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Megan Hundley Nov 2011
you don't understand at all do you
not truly
you think
I'm a liar
that I still hold the knife
stabbed you in the back
[and in the heart]

kinda speechless
that you feel that way
think that way
believe it
untrustworthy? misleading?
false emotions?
can you not read?
here let me try again
maybe I can make it like braille
feel the words

it's like when the clouds stormy eyes
welled up and let fall the
tears of weekend rain
soggy, we laughed along with the thunder
and under our waterfall we let the windows
tell me I lied then

or picture if you will
standing by the tree I
always parked by
it was a starry night, but we didn't see it
we were too focused on our faces
why is it I was the only one
drowning in the sadness that overtook my eyes
shaking with each strained, choppy breath
clutching that gray shirt like a life jacket
do you think that was all
for show?

haven't you looked at
my collection of black and white
silly letters scribbled down as fast as possible
trying as hard as I can
to leave it all
on the paper
but it's as if each word I write
is a tattoo
slowly invading every part of my skin
it's sinking in, it's staining everything
do you think this agony I speak of
is fake?

if so
if I am that liar with the knife who
led you astray and "******* you over"
let you down, kicked you around
if you can't seem to
open your eyes
and notice
just how much I love you
just how much I always have

then you don't deserve it

ill run miles for you when I know I only
have the strength for one
but don't you
watch me run
if you don't even grasp
that I stabbed myself in the back
led myself astray

you have a right to
hate the wound
but if you can't see
what I feel
one day
I will learn
that I have to let go
and I will

then all these silly letters
all for you

well. go ahead and throw them away
on that day
they will carry no life
12.5k · Jul 2012
Megan Hundley Jul 2012
I began to notice the
Blotched ink, frayed seams
yet those who can't see
can't care

It was most familiar to a weary box
Which spent weekdays and nights
To warm faces and comfort Sundays

I struggled when the
torch of permanent portions was passed to
me. Each word felt unworthy and full of
I always strived for

I used to clutch the cloth
carefully folding and unfolding
fearing the sendoff, knowing the return
would become rare
If at all.
it was a pricked finger and

It was right to hideaway
At the time
I crumbled under the stage lights
The audience was expecting
All I could provide was

And like a spoiled child
I still pout
Demanding fame under my demanded
Street Lamps


What is, is

But. I do remember. Even if you figure the pants don't fit
5.8k · Apr 2012
Megan Hundley Apr 2012
Sometimes, it takes a rope with split ends,
steep foot holes and time limits.
Red earth worms and a speech- I listen; I [do] not understand
30 second pulses and a swinging braid
always fall for waves of fog, lost in forced discovery
each shoe string is reminiscent, touch opaque cracking
dissolved into the rapids rapidly refreshing moss wigs
heels pressed against soprano rain water
shaking ripples, this swelling log has the answer

I could have made it up the hill
I could have found my way
I could have chosen
old memories
3.6k · Mar 2012
Megan Hundley Mar 2012
The river drank gallons of ripened water-the color of aging bananas
mouth gaping wider, fishing for more of a glass half full
tired of the filthy laundry piling beneath the surface
waiting to sketch deeper into the canyon and discover
a cure for boredom

sunset: gazing at the back of the horizon
easy to notice the tiny spit of pointillism
which gave focus to the clouds
maybe there are more finer details
than a ragged pair of sneakers and
eye lashes that tickle ears

hoping that the crisp iced air would help
remind tall lagging legs that the unexpected action
would be to keep 3 extra soft layers waiting for
the dirt encrusted pink toe nails to feel the promise of
making a right choice

thinking perhaps that writing down little
snip-its of the way curls only twist closer to
each other in heat will keep the electricity in busy brains
buzzing just long enough to avoid the bills
but only if someone describes touching lace

thinking even more that there
are better ways for you and I to figure out the word
if by midnight strawberry swirls don't melt down my arm
3.1k · Aug 2012
Fast Food
Megan Hundley Aug 2012
covered in flies only the letters KYLIN  ILLE were seen. ripped corners of grease, caved in drooping. the way the ants ran, weak to the prophesied speaker. gathered around the mushed manifesto, soaking extensively in the intrigue of carelessness. Ravishing.
Only by the absence of thought could I stumble onto the moments before the drop off. a blurred glance at the road, a swipe of unclean against deep blue. easy strides and a weighted spine. in the vacancy of worries a quick glare to the sun, a double checking of unexpected, brisk anger.
Your slip n slide fingers, loud mouth cowards. faltering in the responsibility of a finished task.
Down dipped merry words of toxic proclamation, viewed by your carefree t-shirt, openly believing it has all the time in the world before it splats against the static concrete
and spoils
2.9k · Sep 2012
Megan Hundley Sep 2012
A gritty man said the world is a place to bury
into. take both feet, heels deep in the city.
coughing through thick smoke, he said
you will know that people are as stuck as gum under the rails
I responded: maybe they are taking their time

when I sleep my eyes don't close
I beat dust with my breathing and let my eyelids flutter at the fan
dreams of sailing entice water from my eyes
I reach over and let droplets cascade into your hair
it always smells like coconut and driftwood

Each morning you wake the sheets are chilled and my is suit warm
I breath perfume from your blouse while I type, see your strawberry hair fall
to your eyes. I relish in solving paper stacks and late night empty floors, yet
I crave the sound of our garage door as it closes behind me

I let my hands fall, careful to miss my pockets
sliding them loosely at my side.
I go out into the clean cut gray window gallery, rows of traffic
The man's smoggy afterthoughts say the subway is as beautiful as
his exhales, sleep is only a man who can breathe both above and below a great sea
and suits secretly climb up slides and swing across monkey bars-
each craving their own private happiness.

