"matchsticks" poems
Later at the same address
A storm of words reaches flood stage
A couch is bobbing in the currents
towards its mangled ruin-nexus
of matchsticks in cyclonic flow
among the renegade
trash
hanging
from the limbs like tinsel
Meanwhile
chair heaved through her door
Like the river
I am not above my rage
at this stage
of more than enough....
Clever daughter's got my goat
Turns my words on dimes
Lays into me
her score of blame
Each blow to drop me further
presses all my buttons at one time
despite the flashing
Warning! Warning!
“Fine! Fine!”
She blows-out through the afternoon
right past me
in a torrent of curses
A stubborn perfect storm
of words
has taken out parental dam
and blown out toward the Bay of Freedom
to the sorrows of her day
The river may crack its whip
But its got nothing on her
nothing is left standing
in her way
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 9:24 PM UTC
You stripped me of my innocence.
Yours were the first lips
To press passion onto my stunted ****
My body bruised by your touch,
Your forked tongue hissed through gritted teeth,
Caress me, as your hands rattle
With anger, desire.
Testosterone fulled triggers
Blew holes into my anatomy,
Ripping apart my flesh.
Now I tie stitches where skin should be,
I'm bleeding out my purity.
Drip,
Drip,
Drip.
The beads of sweat, roll downwards,
Trickling off your looming armour.
They dance with the oceans in my eyes.
Itching spiders romance with the bones
Upon my empty corpse.
Hollow reeking mass,
Devoured by play pretend.
Love lead way to self devouring devotion,
We play on ties with lit matchsticks.
Broken, singed strings,
Where my innocence should lie.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 7:39 PM UTC
There are some
Who are fireworks
They light up the sky
Earn lots of "ooh"s and "ah"s
Then there are the flames
The ones who light the fireworks
Their job is important
They allow the fireworks to shine
Some notice them
But not many
And finally there are people like me
The matchsticks
Yes,
Just the wooden bit
We don't get noticed
We don't shine like the others
All we do
Is burn away
So others aren't burnt
We are useful
But not necessary
We don't dazzle
And we are easy to come by
In this world
Of fireworks
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 10:03 PM UTC
You think you're clever
but I read you like
the prettiest little poem.
Red hair flickering the
edges of paper like
matchsticks.
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 12:46 PM UTC
The night crawls under my skin
Fever delirium laced with heartbreak
in the cracks of my chapped lips
I let down my walls
Now kite drifting away like balloon let go
You were the walls of this maze called home
fog blanket me into Limbo called fever delirium hot and *****
icecream cone by the fireplace
defy the logic
cut the shoelaces
defy the logic
jump and walk on the sky
defy gravity
Swallow the whole **** ocean
Do the impossible
Have *** demand icecream for breakfast
throw punches in the street
Do drugs you don't know what they are what they do how they can hurt you
trusting abuse like a unicorn but it's just a horse
hear the dragon roar
Underneath the bed you make love on
your friends are sometimes the monsters
Spilling the probation all over the floor
Realize he's not sleeping next to you
He doesn't love you anymore
You can tell she hurts
Lives away from home
Digs teeth into words like wounds will heal like they are stitches
Fall for boy in coffee shop
Leave dream boat to pursue reckless thought
You give leaves
He gives you hope
Helps your lighthouse at sea float
Secretly as you sleep inside the sun
When your lighthouse work is done
He paints over the stripes
He thinks it is like the love story of your mother and father
She is angry with a tiny clustered house with the smell of her smoke filled lungs
He paints every room like reversing time
But it's all pretend, just men being men
Let the leaves burn
Steal the words from books
Cut them out
Cut your heart out
And try again
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 1:19 PM UTC
My body was found in an autochthonous cranny stinking of death,
between the hookers legs; burned
with a magnesium flash- of the bulb popping.
It illuminates mere shapes
resembling humans only remotely;
the way a copse of bracken burnt conifers' resemble matchsticks.
Dec 15, 2010
Dec 15, 2010 at 3:13 PM UTC
In seductions of ******
wisps of alarm, tongues fly
catching fire, their croaks
are red-headed matchsticks.
Intrepid hourly, the
blanketed white harassed
the appointed locum, the
cashmere buds of tobacco.
The open mouths adhere to
the King of Limbs, the
experimental corsages that
— bloom —
into existence.
