Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Rye
Rye
There's something black inside of me
rising like gall
sitting on the edge of a cliff
and I would love to be some Catcher in the Rye
but I'm not that surly
I there aren't any prostitutes round here for me to hug
My palms are spread wide
and flat
I'm here waiting
is someone coming to save us?
Or do I have to be my own messiah?
Seventeen
still a baby girl in the eyes of my mother
who remembers my blue eyes fresh and wild

I look more wild now
hair shaved off with one streak leaping across
eyebrows always lifted
like an ***, really

To tell the truth, though
I have become meek
and she knows it.
The keys to our apartment are as cold as the early April day that you gave them to me
but warmer than the day after
the day I had to leave.
yes
i am participating in no shave novemeber
and if i wanted to braid the rainbows that curl under my arms
you cannot stop me
not with shame
not with punishment
because i am gorgeous
and because i am strong
and if i choose to shave myself
i will
but i won't
So often at night, I find that there is nothing better to do than to curl up in a ball
surrender to the terror in my mind
curse my own paranoia
and weep.
I cry until my bones are shaking
and the bed is too
until they fall apart
like shattered stained glass
and form new patterns of the ground
glittering, ready,
to slice my feet.
I am not sure what it is I believe in
God,
people,
especially those that I love,
science is there,
God isn't always,
half and half on myself.
I don't know.
But the love of people is always there.
Moments, I get terribly down
people always pull me out
people always lend me a smile
their prayers, even if they are different from my own.
And I will lend them a 'God Bless'
or other happy tidings,
what they want, what they need
A Christian?
No, not a Christian,
but the words still hold so much weight
that I do not use them lightly.
Thank you
thank you so much.
I cry at how much strangers care for me
and how much some of my friends seem not to sometimes.
It really means more than I can describe in a single poem
or a thousand.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
sometimes tears taste like onion
cutting through the skin on your face
reminding you that you're still in mourning
and eyeliner gets in your mouth
half a year on
The lilies
they formed a curtain
as they crawled far up above the water line
white, light pink flowers
bursting off the green pads
and they, in turn,
bursting off the sparkling waters

The sun was just starting to set
glinting orange blades from
teeny tiny swells

The girl's skin was cream
nervously twitching as it sank into the water
She bit her lips
hoping not to be seen
though the curtain was too think to be penetrated
by anything other than her own kayak
It was a welcome relief
and as she waded further in, slowly, slowly,
silver fish darted away
from her wide thighs
water
at last
Could the blurry whispers of kids
really grow into something so great?

The things I said
when a freshman
a freshman!
Armed with idealism and tough fists
but not a lot of anything else-
they shape me
like a slave whip
cutting my back and making it bleed
places I still can't go
people who I can't handle
so much

It built up
and it pours out my lips
stale and rotten
but strong woven
like a vine that rests on the bottom of the swamp
always waiting to snap
just lay in bed a while
and breathe
take in the literature beside you
take in the blackness outside
and the pitter patter of the constant rain

count in fours
one
two
three-
you get the picture
keep that up

i beg for the vent to come on again
to fill my ears with white noise
to cancel out the movies in my eyes
daring me not to close them
I found a nest of snakes
One black, one gold, one green
(the green one looked a lot like me)
And maybe the gold one looked like you,
I don't know
No
It looked like someone I used to know
I tried to stop it, but
the black snake ate me
and the gold one just watched.

I threw the gold on over the hill,
treacherous little wretch
and the black one, I just picked up
and stared at
Hello,
are you still in there?
when i see the foods
folded into little smiles
i remember how my okaasan packed my lunch every day for three months
and how we never talk anymore
and that bittersweet soba
makes me sad
I love the crack of the bat
not in a big baseball field
but when my Daddy plays.
Yeah sure,
he's on Pitt's Honors College team,
and they call themselves 'Nerd Softball'
but it makes me happy to watch him play.

It has been a rough couple of years on Dad.
I know it,
*** he keeps coming to talk to me
and he never, ever used to do that
and now he's always chattering away
it feels nice
but I am worried.

Today, they lost 25- 4
not 24
4
but they were playing the Pitt Police
so I'm still proud.
I will burn you in effigy
with all of the hate welled up inside of me
watch and smile as I watch you burn
(maybe I will bring a camera! and some hot dogs!)

