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Megan Hundley Apr 2012
true do what we need
its a car breathing fumes
awakening upward
chorus of the northen lights
if all called were new dreams
by and by
and I speak with vapors
fire flighting downward perhaps
you can join next visit to
the raid

put your head in the rage
numbing only to the wishing well
in corner pockets bearing honey bees
there wasn't any more to win
other than the wedded love
of your freckled focus
and father died
in a golden ring
Megan Hundley Jan 2012
Writing this
                                                            ­ specifically
                                                                ­                               for you
                                                             ­ yep, you
                                                                ­                               in the black beanie
                                                          ­     wondering
                                                       ­                                        (because that's all I do
                                                              ­                                  on the weekends)
                                                       ­         if you read
                                                            ­                                     anything
                                                        ­         here.
                                                           ­                                       also
                     ­                                            is there anything    
                                                                ­                                    you'd like to add?
                                                            ­     because that
                                                            ­                                        would be great
                                                           ­       would be nice
                                                                ­                    I think anyway
Megan Hundley May 2012
It was

meant to be secret
meant to be seen
10 word poem
Megan Hundley Aug 2012
each word fought
each distortion ripped
each muffled night
barred eyes, fully
outweigh my strike on
Megan Hundley Oct 2014
I said so many times
that it would be useless
I already knew the answer
knew the lack of interest
avoidance; helplessly shrugging off; taking off
such a pointless question
it lingers on my face, in my skin and I was
all clean in fresh socks so in the morning it looks renewed
but its the groggy feeling I can't clean the lingering stench of the
answer that fouls my personal space the unbelievable stabbing of the words you leave behind you leave alone you leave unformed it brings within a sea sickness that leaves me blind with vile headaches and bloated with excuses such a pointless thought avoidance; helplessly closing in; standing ground I hate the twinge in my stomach when I lock up for the night closing off all doors to the bitter soot the wretched trash I keep getting it all over but it smudges into the others leaving a trail of something I pretend doesn't exist even though everyone can see it (I can see it) so I heave a couple excuses to the wind and hope it blows through everyone hell I hope it doubles back isn't it time I believed it too and I know that if it wasn't for the 2% milk there wouldn't have been enough reason to come by there's never enough reason but it's the same thing I keep telling myself today you'll get through and tomorrow you'll get through and the day after that you won't have to just "get though" it will feel renewed as fresh as my clean skin and the disturbed air at your side will revisit a prayer and later I can thank God for the milk
I said so many times
that it would be useless
at least you can have your cereal
and move on
Megan Hundley Mar 2013
Unhealthy things crave a cure
no, I doubt you need to involve needles
or extreme measures, like shocks and straps
probably just a fan in a cool room to
calm the sweat

I'm sweating up a storm
downright unbearable, this heat
heavy on my neck. I know there's a breeze, I can
see it in the curtains. All these shakes and
itches. I need a Trip away

Doctors always exaggerate, right?
Assuming what they said about you, being
addicted and all. I see them as having lied
before. They've scratched at bug bites, can't they
notice his arms took the price of red relief, that's all

I hate skin and I hate the color white
I hate the way people's nose curve at
the tip, like a snag a crook a flashlight
I hate the small amount of hiding places
and I hate that I can't crawl into the disposal

I think it's because he fell off a ladder
at the age of six-cried a puddle and no
one said he'd be okay. That little boy just
cried and cried and realized he could only fix it
by wiping the snot off  and shutting up like daddy said

There was a light I loved and loved said
I would take care of it never forget how I felt
never never walk away beauty always toward but
the light was high I was low I kept digging a hole
further I went and further I went

No I'm not a relative, but I knew him
once. Decided to stop by, it's been years. When
I saw him face down I thought I'd bring him here,
never imagined he would get this bad. He used to
call me his light. I had to leave, don't you see why?

*The wind will take me and
away I'll float
to the sea to the moon
where no one is there

no one is there
Megan Hundley Jan 2012

looks like I create happiness after all
10 word poems
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**
Megan Hundley Sep 2012
I was about to cut away the bruises
until I saw their charm

Reaping the trees
I snagged the deepening black scrapes
it said to me in its way
that I was all remaining hope

I'll hold you in my basket
in the kitchen you'll humiliate the others
with your colors

soft to the touch, you squish inward
hardly able to stand up for yourself
splotchy red with shame
warped straight face staring

can you breathe
through those holes?
I was about to cut away the bruises
until I saw their charm
a struggling artist in the fields

you were different with rot
distorted, grieving skin
keeping only the brown of the stem
the way it's usually seen

