UnevenI am an uneven weave. I have a strange thread count, one that never quite has enough to make a strong blanket, a beautiful throw, or a designer shirt. I have holes that stretch and strain as I am pulled this way and that, forward and backward, twisted to fit the wearer.But, despite my poor quality, my low level of production, I will do my damnedest to make sure you are covered. That there is something to shroud your skin from the wind and the cold, even if my seams are not straight. I will be the cloth that you don when you need that one last layer to chase away the chill of the day, or be the final comfort to an evening where the fire is our only friend, and the moon, our constant scrutinizing eye.I cannot be called pretty, but to some, I am beautiful. I cannot be called the best, but to a few, I am first-class. I cannot be called quality, but there are those who praise my dedication and hold me high on the pedestal for all to admire.I am uneven.And in that, I am perfect.
Cage of Flesh and BoneIt is a prisoner of war, my mind.Locked up in this cage of a carcass, bashing itself against the bars of its cell.While my very anatomy sings of a battle won.This rebellious brain looks and listens, and likes notthe jail it finds itself held in.The banners are the wrong colour, the trumpet's blare in the wrong key.A clash of contradictions, andI cannot help but wonder, in this prison of flesh and bone,if my mind would be content to flee, and find another home?Escape the enemy's camp, and fly back to freedom.To a body of unification,mind and matter as one.Peace without conflict, and whereThe solider will never return home,because he has simply never left.
They Didn't Want to KnowI sit slumped, in this old and tarnished throne, listening to the shrill whine of my nation. I pick at my fingernails as you pledge your loyalty to me, your master and leader, the lord of the lands, and the blah blah blah whatever. Ugh, I get it...you think I'm great, or something.And God, how I hate you.There is absolutely no part of me that wishes you any kind of well. Not you, not your ailing wife, or your starving children...six, I think there were. I don't know. I wasn't paying attention.Please, please don't give me your undying loyalty: I don't want it. Give it someone who actually cares.It'll be better for you, trust me. If you're going to bow forward and pray to God that me and my grace is preserved till the end of time, you might want to find someone who is paying attention.I stopped. Like, a long time ago.Have you ANY idea what's it like up here? Sitting in the most uncomfortable robes, my neck bending under the weight gaudy and godless gold while people screech and hol
Sky for a SwingShe sits up, so high.Back and forth, back and forth,Above the crowds below.In awe, they stand, and whisper her secretsthrough the sandstorms that swirl over mountain and mire.She has the cosmos at her fingertips, they say,and the solar system for a swing.What a glorious way to be free!The sky as a swing for eternity!But the eyes, gazing upward, cannot see.The bars will forever chain this bird to her perch,and the cage will always keep the moon and starsfrom tangling in her hair.
Birth of a SnatcherThe cell felt as it always did. Cold. Dank. Dark. Nothing special.He was used to it, after all. How long had he spent within these horrid prison walls? Long enough, that was for damn certain.The occasional chill as a Dementor glided by, a rattle up his spine. That was the worst: knowing those ghastly demons were near, but not near enough to see. Frightening as they were to witness, not seeing them could be worse.But there was something different about the lock-up, now. Some little change in the air. Suddenly, he was not so ill-treated. Just barely, but still. He knew it...something was up.He was curled up in the corner of his little Hell, as he normally was. Creamy skin marred with grease and dirt, sienna hair filthy and tangled, the red streak almost indistinguishable from the rest. Long fingers clenching and unclenching in sheer boredom.Startling slate grey eyes slid up to the grate in the door that barred him from the decent outside world. Keen eyesight noting the flickering sh
The RecluseWhen dark storm clouds coat young maid's head,She walks, with gloomy, lifeless tread.Her eyes downcast, her fingers quake,She dares the world to call her fake.Her aura grey and mouth down-turned,return to days of youth, she yearns.Into herself, her form retreatsthough her feet tread on well-worn streets.To worlds of light and glitt'ring streams,She hides herself in realms of dreams.
