Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Together amid greenery and blossoms
they stand shoulder to shoulder, narrow eyed
and fixated upon bursts of golden daylily.

More than spring mingles in the mist
more than heat flows between them
mystery envelops them

There was the first time she held a clock
a miniature spring operated swiss piece
forbidden, still she opened the back

Movement, synchronized with sound, churned
tick, tick, tock, tock, steady clicks
worked the hands notch after notch

Would she let what was between them
work without her fingers, incited by catlike curiosity,
prying open the back of him

Stare at his insides, his tick, tick, tock, tock
until she sees him as a machine
turning until the spring unwinds?
 Jun 2014 Megan Grace
gd
Candles.
 Jun 2014 Megan Grace
gd
I'm trying to find inspiration from the sun
but its radiance is absolutely blinding
causing dazed looks and inevitable perplexion.
So I think that maybe if I stand here long enough
it might build a narrow path right in my direction,
leading me towards a walkway I can finally understand.
Instead of the waxy candelabras that tell tales as old as time
I might stumble upon something of shine and glimmer
against the darkest of curtains and the fading shadows
hidden behind giggles and the smell of sweet scented roses.
But with the wind on my back and the fire in my heart
I might just conquer the world and join the sun
in its conquest to fill a void at centre of the universe
and at the core of my soul.

gd
 Jun 2014 Megan Grace
brooke
it took everything

to not call you in Albuquerque, let
you know I'm here, just know I was
there just know I was driving the roads
breathing the same air, that this was the
closest we'd been since april of last year, that
you could see me, that you could see me but
I was too afraid of you not wanting to see me
too afraid of the commas you wouldn't use
the perpetual boredom sounding through
your replies, the I don't want anything to
do with you
and I told brett that you
were probably one of those people
who never speaks to an ex once
you're done and I was both
surprised and hurt by my
lack of knowledge by the
sheer amount of things
that i didn't know
about you but
you never ask
these things
because they
never
matter



not until later.
(c) Brooke Otto 2014
I read a chapter on beating-heart cadavers
how they lay looking alive
chest rising, blood pumping
but brain not functioning
I started to cry
because once upon a time
you were a beating-heart cadaver
and now I know what comes after
how they probably slit you
from below the belly button
to just under the Adam's apple
practically unzipped you
then systematically took out organs
cutting arteries, clamping things
all the while your face
calmly looking asleep or maybe
hidden under a shroud
despite the initial stomach drop
I realized I couldn't have been
more proud of you
I couldn't have been
any more
proud
Daniel Magner 2014

which is why I am an ***** donor.
all i want right now
is to write something
heavy enough that you will
collapse under the weight of it
so i will be left with pieces of you
like the way you pronounce the word "milk"
or what your hands do
to the inside of your arms when they're bored
and i know they cut your hair and threw you in a cell
but i hope you feel this as i'm writing it
i hope you collapse
i remember all those different moment
at random when someone would say your name
or smirk like you used to
like you knew something about me no one else did
but i'm bad at keeping secrets
and i want you to collapse
and i want you to feel this
and i wont pick up even one piece of it

and i still love you so ******* much
i hope, i hope, i hope this ******* gets to you
 Jun 2014 Megan Grace
marina
and it goes like this:
one day you will look at me
and tell me i'm beautiful like
you always do and i will
not be able to take it anymore

i've been trying hard not to
be in love with you like i know i always
have been, because since day one
i never wanted to just ******* or lie to you
or push you away

i just
wanted
you

beautiful you, with
your quirked eyebrow and your
mother's nose and your love of
stormy afternoons and most recently
me

(i think about you all the time)
you tell me, like i don't understand
but one day you will learn that
i have written hundreds of lines of
poetry about you and i hope that they
will make you
smile
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
Next page