all I really want, at the close of each day
is to make you peanut butter truffle cheesecake and lemon drop tea
paint the bathroom cherry red
rub your feet during movie nights
and hold your hand while we sleep
2.6k · Jul 2012
Megan Hundley Jul 2012
My breath fogged your glasses
someones glasses
hard to tell hard to see hard to care
so I whipped up a couple of blinks and pumped more blood
garden fresh cheeks
lace and sweet cherry knots
memorizing scripts in margarita swirls
same sentences--erased lines
spied the EXIT fall
crashed with a simple laugh
I laughed too
rows of lipstick stains and plastic strips
tripping over the way out
muttering punk sputtering prank
then they wobbled out the
and I ordered more foggy
Megan Hundley May 2012
my program is a lost signal
overweight styrofoam rubbing
muddled in hangover hair
choke back the over spill
language will clog the drain
bulky, fatigued under the awning
cruised to isle tempi passati
surfed a certain drift,
your flexing dedication was
heat exhaled into a humbled room wearing a sweatshirt/sweat pant combo with the comforter pulled all the way up at 3 p.m. on a  humid summer afternoon
wandering mirage day trips  
publicly a deaf runaway gnawing on a cactus wing
robbed of north and south
scouting for rocks half in moss
anxious I won't be home in time to see
my favorite show. doesn't need a
button to play, just some bad
luck and thunder drool
Megan Hundley Sep 2012
There are orca whales in my ears
but only when it rains
ill swallow the gnats to feed
the bellies and the growing fears
I never know how to greet it

I took the nail filer and carved
two perfect holes directly above my big toes
you can never be too careful
I wanted to make sure my feet knew that sometimes
things happen

I promised my umbrella that if
it could wait another couple weeks
I wouldn't rip it to shreds myself
why is there patience for quitters and
people who hate thunderstorms?

There are orca whales in my ears
but only when it rains
Gave into the cooped clouds,
let them smear cleaner through my roots
swaying instead to dodge the drip
and heaving sighs
2.3k · May 2012
Megan Hundley May 2012
In the corner next to the underpaid electricity
where no one wants to sit and reheat leftovers
admitting each bite taste better than the original,
hardly ready to walk down an isle of silver ware
but if I were I 'd pick the Waterford to match
during the reception I'll wear my glass as glasses
the shallow smiles will ask my dress to snake
as I crave the framed grace, the crisscrossed
napkins and two bites of the others peanut butter
truffle cheesecake, I'll hardly have to worry about
a thing, easy on the musty air my lungs won't
stop flexing this microphone everyone saw got
unplugged an hour ago and as the last couple
to enter will be the first to leave I'll eat a strawberry
to taste the sweetness of the moment
later I'll put my guard down long enough to side slip a
glance to the guest who walked around laces flapping,
shoulder tapping, fingers mapping with eyes stating
the impossibility of believing any of it
2.0k · Sep 2012
Lunch Time at Daycare
Megan Hundley Sep 2012
Her fingers were covered in corn.
the corn after chewing, broken
pierced, churned- it could spread as butter
thick on stale toast, if needed
"it's fine, don't you worry, we'll get you all cleaned up"
she stared indifferently

Strings dangled from her mouth, unswept
full of necessary greens ---"mhm there there, this will give
you so much energy" --- drags of breath,
half inhale half choke. nothing to look forward to,
not the next soaking glob, not the cursing woman
in the bathroom, not the spill of light to her eyes

Where are the ladles, Did you check on it? The key? Just moved, most the suitcases aren't there yet. Remember to bring the Did you check on it? pay attention. Have you seen my grand kids?
who are you?

Sunday's are for the active ones
The games down the hall are  too far. Why worry with legs, if she could just adjust to the left
the world could sag into an ongoing dream- No demands, no games, no movement.

The nurses hair net had more presence than the splotch of gray against her peeling itchy scalp. Drool leaked from leather lips, dampening the collar of her two month sticky blouse.  Arms curled and locked,displaying under the wax skin cranberry patches-
she never wiped them off. Always the soft murmer of
a snore, always the smell of unbrushed teeth and hampers.

"Did you touch those where don't touch me scott scott scott leave my things alone thevenin I need a stop lying I want to go scott, scott? scott.     I            can't              remember                       any"

I said my name four times before she heard me, knew me
I fixed her pillow and my sister marked off the day on the calendar.
We told her about school, the marching band, each word
filled with forced enthusiasm. She bobbed  her head in circles, lazily
rolling her eyes, the curtain shading the empty space. We spent 30 minutes precisely.

She was more than I realized.
I never knew she had horseback riding, violin playing days. She traveled and  hiked. We could have been close. Unraveling with the mystery, I felt the lateness of my curiosity.
It was 30 minutes precisely, always.

We acted as strangers, reciting routine and wishing each other a happy day and a quiet love you
2.0k · Jul 2013
scattered trees
Megan Hundley Jul 2013
give me your cure
and the top shelf blue velvet
its mine
and I'm not well

I know the feel
of bikes
balance ; focus
I notice I ride
in circles

I hide in sweet sonnets
a toothache for charm
a rush behind my eyes
raw sugar

penpal promises
sealed late in the night
I told God He could have me
if He paid for the stamps

hands crossed my eyes
in a desperate attempt
to keep me away
from the truth

I never peaked
not to stare not to know
I'd rather walk the line
2.0k · Jan 2012
Megan Hundley Jan 2012

it smells like
in this room

left in the trash
all twisted

did it taste
too ripe. was it
too old?