This is what they took from me
watch as the remainder of my sanity
float upwards of tendrils of spiraling flames and heat
being loved
is a space heater bed
cooking you nice
as the draft leaks in through the holes in the wall
but could easily light you on fire
and leave you twisted and charred

the songs of birds in the early morning
can be beautiful and sweet
as they pour out their hearts for the world to hear
but it still wakes me up
and pushes me out of bed
and into the cold life
of distance
baby doll
remember when we were glad participants in something that we knew would take us nowhere but to the closed closet door behind the stage?
remember when we couldn't get enough
of summer eyes and pretty days
i have seen too many of those
feed me something new
feed me spiraling star shine
feed me the blood of pretty girls
feed me something
*** i haven't touched food in a week

i broke my leg sneaking into homecoming
and danced on it for three weeks before they told me to stop
i ate too many pills at once because the doctors told me to
and was laid up in the hospital for a month
my muscles that once bunched tight under rippling scars
have been eaten by my bones

i kept the elevator key because i needed help up
now sitting in an empty college dorm
wondering if i love myself and
whether or not they really love me
drinking in their attention like wine
or at least like a slurry milkshake
but i can't tell if anything is getting down my throat
can't tell if my belly is ever gonna fill up
and most nights i think it won't
when i love i love so fully that i leave no room to be cherished
and when i wilt *** no one watered me
my roots leech bitter resentment
it is what i take in
my god
my god
It all works in a cycle
I write
sad,
then fear,
then I'm doing alright,
then more fear,
then rage,
sad

A Whirling Dervish
That's what we are.
i joined a sports team
because i felt ignored
and movies make it look like a team leads to
pirate, swashbuckling friendships
that leave you emotionally changed.

well, the other girls got that

i try to speak and they don't look at me
i bring in cupcakes and they don't thank me
it's only when they need someone to help them that they talk to me
which is not unlike everyone else.

well, it did do one thing that was promised
i have changed

people are as good as they are unfeeling
for every kind soul i meet
there is another that would happily leave me jaded
and i'm already cynical

do not speak to me of your problems if you refuse to hear my own
i want your kindess
and your fairness
not a blind eye
Dear,

I want you to grab me from behind

and hug me like you haven’t seen me in months

(because you haven’t)

kiss the hair near the top of my head

and we could just

hang

there

Next time I see you,

every time I see you,

we end up swimming in the other one

just trying to get a little closer

I guess when you already have a trap grip around my heart

it’s hard not to get greedy for more

trust me, I know the feeling

four days

and you’ll be here

but right now

you’re 500 miles away

let’s pretend the state lines aren’t there

and sleep till next week

and imagine that when we wake up

we had gone to sleep in each other’s arms
watching replays
over and over and over again
for what?
gah, i don't need this stress.
the team is going down.
i'm a hockey girl.
but **** it
* NO
THAT SHOULD NOT HAVE BEEN A TOUCH DOWN *
Jesus, I don't need this
we
don't want any of your ******* sorrows
we don't want pretty frowns and lip biting sympathy
don't want a ******* protest song
no no no we don't want a hand on our back
we want one wrapped around this sledgehammer
to help us knock the walls down
and not to look at us in the pharmacies
and the grocery stores
and the waiting rooms
and the therapist chairs
whispering
a lazy generation
*******
you know what my earliest memory was?
two planes slamming into silver sticks of butter on a warm sunny day
and getting pulled out of kindergarten to watch
as pretty red and black confetti jumped out of the smoke
a lazy generation
on too many meds
where were we
when you shoved coke up your nose
in a ******* disco tech
that was gonna burn down before  1993
you were our parents
the nirvana generation
feeling so good about themselves
and shoving their music down our throats so long that we can't remember how to sing for ourselves
you had teen pregnancy and world wars
this is ours
my war is waged between my hands
one that has a wire hanger whipping my back
and the other that doesn't feel guilty
but would rather not have my roommates see and report me
that's all i got going for me is a good education
sure; people love me that's great
pick up a ******* hammer
and help me knock these walls down
not doing too great, sorry folks. i bet you all missed my word ***** format~~
I don't talk about this
you'll think I'm crazy
**** me, **** me, **** me, **** me
the drinking and loss of it all it clouds everyone's view
and no one, no one thinks I'm right
because I'm not
I'm ******* not, of course not I'm crazy
I want to die
**** me
I want to end this
no one thinks like I do
I wanted to find one like minded person
and there is no one
no one
because I'm crazy
and the feelings won't go away
I want to die
hand myself
poison myself
something
I don't belong here
someone
god, someone
I'm crazy
no one will accept the way I think
because I'm wrong
and I know I'm wrong
I'm wrong
you disgusting pigs
and your need for pleasure
and and
and
I'm crazy
no
stop this
**** me
someone
someone
At the heart of the city,
place where there is already a beat
already a steady pounding of secret music to dance to,
there are places for us to move
to see our heroes standing up with a bold bird flying off one hand
and a microphone in the other
guitars, violins, accordions, horns, and oh yes,
drums
to pound our ears into a joyous submission.