I only took a bite
to relish the unfamiliar
                                             I'll realize later
                                             I want better
Megan Hundley Jan 2012

litter the chalky concrete
black patches of dried skin scratched from the house
your house
swirling, because the creeping draft
stirred the leftovers, settled in the creases
by those two strokes of
troubled vision.
your face

it spread quickly, suddenly
as most wild things do
lazy and uninterested, red and orange
eating out of boredom, handfuls of
your house
what could I do but watch
you be swallowed

the investigation proved to unearth
rubbed raw in piles of
from the fire which ate
your house
I held up my magnifying glass
only the furrowed brows were

they said it would be easy to
level the rubble
clear it out, rebuild- brand new
it would still be
your house
just stronger with steel frames and
brick walls (with windows)
if the fire came to
the ashes would not
fall in your eyes like
irritating right?
so will you let them

I promise once you
let the steam strip away
the flashbacks
and allow the water to
blush your skin
the deflating moments of
will not find the key to
your house
when I ask what's wrong
and you say "nothing"
for once, that can be the absolute truth
for you and I  both
for a friend
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
Megan Hundley Jan 2012
surrounded*          surrounded                    surrounded­   surrounded
surrounded                                   I am
   surrounded                                              remin­ded
               surrounded                          of a breeze when                            surrounded
                  ­                               I think                                                        s­urrounded
  surrounded                                        ­             of you
                                                     here with me                                                             ­ surrounded
                                         * sometim­es overwhelming
surrounded*                                   *sometimes gentle                    *surrounded
              surrounde­d                                  always surrounding                             surrounded
                                                    ­        b r  e  e  z   e  s though
              surrounded                           t­hey are moving                                     surrounded
      surrounded               here             * there*             fast             slow            
                                            ­                           they come                                                           ­     surrounded
                                     surrounded                                                     ­    they go
                                                            ­                 Can I rely on a b  r ee z e                                   surrounded
                     surrounded                              Can I rely on...............
                                       surrounded                     surrounded           .........       surrounded
             .......................                ............              ­   .............            ...................
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
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
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
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
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
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
Megan Hundley Apr 2012
A problem was detected in the letters of her name, there was too little a space between
the first and last letters too many mistakes in the ink, the punctuation was
closing the end of the sentence before she could remember who was crying
who was waiting for the crunching gravel who was waiting to find a fresh box of tissues
so that the gift wouldn't look like they were closing on their own,  I stood on my own I held a pose  steady in front of your eyes and watched them shake with
closing from lack of sleep to keep away from the mystery of my weaknesses the mystery of why I
run but it's not to keep away but to keep in pace with the questions: yes and no
many times I have wandered into such stuffy neck collars and straight backs
they say no. sometimes I believe them sometimes I believe me. I say no
then you gather me into the right side of the room and speak about the word "it". you say yes
it is mine, I am it, but not even I can define what that means and I will say that yes sounds more like a seasick captain than the right choice in the right side of the room
I have talked about "It" and I have let my hands do the talking lazy sign language impossible to interpret impossible to not lift my head to the ceiling and beg for understanding
Don't you realize I need to feel a slip of cursive in my back pocket from when I was distracted
like you said I would  find
or perhaps a round wave of blindfolds that reveal a place of such perfection because it was
made for me
like you said I would see
There is a certain kind of happiness that resides beneath the rusting pumping veins that surround my pulse
can you feel it
can you find me
is this it
they are stacking up against the
and your unknown middle name
I realized today that I was never found after I took a leap of faith into your arms
I arose a ghost of smiling excuses-it will be ok it will be ok it will
one day, out of business
out of chances- your board broke the trick tricked us both
the two halves, will you hand one to me? I want to stare at the ragged edge  
how will you write about it
miss the charm? or will it rant about the unlucky
hand dealt. there is always the next game and i'll bet on you
and your poker face
I can serve the table and you will have the split second of eye contact before returning to your
"oh so successful life"
and I will grab my coat and
walk home
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
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
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
Megan Hundley Jun 2012
Burn it.

I won't watch the flames the same way
10 word poem
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
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.