I bet
when the juice hit your
small cuts. small cuts
almost healed- but it still had to
hurt. just a bit
just a bit?

but that was awhile ago
from the looks of it
wedged down there
in the stupid trash

that doesn't matter
no one feels bad about
the action of peeling
an orange

I was just saying that
this room
(which was always too small)
still carries the
1.9k · Mar 2012
Megan Hundley Mar 2012
I decided it was time to get the sponge
find the soap underneath the sink underneath the
garbage bags and start piling on the
lukewarm bubbles and wait for it to reach a
comfortable level before I allowed my hands to grab
this bowl that was stacked side by side, tall and wide along with the plates and glasses
grimy with crusting red sauce, an alarm for the bugs reminding them
spaghetti was made last week. I had to put more elbow grease
into that off-white, lightly detailed, crunchy bowl. the
red stain threatened the credibility, questioned the use of
cereal for breakfast or ice cream at night. So I tried harder to
make it disappear and my arm did not
understand and my bowl did not
I almost left the sink full of cold water, void of soap, floating sponge
and I almost left the hard work for someone else who
doesn't give up
but I was fuming and I was frustrated and I was not ready to
so I picked up last week's spaghetti and made it this weeks
ice cream bowl
1.9k · Oct 2012
Megan Hundley Oct 2012
I can have whatever I want
I hold my father's wallet and my mother's softness
Frequently the pantry overflows, clothes don't fit the closet
I am immune from suffering and misery. Never will I fear life

I steal my father's wallet and my mother's softness
Manipulative, selfish- I create problems because I have none
I fear life- Never will I be immune from misery and suffering
I reach at others scars and pretend I am one of them

I create problems because I am manipulative and selfish
people linger as experiments, museum exhibits, re-writable pages
I reach with others, pretending their scars are mine
limping in persistent perfection, curiously wiping sweat from addicts

Lingering are people's experiments, museum exhibits, re-written pages
What is it that leaves me unsatisfied?
A limping, sweaty addict to perfection, curiously persistent
Eventually, will I be grateful? Will I be proud?

What is it that leaves them unsatisfied?
I've noticed some would rather stray than try
Eventually I will be grateful and proud.
I feel compelled-maybe to an idea not yet discovered

I've noticed some would rather try than stray
Innocently I'll lock my door and each night I'll be safe
I feel compelled to discover an idea...maybe I have
sometimes I'll examine hands or gaze at trampled leaves

I'll be safe each night, innocent behind my locked door
Lost in thought, writing apologetic love letters with a snack
I'll sometimes hold trampled leaves- examining. gazing.
I can have whatever I want
1.7k · May 2012
No Diving
Megan Hundley May 2012
Withered meadows
I can dream no longer
your wings of stone
are far too uncaring
and I simply cannot handle
another grass stain

I love those
breezy Saturday nights
with the swinging irises
lazy daydreaming lashes
and I am peace
glowing in the dark with
my surrounding happiness

I'll carry this jar and letter
throw it to the bottom of
the deep end
in the morning a stranger can
find it and wonder the mystery
of rushed lead and bold lettering
1.7k · Jan 2012
Megan Hundley Jan 2012
sometimes when my head is by
                                                              ­                                                                 your heart- it drops like the bass in a steamy club
                                                            ­                                                                 ­                                        steady. smooth. rhythmic.
                                                                ­                                                                 ­                                        makes me want to dance
                                                           ­                                                                 ­                                                               the night away
1.7k · Dec 2011
pen and paper
Megan Hundley Dec 2011
we resemble
pen and paper

You help me and
I help you

now we have a chance to
write a story together
a new adventure

let's make it full of happiness
1.7k · Nov 2011
Megan Hundley Nov 2011
curtains may cover my heart, leather may shade my eyes
but perform it must, my everlasting soul
oh by the chains of my great master I trace lines through dust on this ancient stage
Puppeteer, your strings are razor blades I cannot touch
Do you smile your jagged teeth behind the lights as I limp
left stage right stage
hands tied, lips bruised
while I am delicately yet surely sliced in two?
you once felt kind breath slip over your tongue, you envisioned
orchids given at night.
Such devious motives you now posses, time
My recital for one wears away skin
on the tips of my toes, keep tearing
moving upward snaps my fingers crooked elbow
for I know this pain well
Ah mirrors mirrors you fool me
You have adopted my face, adopted my grin
blink blink it will not clear
it will not falter
i see- leather
crumpled in spotlight
stage right stage left
in spotlight
there are particles floating there are shards of littered glass
Dear audience do applause, I did it
I tore my skin, broke my bones, limped side to side
Puppeteer do forgive my twisted image for I needed you to blame
Secrets secrets treat me well, for I have nothing else to sell
Forgive me empty seats, row 1 row 2
I must try, I must try
to crawl offstage

written 2010
1.6k · Nov 2011
Megan Hundley Nov 2011
like a pen drop in a canyon
silently it fell
yet it crashed like
a 1000 symbols.
into a mess, yes that
ill have to clean

you've changed?
like a leaf in autumn, which had such color
than fades to brown? i hope not.
sometimes i think you fell
out of color
out of time
out of my grasp

i love fall
smell of life
smell of death
but only nature
is my soul
a dead leaf? to be remembered only
by the crunch under your
military boots

i hate fall
smell of life
smell of death
i lost my footing
now i'm that breeze
and still,
i'm not allowed to caress your cheek
in a touch taken from me
by me
all my choices
that's ok
ill just float away

way way high
don't go too far
you'll pass me
or miss me
its bright up here, squinting helps

ill look for you too
you even look at all
1.6k · Oct 2012
Megan Hundley Oct 2012
I stirred from a dream-dazed, I saw flashbacks of a knotted
silver gleam. From it a figure bent forward. Here, at last alone in the dark the knight
or stable boy
or creature
took his lover's hand and instead of pressing each fingerprint between his palms
and reciting how he couldn't breathe in her absence
he snatched a dictionary from the nearby shelf and began delivering
words beginning incidentally with the letter H. Over and over again
until he almost fled from the room in Hopelessness.
she was the Hazel in his brewing coffee; the Halo of his prayers
Hideous leaked from the page and he Hiccuped. Reminded suddenly of her behavior
silent, sleepless nights came forth and smothered his speech. Anger rose and each
private grief was spit into the crease of her hairline.
it oozed into the tears between her eyes, splashed onto her sweaty, reaching arms.
drenched, choking in fever, she waited until it settled between the ridge of both ears.