There is a space between
all the noise where
my fetal poise can reside,
*forever holding,
holding on,*
forever holding,
holding on.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 5:39 AM UTC
Millions of men with matchsticks
Brought their heads to
The oceans of kerosene
********** forged their existence
And they weren't able to retaliate
Thousand whispers of desire
Of living a peaceful life
Echoed among the mountains
And between the valley of death
Days were enumerated and artifacts collected
The stories seemed to be a passage full of euphemisms
A dystopian atmosphere took over their utopian views
The matchstick was struck
And humanity collapsed.
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 1:58 PM UTC
21 years or older but I asked to use the bathroom first.
Then I slip in when the bouncer isn't looking.
Naked bodies hanging on poles.
Men, smoke, 90's rap music.
On the stage, they bend backwards like dogs.
Dogs staring back, mirroring the position
and her self - esteem.
A woman approaches two men at the table in front of me.
Her fishnet wrap shows she's naked.
******* grinding, tossing hair.
Some slimy guys buy us drinks from a table a distance away.
Dorena gulps next to me.
I leave mine alone.
Absorbed into this vision because I have to immerse
myself in this because I must write.
I need to tell people that her hand slapped her ******
like it did something wrong.
She made her hand do that because that man
was giving her dollars as I watched them slide off her back,
her legs; the sides of them.
She gave his friend a dance and a magic trick.
Setting fire to matchsticks she placed on her ******* and her ****
He blew the flame away.
The dollars blew to the ground
and after her performance she went on her knees,
and picked up the remains.
Her dress, the money, her composure.
Afterward, she lit up a Capri, the type of cigarette
I craved all night.
I bummed one off her and she fled out of sight.
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 11:32 PM UTC
can I even complicate
my continuum of thoughts?
if so, will I ever be able
to stop?
If I dig deeper
There's no air
There's no warmth
There's not a soul being
in sight
Oh, I'll
drown
won't I?
Oh my mind
It's ill-defined,
hazey
it's left me severed
I'm sightless.
did the unknown hinder a
blind tragedy?
They tell me,
We can pretend for awhile
So i'll pour the sea in my head,
I'll make it full again.
but my mind will only be
under siege
it's a temporary fix
Like leaking my dreams with
matchsticks
can I even complicate the patterns
that I inhale?
such a strange feeling
as if you can't grasp your mind
when your psyche
is flooded
What is real? What is mine?
To what extent is detachment twisted
When you can no longer
reach
the surface ?
I see an oceanic void where
the only movements are
the vibration of my bones
not radiating in dance; they're
shaking,
shaking
in this abyss
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 1:10 PM UTC
So,
there we were under december lights and burnt out matchsticks,
looking like we've fallen in love tonight.
It was all eyelashes and hastiness drawn out.
You braided secrets & warm murmurs into my hair;
then a smirk into my left shoulder blade.
Your lips tasted like something,
someone
I wanted more of.
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 7:40 AM UTC
Walked out the door,
into the God abandoned day,
night took his toll,
brought his longtime friend,
the rain.
Please, don't follow me.
I'm not mad for the reasons you thought.
I'm not sad for the season I lost.
It's the lessons you didn't mean, but taught.
Please, don't follow me.
Your words are meaning less and less to me.
Walked past my car,
stopped at Vista,
bought a pack,
watched the water war,
spat smoke, in my soaked coat, under an awning,
a teenage couple, tense as matchsticks, walked past,
staring with unknown, undeserved prejudice.
Please, don't follow me.
It isn't about emotional depths or rediscovery.
It isn't about finding happiness or inspiring sorrow.
It's the fact that my mistakes led me to you.
Please, don't follow me.
You aren't ready to help me.
Oct 10, 2010
Oct 10, 2010 at 9:10 PM UTC
stuck in the same place
over and over
I'm growing tired
faded, to look at the other end
A non-existent thread,
to yours— bled red
something I put up tying to mine
to yours— an invisible line
For once I am lost for words,
hollow, empty of a shell with no home
as we are living in different worlds
I will never see you by the doorstep
We're like two matchsticks
you used to burn up my flames
my eyes lit up looking at you—
burning with passion
wasting no gasoline,
my heart you filled up the brim
— now it's a heart burnout
I used to hold on
and vision it clearly up ahead
with you holding my tired hand
with me looking up to smile
my heart used to race a thousand mile
how is it now this came too soon?
now it's just faded
a scene that's white noise filled
you're fading to black quickly
For once I don't see you
standing on the other side
I've held loose of the rope
I'm no longer scared
or anxious
of what we will come about
A future without you
with these feelings wavering—
How come I vision this clearly?