Last night
the sweat on my body can as thick as the beer that was dumped on me
the only place I can stand *****
and the bodies pushed against me,
slowly twirling,
quickly churning,
a maelstrom of people that a weaker girl would have avoided
but I left my umbrella at the door
and dove in.
When that happens, the only thing that is real is the music
it's what is controlling the waves
some mad conductor at the mouth of a symphony
made of shrieking hyenas
the order that occurs in chaos
the smiles on people's faces
the punches thrown
the glasses lost
and found again
my God
This
is where I belong
My Nana is
well
calling her a bully isn't fair
but everyone knows she is
so we just put our heads down
That's nice Jann, That's nice

When the sun was starting to get stale
and she was thoroughly bored,
she set her sights on me
Now
the family regard me, I think,
as the fragile child
tough in some ways
willing to work, and work hard
but
thin skinned
and prone to moods
Nana doesn't give a ****
which is,
in a way,
nice
and maddening

So anyway
in front of the whole family
she told me
that I was going to be an unemployed failure
for my whole life
because I'm going to college
not for art
not for philosophy
no
for linguistic studies
(and this was after she started pushing me
to be an artist)

The family
was ******
shaken hornets' nest
Which is in a way nice
but somehow
maddening
and they stayed angry for three days
I got over it in one.


I have a bug bite on my ankle
I only noticed it this morning
the skin is cracking and peeling
like I had sun burn
but I don't
the skin is just falling off

Nana isn't speaking to me.
One day, like an island, you showed up
out of the great blue nothingness.
Like a Venus born of an SUV, clad in hiking boots and jeans.

One day.
That was all.

The smell of you lingers, my love
on my shoulder, where you leaned your head.
So now, if I tilt my own,
I can find the ghost of you
as though you were standing just behind me.
Instead, you are being dragged
every minute
away from me
so far away from me.
The swing set was an old thing
like the brittle bones of an elephant
so worn that it had started to forget;
that's what her Gramma said, at least.
But Calpurnia Gray loved it
sat in it
till the seat sagged before she sat down
inviting her to rest.

Calpurnia Gray preferred the city
but the suburbs were what she got
and the swing set looked over some deep gulch of the woods
where even the suburbs ended.
Wilderness.

It filled her with such strange fantasies
of leaping through the trees like an ape
tearing off her clothes
and chasing down game
like some odd Tarzan with cobalt blue painted toe nails.
That would be the life for her if only she could go back
back
to the wilderness on the other side of the suburbs.
To the place where concrete monoliths lit up the sky at night
and rivers of asphalt carved always changing paths
for some intrepid explorer
to find a new bookstore
or museum
or something strange.

But Calpurnia didn't have either.

She had the suburbs.

And the swing set.

