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blowing bubbles.last night we
watched the clouds
fall.

and you said:
you are beautiful.

and i am afraid
that i might one day
actually believe you

and

sometimes i feel like
i'm just this big bundle
of problems and i have
been searching and
i can't find the answers.

you told me that the answers
are in blowing bubbles and
tying shoe laces and chasing
dreams, but honestly i just

don't

understand. i have tried
to chase my dreams but

they only run away.

.

you told me that you can't
stand how i sound when i
give up and the hope
is knocked out of me and
you can't stand me when
i am busy counting
the empty spaces in the
walls andblowing bubbles.4 years ago in Other

...Maybe I'm naive because there are certain things I don't understand
Like why we care about people who don't know us
Or why we love people who don't want us
Or why we get angry over things that don't concern us

Maybe I'm cold and bitter because there are certain places I can't go
Or people I can't see
Or songs I can't listen to anymore because they remind me of things I hate
And as much as I try to understand them, I can't

Maybe we're all different brands of crazy
Certain brands like hurting the body
Certain brands go for the mind
Me, I go for the heart because I'm a different brand than everybody else

Or maybe I've just lost it
...5 years ago in Other

falling.he told me:

when i think of falling,
i think of comets and
insomnia and midnight
rushes of emotions and
breaking down just to feel

something

again. he told me
when i think of falling,
i think of you.

but this is okay, because
falling things cannot be
stopped, and

.

you have always been the most
beautiful in a quiet way, like how
the moon outshines the sun, and you
have dreams like uncut glass,
waiting to be shaped or dropped or
maybe both and

you promise you won't let me
break

but i think, i think that maybe

.

i already have and you can't
undo the past and there's no point
in trying and

.

you are the kind of dreamfalling.4 years ago in Other

Fight ClubIf you wake up at a different time,
in a different place,
could you wake up as a different person?

Our fathers were our models for God.
If our fathers bailed,
what does that tell you about God?

You have to consider the possibility
that God does not like you.
He never wanted you.
In all probability, he hates you.

Fuck damnation, Fuck redemption!
We are God's unwanted children? So be it!

First you have to give up,
first you have to know... not fear...
know... that someday you're going to die.

It's only after you've lost everything
that you're free to do anything.
Without pain, without sacrifice,
we would have nothiFight Club7 years ago in Other

my dictionary definitionhow not to be disappointed:
never expect greatness from me;
stamp it from my thoughts
the moment it crosses my mind;
read me my own words, saying
i would like to be
good at everything but ex-
cellent at nothing;
know that haiku is irrefutable
evidence to my sorry head.

how to make me see sense:
slap me in the face
until my eyes are crooked
but my mind, spine, and morals
are not.

how to understand my inferiority complex:
i don't know what else i could ever give you-
you, the ever-saturnine stunner;
me, the never-beautiful slattern-
a placeholder at best from the start;
i will know this and never dream of leaving until
you my dictionary definition3 years ago in Other

Comments Disabled

The Things People Love
The things people love are boys without shirts
Girls with fake tits that have cameras that work
Internet pages of vomit-stained crazes
Stealing your lover with cleavage-cut mazes
Boys who kiss boys and girls filled with hurt
Legs and a body attatched to a skirt

The things people love are boys without shirts
Girls with fake tits that have cameras that workThe Things People Love5 years ago in Other

A Pretty Girls Suicide

A Pretty Girl's Suicide

All the voices say
She has such a pretty smile
One that lasts for days
Like it was plastered on her face

All the voices say
She wears such pretty clothes
The colors that just stand out in a crowd
Like she was a butterfly

All the voices say
She has such pretty eyes
A mixture of green and blue
Like where the ocean meats the sky

All the voices say
She has such pretty hair
It would shimmer in the breeze
Like dew on grass

All the voices say
She was such a pretty girl
A girl who would make boys mouths water
Like a freshly baked apple pie

But pretty is as pretty does
Every time she glimpsed a mirror
It A Pretty Girls Suicide10 years ago in Other

The stormCartilage-smooth azure extends
above bent heads.
Furrows s t r e t c h b e y o

the edge The storm4 years ago in Surrealism

The Breath of GodI.