A story with no ‘we’—
An ending page
and from the beginning
that's where
we're supposed to stand in line
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 10:09 PM UTC
How beautiful the sunrise when it came ,
for I had waited so long ,
In vain,
how lonelineses. sweet tears I feel ,
down my cheek so bitter the pain .
Yet I walk were emporers once stood ,
Londiniam lies abandoned .
the Classis lit long since sailed ,
their. Masts beat against the wind .
The river Thames glistened from the morning sun ,
Past it’s banks and statues of gods ,
Monuments to Caesar and suns of the gods lie face down in the sun
broken in two ..
Why should I return for there is nothing here ?
And yet ,
the girls with yellow hoods shunned by the graceful good ,
call me back with their come to bed eyes .
and here I am ,
with ladies of wanton jewelled hair .
For now the Tudor warehouses of
Commerce swell what was once forgotten.
Matchsticks piled one on another ,
and look at them all too full of pride ,
to stupid to see .
Women with weasels in their hair ,
So elegant and fair ,
for the ladies in their yellow hoods say “ beware “
Now the suns rays that lie low ,
a ball of red ,
were quiet embers burnt and flowed ,
Only to find that ,
her Queen awaited
the suns rays of majestic glory ,
as if all of England looked to its shores .
her Golden Hind .
Monsters of the deep ,
Dragons ,
Serpents. ,
Demons from hell itself ,
yet
the evil seas could not swollow this ship ,
or return it’s bounty to whence it came ,
and the women with the yellow hoods hid their faces in shame .
Mar 26, 2019
Mar 26, 2019 at 3:12 PM UTC
Years later
muffled like new snowfall
this ash
permeating teeth and skin.
Back then, I was still naive enough to trust
Old Jimmy when he offered to fly me
over the blast zone in his beat-up Cessna
the words Scenic Tours peeling off its purple tail.
His latent appetite would later manifest
on the ride home in his musty Cadillac
the passenger door dented shut
preventing an easy exit.
That day
gray extended
as far as eyes could see
denuded trunks laid to rest
in perfect unison
we flew
for miles and miles
over nothing living
just ash
permeating teeth and skin
fallen matchsticks
and men.
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 9:12 AM UTC
The sun light shining through my window but only enough to welcome me to the day. The birds are chirping only waiting for me to rise from my bed, stretch, and meditate for a minute or two. The wafting smell of coffee beans and oatmeal fill my senses as I stroll into the kitchen, but half asleep. The blue sky or maybe grey will greet me as I slide the window open to great the morning air, one with the residue of last nights rain. The morning walkers quickly walk past my window only having a conversation of their own with a friend or a lover. The 5 am shift started and the 6 am is soon to be, the cars cruising past. The children at play before breakfast is served, sidewalk chalk and a box of matchsticks, mom said never to play with. The day looks inviting, may I join?
Sep 13, 2019
Sep 13, 2019 at 1:30 AM UTC
A mouth full of gasoline + a match stick for a heart, she whispers to him nice and low set me on fire
She’s willing to stare disaster in it’s Eager eyes.
She wouldn’t dream of running before her Time with him is Up.
With his Arms like Alcohol, she can’t help but feel Altered when they are around her.
With his Body like running Water, she’s as good as Drown.
With his Smile like Oxygen, she’s not Gasping for Air just yet.
With his face like a love song, too bad she’s never been know to carry a tune.
With a matchstick between her lips + her heart of gasoline she waits for her moment
to set him on fire.
Mar 23, 2012
Mar 23, 2012 at 4:14 PM UTC
Next!
Hi my names Janet
I want to save the planet
I like little dogs and lots of
Next!
I am Glen meet you is good yes
I am from the Ukraine
I once made a windmill out of matchsticks
I can skin a rabbit if you like stew!
Next!
I'm Pippa I ride horses I have powerful thighs
Do you like horses, do you ride?
I could ride with you
next!
Hello I'm Lorraine back here again
Last time I met a musician
It was ok at first till he blew on my *******
Next!
