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7.6k · Apr 2015
Onion
Brittle Bird Apr 2015
You remind me of an onion.

As the layers peel away,
I struggle not to cry
'cos you're just the same inside-

and in your heartless little way
you blinded me with love,
enough to make me stay-

to cut you up in little pieces
and chew you like
"Take that, you frickin' onion"
Day 12 of NaPoWriMo.

I'm definitely deleting this one after the month is over...I just feel silly today.
7.0k · Jan 2015
Hug. (Haiku #9)
Brittle Bird Jan 2015
I just need a hug

warm arms into I can fall

oh, and don't we all
HUGS TO EVERYONE.
I feel the need right now, and I think many of you do as well. I love you.
3.8k · Jan 2015
Respectable Outlaws
Brittle Bird Jan 2015
.

We won't be part of
your social pollution,
but will be part of
the solution.


                                        We are the confrontation
                                                   ­             and the fight,
                                        the declaration
                                                     ­    of human rights.


We won't appeal to
your expectation
or narrow our minds to
your "education".



                                         We are the rebellion,
                                                  your­ red flag of the news,
                                        though toleration
                                                   and a merging of views.


We will not weaken
under discrimination
or be products of
your degradation.

                                        
         ­                               *We are the revolution
                                                      ­      and the sign,
                                          the liberation
                                                    to­ step out of line.
A few films of inspiration: 'Pump Up The Volume', 'Teenage'(a documentary), and 'Cloud Atlas'...(for Sonmi-451<3)

Does anyone else feel like saving the world and burning it all down at the same time? No, not really the latter...I've just been particularly angry with choices which people of high influence have been making. I know we can be so much better than this. I'm so ready for our generation to bring to life what we keep dreaming of... but I'm so tired of feeling helpless to the whims of this.
3.3k · Jan 2015
Hiraeth.
Brittle Bird Jan 2015
Listerine fountains are falling,
breaking through the roof,
shingles like helicopter blades,
scratching up my face.

Your mouth is making violent motions
and I can see mirages between your teeth.
It took me a long time to master,
but I can't here the news on repeat;
I don't want to anymore.

I don't know what you thought
mismatched socks would accomplish,
but those mixed with an heated face
sorta make my scull feel like
marzipan.

5, 4, 3, frozen in the moment,
right before a scream.
2, my iPod crumbles in hand,
just like the game I always lose.
1...one, one, one...

I blocked that out too.
2.7k · Apr 2015
Earth (haiku #18)
Brittle Bird Apr 2015
Those nights it would rain
Mud and vines grew through my spine
And earth I became
Day 22 of NaPoWriMo. I felt like a nature poem was needed, in honor of Earth Day.

Of the immeasurable beauty of rain and wanting to become the earth itself. Maybe if we try harder to feel connected, one, than it won't be so hard to take care of our home.
2.6k · Jan 2015
My cup of tea.
Brittle Bird Jan 2015
i like my tea with a glow of sunlight
through canvas window curtains
with peaks of skin underneath
big feather blankets
and a sleepy morning smiles

i like my tea with warm, scratchy tones
from old vinyl records
deeply etched with memories
and all the ones i love
here to sing along

i like my tea swirling with thoughts
of everything i live for
everything i hope to be
and all the luminescent people
each day that i see

and most importantly i like my tea
hot from the hibiscus flower

brewed and set for two minute, no less

no milk or sugar added

just my
simple
bliss
CHALLENGE PROPOSAL! :) What is your cup of tea? No rules, of course. Everyone welcome, of course. I would love to see your lovely poems, so put #mycupoftea and I'll be looking at them!
2.6k · Jan 2015
Tongue poem. (Haiku #10)
Brittle Bird Jan 2015
These words all climb up,
sit on the tip of my tongue...
and then I swallow.
I can't hold on to these ideas;
unholdable things are my biggest challenge and my greatest joy.
2.3k · Apr 2015
epoch
Brittle Bird Apr 2015
that night, I saw bodies in the motel bathtub
beckoning like a 50's Cadillac
back seat beats and Father's  
bottle of snatched brandy up
to bring back our youth