My bones have been like cabinets;
the hinges all dust, wood punctured.

Breathe, hope, stamina (the grains wheat enough to take on
absence, sweat, and nausea) were misplaced.
Their dearth rearranged my skeleton in certain places,
and I stuck out here—sunk in there.

The nonexistence was pushy—
bored with the fractures,
ignorant of setting the bone.

I was ignorant of setting the bone, too.

Mirrors were poor reflections,
wasted glass, unable to diagnose.

I was intact. It appeared
that way. The angles spoke of it—
they expressed the wholeness of body. Sure they did.

They did.

II.

It spoke of other images, tThe Breath of God6 years ago in Other

The People We HateThe people who hurt us, do they feel like we do?
Do they feel ugly and worthless in their skin like we do?
When they ache are their thoughts a bruised purple-blue
or are their brains always full of those rainbow-esque hues?
Do they suffer with the things that we're going through?
Or are they always indifferent to the sanity unglued?

Those people we hate, can we feel their pain?
Do we know of their nail-biting sorrow and shame?
Are we driven to cruelty by cruelty they gave?
Or is rage bred within, in its own iron cage?

And why do we hate?- Because we're not the same?
Or simply because they're unwilling to change?The People We Hate5 years ago in Other

road rash and autopsyi'm not a strong person.
i am scared.
i am scared all the time.
i am so scared, sometimes i can't stop breathing,
or can't start,
and i am so unclear as to which it is,
but i just know i can't.

i am going to open the car door
as my father's foot tilts back the accelerator
to add a little more pollution to the
atmosphere as we're going sixty.
seventy, if i am lucky.
i'll remember pulling up the child lock,
hearing it click and i realise i'm not
a child anymore. my heart will
wheeze at its realisation of maturity.
i will open it, and the wind will
jerk it open so violently that i will cry.
there is too much violence and the
mroad rash and autopsy4 years ago in Other

of storms and skysee my hair dance wild as wind-strings jerk it about//hear the ocean-wind heave itself against us all- crashing into our eyes and mouth//feel the winter-wind brush our skins in summer//then inhale the heaviness of air and sink through the dirt- because darling, you don’t deserve god’s beautiful violence.

(it drags the tree by its leaves saying kiss your trunk, kiss it and it does; releasing with a snap. the other trees flitter-flutter violently, crying within the cacophony of rain on concrete. white stars fall where light exists, and only sound where it disappears. the sky -the colour of sunburnt skin- watches it all with hunger. aof storms and sky4 years ago in Other

Suicide10 years ago in Typographical

When we left medicine behind4 years ago in Surrealism

My WinterCardinals will
                drip
from the branches like
berries
and the sky will turn to smoke.
The ground crunches under your feet and it’s
Almost as if you could
         sail away
across the ice.
Brandished behind screens of glass
are fists of ivory
They are covered in scratches and
         bloom
from the dark like magnolia blossoms.My Winter5 years ago in Surrealism

tHE cYBerPuNK aNThEM

]0®#Îñ_>.T.H.E._.C.Y.B.E.R.P.U.N.K._.A.N.T.H.E.M.tHE cYBerPuNK aNThEM8 years ago in Cyber Poetry

How to kill a writerInk on a blank sheet, suck dry a body
through the pen sitting between a finger
and an open vein, he won't last longer
than the emptiness written about she.

               Doctor.

Words to enlighten the path leading your
spark to the edge of the world, it's futile
when you're already falling, it's obscure.

               Doctor,
               we're losing him.

