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sara Dec 2018
I’ve never heard this song before
as flowers come out of the floorboards;
I forget what my heart had ever been sore for.
life is as light as you let it be- a difficult pill to swallow sometimes
sara Dec 2018
I think the world is ending
and I really wish I didn’t.
There’s a rat under the floorboards
and a knife inside the kitchen,
and in the alley by the bins
a man there ******.

The streets all smell of *****,
and ******* indecision
has us riddled
in the middle
of our end and our beginning.

In the town a politician
with a jet black tongue
licks the seal on our decisions
without every truly listening
to anyone.
well done, Britain x
Josh Nov 2017
Neatly coating the floor in thin white trails, woven into floorboards like cotton twine, sunbeams snake their way across hardwood.

Books scream to be read & my yellowed pages ache to detail my experience as a widowed reader of time.

Magazines pile, while my simple hands grow a day older.

Heat on my neck.

The driver of time exhales grandiose,
tells me to travel while I'm young,
visit regions on this globe that grow green with age,
listen to honest trumpets before I gray,
wade in pools of clear urgency.

He said:

"Find a walking stick out beyond the ether
laugh with veracity, poking fun at Saturn & the Stars."
What will the future hold? Only Time will tell.
Michael Solc Feb 2013
Sun-dried moss
hangs in clumps
from the eaves trough.
Morning dew glittering
in the dawn.
The floorboards,
covered in peeling
gray-blue paint,
crackle and creak
beneath my bare feet.

My joints feel rusted,
and my eyes don’t see
as far as they did before.
Before all that happened
happened.  
My hand on the doorframe
is alien to me.
But it moves when I ask,
so it will have to do.

I stagger through
the warm porch,
where a soft,
sweet-smelling breeze
drifts in through
torn metal screens
and cracks in the
rickety door.
I open it as quietly
as I can.
There is only me here,
but I like the quiet.

Three wooden steps
down to a gravel drive
that passes side to side
out front.  
Bare feet,
too well-worn to
feel the stones,
tip-toe across
to the rough,
brown-green grass.  
My feet are wet
now, and
when they find
the sand just beyond
the patch of grass,
it clings.
I scrunch up my toes,
digging, until I find
the cool, dry
layer below.

The lake is clear,
and the soft rustle
through the pine trees
along the shore
reminds me again of years
gone by.
Sticky fingers,
covered in sap,
pine needles sticking
between my toes,
and scrapes on my shins
that hurt back then,
but sing sweetly in my memory.

I sit on the little beach
between the trees,
crossing my legs,
and plunge my hands
beneath the sand.
Peace.

And what a joy,
to be here
and feel it
in the coarse sand,
the cool caress of morning breeze,
and the utter
silence of the still lake.  

Have I come so far,
to wish for so little?
Have I lost something
along my way?
The anger has faded,
and in its place
sits a quiet resolve.
The games they play,
I’ve long since lost,
but finding myself here,
I wonder if I’ve not
come out ahead.

The water calls to me.
I may visit her soon,
once I’ve had my fill
of sand.  
The wind grows bolder,
and the pines whistle.
A loon calls out,
somewhere unseen.
I wonder if today I’ll
climb that same tree
from so long ago.
Wonder if it has held
its form better than I,
and which may break
a limb first.

I smile,
because I know
it’s foolish,
and the beach is so
soft beneath me.
Warm and yielding.
But oh,
the sweet,
stinging memories.
Janelle Tanguin Oct 2017
The last time I loved
I knew exactly
what I wanted,
I was so sure--
it had to be
you.

It had to be
awkward laughs, soft music,
coffee brown eyes
half-asleep,
a house full of dogs,
vinyls,
chamomile tea.
I just knew,
believed,
it had to be
you and me.

I am always running,
looking for fire exits,
secret passages,
ways to escape,
always wanting
to be somewhere else--
anywhere else

but with you
I stopped running--
started wanting
wooden floorboards,
walls and a person
I could finally call

home.
Zen Dog Jul 2018
There's so much history beneath our feet, these floorboards rippling, whispering scenes.

Each wavy window is a spying eye which humbly boasts of the ghosts inside.

These walls do talk with each settling groan with the memory of all that have called this home.

