9 stories
1. she cannot remember what happened
all she knows is,
little white lies are wildfire,
rip through a forest of mouths stretched open
become great white sharks that feast until
she is no longer glowing she is
burning, she is fragmenting,
result of a wound left untreated.
see how words weave into the space under her eyes,
branded on her forehead
the rumor personified
indistinguishable where the stories end and she begins
2. we say we are writers, poets, artists, dreamers
we say we write our dreams to keep the world from shattering but
there are still people screaming, people running
the blood is not beautiful, the scars do not sparkle
and we cannot rewrite that part
3. he only knows love in forms of neon stained parties and nameless, faceless friends
no, he does not know love at all
how can he? love is not supposed to hurt and all he does is hurt
smile more,
stop being so see-through
stop hurting
it is a cruel, confusing thing-
blade telling gash to heal
4. this is what sleeplessness looks like:
a million shattered souls scream secrets to the sky,
inch closer to the window and beg stars to split, spill silver to cleanse the hurt
sun parades through; golden glow murdering the gloom
light steals them back from the night
dragging them back to the start
they get up again
they always do
5. you open your newspaper
more broken love lines
more lives lost
more tragedy
more turmoil
lamentation drills deeper in your chest
it is too late for this:
you climb into bed
under chilly sheets, dreams of a ghost town
6. she picks the phone up
a million words bang against floodgates
threatening to wash her away
i am sorry for what i said, i am sorry for walking out, why did you let me leave? why didn't you call? i wanted you to call, i waited for you to call, i am sorry for waiting for you to call, i am sorry i am sorry i am sorry-
words are so heavy
she is fragile, she is paper stars and sand castles
she puts the phone down
7. loneliness stencilled on your mind
you paint over it
silk smile held by pins in your cheeks,
it is a matter of days until the act is up
and the matches left scattered
dissolve the world you crafted
smoldering walls,
heartstrings made dust
8. she picks the phone up (again)
it was all you had the capacity to say-
don't leave, don't leave, don't leave
i am sorry i didn't try to listen
and left anyway
9. there is one last story to memorize before the world awakens
it is not written in firestorm or broken love lines
it exists between scenes of disarray,
it is tired fingers unfurling to tow another away from black holes,
constellations drawn onto cicatrix
it is of healing, rebuilding
pointing arrows to new definitions of love, of happiness, of okay
it tells me that
this is not where it ends

YOU ARE READING
poetry 2.0
Poetryanother poetry book except published 5 years after my latest one. i write my poems to give closure to myself and inspiration to others. please enjoy