The swing set that always sat there, that never got away
the swing set that was crumbling with time and stagnation
but at least it was what she knew.
i knew you would forget my name
if i didn't write it for you every day
for you to see.
so i found the bridge your car whizzes under
every day to work
and sprayed it in blue
with toadstools and fireworks
pretty girls and tampons
was it enough to wipe the yellow from your mind?

i knew you would forget my name
if i didn't write it down every day
for you to see.
so i shimmied up the sky and hung a banner
of azure eyes and white, white teeth
and waited.
but next week i saw it
floating down the river
with two empty cans of chewing tobacco
and a lemonade carton.

i knew you would forget my name
if i didn't write it
big enough
so i held my breath
with my head on the tracks
and waited for the rumbling to stop

by chance i relived that scene
in the cosmic cloister where i'm still waiting
saw that my head was smeared for a mile
trying to spell out
Hello!
but the trail was an unripe cantaloupe

i turned away
and wept
a ghost story written when i was feeling very small
The sea gives me the same feeling as the city streets
swelling, beating, breathing,
to a rhythm more like music
more alive than I could ever be
weaving a thousand fantasies
and holding me steadfast
with the knowledge
that is is
by no means
safe

It whispers beguilingly
telling tales of swashbucklers past
letting me know that
no
I might not come back
The musical beast!
the sea! the sea!
never conquered
and never known
Stretch out the veins in me
the roots of a willow
bent and strong
drinking in the autumn air
waiting to be trampled on
but this morning
it is all soft moss
wrapping my heart in cool comfort

My lungs push out,
my diaphragm pulls down
the tides pulsing back and forth
powerful and cleansing
sweeping out the toxins of humanity  
and pushing in the sweet sands
to build new life

My ******* shift softly
dunes on the edge of the sea
soft and unforgiving
hard to scale and smoldering hot
burning the hands and  feet of those who do not tread with respect

A woman is an ocean
The ax is blunt
but sharp enough to help with the job
on hot and sticky mornings like this
when my  dad has me working around the house
few things so satisfying
as sinking blades into drywall
disassembling the mistakes
the previous owners laid down

Still, the ax is blunt
and makes me swing harder
so the muscles beneath my soft arms
jiggle and pull taught
I always wanted to fix the goof ups of the past
but work?
I didn't know I would have to work
I'm sweating, sticking, coughing
more than what I bargained for

This ax is too blunt
and I retreat inside
to the comfort of the air conditioning
that the last generation installed
I want to make a change, I do
but come on!
the tools are too weak
or maybe I am
Oh the days when I used to go outside!
Scrambling across the rocks of the cliffs
threatening to toss me into the creeks below!
You found things down there
things long lost
the bones of a thousand pets
that the neighbors had chucked over our cliff,
the skulls of Mr. Mittens staring back at me
the death didn't get me
but the low howling of the wind
echoing up from the highway
moaning like a thousand survivors
of something that they should have died for

I was thrown from them only once
and I was trapped for half a day
in an abandoned wine cellar
no one had been in, my dad said,
for at least a hundred years
the mill stones twice my hight
and barrels smashed
ribs of dead behemoths
I was sure I would die there
and some other little girl would find my bones
looks like someone had a monkey for a pet!
and the moaning
it screamed in my ears
until I wanted to join in the chorus

my dad saved me
at half past seven
when the sun was nearly down, his hand plunged through the broken wooden roof
I clung to this grizzled man
like a circus monkey
worst I got were some bug bites
but still I'm wary
of the moans
I cannot write.

I simply cannot.



Unless writing is merely the description of our own humanity.
In which case, I write very well
I summarize what makes myself
in a form of paper clip flat
and in the black smudges of light
on a hot laptop's screen
I make the pills you pop
when you feel the angst
and I make the black tar you shoot up
into your drowsy veins
I am the writer
I am the dealer
I am the pharmacist
I am a speaker of myself
and nothing less
hello words
good evening friends
console my mewling lips
with the hot coals of recognition
please feed my habit
of eating fire
and burning from inside out
here i am to argue
that you can put your arms around a memory
and kiss them till you fall asleep
you can put your arms around a memory
but you'll just be ******* a ghost
and when you're finished
you'll be much colder than you were before
written about a breakup
Look! The sky is alive!
A writhing, spitting monster
marking off the years
Hosanna! hosanna!
The gay and massive celebration
swelling in the sweltering streets
hurling fire
and music
and the smell of fresh ribs off the grill.
*Good God! Hosanna!
The first calls of the katydid
It's a mystical affair
One that marks the summer
and swells through the air
Like a thousand tiny whispers
forming one booming voice
So nice to hear the summer night
Embrace the stars and rejoice.