Megan Hundley Dec 2011
To the creator somewhere above all our heads,

they (we) call you

G   osh
O   h
D   on't we all wish

that we really knew
who/how/what you are
we could send you letters, with all the stamps you need, and we could ask all these
?  ?questions?          ? that float                                   ?                      ?                      ?         ?                  ?
float and attach to our finger tips              ?                    ?                        ?­                             ?                    ?
we use whatever we can to smudge it across sur(faces)
like we spilled ink on our hands and we can't get it off
                                        get it off
instead we just end up living with it, learning from it, painting with it
almost as if we believe that we can be artists who
paint in black and white
but there is lots of color too, all settled in between the letters between the
lines and lines of these questions that we try to ask
or get rid of
                                        get rid of
because you know we all just want to make living a little less complicated, a little less
covered in smudges
always trying to make the perfect picture
Like heaven
creating our own idea of the word here
just in case we don't find it
later on

I don't really know what to say to
all this air
what I say, well
it just shoots across and hits the wall
waiting, stuck, like a post-it note waits on a desk
I think i'll peel it off and re-read
make sure I meant to say it aloud
then try harder
see, the thing is I ran out of stamps
but that doesn't mean I can't still address a letter and let it


G   osh
O   oh
D    on't we all wish for

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
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
Megan Hundley Oct 2011
Dream me a dream
A house on a hill
door red as rust
Ill peer through the window
and see if your home

give me a hand
An hourglass tipping-tipped
Sand slippery, too real
Which direction does it spill?
ill watch it; ill watch it

allow me a smile
against all the laws
A hollow thumping sound
The key is under the pillow
Hot and dangerous

throw me away
A book without letters
Useless to discover
Run fast to your treasure
go seek the great find
Megan Hundley Jan 2012

"What can I get for you?"

Megan Hundley Aug 2015
I look out
hoping to be calmed
by an evening in transition
forcibly removed from the experience
stuck behind the shingles of a barrier that compels me to
return indoors
unfulfilled and indifferent

In my chair I am denied
the presence of movement, the echo of life beyond my own
it sits until replaced
by boredom or misuse

I fear it's not the only product
removed and unfazed
putting weeks on the shelves
passing poison for purity, choosing machines not maturity, selling fact from obscurity
striving to straighten the imperfect wild
pointing fingers, avoiding blame

I know how it feels to walk a path
forged by pines and ranting rain
there -- as I move forward
gone -- as I turn back

I look out
hoping to still want to see past
the view the deceives me
the view I've been told repeatedly
is what life's all about
Megan Hundley Mar 2015
It was soft at first
the sound of cotton, pulled
across cedar floor. Sacred.
Fragile words we whisper
mostly so we no longer have the
burden of sheltering them ourselves.
It was, the petals of parsley--
just before the setting of summer
dips below the horizon. A breeze
will send them away.
For the time being.

It grew louder.
I knew not how long it had been increasing.
No longer careful, no longer respectful
of the night. It ached. In suspense it gazed--
through the screens in our speech
through the bend of our knuckles
through the curve of our sight
It ached.
I knew not how long it had been increasing.
Only that I had been there all the while

Over time
the paint on the walls remained
gently the clock was reminded of the hour
drops sizzled and slipped through
hairlines in humidity
the bed frame celebrated 2 decades
Not once did the door open in surprise
Over time, it was like it didn't exist at all.

At last
the age of guessing was at a close
cool tiles against the jaw. low. heavy in
the steamed aftermath of dawn. Forgiving.
The release of tape from the roll--keeping it all together
A hiss from the nose, crunched by the swift turn on the heels. Endless.
Reckless. Reverberating around the space of your lawn, bending
the blades, breaking the stems of weeds.
At last.
It had nothing to do with listening close enough
and everything to do with experiencing it.
Megan Hundley Jun 2012
Emerging           are
            Wishes         lured

Moving                with
             Boosting confidence

Staggers toward a long-term
Megan Hundley Feb 2012
your lips
       promise me
                beauty and possibilities
                             I love indulging
                                    in the whispers of
                                             glass slippers and
                                                   love letters
­                                                             those suspended moments
                                                         ­                disappear along with your
                                                            ­                       exhales of
                                                                ­           ~  ~  s ~
                                                               ­                 ~   m~
                                                              ­               ~   o~~
                                                             ­                  ~~   k~~
                                                             ­                ~~ e~~~
          and the taste of
                                                              ­                             reality overwhelms the
                                                             ­                                     sweet butter cream dreams
                                                                ­                                          all I want is a kiss
                                                            ­                                                     to end
                                                             ­                                                        happily ever after
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
Megan Hundley Feb 2012
when her toe hit the wood
                the nail split in half
                                                            ­                        in the center
                                        cracked just right
                                                     so when she applied pressure
                                 on her leg to be straight
                                                 up and down stretchy muscle
       the split
                   and while falling she pumped
                                            air through her fists, open and closing
                                                         ­          maybe for the tan bar which
                                                           ­                         she could command in practice
                                    which she demanded now
                                   yet the stage was only the light and
                                                             ­                                              pieces of wood
                                                            ­                                                           and nail
                                                            upon­ landing the crowd gasped
                                                          ­             in entertainment
                                                   ­             at how graceful feathers
                                                        ­           flew from her mouth
                                                                ­     black and flawless
                                                        ­                            like the lace of her costume
                                                         ­                                                         envision­ing a swan
                                                                ­                                                   a crow
                                                            ­      it didn't matter at all
                   both could fly
                    but they had wings
                                              and she had faults, deep deep tremors
                                                 opened wide on the great black valley
                        coughing up feathers
                        when she wanted tears
and the crowd just stared
some smiling some surprised
                       all without blinking
                                     when the legs decided to extend some support
                       the mistake took root and gave her a rush of
                               which allowed her to fly
         ­        behind the curtains
                                                        ­                      like the crow
                                                            ­                   like the swan
                                      after the silence
                                     of awed mouths
                                                          ­gushes of applause
                                                        ­                           for the splintered tiny dancer
                               who tried to show the world she
                                                             ­    had something to say
                                                         but instead only managed to
                                                             sprinkle the audience with
                                                            ­            a few feathers.