they said nothing

he couldn't look at her-
she couldn't stop staring
after a couple minutes he walked away and
she fell like raindrops into the pinched, center drain
1.6k · Jan 2012
run on sentence
Megan Hundley Jan 2012
we can watch the waiter clean the dripping puddle of spilled chocolate milk and see how he looks at me disapproving my clumsy hands kinda wishing I never stepped foot in the restaurant and later we should try swimming but not in a pool not in a pond but a great lake (with jellyfish that don't sting) and the ripples will flatten out mimicking the puddle of chocolate milk against the white towel and deep into the night we can imagine the number of glowing bulbs and blades of grass never ending just like the moment just like the day just like the way your hand moves over my arm gliding smooth smooth and flowing glassy without interruption highlighting the way a group of words can manage to escape punctuation leaving behind the choppy tension only dancing on and on to a place that can't be ended with a simple spot of ink directly below the last letter**.
1.6k · Jun 2012
something about a hunch
Megan Hundley Jun 2012
It must be the silence.
riddles on the other line-
rise of breath, slow muted sighs
raw red ripples
what are your rhythms
to me

I whispered for bravery into swollen knots of a weeping willow
sweeping scarred strength rough on my pulse
revealing to the roots my daily face to face with
not knowing
and the belief that I can wait

as a coo soothes a napping field
rocking, deep in care free slumber-  
I feel you too
will someday brush across my cheek, careful
sending troubles with a hush
quiet as the day shy's it's gaze to the night

There will always be a pause
escalating expectations, suspended seconds
when the door heaves closed
and I'm tugged into innocence
clutching the air for a blankie, holding close
the possibility everything will be alright

I keep a wilting daisy on the floor beside my bed
dampened by the shadows, colored by my eyes
it will dry completely, defeated on the carpet
yet there will be more
and I will always fill the vase with water
for a friend
1.5k · Aug 2012
Cherry Pits are poison
Megan Hundley Aug 2012
Humming, the warmed *** of daybreak soothed the hiccups of a spoiled slumber. Yawning, sunlight sweet talk eased our puffy eyed sleep shirts back to the cushions from which they came.
Soon, impatient fingers would press firmly at 11:00, daring contentment to linger in the shadow of honey gold.

Buried in the frosting of blue and gray sheet cake, the blankets coated their chins. somewhere in their hair lay remnants of peanut butter cheesecake and blush; expected phone calls every evening at 6 and clumsy words         that littered three cherry pits              in the corners of my eyes.
                        [ I ]                                               [Love]                                                     [You]
                                                              Blossoms, sweet fragrance ----
                                                             ¬ promises, they drift from the branch

I replay your repeat smoke rings, listening to your lukewarm, out-pour of voice. Gritty against my ears - I turn to the wall.

Your thoughts are crowded, littered paper wads and aged banana peels, tossed with Saturday's hopes and wishes. With my need to be seen, I will grow an inch each week, so that by September, eyes upon eyes brows upon brows, no longer will height save you.

Waiting for you to notice,
waiting for you to wake.
What do you see now
that you can
   look me in the eyes?

**** as the lemon drop next to the honey bun stain across the room there are 2 letters. Ordinary as ink upon paper, they mean nothing at first glance.
They will fall
through the cracks in the floor. Drifting to the place all lost things go to be forgotten.

Only by 11:30 will you notice it is morning and half the bed is made
1.5k · May 2012
swiffer duster
Megan Hundley May 2012
getting stuck
restless in the dust
stirred by soft touches, hard to handle
flurries of hesitant spontaneity-
take flight in the heated tango of 6:17 p.m.
will the billows settle among the fabric
or will it settle for nothing, yearning for fresh winds
floating endless on breathy quotes
wisdom of ancient used shirt sleeves
I believe I have a chance
to choose
1.5k · Jun 2012
Megan Hundley Jun 2012
It was the mouths fault
smacking together, flicking sticky
reality onto her collarbone.
Squishing perfectly whole beginnings into soggy afterthoughts
It could have left them alone, yet
silence is failure, and success was all it could talk about

Never reach for a door closing if you
can't handle the pain.
Pinched knuckles inflamed with blame,
stiffly folding in quiet fury
Nails are diva's
rallying strikes when ignored, scratching at patience
always needing attention
All active in the community: grabbing and giving, holding and pushing,
killing and mending, building and breaking.
Thing is, fingerprints only matter in crimes

It's losing pressure. Deflating, collapsing.
Rubbing is hopeless, exams are lazy, blinking is irritating. No focus
Look at her-
Look her in the eyes-
No focus, no focus,
                                      {bare shoulders
                             fingers intertwined
                                   broken skateboards
                                              midnigh­t bench talk
                                         sun burns
                                    you're it
                                           you're it

                                                          ­                     Not.
Reading makes it worse, table charts said it would continue deteriorating. Always blurred, always squinting.
So much depending, so much waiting. so much, so much,
                                                 ­      {desire
                                                        ­           promises
                                                        ­    hope
                                                       backseat lounging
                                                                ­   hours of music
                                                   October coffee
                                                          ­      I'm ready
                                                           ­             I'm ready
                                                           ­                                    I'm}

                                                           ­                                                    Not.