Though it is our time now to haunt this space and lay claim to ours in this crooked place.

Someday we too will be just a name on the deed, just a faint feeling seeping from the seams.

For now though, let us honor these wooden bones and add to the memories of this place we call home.
Mikaila Sep 2018
The day you got your hair cut
I went to a lesbian bar after work.
It was 3
And I was tired
But I went straight there
Because I had to do something.
I knew it was a lost cause before I even got there.
The back of my neck was prickling with tension
With fear
Because I knew I was too late.
Somewhere in the depths of my soul
My free will was on a gurney,
Cold.
But I couldn’t help it-
I needed to feel like I had control,
So I went inside.
People were dancing.
None of them held themselves the way you do
Like a marble statue that has set down axe and shield and stepped off the plinth for a brief rest
(You will be returning to battle shortly-
After you fix your eyeliner.)

I did a shot
Because that’s what you do.
They were free- *** on the Beach.
I sat there,
Wondering why the fact that you named your cat Heathcliff as a child meant that I had to love you.

I decided that I needed something stronger in the way of alcohol.

A girl with soft brown eyes and long hair came up to me.
Her name was Tiffany.
She wasn’t clever like you
And her voice
Wasn’t low and rough like yours
But she told me I was pretty.
I already knew, but I thanked her.
I felt nothing.
She wasn’t interesting
Or funny
Or smart.
She was attractive- beautiful even, I suppose,
And maybe she was kind.
She bought me a drink,
And mistook my sadness for shyness.
As I answered her questions I was afraid your name would fall from my lips like a seed
Take root and grow up through the floorboards.
Nothing she said changed me, nothing I said back changed me,
And my thoughts kept snagging on you
Tearing and unraveling.
I needed you out of my head.
She was looking at me with big eyes
And I suppose they were compelling
But they weren’t yours-
Rimmed with black, hypnotic and stormy at times, sparkling with mischief at others,
Forever changing and forever captivating,
Windows to a soul I fiercely wish I knew-
They were just eyes, and maybe they were vulnerable
Or curious
Or sweet.
I kissed her so that I could stop looking into them
And not seeing you there.
Her lips tasted like nothing.
I closed my eyes and kissed her harder,
Hoping for a reason to forget you.

We were beautiful, I knew that.
I could feel eyes on us-
Two small, lovely women
Tangled on the dance floor under the lights
Fingers in each other’s hair-
We must have looked
Just like lovers.

I searched for a way out of my feelings for you.
I kissed her for a long time, until we were both gasping.
I found nothing.
In my frustration I pulled her head back,
Bit her lip
Pressed my fingers hard into the back of her neck
And I felt her lust
But not mine.
It was nice to be wanted
But not nice enough.
I wanted to hurt her for touching me
For not being you
So I pulled away
And kissed her cheek gently
My hands beneath her jaw.
“Wow,” she said.
I couldn’t look at her.
That tenderness wasn’t hers
But it didn’t matter.
I kissed her hands
In penance disguised as sweetness.
Suddenly all the anger was gone from me
And I felt desolate.

That night I walked home with my head buzzing.
I wasn’t drunk,
I was sober as hell
Head pounding with thoughts of you.
I hated it.
I hate it.
Somehow I fell into this feeling
And I’ve been fighting not to drown ever since.
When I look at you
I feel everything I wish I’d felt while I was kissing her
And more
That I sometimes wish I’d never feel again.
Sometimes I think you see it.
Sometimes I know I cover for it badly.
Sometimes, when you’re suddenly present
Like the sun has turned on just for me
And then distant later
Like the sea at night
I think you know I already love you.
Maybe you hate it like I hate it.
Maybe you worship it like I worship it.
Maybe you fear it
And I don’t blame you.
A storm presses out against my skin when I look at you
And I’m surprised no chaos seeps through.
My bones hum with it
My heartbeat reaching like thunder into my fingers.

I’ll probably never kiss you
And maybe that’s for the best
Because even being near you makes me feel like I’m falling from somewhere high up.
If I kissed you, I’d feel everything, I’m sure of it-
Everything there is to feel
And it would end me
And I would be grateful.