I'm Joy I like uniforms and outdoors
I quite like uniforms indoors
Do you have a uniform?
Next!
My name is Joanne I read all I can
I just finished 50 shades of Grey
It's changed my life, you look nice
Do you wear ties all the time
Next!
Hi I'm Tracey do you like films I love films
My ex used to film me, would you like to see
I have it on my phone, I'm the one in the mask!
Next!
My names John the girlies are gone
Sorry none wanted you this time
We meet next week for another 20 quid
You might get lucky then!
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 8:58 PM UTC
At least matchsticks burn.
At least alcohol runs out.
I have no excuse.
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 10:22 AM UTC
Boy, the word "i love you" has become so common in your mouth that it already grew molds of lies and uncertainties.
You play with feelings with your matchsticks in hand.
tell me, why do you keep on playing with fire—constantly burning another heart's desire?
Ashes after ashes of your burnt relationships,
you jump into another loveship with your matchsticks still in keep.
Aren't you wondering, is love really what you seek?
Cause if you are,
then no, it isn't.
My grandmother once told me,
you don't just build then burn bridges with no intent.
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 12:13 PM UTC
Grey skies
flying moor
storm in a teacup
gas cell 4
the clock hands are matchsticks
...
The letting go of everything
in hopes of trimming the airship
this seat is no longer taken
...
In love with a bad idea
the zeppelin and the magnetism
closing in beyond the minimum safe distance
...
Dim blue flame
a psalm of survival:
days and peoples and places
are transatlantic numbers
crawling from the wreckage
the clock hands are matchsticks
Jul 7, 2023
Jul 7, 2023 at 1:15 PM UTC
Half formed shallow glances across the dawn
Breaking in crisp spring
a hunter means harm
(say it back)
Precious slanted words in crushed song
Landing slowly, raindrops cling
The sidewalk is long
(breath we lack)
Slaughtered bouquet petals in Central Park
Burning acidic in the winter light
Our sun is victim to the dark
(Gilded armor cracks)
Aimless gallivanting learns to command the heart
Inspired: the reckless wilderness can ignite
villains and matchsticks to spark
(Absence means love lacks)
and if all letters are to crash like hailstorms
why write and feel and fill
the blank parchments with potential eardrums
whose souls we make anxious- ill?
and still
the alive will die or ****
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 9:24 PM UTC
My touch can start brush fires.
My fingers are ***** matchsticks,
the kind your mother warned about.
My petaled lips spark against yours
like flint against steel.
My volatile breath, an overcast of smoke
creeping from the belly of my throat.
My twisted tongue douses your chalky skin
with fuel, a gasoline spreading to your logged limbs.
I leave your organs to curdle,
and by morning glow,
you’re nothing but a burn victim.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 8:45 PM UTC
What is it with society
it can't leave girls alone
to be the way they want to be
they have to **** and moan...
"Now this one she's too skinny
with a blatant lack of ***
legs stolen from flamingos
and arms like two matchsticks.."
"Now this one's far too chubby
observe her thunder thighs
see her wobble as she's walking
it's clear who ate all the pies.."
"Now see the tattooed freakshow
flesh tunnels, garb of black
in burly boots and trenchcoat
she must be taking crack.."
"and what of lil Miss sunkissed
with her streaky perma-tan
who dresses like a two bit *****
but never keeps her man.."
A war on flaws is raging
as media fuels the flame
mixed with the tongues of gossips
it gets stronger everyday
we're taught to judge a person
by looks and shape alone
regardless of their inner selves
their talents, dreams and goals
It really is a worry,
to watch our young girls grow
bowed under weight and pressure
with self esteem so low.
So tell them that they're beautiful
it's not too much to ask
and please be sure to tell them
that the media's an ***
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 5:36 AM UTC
Mistakes are like fists full of firewood, waiting to be struck -
We light up like saffron fused matchsticks,
draining with tears the color of grinding lightning.
Every time things get heated, I get lost
in the mist of not knowing enough
Everything we know gets lost in the distance
because the distance casts spells of mist that
Climb up all my windows and screens,
my view becomes pigeonholed bleak.
Your cowry-shell smile is now cast away in waves of doubt
Our mouths are now perpetually filled with
retorts soaked in vinegar, heavy breathing and static squabbling –
this is what it feels like to be the one who loves more from a distance.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 5:08 PM UTC