Never. Stop.
Don't quit, don't go easy.
Committed- following through, following these vines. These promises
Don't underestimate- prove it.
Every day, every day,
                   ­              I am,
                                I trust
                   ­             I'm failed
                           I won't let you down
                          Don't take me for granted
                          I am strong, I am strong, I am strong
                          I have moments

Mouth's lie, hand's reach, eye's fade, heart's ache.
Be more than the weakness
I am only human
I want more
**his mouth, his hands, his eyes, my heart**
1.5k · Nov 2011
How might I describe you
Megan Hundley Nov 2011
How might I describe you?
dew lazy atop swaying petals, refreshing and pure?
rushing rapids, strong and enduring
perhaps you are a mountain- forever there to hold it's ground
I caught the crackle of clay on dry hands
and with it, creation and change
I breathe the pungent scent of sweat, heavy with the promise of hard work
you work your hands you work your thoughts
you work to prove both
such as paint strokes mesmerize the eye
love will hypnotize the soul
you took a peek into my life and found a pen
chapters carry your name- we are infused
black ink on black ink- merged
How might I describe you?
A man
Better yet-
My man

written 2010
1.5k · May 2012
get the camera
Megan Hundley May 2012
camera flashes
you shook my pains
rattled my nails
and you just keep pouring

stop complaining
might get noticed
heavy on the wild stampede
but this whining
it has to go
under the hooves

and I know it's lonely
stuck under rain proof coats
but why allow
the creation of looking glass
separate path's and
sink holes?

pitchfork the potholes
I know you are trembling
better to let it spill
better to let it

deep breathing
the clouds will soon clear
move on
1.4k · Sep 2012
Pretty Pails
Megan Hundley Sep 2012
I used to carry two buckets
It was easy, each swing weightless
I filled them with thoughts of the day and put them on the shelf at night
People began to fill them with their favorite things
At first I liked the kick knacks

Bibles, shards of scrapping paper, handicap stickers, elephants and stars, kids menus, empty party bottles, movie reels and a wadded up half finished confession on the back of a napkin.
The weight began to grow

I enjoyed it, the build of muscle, the struggle of hard work. I could feel the sweat on the sides of my forehead and I was proud. These buckets were a sign of success
they were my trophies
and I polished them every night

the sweat began to pour
into my buckets
I hated the sloppy stains left behind, legs bored with the gain
no longer willing to put in the time
my buckets. my little spits of treasure
I wanted to tip them over the bridge like a butcher chucks his slimed waste into the dump

I let things go

Into the river. let the buckets settle into the slush at the bottom of a cool drink.
If I want to hold something, I'll use my hands
and if over my palm all things drop- I'll know I'm only human
1.4k · Oct 2011
Megan Hundley Oct 2011
There was a day
I came to find
A deep red brick
Of fine design
The feeling smooth
It's edges neat
It's perfection was
Quite hard to beat

I took this brick
Out to the sun
Walked straight to the sidewalk
And began to run
Along the way
It became something more
And the action of running
Turned into a chore

My arms grew so tired
My legs broken down
Yet I kept on going
I ran
I was bound

I then came across
A mountain so steep
As soon as I saw it
My body did weep

But I dug in my heel
And took the first step
Surely a most definite part of the prep

The journey was tough
I almost lost hope
At times I had reached
The end of my rope
Yet my hand felt the top
And my eyes saw the land
And the words I kept thinking
Was yes, I sure can

I wondered and wondered
Could this be a trick?
Until I remembered
The weight of the brick

It was there from the start
A symbol of time
And although very heavy
It had always been mine

I grew stronger and tough
With my perfect smooth brick
I didn't know it would stay
That it's presence would stick

It is here I should leave it
Up here at the top
For I must keep on walking
I simply can't stop

For I see many adventures
In that land straight ahead
But the one thing I can't see
Is a hand full of red

Here it will stay
My own special trinket
For a brick is forever
Impossibly secret
1.4k · Apr 2012
Megan Hundley Apr 2012
Do you ever think about SPACE
not really the world above
but the world even higher
Do you ever think about SPACE
not what we give each other to stay close
but from where you are to the other side of the room
Do you ever think about SPACE
how there can be nothing where there is everything
little somethings in between exhales and inhales

Do you ever think we could be space?
Blinding little flickering electric sparkles when you find sincerity
I can't breathe in that diamond tar barrel
Blinding huge solid rays of natural light when I am thinking of MoreThanADisbeliever
There is marble but it's too cold for bare feet

I remember feeling the tires when I turned onto the same pavement
Again and again until I lost my left side and a red sponge
I remember learning about individualism in the center of my white by white walls
Again and again until I found the bucket and scrubbed

Am I wrong to find everything when at first I saw nothing
Can I be sure my eyes are open
Am I wrong to expect little somethings
or is there nothing there
1.4k · Dec 2013
Megan Hundley Dec 2013
imagine me swimming, in a lake oh so fine
whenever I'm in it, I lose all sense of time
deeper I traveled, further I went
I could feel myself changing, twisted and bent

Later I fell, from space to the clouds
so much to see, so many sounds
oh the inspiring delectable sight
I never thought falling would be such a delight

I took my place, in a log touched by flame
the sweet soft embers, knew all it could claim
always I burned, in a night cloaked in fire
alone in cold air, hot with desire

the mornings were busy, I awoke with no ease
my mind was a plague, of unwanted disease
I looked to the window, to quiet the words
yet I only heard humming, of the bright early birds

I began to soon wonder, at the dark ticking hour
Since when did its reminder seem so dreadfully sour?
I stared at its face, concerned and confused
why did each second leave a deep searing bruise?

the weight of the moment, with its tender warm touches
slept quiet in memory, looking more like worn crutches
I was promised such joy, but when and by who?
I swear at one point, this was something I knew

I stepped from the garden, to dusty dirt roads
I have been here before, always burdened with loads
Will it lead me to safety? Will my path have no end?
how I miss the red roses, how I miss my sweet friend