Sticky humid evenings
where the ceiling fans hum
and the moths dance around the bare bulbs
and my eyelids start to strum
It's a wondrous cacophony
of love, of muse, of hope
One I could not describe to you
The sheer inhuman scope

I am a girl of two lives
One tortured, one free
Somewhere between rich wilderness
and a fairylit city
And you can always join me
If you're ready for the ride.
In an odyssey of summers
where night and dreams collide

The sleepy call of firelight
It crackles through the gloom
Lights our eyes rich amber
as they reflect the golden plumes

If I could spend every night
in the company of friends
A novel or a notebook
What comfort that they lend
Some days I live for Summer
And anxiety's reprieve
Where all my worldly troubles
pack up and take their leave
And dash off on the frost
scattering to leave the room
Until next September
but that won't be coming soon

If you would like to join me
You can always find me here
I want to lend you my hand
I want to lend you my ear
I'll always be there
when you need someone near
Cause I've been there
And I'm here, I'm alright
And if I can make it, you can
Just wait for the summer nights
This is something I wrote for my band :)
Tonight!
Oh what sweet splendors
of travel that pour themselves out and over me!
Not to exotic lands,
but to those far better
the square foot of land that lays beneath us
when I am wrapped in your arms!
My bag is not packed,
there are gifts to be made,
things to be set in order
But just 10 hours!
10 hours after two months!
And I will be yours once again

The excitement,
the rapture,
one week of playing house with you
in the hot summer breezes
of Western Ohio
flat land,
so different from my home, from what I like
but what does it matter?
In your arms, the place could be bent and folded
painted in the wondrous colors of strata
Rose, gold, deep blacks and shimmering veins
of ground water spurting forth.
Pretty shell fossils
and pink quartz
they all exist in your eyes,
in your arms,
in your kiss
I yelled at him last night
for no real reason
I was happy and then a shot gun champagne cork
it just happened.
He recoiled, afraid.
Had I not just been laughing?
Joking?
And suddenly Hell reared its head
for a second
just long enough to snarl
Shut up shut up SHUT UP
He took pause, and I apologized profusely
I wasn't expecting
this wasn't your fault.
He just held my shoulders through the telephone
and pulled me to him
whispering softly
I am never afraid of you

Only afraid for you.
The sleet had piled high up on the side of the road, spraying the brownish gray over the pedestrians. Sharlesburg was far out on the Pennsylvania country side, and the town was choked by trucks hauling by and the smells of dairy farms. No one really stayed there long, aside from the clerks in the little stores, maybe a few waitresses, and none of them wanted to stay around. No, the waitresses all wanted to move to the city and get their big time jobs, and the clerks wanted to move down somewhere warmer to retire. Maybe to the lake, but that was too rough in the winters. Well, the Summers were gorgeous, and so maybe that would work. The only ones who wanted to hang around were the farmers.

     Life was slow, and the farmers knew the land. Time there plodded away slower than the cows grazing on the moors. As one year grew into two and two into six, not much ever really changed for them. The land would go from muddy and torn to green and sparkling, gold and cracked, and again to the mud, smeared with the white from the snow. And all the while, the animals paced, and so did the farmers, wandering deeper and deeper into the rut.

     Tyler sat by the window, watching the cattle huddle together out in the mud, her tea and her breath fogging the window. Her father was out at town for the weekend, though she never really asked why. Monday he would probably stagger home reeking of a medicine cabinet. Another cow might die this winter, she was sure, because she had never learned how to deal with a cow in labor, and the vet didn't like to come by any more. That Tyler wasn't sure of why, but her father was almost certainly the blame for that.

Her mother wasn't around anymore; she left with a furniture salesman to live on the lake.

The television glowered in the corner, the same four channels playing the same four things. Tyler switched them off, but wanted the noise, and turned on the radio.

"REPENT SINNERS REPENT SINNERS! FOR THE FIERY HELL AWAITS YOU! I MEAN YOU, YOU WITH YOUR ****** MUSIC AND YOU JEAN SHORTS! HAVE YOU SEEN THE TV? THOSE GIRLS, WITH THEIR EXPOSED CHESTS AND GOING TO WORK-,"

Tyler switched it off again.

Something had fluttered outside. What really caught her eye was that it wasn't white, like the sky, it wasn't the snow, it wasn't the mud or a black back of a cow. It was something red and shiny.

