Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Feb 2014 Sofia Paderes
Jedd Ong
There aren't enough of them to
Go around:
Windows bleak but truthful,

Showing the world
Outside:
Whether black or
Painted with flowers

And Knows
The difference.

Allows for prisoners to
Forget the bars
And the bars to forget the prisoners-

Especially the innocent ones:
Murderers for mercy
Toiling underneath the
Razor sharp edge
Of a microscopic knife
Cutting past the throat
Of innocuous farmers.

Wheat plains that stretch Golden,
Stretch for miles and miles
To a little place the other Kansans call
"Out there..."
In Cold Blood.
 Feb 2014 Sofia Paderes
brooke
i'mstillcaughtbetween
mymotherslinesandher
lengthyexpectationstha­t
shehidesalistrolledoutfrom
endtoendwithaninkthat
stainsmyskin.
(c) Brooke Otto 2014
 Feb 2014 Sofia Paderes
brooke
she took one look
at my self-portrait
and said it doesn't
even look like you

and I tripped on
the fourth step
up the stairs
but turned
around
and said
**exactly
(c) Brooke Otto 2014
 Feb 2014 Sofia Paderes
brooke
there are a lot
of flesh memories
(one that makes
me feel like a sea
anemone) but in
particular, the last
night we were together
and you told me to make
a video of myself to take
with you, but instead I
downloaded songs to
your itunes and just
now, secretly, I hoped
that you still had them
especially that one
by My Brightest Diamond
singing about how she has
never loved someone they
way I loved you.
(c) Brooke Otto 2014
My hands are bound
And my legs are chained
Caged in the thought
Of never being good enough.
And I try to break the bars
I try to pick the locks
I struggle to break free
But I'm the one who locked me in
And I've already swallowed the key.
 Feb 2014 Sofia Paderes
Morgan
the first night you wrapped your arms around my waist and kissed my forehead, i cried myself to sleep
and the first morning you called just to say "have a good day", i failed a math test
the first afternoon we spent lying in your bed, i screamed with the window down the whole way home
the first time we fought, i smoked a pack of cigarettes in my drive way with my hands shaking violently and my knees pulled up to my chest
and the first time we made up, i spent three days writing poems about the skin on your fingertips and the shadows under your eyes
"i didn't get home until pretty late, so i didn't want to wake you, but if you get this in the morning, i hope you have a good day at school... call me when you get home.. oh, and...
i love you, i love you, i love you.
okay"
i listened to that voice mail every day for the first week that we did not speak.
and re-read text messages for the first month and a half.
i still remember deleting it all. she held my hand and said, "you can't keep torturing yourself." i held my breath and said, "well there, i'm free."
but i felt the walls caving in on me.
and i couldn't understand why i needed the sound of your laugh more than the roof over my head.
and i couldn't understand how my skull fit into the bend of your elbow with more ease than my tempurpedic pillow.
"i'm sorry i haven't gotten in touch with you. i wasn't sure if it'd hurt you to hear from me... but i do miss you a lot and i hope everything is okay."
your name danced across the screen of my phone,
one time at 2:00 A.M. and i felt nauseous all of the following day.

my sister and i
swam in the hotel swimming pool
last weekend when we were away
and the smell of chlorine in my hair
made my stomach turn, because
it reminded me of the summer
we fell asleep on the floor of my living
room, with our bathing suits on
every night for three weeks straight

most days the sense of longing
is so strong that it knocks the wind
from my lungs
and i'm just afraid
that i'll never learn
to breathe easy again
 Feb 2014 Sofia Paderes
brooke
I see myself in chunks
in fat limbs and a month's
worth of self-hatred, my mom
asks if I'm any better but the truth
is I've just stopped crying over it.
(c) Brooke Otto 2014
Next page