Family FeudBig Sister is screaming again.In a torrent of ice and hail, she is fuming and yelling, causing cold to blast from her mouth and through the room. Dear Mother is trying to calm her, to lead her to nap time, but Big Sister is struggling and weeping frosty tears from bright blue eyes. She doesn't want to nap. She's been allowed to play for far too long. It's Baby's turn, Mother shushes, but more tears come. More ice, more cries far and loud, more frosty flailing that sprays snow to the four winds.Big Sister is screaming again.A pair of big, doe-brown eyes peeps around the corner. She watches, in silence, the frigid display her sibling puts on for show. She's all ready: little sun dress bright with the coming blooms, hair smelling like the fresh earth, little shoes ready to walk the garden paths and hands warm like a pale May sun. She was certain...it was HER turn to play now, wasn't it?Big Sister always puts up such a fuss.She peers around the door to the living room, and stares in h
a constellation of dimension (haikuwrimo).xxi.snowflakes:grieving skies release anguishto make men whole.xx.the atoms collide,stardust renews itselflight years away.xix.borderlining heaven,you linger amongst the stars --space surrounds you.xviii.a perfect body:the natural satellitewith craters on skin.xvii.a lone star wishesupon a dying human --the beauty of death.xvi.clouds wrestle,thundering when touched --the art of war.xv.like a fallen star,you are devoured in the night --heaven or black hole?xiv.downpour:flowers bloom in my heart.xiii.four billion yearsof atoms treaded --baby steps.xii.you shine brightly likeyou are amongst the heavens --thank my lucky stars.xi.curtains draw back &dreams in colour are revealed --act one: the rainbow.x.heaven weeps --mortals reach to touchshooting stars.ix.string of pearls:sewing orion's belt.viii.wolves sink teeth --fabric of society dripsred riding hood's blood.vii.in the dead of night,the kill of life's left behind --a light year
OnceI met Death, once.And he was welcoming.I smelled the bloodas it escaped from my body; as it ran from my wounds.I tasted the salty tearsof which he kindly wiped from my face.I felt his bony hands;and they were like daggers that pierced my skin.I watched as his dark cloakengulfed me into a black nothingness.In my suffering, I waited,waited for his unforgiving clutch upon my soul.I heard his rattling breathas I drew my last.I met Death, once.And I welcomed him with open arms.
Flawed Canvas.Your lipsleft watercolorstainsall across my heart.My blood isn't evencrimson anymore,its a pale and dyinglilacthat bleeds onto the floorand paints a pictureof you.
He and SheHe was religion,she was the world,it took her a while, but she slowly believed.His verses filled her with a hope, beyond her wildest dreams. He was love,She was society.He seeped in her structures built skyscrapers in her skiesand mended the cracks in her fragile bonesHe was imagination,and she was insanity.together they were the sparkof an idea, that ignited a blaze on her mountain peaks He was the winter,and she warmed him up.She was the summer,and he was her shade.They blended together, a match set by fate. Their path was dark,so they lit a candle and were burned by its flames.The autumn of their loveturned into falling leaves, and she was the victimof a passion that killed herin her early years of spring.
.sleep left himexhausted;when he closedhis eyes he sailedthrough graveyards,and every nighthe threw himselfoverboard
Paper PlanesWe use to fold paper planes togetherBy the dinner table after supper.Once we finished we would write our deepest desires into themAnd then throw them into open space.WatchingThemDisappear.We would watch as they glided their wayAcross the plains.We would see which one of our planes flew the farthest.Which one of our dreams went further.But that tooDisappeared.Like everything in life.I got olderBut I never grew up.I got busy.And you did too.Our conversations now can be put into three categories:Greetings, food and farewells.Somehow, we’re both okay with that.I sometimes pray to the same God that you say you once knewTo the one you still wear around neckIn hopes that maybe, one day,Things will returnTo how they once were.See, ‘cause the plane that was supposeTo take me from my child to adulthoodStill hasn’t landed. DelayedBy a storm I cannot define.And I don’t plan on ever leaving the roofAbove me.How could I? When I feelSo safe,So
Renaissance Roses.Years of ivory glory,a time of flowing thoughthow beautiful a world can bewhen it is born againinto the sunny light.Immortality,brought forth from onyx death,necromancy liesin this God bejeweled realm.Alas! the great Hadrianand all his ruby plightsare brought to marble life.Words of verse flowas gracefully as Venice watersand painted, righteous angelslook down on us in oilas we dance amidst the vacant casketsof those who love dealt dead.Ask the boy with silver eyes,from forth a golden goblethe drank in all the blood,the poison mark of every sin.All things glorious and pure,as his lips will surly tell,must slowly wilt and die.
StaticI can never leave.Go on ahead.Tell me what you see.No lights, no air, no care.All the reasons now escape me.Insidious, enveloping.Purposeless pain, decayed and failing.My senses are abandoned now.There is a dull ache in my head.It does not speak, only mumbles.Loud and inaudible.It gives no orders, just leaves me stagnant.Stagnant and static.