The snow was falling pretty hard though. She couldn't be sure.

In the quiet, Tyler could discern the mooing yelps of one of the cows. She pulled on her yellow winter coat and scrambled outside. The air was cold and sharp against her nose, ripping away the smells of manure and filth. Even the tobacco from the ashtray was blank; the landscape was nothing but sound and snow and the ******* cold.

      The cows stood in a brace, black bodies radiating heat in the January snow. Tyler shoved them aside, though they hardly budged. Saliva dripped onto her shoulders and onto the ground, little pits in the mud. One cow groaned again, and as she got closer, she saw it was laying on its side in the middle of the brace. A pregnant cow, heaving under the pain of labor.

    She guffawed, trying again to shove the onlookers aside, but it seemed as though they merely packed closer together, and she could hardly get an arm through. As Tyler watched, the cow shrieked in pain.  Cows clamored tighter in the bunch and their eyes swallowed the sight as dully as cud.
"Please, move! get out of the way!"
     Of course, the beasts, they paid no mind. The heifer shrieked again as blood began to spout heavily fourth. The Cows did not even step back. They did not budge as Tyler beat on their rumps, not a flinch. The cries of pain grew weaker and weaker and the legs went from their horrible flailing to the slow movements of a dying moth.
When the scene ended, the cows were no longer amused, and passed on. The heifer was dead. Tyler scrambled forward in hopes of saving maybe the calf.
It was only a ****** rag , hanging sadly from the mother's bowels. no life had touched the wretched thing.
Tyler sighed.
And went back inside.
Jenny was the girl in school that no one talked to;
she was addicted to cough drops.
And her piggy little eyes lit up as her bony fingers
reached into the bag again.

She'd roll the cherry lights in her mouth,
lips stained red and sticky.
Her fingers felt the way that toddler's did;
that clammy, grasping goo.
A hypochondriac to the last.
No, no one liked Jenny LaMar
But I
who fell in love.
It only hurts so badly because
the only person I have ever let in
and really let in
that has loved me
and I have loved back with the same fervor

It only kills me so well
better than all the other things I have tried
is because I love him so
and he! He drinks!
and seeks to change me!
To get me to accept that!
I cannot
I know that I am mad for keeping such an ideal,
but I fight for it.
And he wants me to lose.
Sitting in a subway
(I mean the restaurant)
writing poems like...
well..
for me to really count
as a hipster *** hat
I would need to be in a coffee shop.
So I guess...

I'm writing free verse poetry
in a Subway
like a chick writing free verse poetry
in a subway
You are the only one who can see the fireworks in my imagination


and the graveyards of my discontent


You are the only one who ever has, who ever will


and I, in turn, can see your stories and your ambitions


I want to see all of you


I want to touch all of you


and be as one


that is all I want
This is from a conversation I had with boyfriend. So taken was I with longing that this trickled off of my fingers. I took pause and read it again and realized...Jesus Christ, I am corny as hell, haha.
There was a kingdom by the sea
that had a name
but most called it just
The Pearl of the Coast,
because that is what it was.
The riches within the city walls were more than an outsider could fathom,
and a bustling economy promised to keep it that way.
The Pearl had been led for half a century
by a wise King
and a just Queen.
Between them, they had one daughter,
who was pretty enough to truly count as one of the riches of their city.
Suiters came from far and wide, hoping to get
just
one
glimpse
of her fair beauty
before the fickle girl brushed them off her shoulders like mosquitoes.
It had no true spoken enemies,
for the walls and army were too great to conquer
but riches
bring dark men
to plotting and scheming.

There was a band of other kingdoms-
all prosperous, but not quite as much so as the Pearl
who were jealous and greedy
and coveted the jewels of the Pearl
all for themselves.
They would plan together,
but none could quite figure out how to get past the huge walls
and the spears of the watchmen.
But once, to their conniving company came
a Dark Magician
feared all around for his power and his wit.
These Kings of lesser kingdoms, though,
they saw only and opportunity to be seized.

They promised the Magician a share of the riches
if he would help them bring the Pearl to its knees.

The Magician, after little consideration,
obliged.