I'll imagine I'm swimming, in a lake oh so fine
that whenever I'm in it, I'll lose all sense of time
higher ill travel, to land I will go
I can feel myself changing, a new garden will grow
1.3k · May 2012
Journal Sympathy
Megan Hundley May 2012
Whining about slushie stains, broken shoe strings, a cloudy tan date, a blender of crushed molding fruit and a couple of misplaced coupons dusty under the bookcase

I listen, I stay. I know I know-so awful, so unfair

Tuesday the tongue red Toms squished into the slip n' slide of a slow-paced coat on the run, splashing in the surprise and disgust but mostly drowning in the wrong point

I listen, I stay. I know I know-so foul, so raw

The pipes ooze liquid, weeping for a fix but the handyman's calloused fingertips were fired for not fitting the bill, mending the rip or driving the speed limit

I listen, I stay. I know I know-so frustrating, so disappointing

Saturday's overlap into Sunday was cramming lyrics and auto corrected notes into the bloated edge of a clicking lens snapping away, capturing a frenzy of wild memories and ibuprofen pills

I listen, I stay. I know I know- so entertaining, so amusing

Begging for top shelf truth, knee stretching for flexibility, pen scratching for a road deeper inland, holding, yearning for a meaningful entry to meaningfully look back on

I listen, I stay. I know I know- so vanished, so fragmented

Each night, the muffled light bulb all tucked into bed shamelessly stares crooked at the nightmares of an exhausted headboard wishing only to shed comfort instead of light

*I listen, I stay. I know I know- so sorry, so sorry, so sorry I can't be more for you
1.2k · Feb 2012
Megan Hundley Feb 2012
I still have more to give
the rotting leftovers
in the back of the fridge
Desperate to be

just take me off
this crusting tomb
what it is like to be
just zap me
ill be tender
    ill be good
                               enough to eat
and the last streams of red can trickle onto
your paper towel
                                                 all the mess
                                                 ****** away
                                              by the quicker picker upper
slip slip slipping
on this plastic plate
   because you dropped all your fine china
                      you broke all the glass
                             you cracked all your chances
for divine dinning
I can watch your eyes roll around
from the inside of my lightening storm
a game of Yahtzee- snake eyes 4 times in a row
scanning everything
                                                      ­forgetting everything
are you feeling lucky?
almost almost

drip drip dripping
           is the drool from your mouth
you forgot how good I can be
use the knife and cut away the bad parts and ill be
the prettiest picture
               you've ever seen
i'll taste just like I look------ a piece of rotting meat with the corners cut off and the juices all dried with a warm reminder of hot all dumped onto a plastic plate.

1.2k · Nov 2011
Megan Hundley Nov 2011
I should....
no, can't
       can't     can't
refuse actually. do I like hurting? is there a reason I don't just
move       on
normally when goodbye is said, twice, it means you leave
as in put one foot out into space and
see what happens, see what passes. well, I really wasn't ever normal
knew that from the start
but this?
I'm on an edge. this thinned pathetic rim
that looks to me a bit
     sta b l e
                        [not clearly]
there is a problem
or something broken
I'm dealing with it, but let's be honest
sometimes it feels like I'm
meshing with it
that's so hard [for me only] to separate
forgot about that- have to be more specific
[for me only] is this still more than a bad taste in my mouth
[for me only] it stripped me of common sense
[for me only] I can't sleep at night
All I want to do is
         be free
free to either walk through a day and not think your name
name   name
       name               name name
or free to fall into your arms at the end of the day
every day
I know I talk to a wall
and I'm here              wall           and you're there
and I swear I'm putting all I have into
[insert "letting go" here]
but instead-
trying to understand why I can't
leave you behind
1.1k · Nov 2011
coffee date
Megan Hundley Nov 2011
I think you know why
That when I see you
My fists clench with fury
My eyes swell with tears
My feet become heavy

Do you think I enjoy
To stand by you
But not really
be by you
Instead, its almost like  
There are worlds between us
With waters black as
That pause when we try and talk
I cant seem to navigate
I cant seem to swim
I cant seem to

Wait a little longer
But really
Don’t wait at all
You pushed me out the car
I fell across rocks, landed half buried
In the soil. It feels nice on my cheek
Cool and understanding. It knows a lot about
Silent hearts.
I haven’t moved, couldn’t feel
my legs. Couldn’t find
my voice
but darling
I still forgive you

Its ok
Ill stand by you [across the oceans]
And pretend
My bruises were
An accident, like I tripped
Or something
And we can write letters
With each look away, each shifting foot
While we dangle our legs over the edge
Of sanity [my sanity]

Don’t worry
About the mud
In my hair
I tried to wash it out
Scrubbed hard- promise
Just ignore it, I know you will
And ill pick up my coffee cup
And no one will notice
The dirt under my nails
And the way my mouth
Cant seem to smile
1.1k · Apr 2012
Scab picking
Megan Hundley Apr 2012
My nose scrunched
                                                                ­     unsure of why my
                                                              ­       monkey bars mother slapped  
                                                       ­                        my curious nails
                                                           ­                                                                 ­         away
                                                            ­                   but I wanted,
                                                                ­                       but  just, I want
                                                            ­            to see what it looks like
                                                            ­     underneath the deep red patches
                                                         ­        it hurt when I saw the

                         ­                                       and
                                                                ­      not
                                                                ­          the
                                                   ­                            slippery
                                                        ­                                  yellow
                        ­                                                                 ­            slide
                   hitting the mulch wasn't ever
                   part of the flight instructions, those were
                   written by the kid who never stops
                                                           ­                             p   la y   i   ng  ----------          t   a g  

                               catch me but you won't know what to do once
                                                            ­    I'm   It

I'll be sent to the bench for my carelessness
reckless                                  of my attention

then my nose will scrunch
when the centimeters of her ruler straight hand
slap away persistence
                                                                ­                                                     but but, just, I wanted
                                                                ­                                                                 ­     just wanted to

