Want to submit your work? Request an invite
  May 25, 2018
heather mckenzie
i’d rather write about the freckles on your back than think about all of the ways in which you quite possibly don’t love me.

i feel sick at the very thought of you picking me apart the way you did; fingers grabbing and stroking in a catastrophic symphony of skin and vulnerability.

let’s read between each other’s lines; share my sentences and punctuate my paragraphs with your mouth; because i can breathe easier on the mornings where i wake up wrapped around you.

because my moods change like the goddamn seasons and the spinning in my head doesn’t want to stop.
                                         you tell me that i should probably get a therapist because no one that thinks about all the ways in which they could kill themselves has an ounce of mental stability.
                                          i tell you that i have been to four.
                                          names faded into a blur with hazy snippets of conversation remaining.
20mg.
                    30mg.
you tell me that trust issues and scars aren’t endearing and i tell you that neither is counting up the potential number of pills needed to dissolve your body into the living room carpet.

let me sink inside your skin and make a home in your flesh;
i tell you about the nights where i lay awake in the bath turning the water red.
                       tragic, isn’t it.

you tell me that this isn’t how my head should work and i tell you that i already know. everything you could possibly tell me i already know.
i know that 400 calories a day isn’t normal, and my hands shouldn’t shake all the time.
                                             i know.
please let me stitch myself into you, even just for a while; until i no longer feel dizzy and my world stops spinning.
i don’t need you to tell me that it will be okay, because honestly i don’t think it will be and, that in itself, is okay.
                                                                ­                 let me stitch myself into you, because my own skin can’t take it anymore.

let me call you back when my voice stops wobbling and my vision straightens out, but honestly, i’m terrified that it never will. what if this is it. headaches and tears and shaking and blood.
                                             and the debilitating, gut-wrenching feeling of pure and euphoric emptiness.

                                              tragic, isn’t it.
  May 24, 2018
Praggya Joshi
Remember that old uphill trail
We used to meander along
With matching footsteps
Under the sunlit canopy of leaves
Carving words for each other
On the bark of aged trees
Who may have known
what would become of us
But nevertheless smiled
acted as a blank canvas instead
And watched the moments
Filled with playful laughter
Peachy smiles
Lingering gaze
Warm caress
Unfold lazily between us
The winds of time
May have blown us miles apart
Our footprints may have long eroded
That sunlit canopy may have withered
And we may walk that trail
Only in our dreams
But those words are yet to fade
they were the voice of our soul
Etched into the lap of nature
And as I run my fingers along its rugged edges
I reminisce about you
And hope that wherever you are
You are thinking about me too
  May 23, 2018
Liv
when a poet falls in love with you
you can never die
they will notice the way
you rub your palms and look down
when someone is angry at you
and the way you smirk
as you pull away from a kiss

they will notice how you can't sleep
without your body touching someone else's
how you never crease any pages of books
and how you close your eyes when you dance in your kitchen
with your record player on

they will find all of the words
that they see you as
and turn them into something beautiful

people say you die twice
once when you stop breathing
and when someone says your name
for the last time

if you fall in love a poet
they will never stop
mentioning your name
you will be alive
for eternity
  May 22, 2018
Meera
My pen bleeds
As its ink seeps
My words cry
The seer weeps
I keep scrawling
Until my pain recedes
Walking on my way
Where my lament leads
Crumbling to bones
Changing to fit the needs
My frailty drives me
As nothingness breeds
In madness I did
Those fearful deeds
Now I'll have to pay
The price of my greed
Making me suffer
My demons succeed
In the garden of love
I feel like a weed
I am looking for my way
To the flowery meads
Where the chains will be shattered
And then I will be freed
Sometimes you just feel lost and there seems no way out
  May 21, 2018
Haris
Our bodies may never entwine again
In their lifetimes
Our skin may eventually shed
Every touch and kiss and grip
Of you and I
To be all but mere dust
My longing for you may seep
Into every sweet letter and noun and adjective
I choose to utter
Unto my speech is but lost scripture
But the very ashes of me:
Bones, organs, salt and all
Will sleep with undying peace
In Earth’s nomadic bed
In the knowledge
The hands of time are tied 
When we’re together

It’s as if the cosmos, the stars
The planets, unknown forces
Whatever it is, banded together
To preserve a timeless pocket
Of our love’s lint
That transcends us
And the us that comes after us
And thereafter
Until our paths collide again
With a big bang
And time will roll into motion
Along with light and love
And our hearts
Will grow old together
As sparked from the very same
Atomic lint

My dearest, this will be our beginning
And it will be the most beautiful thing
The universe has ever seen
  May 20, 2018
inthewater
she reads books and she plays music
the cute, innocent
clumsy girl
with freckles on her cheeks

you like to read and listen to music
the cool, handsome
sweet-talking man
who likes freckles on her cheeks

[ or at least you said you did ]

she rolls her eyes at your compliments
the cautious, bright
guarded girl
with curiosity in her eyes

you lay them on thick
the certain, sharp
imprudent man
with hidden agendas on your lips

she lingers a little longer
in hopes of crossing your path throughout the day

she laughs at your jokes
and you know they're not funny

she sings for you in the car because
you like her voice

[ or at least you said you did ]

she's become good at excuses
the hopeful, naive
kind-hearted girl
with sureness in her words

you soak them up
the stark, ill-intentioned
vacant boy
with uncertainty in your voice

she gave all she had to care for you,
the smooth, clever
self-serving boy

you convinced her that you loved her

[ or at least you said you did ]
sweet nothings are just sweet nothings
  May 19, 2018
Laine
i wonder
if i held the key once
but tossed it
because
it fit no lock

so much
knocking
so much
wandering
in dark
corridors

would
others
from the inside
let me in, the din of success
a shadowy circus
through the opaque
of closed entrances

are they
charmed
by good karma, armed
with special screws
from God, star-
crossed,

embedded with chips
in their palms, did
they sleep
with their bosses

i wander door to door,
wondering why doing the right
things the best i can
every day
is not paying my
admission
cost

i wonder
about owning a key at all
i think
it's been
me that's lost.
Next page