and stay
for one last whisper in a last-innocent ear
the diner lights buzzing like
a lifetime of loss to mistakes
that can be little more or
less than broken glass lies
Day 23 of NaPoWriMo.
Brittle Bird Jan 2015
No, I am not alone
I turn to the sky
and glisten with the same stars
that touch the whole world
and I am not tired
My face is hidden in shadows
covered in blood, sweet
and tears as well
but I am alive.
I feel the gravel beneath
and between my bare toes
That prickling fire air
only sparks me more
Everything is heightened
in my scope of mind
and screaming with life
I know it deep down
like a charge through my bones
and remember that I used to feel alone
but now I look up into
her eyes, the universe
and know it was never true
I run past the illuminated windows
of lives people have built
for themselves
and even feel connected
to what they represent
I make my decision and begin to fly
the distance from lonely
growing inside
My roots are unwinding
and finally
ripping free
from all the cages
I made throughout my years
I take the forest path
in the comfort of dark
so that I can be alone
but won't have to feel alone.
I sit among the towering old trees and
I breathe
a deep gulp of the universe
It is calm and eccentric
and everything at once
It breathes
I breathe
and I am not alone
not ever
wherever we are
we are not
alone.
Thought I'd share one of my earliest poems, found in a journal entry. This is a lot longer than I normally do, but I had to include it all.
2.2k · May 2015
I'm Sorry
Brittle Bird May 2015
I see shapes in your sunken eyes,
pressing like last night's lifeline,
telling you to keep your heart safe,
but I have to look away.

Please don't cry,
I can't possibly turn tears to gold.
I'm not the type to indicate
what should fill these empty spaces
and I don't know what to say
when you don't say it first.

When the shivering starts you'll see,
I can't be your blankets and late-night radio,
or anything you used to believe.
When those eyes mean oceans in mine,
you'll see how nothing I can be.
Day 30 of NaPoWriMo. Last day!
2.0k · Apr 2015
Haiku #14
Brittle Bird Apr 2015
Bristled blue feathers
Like nature's forgotten child
She chirps to no one
Day 10 of NaNoWriMo.

This was a last minute attempt to fix a very unproductive day...with a haiku. There was a lonely little blue bird outside my window today.
2.0k · Apr 2015
Sillage.
Brittle Bird Apr 2015
You've taken too long to come haunting,
wading through instances of mud, of regret,
until my wanting has all but dissolved.

You've broken my spine with curious fingertips,
an innocent ghost with fireplace eyes,
where questions went unnoticed, unsolved.

You've come knocking with empty cages,
pulling behind what you'd begged to forget,
you spoke to my spine like needles, absolved;

until my teacups are dust on the shelves
and your flowers don't wilt, but burn,
of stove and house and noose and all.
Day 26 of NaPoWriMo.
2.0k · Apr 2015
History.
Brittle Bird Apr 2015
the beautiful
simplicity
of swirling skies
and pretty tea
,
the unparalleled
complexity
of human minds
and what they dream
,
the dizzying
infinity
of both in time
and history
Day 5 of NaPoWriMo.
Brittle Bird Jan 2015
Center yourself now

You can't forget the good things

They'll be here so soon
1.6k · Dec 2014
Value Village.
Brittle Bird Dec 2014
Cash registers and sleepy morning smiles
swept with the exciting smell
of new-old things.

He greeted me at the end of the line and  
I asked him how he was-

          "Cant you tell? I'm radiating with joy!
           Every breath in my chest is a light
           charged and glowing through my bones.
           My throat is sore from laughing,
           my cheeks from smiling,
           and it's the sweetest pain I've ever known."

   -and he was.
1.6k · Apr 2015
Blacktop Music
Brittle Bird Apr 2015
I didn't hold tendons between my fingers like
street boys on rain city rooftops,
crumpling their futures up to smash into shredded jeans,
shredded hearts,
some wrappers escaping, flying over this city
as our neglectful witnesses.

Their hands were broken bottles. The black top
made my guts look like escaping snakes,
my eyes hoping to be Medusa.
Fictionalizing gets me through most things.
Sometimes pain tastes like metal, sometimes like cherries.