                                                             ­                                                            peek underneath

                                                                ­                                        at all the soft loveliness
                                                      ­                            the fresh renewal  
                      of skin that has never seen a bad day
1.1k · Nov 2011
china doll
Megan Hundley Nov 2011
like a doll-fragile
i think i broke
just a crack
which remains hidden
no matter how long
i search

it was (my scar)
i thought
on my hand
because they were once
more than a memory

necessary, i think?
to seek the place
behind my ear
for i sometimes hear
old secrets
old wishes

for the shelf only
do not allow
rough play- careful
how about I let
the dust settle
I can last

don't ever
or rather
i know i shouldn't
run my broken fingers over my
broken heart
for even dust trails
don't lead to a
body of steel

I am
unable to move
put one foot in front of
the other
seeing as
my legs cant bend and all

you are the
sticky stuff
don't just stand there
get over here
and help me up

and while you're at it-
stay the hell away from my broken pieces
1.1k · Nov 2011
It's just a mug
Megan Hundley Nov 2011
I feel ridiculous
just this mug
with this purple heart and this
yellow background
and do you know what I did?
[here comes the kicker]
clutched that little thing to my chest and
out from my mouth stumbled the most awful sounds
like they were lost in darkness, feeling the air blindly
confused at their mere existence, prodding jabs of exhales,
littering the space with blurbs of mismatch speech
silly as it sounds
I knew if I let myself
I could fill that purple heart with salt water
don't doubt it a bit
shocked about this incident
no, truthfully I'm not
as soon as my eyes locked their gaze
I could feel a stir
this buzz of an awakened monster
and one just can't remain calm
with that
oh well, better luck next time
as in I might find a sword or a hero or
I don't know
to look away and not dwell
idle in the same space, loitering
purposefully unintentional
if you can believe that
* side-note
rolled the word "Respect"
around in my head
for awhile
stretched it like taffy in the window, shot it at
faces as though it were a lecture
mulled over the depth of it
came to this conclusion:
is it possible to respect "this"
yet at the same time secretly
show that I wanted to hear you say
"yes, that'd be fine"
but it came out as
"thank you for respecting this"

1.1k · Nov 2012
Life Jacket
Megan Hundley Nov 2012
“I went down to the river,
I set down on the bank.
I tried to think but couldn't,
So I jumped in and sank.”
― Langston Hughes*

We've all seen you lament, at some point.
The last was with your revised Florida Orange Juice, tiring
your right hand, knocking the empty bottle against each joint.
Muddled in slow jams the knees in your strict jeans leaned  into the motion,
helplessly receding feebly proceeding possibly misleading-
drip drip dripping through the deck you drowned, and I was left to sway in your arid ocean.
There are pieces of camera equipment buried into overflowing sock drawers,
to remind the lovers that your still here, and the others that you don't care
They were sold to the men on Main- doesn't matter if they are yours
I promised to keep your head above water-corrected each struggle, each flail
soaked whispered confessions, panicked treading legs, desperate flooded eyes
I watched you wade into the water, and I knew I would fail
1.1k · Mar 2012
Spring Evenings
Megan Hundley Mar 2012
Later tonight the back of my head will droop
careful as honey
leans over the
edge of silver
to sooth the
shame of
burnt toast
to reach a pillow of cool flexing whispers
green with the envy of roots instead of wings
always waving to the heavens a sweet hello

Later tonight I will find a rhythm-andante-
and my sole will kiss the underside of stones
changes in the
pitch will be
illuminated, chords will
resonate around the
cracks eroded in
the sidewalk  
for blocks
and maybe the time can lead to another
set of paths deeply leaning into the curves my
lips make while whistling

Perhaps I will build a house cradled in
cherry blossoms heavy with perfume
inside- a couch
for thinking, neighboring
blank paper eager
to be reunited
as always
with ideas
throaty breath heats the cheeks of petals and all
the knots tangled with my laces will be reread
and I will begin to understand, Later tonight
Megan Hundley Mar 2013
What is it that makesmefeel alive
                                                      Could­ it be the way you touch my face
                                                            ­                          sometimes
                             ­                                                      in sweet hesitation
                                                      ­          or
                                                    ­                               embarrassed confusion
                                                       ­         or
                                                     ­                            I actually don't know most of the time

The ground invites me everywhere, makesmefeel endless. But only if my heels sink into the soggy paths
                                                           ­  Unlimited in any direction
                                                  →   ↑    ↓    ←               the only requirement is to ask [where]....

Icanfeel myself merging
into the planes above, drawn to the only man in the sky strong enough for the extra weight
I haven't prepared at all, for what might happen
if it rained
and my grip slipped (along with GODs tears)
returning to the place I thought I flew away from
right on ↑ with the smoke from your ears, the last exhale of Tink's fairy dust
no one imagined lighting it on fire and sending only their minds, NeverNever to Land again

Hair mademefeel like a doll
       .........remember? dolls are breakable and I don't like glass so I found tough stuff
      // But hair //
I could swing it all day and create sound waves → Always wondered if anyone heard the same tune. I cut it, the pitch was too flat and now its High and Mighty
                           I promised the part that [makesmefeel]
that     s   l   o   w     is the way to go
                                                              ­                                                              so I drove on the right side
                                                            ­                                   looked both ways and would you believe it!
                            I crashed
                            but just my car
and the ♥'s of my life said things can be replaced and $$$ isn't everything
so I smiled and sprinkled more dust and let the hurt of guilt strip down to its naked truth
I'll keep trying to make sure my heart
doesn't stop and we can all
carry on

for see, while sometimes
what  [makesmefeel] can get confused,
it's happy
                                                           ­        ---loaded with images and dinners for two and promises
                                                        ­             my friends make to each other and a glamorous glowing
most of all its nervous about the long run
I've never ventured without shoes
and it's all so rocky-not like the yachts on a bad day
but the way rapids plan their jogging trials