They all gave it
rave reviews
Megan Hundley Nov 2011
it only took
my breath                        
and my heart
only sorta
when you said
I'm sorry
it's for
                          the best
for both of us
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
Megan Hundley Nov 2011
it's interesting to know
the truth is
the only thing
that will stand- vivid and tall
right next to you
through all the madness
and it will keep you company
whether that's to a good place
or a bad place
and you can be sure that
it wont change
it wont hold back
it wont worry
when it stares you in the face
with the look of a bull that sees red
and releases upon you

it's super, really-super
to know that tiny glimmer of light
at the end of this black tunnel
was my imagination
thanks truth!!!
Now if you don't mind
and you DON'T
I think i'll turn around
and start walking out in the sunlight

and you won't see me again
for a long time

for that, little fake glimmer
is what you asked for
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
Megan Hundley Nov 2011
I don't remember
how it feels
next to you
10 word poem
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
Megan Hundley Nov 2011
I reject the words that were like
honey on a bitter dessert
only hiding the
true taste

they are revealed
to be
silly wishes
that were whispered
in secret
and in vain
to an ear that had stopped listening
awhile ago

very well then
it seems I have been humming this
string of notes
all to myself
and they have been unbearable to endure
yet I thought
I hoped
I did not just sing to an
empty room
but to the bigger picture

which would continue to become more
and continue to stun
only me

only me
I'll get used to it
soon I beg
for the action of blankly watching my ceiling
every night
just won't do

I want to dream
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
Megan Hundley Oct 2011
I tread the
crowded by the waves
and waves
of icy gray

tiny crashes
of percussion explode
against my knees
the mute sky
on my skin

of the vision
my binoculars
allow my head to
above the line

for the fire
on the shore
by the lighthouse
is roaring

will lead me
from the spot my feet
cant reach
to a curling staircase
which leads
dare I say aloud
to the heavens

a place
my sleepy being
will stop moving and rest
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
Megan Hundley Dec 2011
so you know you
make me smile

I realize I am fairly
broken at the moment but
smiling feels

can't tell you how much it means
to me
that you take my mind
and let it just think whatever, let it
freely wonder
to a place that doesn't hurt at all
not at all

surprised that you help all the
sad that always built up behind my eyes
the sad that drove me mad, blinded
you helped it all
now it is becoming
a dull buzz
that hurts like the memory of getting stung

a faint sting
no one dies from a little sting
(ok well not unless they are allergic.......)
good thing I'm not!

I'm really saying thank you
thank you thank you

for being my friend
Megan Hundley May 2012
almost a minute and a half
it was
almost a beginning and a breach
it was
replay of *****, South Georgia- bare on a dog's back
it was
the summer before released weakened trophies
it was
a lighthouse upon the water, looming ex photographs not yet in print, not yet in motion, not yet remembered, not yet
Speculating the worth of not yet..not now..not anymore..not ever
I felt the urge of salt water and a feel of foam
even so, the sand familiar, I remain ankle deep in sailor straight stripes...the violet orange blush can lull me in deeper, i'll dream a dream choosing not to escape and it was enough to wake up smiling

*it was
Megan Hundley Jun 2014
its not all bad
sometimes I'm lost in the fog
trapped in the endless stream of blur
the hope seeps out with the reason

still darling I seek the edges
where clarity leaks into view
bringing with it the possibility of
real freedom and simplicity

I know the world beyond
full of prayer, relentless confession
I catch myself wishing to stay undefined
I catch myself wishing

Have you ever set foot across
lines set for the point in life when it all
comes together. I wave over my shoulder
there 's always something left behind

shifts in the wind keep
the trails an impulse, thump thump
we are leftover wisps
sipping on the dream that one day
we won't have to float away to fly
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"

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