I wonder if you ever see that in my eyes.
That fear, that longing, that shame and joy.
A love and loathing so intense it scalds.
‘I can’t believe I’m here again,’
It pounds through my veins.
‘I can’t believe I love another person
Who is always looking elsewhere.’

Just know, if you ever discover how I feel
That I tried to **** it.
I looked at this beautiful feeling
A feeling you could pray before like an altar
A feeling you could whisper into like a temple- barefoot and cold with wonder- and hear your soul echo back,
I looked at the sacred piece of humanity that had suddenly risen in my heart like a hymn
And I tried to silence it-
I tried hard-
So that you would never have to fear it.

I failed. It lives.
It took root in me, and whenever I speak your name little harsh flowers push their way up through the concrete under my feet, sending cracks out like jagged spiderwebs.
They bloom like wounds.
They kiss the sky.
And, slowly,
They are crumbling this city to dust.
Title is a quote from Milton’s Paradise Lost, spoken by Lucifer.
Keith Faherty Oct 2016
The
weight of the world sitting dumbly on
those fructose eyelids.

They, in turn.      melt into the mummified  
morning.

laying in the corner forever like a
favorite-shirt
ruined in the wash.
Every other stripe on you is stained pink
from
some cheap volunteer tee that ******              up
The whole load.

Each ray from the blinds
Takes some life away.


Searing past you- into the floorboards
with
quiet fury.

Time passes_
It shoves us down into compact spaces.
(but)
I thought of you
In a shoplifter's prayer.

(There is something left that evaporates out in the form of you)

I imagined you
Still.
But growing
Like
Crystal salts
Crusting up the pores of the earth.

Vapors fumbling upwards to rehydrate
My dry fingers_


We make decisions . that stick around.

We break off blisters. Rip little things that hang off our lips.
We take breaks before we need them.
Take too long to say
**** this.

Thoughtlessness.



Somewhere out there, they are screaming loud.

Somebody either cares or
Doesn't.



The marks on the carpet know better than
us
How to last forever
Zoe Sue May 2014
If my words could bring you back
I'd tell the mirror that you've gone away to battle
My noble prince will return
(Though your best weapons were always cold words and cold shoulders)

I'd inscribe my name into the bindings of all your favorite books
As though some part me could find some part of you in them

I'd yell at every pillow
That couldn't manage to muffle my cries

Every song that sounded just too much like us

Every fairy tale that seemed mocked us in it's polarity
(Dear, I wish I could've spun us in gold)

Every picture we took
That now look too much like broken promises

I'd sweet talk the fridge
Into making me feel worthy of more comfort food
I guess
you always said you like them "thick"
After you told me I'd gotten rounder

I'd scribble ***** sick sorrys into the floorboards
Serenading the floors you walked
(I think they turned to water on your final gracing of them
Because now I'm falling through)

I'd tell the fractures in these walls that you were the best filler
The fractures in my chest the same

I'd speak of you in the highest regard
My bourgeoisie balance act
Always calling for a coup d'état

And maybe that's why when I see you
I'm so choked up
I gargle these words in my mouth
But they fall into a silent drone
And If my words could bring you back
I still don't know that I could say a thing
lila Feb 13
it’s no secret
that i’m short
it’s always been that way
and it will always be that way
stuck at 4’9 forever

and by the laws of physics
or science
or whatever
i don’t really
take up much space

but ever since i was young
i couldn’t help but feel
that i was too much
i took up too much of the room
around me

so a lots of times
there were these thoughts
always playing, like static
telling me how
to take up less space
or make less noise
and become even more
invisible

pull your arms closer
tuck them in your lap
tip toe, so floorboards
don’t creak under your steps
don’t move
keep still
and most definitely
do not let any words slip from your mouth
because any noise, and movement
brings attention
and attention brings judgement
from the people around you
so just blend in
and be invisible
never take up too much space

but that was not living
and i’m sad it’s taken this long to realize
that my existence is too beautiful
to be invisible
and blend in among the crowd
so i will stomp the ground
and shake the earth beneath
i will laugh and
shout and dance
and let everyone know that i am here
because i am worthy
of taking up space
-2/12/2019
JS CARIE Oct 2018
The left of center
are in north bound throes of a dupe
and can't begin to forecast this wonder of polluted marvel,
in the morrow
my optics discharged in a catastrophic traversal