and all the sights all the sounds
all the finger ****** and cotton
the cheats and final laps
ribbons and red pens
all the gentle brushstrokes and chafing
                                                                ­               that's what   makesmefeel    alive
1.1k · Feb 2012
soothing hot streams
Megan Hundley Feb 2012
oh no, the burning of
the throat for which the great horn bellowed
years and years of
imagination twitch- twitch- twitching
to reach the heart maybe reach
the gun of thirsting hot
treated misused hot twisted--
but at last
                    s s s s s
they know even when
you are drowning you are still
soothed and it hurts and it is pure
so just relax
so many smooth
1.0k · Nov 2011
do you still
Megan Hundley Nov 2011
do you still...
too early to say
or ask
but I feel it, all the time
all the time

with every second
maybe even smaller
I don't know
I just think
a lot
about me
who I am, who I wanted to be
youth? yeah I got what I wanted
(be careful with wishes)
but like a trip to Vegas
the lights are dazzling, but I saw them for
a day
and then they were just lights
flickering silently
they don't appeal anymore
did they ever?

do you still...
of course not
I left
you saw that and
all the rest of it
it can't compare to
the ancient comfort that never
never never
let me down
I know I
dropped it
that pumping thumping heart of yours
yeah I heard it shatter
but oh you better believe
I found every last piece
I might not let go
I might not have a choice

I feel different
like a tree's mighty roots
continuously searching
for a deeper level
normal almost, but it's strange
the dirt- moves?
can't quite seem to
touch the sky
I'm changing, oh yes
but there is something missing
where is the
solid ground

do you still...

care about
think about
wonder about
yearn for
dream of
wish for
1.0k · Oct 2011
weeds and daisys
Megan Hundley Oct 2011
just when
i thought i burned that bridge
i realize
somehow in shock each time
that you cant burn

you can see the shadow
of charcoal brushstrokes
outlined on the gray surface
it crawls up the sides

one day
ill take a sponge
and scrub away those ashes
it will be "like new"

see those weeds?
in the patch of green
before you walk over
the dying bridge
they are
criss crossed in daisy's

ill pick them all
until all that's left
is yellow for
miles and miles

isn't that nice?
i thought so too
so how bout
you find your knees
and settle down
so you too
can pull weeds from the ground
Megan Hundley Feb 2012
at 11:47 your breathing
dropped slow
a sandbag underwater

I could hear the seaweed beneath your chest
my ear against the thin layer of skin
a raft protecting me from those
dark depths full of mystery
and angel fish

I couldn't imagine
then we had that talk
the air was making my fingers stiff
I paced the sidewalk
and you were 20,000 leagues
under the sea

But I know there is a treasure chest
full of books
all hand written
by you
all that emotion, all those thoughts
they have to go somewhere

When you move to your side
I slide back to
my eyes filled with salt
from keeping them open
at your side

that's fine
I like blue
at night --I'm just the buoy
dipping and bobbing
in your arms

dreaming about the day
we can swim to shore and
ring out our shirts
and let the sun
brown our dried out skin
972 · Nov 2011
sleepy head
Megan Hundley Nov 2011
It was a stormy evening
Yet contentment hung in the air
Thick as the humidity
We ran, eluding unsuccessfully the
little droplets that cascaded like
the brilliant fingers of a pianist
gushing chords across our shoulders that
It was rhythmic, a delicate patter
though simultaneously
It rang out with the passion of a cello’s crying depth
the lust of a singer’s feverish lucidity
the force of a dancers anguished turns.
the mighty heavens roared on above us so loud dear but
the need to return home overtook us and
the world was only your hair as it curled around your ear and
only the smell of rain on your skin and the heat of your breath.
You astound me.
All I crave is to whisper words with my trembling breath of how
I feel in your arms- a true peace. like no one could ever comprehend
The way I have let myself
Melt and reform as
All yours.
I reach to run my hand across your cheek
So soft darling, so close
I reach and I know I could never feel as
Complete. Comfortable.
Then I see it.
The white ceiling, the piece of tape left over, the stray black smudge
Ah, dreaming.
But for an instant I got to know
what it felt like, in the rain.
So, My love. My unwavering best friend
I'll set my feet on the ground and
let the sheets muffle that faint sound of
a piano
For the day will wipe away the details
And the only thing I will retain
is a curious inquiry for why my heart skips a beat
in bad weather
965 · Nov 2011
Puppet Show
Megan Hundley Nov 2011
I'm a great actor
I deserve a reward
or recognition
of some sort

See these eyes?
I can give such expression
my penetrating stare
will captivate you
I won't even blink

Look at my lips
red as the roses
you throw at my feet
A perfect grin, I know
I'm sure you wonder how
my cheeks don't burn
with a smile like mine

Feel my hand
well, almost
I know it's like you nearly can
when I reach out
into the audience
smooth as wood

Did you like it?
always such grand applause
I never miss a bow
never too low
you mustn't see
when I bend look at my dress, my shoes
the curl of my hair

never see past the
velvet curtains

you're not supposed to discover

the strings

and the way I become lifeless in the dark

It's a guaranteed good show. Spend a magnificent evening out
flooded with the
golden glow of the stage

promise you wont know

always such grand applause
950 · May 2012
Megan Hundley May 2012
Beginning to understand the silence will mend this lost soul
947 · Oct 2011
dining room
Megan Hundley Oct 2011
You Stand
directly across
the kitchen table
reflection blurred
on the silver

with the flicker
of flames against your back
your shadow moves

Do Not
saturate the air
with the melting sensation
of voice
it is already
too loud

perhaps the dog
chewing the laces
of stiff leather
will understand
your growls

I Am Mute
before you
because I see
the portrait
you once lived in

you belong in

You sit
directly across
the kitchen table
crystal clear view
of my empty
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