I stare at the sideways sunset, a wrapper spit up
and drying out, a pipe dream promise;
reviewing my time strips as if they'd had a spelling change,
recounting every drop of blood word and smile.
Sometimes I forget that I'm real.
Sometimes I'm not.
Day 27 of NaPoWriMo.
1.5k · Apr 2015
Sucky Nursery Rymes
Brittle Bird Apr 2015
Oh, I love so many peoples' words
They make me feel like I'm not alone
But my own feel like whey and curds
Sometimes good, but usually just fine
To be saved for a sucky nursery rhyme
Day 8 of NaPoWriMo.
1.5k · Dec 2014
Breakthrough.
Brittle Bird Dec 2014
You told me to write about
what scares me.

At first I thought, well, everything scares me.
That sense of endless possibilities is what caused my writers block
in the first place.

Sorry.

Further down the road, my depressive nihilism kicked in.
Nothing can scare me,
and nothing really matters.
It's the illusion of life
pointing its big, daunting finger
and laughing.

When I finally hit both ends of this,
felt everything and nothing,
it hurt somewhat, yes, but-
I began to write.

Now my words reflect
everything I feel and don't feel,
everything that is and isn't.
Now, I take everything that passes through me
and make it into something else,
something completely new.

In this moment,
I have complete control over my little universe.
There is a world out here,
more vibrant than I ever imagined.

So thanks for that.



-e.r.n.
To Mckinley. :) Hi
Brittle Bird Mar 2015
I wrote a poem

My heart was a scratch-and-win

And wrote another
I haven't shared in a while, due to school + emotional constipation
...but here I am. Still alive.
1.5k · Jan 2015
Remains.
Brittle Bird Jan 2015
Can you hear my pleas?
I’ve been coming up empty;

been taking heed,
but always coming up empty.

A blank wish list
each time I hit the surface.

Failure in store
flipping, crashing to the shore,

and I’ve been afraid
this chaos will forget my name;

petrified of remorse
just soaking up my source.
I tend to write these poems so late that I don't even know what my brain is getting at. Maybe this will look like crap in the morning...who knows.
1.4k · Jan 2015
frigid zone
Brittle Bird Jan 2015
when you told me how you broke
my mouth and my eyes were sewn
'cos
at first I just thought
you might be made of stone
so
when you told me that
you were stepping off your throne
oh
I thought we bound our ropes
until your safety cover was blown
well
I guess you just
didn’t want to be alone
still
I thought you might drop me
after your secret was shown
but
we kept on talking
late nights on the phone
and
**you made me repeat your name
until I forgot my own
I have no idea what this is about, but it came to me, so... here. Take it.
1.4k · Dec 2014
Maybe.
Brittle Bird Dec 2014
If only for once
Maybe this time I'll make it

Just maybe I'll be
Be able to not fake it

Maybe let them see
Possibly the truth for once


-e.r.n.
©2014, Brittle Bird
Brittle Bird Jan 2015
in my mind
we played by love
red roses
and sweet words to speak of
but

in your mind
we played by points
each new lie
another check on your score board
and

yes I know
that when I go
this game will turn into something
much more
still

no matter the blood
and guts that may spill
I'll take that
rather than losing  this to
you
Inspired by the Book Poem Challenge. The title is from the book Impulse by Ellen Hopkins.
1.3k · Apr 2015
Pipe Dreams (haiku #16)
Brittle Bird Apr 2015
summer night sweats
and whispers in the hay lofts
forgot our purpose
Day 18 of NaPoWriMo.

Country childhood and forgotten dreams.
1.3k · Apr 2015
Hypocrisy
Brittle Bird Apr 2015
Every time the butterflies come,
they crawl up my throat and start to choke me
but it's a good kind of choking,
like scratching an inch even though it makes the rash burn
or liking the pain of dotted blood lines on my skin
after a long day of holding in monsoons and earthquakes
beneath calm serenity.

Or like telling myself I can never get better
even if a part of me knows, knows I can.
It’s like deciding never to speak again,
or stop eating just because you can.

And why is it that pain tastes so much like love
when I willingly dress myself in it,
yet someone lays a finger on me
and I feel the same way
when my friends are mistreated
and animals are abused,
I feel a surge of fierce hatred
throughout my whole body
and don’t you ******* touch me
ever again.