From their greed, he fashioned a Homunculus
shaped it like a handsome young man
more handsome than anyone could be born as
and sent him to the palace.
The Princess was vain and swept off her feet
by this new young man
and soon took to calling her.
There was one, though, who saw through him.
Perhaps it was his own jealousy that cleared his eyes,
but a young Sorcerer,
the closest friend of the Princess,
and the only man who had ever loved her truly,
warned of the Homunculus.
The Princess, smitten, was outraged.
The warning given by a friend only encouraged the relationship,
as those things often do
for children love to see themselves as Star Crossed Lovers
and the fickle Princess estranged herself from her oldest friend,
though the Sorcerer stayed loyal.

One night, however,
the King and Queen,
who themselves were quietly against the union,
were murdered.
The cause was clear:
Magic.
The guard turned to the Sorcerer,
for he had been turned down by the Princess,
and was, as they said, Hungry for revenge.
Only his past friendship saved his life,
and he was imprisoned in an empty tower a mile outside of the Pearl's walls.
He howled to be set free,
and the Princess would listen from her widow's walk.
Only when the howling stopped and was replaced
by a bitter silence
did her heart break.

After her marriage to the Homunculus
she started to wither
and hid herself in her chamber.
The guards would often see her wandering the grounds at night
wringing her hands and moaning in sorrow and paranoid fear.
"He might come back," she would whisper
and then burst into tears.
Often she was mistaken for a ghost,
and her parade of visitors slowly trickled to a stop.
Meanwhile, the Homunculus had taken control of the Kingdom.
He actually did more for the economy that the past King and Queen did,
for he had opened up trade with a shady band of kingdoms
that everyone had sworn that they had been in a Cold War with
just yesterday...

It had been nearly twenty years
when the Magician demanded that the band of kings
pay him for his work.
They had been ruling the Pearl from the shadows for some time now,
and he was ripe for his due.
The Kings' greed though had only inflated after they had their prize
as had their pride.
And they,
foolishly,
declined.
The Magician was outraged.
He called back his creation one day in March.

The Homunculus knew that the sword of Damocles was ready to drop,
and hastened in his escape
but
over the years
he had grown attached to his Queen
and it pained him to think of her suffering along with him.
He warned her himself
that the Pearl was to be destroyed spectacularly
and then he fled,
and she never saw his face again.

The Queen was horrified
and looked out over the people who she had neglected for twenty years.
No longer a beauty,
but a frightened old woman.
She knew what she had to do.
Grabbing her travel cloak around her,
the Queen rode as fast as she could
to the tower outside of the walls.
Her old friend was still sitting there,
chained to the wall.
Never had the woman seen such squalor, and it broke her heart all over again.
His hair was long and matted,
not peppered, but smeared with gray.
His robes were those that he had worn on the day he was taken away
crusted with filth.
The tower was falling down around him;
huge gaping holes where windows had been
mocked the poor Sorcerer
and the fireplace that should have been maintained by guards
was nothing more than smoldering coals.

The Queen fell to her knees and begged his forgiveness,
begged him to save the city that he had been shunned from.
But so many things about him had changed,
and all of the kindness had leaked from his eyes.
He rose onto his feet, and the rats skittered away.

"You fool!" He cried,
"I cannot save them!
The Magic coming has already been set in motion, and I,
I have not eaten more than rats and the dirt from the floor in more than twenty years.
I am hopelessly weak, with only the strength for one more spell. "
He grabbed the Queen's hands, the sorrow of his broken heart overshadowed by rage.
"You will watch this tragedy, for it is one of your own making!
I curse you so that you may never die,
never sleep,
not till you have worked the labors of every servant
of the world begins to burn!"
With that, he pushed the shocked woman aside
and, scrambling to the fire,
swallowed the hot coals
and died there in front of his betrayer.

The Queen could do nothing but watch
as the sky turned black,
and the sea rose up
and swallowed the Pearl.
The screams of her people were silenced quickly,
leaving her alone
with her thoughts
and the body of the only man
who had ever
loved her.
Bees nest chucked into a limousine
OCD's introduced to the filth and strobe lighting

I used to be a good kid.
But the suburbs got me.
Stripped away my hope, my individuality
crammed me into a high school
with 45 blacks,
20 Asians
and only about... 3,000 white run-of-the-mill
Shaler-Bubble kids
(All of whom thought, by the way, that being Catholic
was exotic) ,
and made to eat the **** of nothing to do.

