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Last week I got an urge to lay on a rooftop, and drink ***** under the stars,
so I packed an empty backpack with svedka, a notebook, and a cellphone; and went on a mission.
I spent an afternoon looking around.
Taking notes on how in the hell, I could get up to a place that was flat, a roof, and could see the stars.

As it turns out,
the rooftops are not a place Freeport wants you to be.

in fact, one staircase directly leading to the top of a building specifically said
"No Trespassing"
Keeping me out with a locked metal door.

so I kept adventuring.

It did not occur to me until after I had already spent quite awhile scribbling down notes on locations of
milk crates I could use,
ledges low enough to grab,
dumpsters I could maybe move over just a bit,

how illegal it may be,
(I'M still not sure)
Or how dangerous it may be
(probably quite very)
To go on this adventure.

I texted a beautiful girl and asked if she wanted to drink ***** under the stars.

being the suave romantic that I am,

Having spent my whole morning surveying different routes to the rooftops.

Having planned out such a storybook evening, obviously her answer was,

"nah, I'd rather stay home, smoke ****, and watch the new season of Orange is the new black."

*******, Ruby Rose...
Stop. stealing. my dates.

After introducing myself to a handful of other potential candidates, I finally find a woman who believes climbing onto a rooftop and drinking ***** would be a swell time.

By the time I pick her up and get back to the spot,
it's late enough that Freeport is a ghost town.
We run down the middle of the street, me dragging her, doctor and companion style towards the first flawless plan:

Milkcrates behind linda beans.

We stack them up like steps and walk up to the top of a metal ceiling
Affixed perfectly above a flight of stairs that leads to the top floor.
I thought, "maybe we could climb the metal ceiling like a ramp."

it turns out
that not only is it
incredibly difficult not to
fall off of a slanted flimsy ramp
with no handles. But it is also: Terrifying!

Eventually I make it to the top and realize:
"****, There is still a tall ledge I have to hoist myself onto"
I look down to the short brunette quivering
on the ramp's lowest tier and decide that there is no way either of us were going to make it.

"Hey rose, " (That wasn't her real name)
Let's try a different way up.

attempting to crawl down slowly,
my **** scoots forward, hands behind me,
I slip and start gliding down like a children's slide.
flailing and attempting to catch myself before
falling off the edge and plummeting onto a dumpster.

(Whistling noises)

Thud!

She screams.
I laugh uncontrollably.

She slowly descends our statuesque landmark milkcrate staircase.
Like an angel coming from ghetto heaven.

I lift myself up and hop down off the dumpster.

putting my backpack down,
I check to see if the ***** bottle is okay.
It's fine.

"Good job, *******."
"We're fine."
"You're an idiot."
"I could have died, don't I at least get a kiss or something?"

She gives me a disapproving look, then kisses me.

eventually we did
make it up to a rooftop,
Where we laid and watched the stars.
They were warm, distant, and beautiful.

I liked feeling their glow on my skin.
But I loved taking the journey to meet them.
Brittle Bird Apr 2015
I didn't hold tendons between my fingers like
street boys on rain city rooftops,
crumpling their futures up to smash into shredded jeans,
shredded hearts,
some wrappers escaping, flying over this city
as our neglectful witnesses.

Their hands were broken bottles. The black top
made my guts look like escaping snakes,
my eyes hoping to be Medusa.
Fictionalizing gets me through most things.
Sometimes pain tastes like metal, sometimes like cherries.

I stare at the sideways sunset, a wrapper spit up
and drying out, a pipe dream promise;
reviewing my time strips as if they'd had a spelling change,
recounting every drop of blood word and smile.
Sometimes I forget that I'm real.
Sometimes I'm not.
Day 27 of NaPoWriMo.
Kara Jean Nov 2014
Shake the sighs from your pillow
and tuck in your dreams
Wring out regret
rip the past from the seams
Take a deep breath
tilt your face to the rain
The soothing sound of drumming drops
will draw away the pain
I don't usually rhyme my poems but this one seemed to flow nicely
Meg B Oct 2014
The sun hung low,
sliding down below
the trees,
whose leaves had turned a golden yellow
from autumn's adoring
kiss.

The clouds looked gray,
seeming to bring in
thunderstorms
that weren't to come,
at least not today.

We spoke of
mysteries,
created poetry in our
realizations,
harmony fostered with the gentle
breeze
as we laughed.
The aha's and uhuh's,
the self-discovery and
conceptualization,
they were the sermons,
the creed,
the metanoia.

The rooftop sunset was
the sanctuary,
the gust of wind the hymns,
the moments of silence were
moments of reverence,
our spirituality
birthed in the
gravel
under
our feet.

The world is
our religion.
Ruthie Oct 2014
You're haunting me again.
I returned to our rooftop today.
The rain still hasn't washed us away.
If we had of gone to the beach,
Maybe I would be lucky.
Maybe the waves would take my memories far away.
But once upon a rooftop happened.
And I can't shake our ghosts from that place.
The sound of our deep breathing remains.
I feel your soul wrap around mine,
When I sit against that wall.
Tears spill out for you.
Maybe they're trying to erase us too.
I went to our rooftop today. Stupid me.
Ruthie Oct 2014
I'm screaming out your name from rooftops at 4am. I think I'll be waiting forever for these dreams to end.
Madisen Maureen Aug 2014
The titter tatter on the rooftop tells me a story.
The humming birds sing me a lullaby.
The flowers blooming show me beauty.
The raindrops on the window explain life.
And the tears on the ground hide behind the rain.
- m.s.
Ankush Samant Apr 2014
Day 1
Melancholic,
Color blind,
Running through the streets of thoughts,
Oh, what's happening to my mind?!

Day 2
Sullenness,
Black magic,
Falling into my own shadows,
Am I covered by a dark fabric?!

Day 3
Lighthearted,
Full of joy,
But still held back by these strings,
Thinking again, what's the big ploy?!

Day 4
Resignation,
And jubilation,
Delight in the shades of orange and gray,
Is this what people called, the salvation?!

Day 5
Hopeful,
With a new day,
Fluttering my wings for a long flight,
Will I escape this ridiculous play?!

Day 6
Spirited,
Spread of wings,
As I gather all my might,
I think, will I finally break the strings?!

Day 7**
Euphoric,
Boundless delight,
Colors come rushing back to the sky,
Alas, I fly out of the night!

— The End —