I believe the world can be better than this.
And what does that say about me?
Does it make me a hypocrite in a sort of vague way?
Because I keep wondering
if I do things without thinking
that another me would hate me for.
Day 29 of NaPoWriMo.
1.3k · Apr 2015
(Haiku #17)
Brittle Bird Apr 2015
You woke like windows,
shattered in Jewish hellfire,
shade by burning books.
Day 21 of NaPoWriMo.
Brittle Bird Apr 2015
to her with tea bag eyes
and wrists like scarlet fever,
gently undue your bruising ties
and unthaw your years of winter

--  --  --  --  --  --  --  --  --  --
she breathed the where
and exhaled the won't be,
if only you'd been with her there,
to slow the feverish sea
--
up, to the nearest fall
down, in the mountain mist
she falls from nothing at all
just as she had wished
--
the moments leading to a place
took shape and color like music,
and with all the grace it takes
to purposefully lose it
--  --  --  --  --  --  --  --  --  --

to her with shaking hands
and a mind like a burning temple,
remember your wish is your command,
and to always hold yourself gentle
Day 16 of NaPoWriMo.
1.3k · Jan 2015
(3) Spontaneous Thoughts.
Brittle Bird Jan 2015
1; Every time I think hard about a theoretical concept, the rest of my thought processes become out of focus, like on a camera, and I find it hard to speak in regular conversation as that fades.

2; I think dark blood is beautiful, but light red looks too much like small talk.

3; As you can probably tell, people make me feel like I'm drowning in a foreign sea.
For the series.
1.2k · Dec 2014
Dear 2015,
Brittle Bird Dec 2014
I'm so scared.

I'm so scared of what you will mean to me at 4:00 in the morning,
when I get to thinking most about my life
and that much thinking
can't possibly be alright.

I'm scared that maybe you are just a mirror of 2014,
an illusion made for laughing at all of us
who think maybe we can do better this time.
This time we'll change for sure.
This is it.

And 2015, dear friend,
I'm scared that maybe this time I won't make it
to the hopeful beginning of 2016
When I can say again with conviction
that this is the year we'll be great.

Yes, we will be legendary.

This is it.
1.2k · Dec 2014
10w
Brittle Bird Dec 2014
10w
Across this room,
                                     your vibrations are loose,


                  weaving into mine.
10 word memory.
1.2k · Jan 2015
Leakage.
Brittle Bird Jan 2015
I have all this scratching
and leaking
at the edges of my mind
that I know I can’t fight off
forever.

Sometimes people lose
their subconscious drive to try
all at once
in one day
and just go crazy,
but then I think
my most alluring thought
of all
is that I can't wait
for it to happen
to me.
1.1k · Jan 2015
Brittle Words
Brittle Bird Jan 2015
Shock me soundly, brittle bird
crunch me under stained glass shards
  crash my plane of what's unheard
breaking me hard.

Acquaint me soundly, brittle bird
make the song of an empty sea
strip me bound of all I learned
falling me free.

Sleep me soundly, brittle bird
dream me of hallow and point crest
squeeze and shake out saintly words
filling my rest.
If anyone wonders the weights and ideation behind my name, here is a small poem. Originally inspired by the song 'Red' by Lost In The Trees; which I think is absolutely beautiful.
©2015, Brittle Bird
1.1k · Feb 2015
Dysania.
Brittle Bird Feb 2015
It was the way you carried yourself,
as if universes scratched at your shoulders
and the care you kept neatly inside
was killing you slowly.

I remember the words you spoke
as if they were poking, pressing
at your already bruised ribs;
as if they climbed up your throat
holding ice hooks and torches.

I buried them deep as they'd go
in the sweat-drenched sheets,
hoping you wouldn’t remember
or want  to search for them.

But one night I awoke
to an unfamiliar breeze,
those sheets untangled and draping
halfway out the open window.