Paper to walk on like a white tile
ready to be brokHow to kill a writer4 years ago in Other

SmileSmile.
BIG.
BIGGER.
Yeah, now you look happy.
What's that?
You're sad?
Too bad.
Smile.Smile6 years ago in Other

II collect herbs on the Hansel and Gretel path to make a potion to drink and find the Baba Yaga within.

I jeep a million miles a week to celebrate one secret from one child that hints at the power they carry blithely.

I paint abstract road signs with the three colors plus dawn and twilight to find the night spot to dance the kundalini cha-cha.

I sit on a throne of thorns and watch through the dispelling inner fog as my body torques into imitations of a rose blooming.

I pour a river of skin into the ocean of his morning and feel the tsunami swell through a worldwide heartbeat.

I suck the colors and light and darkness from my inner psychedeI6 years ago in Other

Sated, she said, and bowed to the grave
nodding her lips to the thin of the wind
"Now it is june.  She is tired of being brave."
Always there, something of missing and him.

Aubades on morning like nebula sighs
clash with the porn star handshakes and slick lips.
Names of the angels so quick fall to rise.
Nothing to know her but broken fingertips.

She nods to the smile and turns eyes so austere.
But the rhyming part of this poem
                    ends here.
                               run run she said to the boy.
                               run,  run, auld songs, old songs.
                          take your helmet, take ySated9 years ago in Typographical

Note to SelfDear Self.

We were good together;
a team of one
and for the most part I didn't mind you
but in the long run you let me down
you pissed me off
you broke my heart
I wanted to make it better but you wouldn't let me
You made me wait until it was too late

You know what, Self?

I'm sick of you.
I'm sick of what you made me

I'm ugly
and broken
and unattractive to even myself
I'm a liar and freak and self-loathing monster
Green and self-centered
a wilting flower

I want to be pretty
(but I cant)
I want to be perfect
(but I cant)
I want to be painted in gold and floNote to Self4 years ago in Other

COMPUTER

110101110101101010101000101010110111101010101010110010101010101011010011001010010101010010101010101010101010
010010101010100101010101011101010101010101011101010101010101111010111101010101010101000101010110101010101011
010101011010101010101101010101010101101010101010101011010101010101110110101101011010100101011010101010101101
010011010101111010101010110101010101010111010101101101010100001010110101010101010110101011101011101010101010
101011010111010110101010100010101011011110101010101011010010101010100101010101011101010101010101011101010101
010101111010111101010101010101000101010110101010101011010101011010101010101101010101010101Computer10 years ago in Cyber Poetry

ELEVEN O'CLOCKI AM MAKING MY WORDS LOUD
SO THAT YOU MIGHT HEAR ME
FROM A MILLION MILES AWAY.

MY FACE MELTED INTO WAX
LAST NIGHT, FOLDED HANDS
TURNED INTO TREMBLING LOVERS.
I SCREAMED SILENCE,
FOX DROWNING BETWEEN
MUSIC BEATS, CAN YOU HEAR ME,
PLEASE TELL ME YOU HEAR ME.

CLOCK STRUCK ELEVEN AND I WAS
DOWN FOR THE COUNT,
I AM SCREAMING BUT MAKING NO
NOISE, A MILLION MILES,
A MILLION MILES-

I WISH YOU WOULD LOVE ME
THE WAY YOU DID WHEN
I WAS SIXTEEN.ELEVEN O'CLOCK4 years ago in Other

When Day DiesMy hair falls out like a beautiful sin,
my head, completely naked –

convenes with dawn and together they get drunk
on time.

They overlook themselves. They drop all their favorite words and do not
pick them up again.

Two heartbreaks later the heat handcuffs them;
together they murdered another day.

Noon’s skull, the many pieces –
lay fractured on the sidewalk. Suburb love is dangerous.

Before ducking into the cruiser, my head peeks
at the rest of it’s childlike body standing on the curb, innocent.

My head is a scandalous extension of my neck,
the rest of me doesn’t wave to it. We are not friends.

I wWhen Day Dies5 years ago in Other

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