While whimsy and accidental feels like I've taken pills
a power rain this sobbing has spilled
No longer to be contained based on sheer will

Attacked by neurotic transcending
While sifting through files and photo stacks
Came across multiples of your smiling face
From when I shot you, a couple hundred miles back
No one would dare debase the abundance of your emitted grace

Bloodshot mist eyed and blind from tears
control lost during transport steer
Drips off my cheek pouring down my chest
Could make great sense to don a life vest
Filling up floorboards like a spraying firehose
Shattering cascades diamondize the windows
A single glance at an image turns farmland into rural seaquake
If they interview my lifeless corpse what a headline this will make,
turning tragedy into a foolish mistake
people will curse and laugh
Paved over roads now films unseen
when dusk fuse night from the weep my eyes dispensed
Elements effected by incidents
Rising waves climb over to decimate interstate 65
All over a tiny tear drop and her sweet smiling photograph
Kay Reed Feb 2014
my eyes begged him to stay
even as his hands pushed me aside;
i chose to follow the advice of the more
physical threat.

the parts of his knuckles that were't red,
were white, and had little beads
of bright crimson blood
forming on them.

my lips still felt slightly swollen,
but so did my right temple and it was
throbbing hard enough to make me question
where exactly in your body a heartbeat came from.

the room was cold, even though it
was the middle of July and every window was open;
the sun couldn't seem to be able to thaw out
the ice that had frozen in his pupils.

the dandelions i had picked on the walk here
were scattered and flattened into the cracks
between the floorboards, their bright yellows
slowing darkening to a dull, **** brown.

and when the sun had set, the dusk brought on
the relentless demons that hid in the night
that we both feared yet continued to feed,
stretching our necks for them to sink their teeth into.

i thought maybe there was a softening to the
rock hard grimace of your face only to realize that
my eyes were playing tricks on me in the low,
flickering light of your lighter.

it was when you asked for the last cigarette in my pack
that the vinyl we had bought that afternoon
screeched to a halt and white static from those
second-hand speakers filled the room.

i stood, my knees less-than-stable and hands
far-too-shaky, and walked to the door.
i turned, expecting at the very least a salutation
only for you to blow smoke in my face.

i closed the door on the remnants of your french inhale.
yeah don't know what i was goin for or where this poem was headed
kk Jul 2018
imagine a calloused doubt.
cracked, chipped, clicking
like warped wooden floorboards.
soft from overuse
but still overrides willpower
in one palpitating breath.
grimy yet illusive
like your teeth after a day’s work,
collecting gunk that sidles up
to calcium companions,
crunching down on things
that become
so bland in the end.
doubt is offbeat,
monstrous footsteps hidden deep
off beaten paths,
its thudding is clammy and hurried,
aligned to the discordant jazz of
your alarmed body.
it tastes like
coppery heartbeats,
rising bile,
salt and mucus in the back of your throat.
it is a truly uncomfortable thing.
it stacks sweetly like buttercream pancakes
but crumbles you
with such a sour taste on your tongue.
imagine an agony that loves you.
i write about anxiety too much
PamCom Oct 2018
It was dawn when I awoke,
And felt for your arms usually close,
And frowned when I found only bed sheets
Where your body should have been.

It took only a second for the panic to hit,
For my heart to sink and skip a beat,
For my thoughts to drift back to yesterday,
And wonder if I had somehow pushed you away.

The whisper of a voice reached me first,
Laced in an accent that was entirely yours,
As you tiptoed around our messy nest,
Careful, as to not disturb my rest.

Then the smell of bait and coffee reached my nostrils,
Unexpectedly, making my forehead wrinkle,
As you stifled an early-morning yawn,
And I shifted and pretended to sleep on.

You took a minute to fix your hook,
Sat down to lace your boots,
Picked up your fishing tools from the floor
And made your way towards the front door.

I winced at every departing steps,
As the floorboards sighed in protest,
But instead you tiptoed to my side of the bed
And placed a gentle kiss on my forehead.

And just like that I forgot about my worries,
All of yesterday’s bad memories,
And smiled as you left the room.
I wondered if you somehow knew,
Of my breaking dawn blues.
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