I'm sorry I couldn't keep you safe.
1.1k · Apr 2015
I suppose I'd like to stay.
Brittle Bird Apr 2015
Trying to capture
an inescapable fate
and it seems with every breath I take,
the faster time proceeds.
Trying to explain
my perspective universe
and it seems the further back I go,
the further gone I am.
Trying to create
any possible escape
and it seems with each new goodbye note
the more I want to stay.
Day 6 of NaPoWriMo.
About recovery and learning to love the mind I'm stuck with, when sometimes all I want to do is set myself on fire or sleep forever.
1.1k · Dec 2014
Thoughts.
Brittle Bird Dec 2014
My thoughts are overflowing
  Bursting at the seams
They're filling up the spaces
  Where nothing's what it seems

My thoughts mix into puddles
  Turning murky brown
I try to communicate them
  But they're all watered down

My thoughts crumble like castles
  At the tip of my tongue
They're falling back down my throat
  And scratching up my lungs

My thoughts are oozing out my pores
  And dripping on your skin
But when I try to say those words
  
  I can't even begin


-e.r.n.
©2014, Brittle Bird
1.1k · Jan 2015
;
Brittle Bird Jan 2015
;
your smile                  breaks me.
   it shakes the dust    off my bones, only
    to shatter them into a million pieces. when i'm
    trembling, the thought of you warms me back to
    life, only to **** me when i no longer sense the ice
      snaking up to my throat. you twisted my heart  
   (without trying...without. even. knowing.)
   and the wrinkles of it peeled right off.
  i don't know what i was thinking
when i let this mess begin,
but i do know that
i never want
it to
en
d;
.
.
.
First attempt at at a concrete/shape poem. Yay...or nah?
1.1k · Jan 2015
New Year's (Haiku #7)
Brittle Bird Jan 2015
At the midnight split
I admit all I wanted
were her taken lips.
1.0k · Jan 2015
Deterioration.
Brittle Bird Jan 2015
That smell
of burning skin
like the way I felt when lying
on the bathroom floor

is not the same
as the hollow places
when I take up only a fraction
of the vastness in these bedsheets

but the worst part
is that metallic taste
of bitter end
with every single breath I take

when I can't shake off
the sheets of blood
or knowledge
of what I've become.
1.0k · Apr 2015
Personal Collections
Brittle Bird Apr 2015
I'm collecting each passing moment
with a pinch of salt and sugar
sprinkled in my memory

One, two, three shakers full.

but the sands of time keep slipping
through my mortal fingers

I keep an empty jar on the top shelf.

and everything else is a blinding mishmash
of my mind in the morning light.*

Please don't look under the bed, it's embarrassing
what I forget to think about.
Day 7 of NaPoWriMo.
About trying to keep track of what this life means to me, but not getting very far. Also, I'm not a morning person, so that's obviously when everything falls apart.
1.0k · Apr 2015
Droopy Eyes
Brittle Bird Apr 2015
The way you can't look at me,
'cos I'm not the little girl I used to be;
your tired recollection
of each gene in recession;
your knife heart, sad heart,
raised by a bad heart--

but I decided it’s worth battling your
droopy-eyed disapproval;
but I want to run into this fog
with my arms open wide;
but I always thought I’d rather burn in the fire
than die in my sleep.
Day 15 of NoPoWriMo.
Brittle Bird Jan 2015
My hands weren’t sweating when I said it.
                    I will never write a love song.
It never seemed like anyone could see
past the pink
                swirly
                       fogging their eyes.

   How pathetic.

But cheerios get soggy
when I look away this long
and I wrote my first melody
because of your swirly eyes.

   They’re so much darker,
                 like rotted leaves.


And second,
                third,
(voice cracking, echoing)
      my fingertips
are splitting over these strings.

Fourth-
palpating vibrations killing the me
I’d thought furthest through.
I swear,
I wont crack as hard this time, but-

I can’t tie my shoelaces
without tearing flower petals,
so I walk around stumbling,

falling
into pretty girls.
988 · Apr 2015
Nemophilia.
Brittle Bird Apr 2015
See me, how I rain through the ceiling
believing what part of me you failed to reach.
Tell me, how you tried to tree speak
but forests reek of my death unwinding in your ears.
Follow me, into your dusty attic
to tell the bats and make our story last forever.
Now sleep, my fragile murderess
sewing my soul into the seams of your pillow.
Day 19 of NaPoWriMo.
945 · Apr 2015
Relapse.
Brittle Bird Apr 2015
Is that still you?
I remember days of not breathing
at the thought of your last breath,
of loose words
and using them to carefully twist
a heartstring hammock.

