 · 127
Basic
Ava Weiland Sep 2019
He said
My oufit was
Basic
It was an insult
You are supposed to be
Yourself
As long as you remain
Different
You are supposed to prove
Authenticity
By making decisions based on
What other people
Are doing
Sep 2019 · 213
Confession #3
Ava Weiland Sep 2019
I want to
fill the empty parts of people
when I am around them
and take these parts with me
when I leave
so that
people will be unable
to exist
without me
(power)
Sep 2019 · 103
Samburu Sacrifice
Ava Weiland Sep 2019
the goat was completely alive
and then it was completely lifeless
if there was an in-between
I could not tell where it ended
or began.
Sep 2019 · 128
remember
Ava Weiland Sep 2019
I am surprised I can remember
the smell of you
how sweet and fresh and neon
like the space that was filled by it
how close our faces stayed
how long did we last
how I didn't want to leave
how we could have stayed and grown filthy
like your floor
if we had remained
our mouths may have done too much
my teeth may have turned the color of your hair
your skin may have become
layered

your bones should have crushed mine
but instead we grew supple
I thawed like ice
you floated down me
mud mixed into the water
bears and elk bathed in us
and the surface became clouded
with dark fur and foam
you sunk your head and tasted
the blood of the elk and the ***** of the bear
I remember your hands were still smooth and soft
and I was not afraid but still shuddered
like a tiny animal

the east path cut out through
the blackberries and nettles leads back there
so does the trail of raisins from the south
and the thunder clapping coordinates from the north

I gathered my things and headed west
where I won't feel the porcupines on your chest
or see the dappled forest floor in your eyes
the river coursing through this place
has no elk or bears
the lips of the boys here taste of smoke and wet cement

now I remain
clean
alone
nestled in my own beauty
like a goldfinch preening
not one of the fat sparrows that
hopscotch on these sidewalks

I know what you're doing
I know her eyes are growing crusty
your hands make knots out of her hair
your bodies grow tired from the rhythm
of pressing together
her feet are bigger than mine
her smile glossier
you will not find otters living behind her ears

Perhaps I will see you anyway
in the winter I will wear a charcoal snowcoat
you will lift me from behind and I will squeal in surprise and delight

Outside my window people sing hymns on the street.
Sep 2019 · 68
how often
Ava Weiland Sep 2019
how often
I catch myself
wondering
what I am
supposed to get
out of this
Sep 2019 · 70
in the middle
Ava Weiland Sep 2019
in the middle of your soul
I have heard you find
the way
I have lived in the comfort
of divine silence
which is why
rolling hills
dark caves
children's books
water
reflects myself back to me.
Sep 2019 · 70
Untitled
Ava Weiland Sep 2019
I know that
we are from
different worlds
but
perhaps
we can
create one.
Sep 2019 · 82
Summary of You
Ava Weiland Sep 2019
Life brought you into my life
You brought me into your head
I brought you into my bed
You brought me to your table
Life took you out of my life.
Sep 2019 · 77
the right place
Ava Weiland Sep 2019
I am in the right place
but it is not my place
I belong in this place
but I do not belong to this place
Sep 2019 · 70
Untitled
Ava Weiland Sep 2019
when you
kiss him
in the rain
you are also
kissing the rain.
Sep 2019 · 63
Untitled
Ava Weiland Sep 2019
I cannot find
a proper snack.
Sep 2019 · 73
stress
Ava Weiland Sep 2019
stress is sneaky
it grabs you from the back
pulls you
out of your skin
muscles grow tighter as
you grow less aware of them
brain clenches
stress will try to
compress you
shock and overdrive
in the name of production
things need to
get done.
Sep 2019 · 61
Art School
Ava Weiland Sep 2019
we all made daisies
we presented them to the class

their daisies were
blinding white and
butter yellow

my daisy was
scorched

their daisies were
small and slight

my daisy was
big and awkward

when their daisies lifted their heads
mine cowered in shame

I made a hundred more daisies, quite like the first.
a compost pile assumed the space
beneath my desk

out of it
grew a garden.
Sep 2019 · 60
steady
Ava Weiland Sep 2019
the city is ripped
trees grow through the cracks
I extend my arm
until it rests
at home
on what is too solid to be moved
and too slow to be understood.
Sep 2019 · 57
hibernation
Ava Weiland Sep 2019
when you wrap around yourself
stretch too wide
you are thrown back inside
the stone closes behind you
from the outside
it looks like a tomb
but inside
it is warm and soft like
laundry coming out
of the dryer
people wonder where you've gone
their eyes search your vacant expression
they cannot
touch you.
Sep 2019 · 70
Untitled
Ava Weiland Sep 2019
what if
you're just
an idea?
Sep 2019 · 57
dessert
Ava Weiland Sep 2019
when you eat
too much dessert
you feel sick

there is still a taste
in my mouth
that does not belong to me.
Sep 2019 · 59
updates
Ava Weiland Sep 2019
sometimes it seems
that life
is a series of updates
our bodies need constant attention
our clothes grow thin
our relationships run the risk of fading out
a stagnant life
is already death.
Sep 2019 · 70
Untitled
Ava Weiland Sep 2019
I am not
that
invested.


****.
Next page