It came out in nightmares
their bad behavior
that I stood for
touched and beaten by boys
I bared it
ostracized and devoured
last year I came into my stride
but do you have PTSD?
Can you look into the eyes of another man
without wondering ******* him?
Do you want to hurt the people you love
because you fear,
no, you know,
they will **** you?
A whirl wind of insanity.
What was precarious
was pushed.

No ma'am,
the suburbs got me,
and I'm a burn out by the road
fingers dripping with paint and my own blood
and smudged with ink
I'll drink in your pity
whiskey on my mind
thank you
pass another flask of it
no drug makes me feel alive quite like asprin
maybe love, I guess
don't know how I got that, ma'am
the suburbs got me
maybe I can get out.
it has always been about controlling myself
i can't just feel without asking whether or not i'm
allowed
to feel something
whenever i'm angry
i don't have the right
if i'm frightened,
i am too weak
my happiness
i am stealing
from someone else
i wish i could pay in advance
at least in blood
can i pay my credit in blood?
oh good
rip open my wallet
and fill the banks
till they are dripping
i don't want to steal from you
i do not want to brutalize my neighbors
please
take my offerings
till i am cold broke
my god
my god
There are few things so cruel as the curse of night time
for on this day, I worked in the hot sun
and cordially spoke with friends on this evening,
we laughed and played and said horrible things that, were we in mixed company,
would have been pushed into the recesses of our minds
to be texted out later.
But the night!
It is not a stalking wolf
not like fear-
that is merely the space between my eyes and the rest of the world when the lids are shut.
On no
it is an old friend,
the sorrows borne of
of
of what?
Fists at my brow?
Lips on my flesh?
Or the curse of my own biology?
No matter! I digress.
The old friend, waiting to turn a nice day into a heart ache.
He's drinking again, and that shouldn't matter to me.
It isn't in excess,
I'm just puritanical, I know,
and for once I'm not having a **** panic attack over it,
but I hurt.
I ache.
This is dumb, it is foolish
it is childish.
Childish! Childish!
Cowardly
What worth is my pain?
Tuesday, it will be a year since I hurt myself,
and I'm not going to again because I have someone I love who cares about me
and doesn't just treat my hurt like it's a ploy for attention
(if it were a ploy, I wouldn't be posting this on a poetry website,
it would be facebook
with tags for the people who put me here).
But seriously though,
what does it matter if I am in pain?
Depression, for me, has always been a matter of
1) ignore the urges
2) cover the symptoms.
Even when I was hurting myself,
I would make the marks look like I had fallen off of my bike or some **** like that,
so my parents would scold.
They never worried
it was just annoying to them.
Annoying?
To you?
**** it, I'm the one having this happen!
But then, you are carting me from doctor to doctor to shrink and back again,
you're the ones that the school calls when I get into fights and I try and **** myself in the locker room.
So I guess I am a burden.
But I'd be more of a burden if I was dead,
because then you'd have to explain to everyone
and my love would be ruined
and my parents would have to pay to bury their girl
and
and
and
**** it, what am I supposed to do?
I knew this would happen,
I don't understand
I'm not particularly smart, or wise, or anything.
I'm just kind hearted.
That's what I do.
So what do I do?
Ah.
Whatever.
I guess I just go to sleep.
forgive me; this poem isn't as well written as usual. it's a rough night, i was just...vomiting words.
He just broke
right
down
Lips pushed up against the speaker
leaning up against my heart
I tried to crawl into the phone
but the holes were too small
and here we are now
feeling like we both went through a cheese grater
and no body said 'when'
when the waiter came.

It spreads, it pops,
and the blister hangs dry
stinging like a *****
so you can't quite put your foot down
Well, neither can I
so let's tie our ankles together
and we'll wander on like kid foot races
lean on me
lean on you
lean on me
lean on you
see, we'll make it forward
that shining city is just three years away
we'll be together
just remember
the first aid kit
I write far too many
*******
run of the mill
every day
emo poems

But guess what?
I follow in the footsteps of Andy Warhol,
a hero of my city.
You want this crap?
Okidoke!
Next page