I can't see past the red in your eyes now,
the spots on your face like footprints, track marks,
soft and tired,
hard like needles.
They stripe your skin as if for an ancient battle,
for a war that soaks your empty spaces in kerosene
and scrapes the match off your wrist.

So while these butterflies pull my stomach
out my mouth, to the floor,
and your feet shuffle from the bombs erupting
down to your toes...
I can't bear the thought of a cloudless conscious,
of reality too close to the glass.
The thought that I can't save you from this,
because all I want
is to burn down with you.
First draft...feedback is much appreciated.
937 · Dec 2014
Haiku #6
Brittle Bird Dec 2014
Hold on, little one

Your tender bones are shaking

Fragile things do break
935 · Apr 2015
(haiku #20)
Brittle Bird Apr 2015
A sea of glass eyes
plagues my waking, breathing, fault
dries my brain with salt
Day 25 of NaPoWriMo.
927 · Jan 2015
Hollow places.
Brittle Bird Jan 2015
Your fingers ripped across my skin
snagging
breaking in
I expected a thick blue blood
gushing
out mud
but here a blackness lies
crawling
up inside
you might have found a heart
beating
a start
but I felt your surprised gasp
echoing
and vast
when discovering the empty space:
"what a
waste"
927 · Jan 2015
Fragments.
Brittle Bird Jan 2015
I need you to take
the fragments that broke
and stick them back
in swiftly stroke.

I kept trying, I did, but
couldn't do it myself you see;
oh please won't you rip off
this bandage for me?

I want to be able to feel
all that's past but isn't gone
but with my heart in pieces
I just can't know what's wrong.

There's no pressure really
just please make it clean
and don't puncture any of
my major arteries.

I'm strong enough?
No, you don't understand
I knew what I could take, but-
this isn't what I'd planned.

This broke me but it didn't hurt;
now I'm just practically dead.
I need someone else to fix me
so I can remember how I hit my head.
872 · Apr 2015
Lovehurt
Brittle Bird Apr 2015
It hurts to love you
because every breath I take
marks a moment you
are closer to your last one
and my lungs can't take
that truth. It hurts to love you
because my arms lie
aching at my sides every
moment they could be
holding you, and the weight of
that is somehow more
than I can take. It hurts to
love you because my
brain is leaning so fully
on something that is
not even mine that I both
long for and hate who
I might have been (Who was I?)
before.
Day 11 of NaPoWriMo.

Why isn't it built in us to stop being in love with someone when it brings us no gain, but only consuming pain?
865 · Jan 2015
I’m working on it.
Brittle Bird Jan 2015
I’m working on saying what I feel
when I feel it
rather than when it’s too late
the harm’s already been caused
and the ones I love
are already gone.

I’m working on admitting to hurt
that others ground into me
rather taking it over and over again
while you can’t know what’s wrong
or ever notice your simple misuse
of word and clause.

I’m working on being proud
of galaxies I have to offer
rather than holding in ideas
and little pieces of myself
that weren’t meant to be pushed
so far from everything
just sitting on a shelf.

I’m working on it, I promise,

but for now I’ll give you this
so you will know to hold on
and please

don’t give up
on what I can be.

     For all that's wrong,
                   wait for me.
Please don't give up on me yet,
there are bite marks under my skin
and I just need time.

Feedback? It still feels like a rough draft.
863 · Apr 2015
The bees, the blood.
Brittle Bird Apr 2015
Your eyes mean bees in my
throat, but the first time I
saw you it only felt like fire.
I don't think I realized that
is the only element I could
let myself go to, because
the beauty of it looks like
the burning of things better
left forgotten. Like lying
mirrors. Like blind trust.

The first time I thought you
would hold my hand, I was
wrong.  It was by my wrist
instead. I have never felt fear
like that, like razors. Sweet,
slippery red. I never thought
I'd be one to let myself fall
like that, but your skin looks
like a promise I can't keep.
Day 13 of NaPoWriMo.

Of not wanting to believe in the real things that hurt, comes fictitious release and opening the shutters to an almost blue sky.
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