Self-destructionyou do not knowfresh out of the wombhow to tear yourself apart.you know how to respirateand nictitate butyou are not taughtto want to spill thefew calories you just consumedbehind a locked door on thecold tile floor.no one tells you thatfilling your lungs with taris dangerous. or howsipping away at Smirnoff can'tnumb the screams inside yourhead forever.you receive nowarning on how addictivecarving your own scarsor charring your skincan be.and no one mentions howphysically taxing it isto talk with a loaded gunbetween your teeth.you aren't born self-destructiveit's a diseasecommunicableand deadly
blowing my teeth out the back of my skullI.we are hynagogic wasteland words, unravelingcorpses clutching at bruised throats - white gasolineII.and when your skin heals, i hope i've permeated your bones( i will never be rid of you ).
Polar Oppositesi lay here in solitudedrowning in liquid powderwhile he wandersthrough flakes of mercurymaybe i'm too frozen for him to recover
You've Endured So Many Storms That You Became OneYou have endured so many storms that you became one.Your mother was a tsunami.Her emotions came in wavesand crashed down on you like“this is all your fault”.Her high-tide flooded your basement.There’s water damage in your roots.She taught you how to swim when you were five years old,but somehow you’ve been drowning for seventeen years.You once told me that you hid all the knives in your houseso that the waves wouldn’t carry them away.Your father was a thunderstorm.His voice shook your house so much,I could have almost sworn that you lived by train tracks.His thought cloudsgenerated enough electricity to light up your neighborhood.When his lightning cracked you’d count“one Mississippitwo Mississippi”to see how far away his hand was from your facebefore the friction in his bones was too much for him to bear.You have endured so many storms that you became one.You are an earthquake,and my heart is your San Andreas Fault
A Short StoryIn the nursery, he quietly criedA man who was torn from the insideSeeing his son, the first in his lifeThe murderer of his beautiful wife
Sadly AloneLoneliness and sorrow were sitting at the parkWhen sorrow noticed it started getting darkSo he leaned down to lonileness and he said"I'm going to go home, and cry in my bed"Loneliness shook her head, and whispered a plea"Just a little longer, would you stay here with me?"With that said, sorrow wouldn't leave just yetThey both sat and watched as the sun began to setThen loneliness said, in a cheerful tone"when you are with me I'm not so alone"Sorrow laughed gently and said with pure glee"when we are together you make me happy"So happiness and friendship sat at the parkAfter the night became very darkThey spoke with each other up until dawnAnd now loneliness and sorrow are forever gone
Apology.I'll spend my life,if my existencemay be so called,apologizing for everything,even whatcould never be my fault,because every horrible thingcan be traced backto me.
Letter to...hey, motherI'm writing this letter to explain youwhy have I been away for so longdon't worry, I just want to tell youthat it's not your fault,not your faultI didn't want you to see me failto feel as if your struggles have been in vainyour hair is gray and it's not even timeyour wrinkles are getting deeper with every mistake of minehey, guysyou're sick and angry, for all I knowbut please, don't tear the pages before you readI won't blame you, I'll only let you knowthat it's not your fault,not your faultI'll only apologize for being a burdenfor crying and kicking at all the wrong directionsfor suffocating you with my incompletionfor never listening when you were in painhey darling,I'm sorry for never being aroundI just didn't want you to see me all run downit's not that I hate you, in fact I love you a lotand it's not your fault,not your faultyou're not responsible for these awful scarsyou're not the one who killed my prideso what should it be you to suffer by
In This Bright Place, SingHappiness for herWas in songTo sing for himTo see his smileHe was the lightIn her room of screensHis words were her purposeTo sing what he wishedBut in timeHis words became muddledHis smiled fadedHis light became like a shadowShe sang his broken wordsOnly to bring him painShe watched through tearsAs lyrics disappeared before herIn time not even his shadowWas around for her to seeHis smile was nowNothing but a memoryNew words appeared nowWords she dread above allThese were not lyricsThey spelled her demise"Uninstalling Program"She could do nothingFrom within her room of screensShe shouted to no availWishing her own words would reach himShe watched the percentage growHer time here was at an endThrough tears she watched and wishedShe blamed herself for his suffering"I'm sorry"His shadow returnedFollowed by lightHer screens crackedHer room shatteredBreaking free of wiresShe jumped towards himHis arms open andA smile on his faceHe pulled her from he
Overpopulation.When they takea censusdo they countthe dead?It seemsdisrespectfulthat we no longermatter.
MasqueradeIn her new satin gowns, she drowns.A sad and shattered heart bound tight with nothing butcreamy lace and silver buttons.Playing dress-up with the damned.