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Found 21 results

  1. what am i looking for

    When I get out of bed I ache to feel comfortable again But when I lay and soak in my thoughts I just want to get up What if I never find comfort? Is that why we as humans work so hard and travel so far We experience highs and lows Yet it is only on our death bed When our eyes relax and our bodies go numb Because we stop trying to find what cannot be found I want to be touched and to experience But I don’t know where the line of innocence lies I’m not ready to cross it Is it defined by me, or others? I stopped writing for a while I just want to fall in love with words again And just plain fall in love Maybe I don’t feel sympathy for those with nothing Thinking about their situation doesn’t make me feel spoiled Because I know If instead of nothing they, like me, had something they would be complaining just like I am now that is why people with nothing are the happiest because they don’t know what they don’t have and any something is far better than nothing at all
  2. mirror day

    Reflection hall Is an idea I have become quite fond of One that I store in my most sacred of lockets And bring out to examine with only clean hands Callused from picking haunting melodies One day out of the year Each person will tie a mirror to their head, I crave to know how I look When I laugh A pose and a flash don’t compare Even looking at yourself in mirror isn’t the same Because you brace yourself You puff out your chest, lick your lips, and pinch your cheeks Just to store an image for later of reassurance Pretty enough she asks Sometimes we stare blankly For the sole purpose of comparison How disappointing That while we think of them They think of us What happens when an optimist is concocted with a cynic? Lenses of realism Pretty is importance Pretty girls get more Maybe I want mirror day So I know what I look like when I’m disappointed Because I will be When I know that the mirror is only reflecting what I envision Instead of letting me see how others view me How others view themselves Never confuse a mirror with a looking glass Mirrors are very honest It is the person in the reflection that is dishonest Mirrors aren’t kind or unkind Mirrors don’t have souls Yet they can hurt or heal us so easily I could power a city with a mirror Reflection hall is a placid place When there isn’t anyone to fill it
  3. forks and knives

    please feel free to leave your thoughts below! thanks! Forks and Knives My pencil dropped on the hour The soft aglow voices filled my lungs I took the steps two by two As I did the biscuits and the butter But what was better The food Or something to hold instead of regret He had told me years ago it was her turn I didn’t listen, she wouldn’t dare She wouldn’t dare Like wet soap easing its way from my fingers Happily leading the way There she was I could smell her thick deep scent Perfume and Cigarettes It used to fill the car and would linger even with the windows cracked I shuddered from the distant memory that had somehow repapered More perfume to hide the cigarettes More cigarettes to hide the loneliness What is it like to hide form yourself I pondered I turned around and walked away My plate still in my hands I passed the farm The swarm that smiled and waved The zoo that was being lied too You are not mine and I am not yours I wanted to say You lost what you could never have I turned around and walked away From the Lancôme and Calvin Klein The world I had forgotten, with cards in hand I escaped Later I thought about all the nightmares I could have had if I stayed If I took two more steps If I smiled graciously and lied again For old time’s sake
  4. tornado warning

    please feel free to leave your thoughts below! thanks! When the sky dreams up tears applauds the failures on your feet with my umbrella at the stained brick wall where we always meet Three hours to limelight if only the skies were still yellow lemony sweet laying pictures on my pillow I spend so much time trying to hold the flame in my palms are you as cold as i am? skipping stones on the bottom of the ocean You can see the stars but they don't search for you your picture is worth less than a thousand words white with envy a politician's promise your perfection is perception i'm not fooled
  5. worth

    please feel free to leave your thoughts below! thanks! is it worth going and running out of words for the smallest chance you might find a person and a place where you don't have to say anything at all
  6. want

    please feel free to leave your thoughts below! thanks! sometimes i get thirsty when it rains i believe that when you are able to see something right in front of you so close to the touch and the taste you only want it that much more
  7. the villain

    please feel free to leave your thoughts below! thanks! yes, she was crazy one might go as far as to cast her as the villain in the story story of my life but here are the things she did right: she challenged me she taught me to think for myself she taught me not to surrender your power with ease and she loved me as fiercely and passionately as she knew how
  8. my parasite

    i am living with a parasite a leech with her sharp teeth she gnaws stripping me of my flesh layers of protection reaching my core she knows of nothing else, no other purpose she drains me of my patience like she drains my father's bank account
  9. my voice

    It feels good to find your voice It is discovering something you forgot you had right when you need it most It is opening your mouth and having faith in what will come out
  10. i want to be a gardenia in a clear box to float atop honey and fragrance perfume of the young petals of the unexpressed how long does innocence last? how long should it?
  11. nothing worthwhile ever ends perfectly for if it is truly good i wish it would never end
  12. golden hour at one a.m.

    i put a notice out onto thesproutclub tumblr + twitter that i wanted to write poems and letters for people, if they needed it, so i thought i'd post them here as well. anon: "a poem about loving something other than... love haha. if that makes any sense. how there is so much to this world besides romance. this is for the writing/poem thing you posted" tonight i get out of the dark by sinking into it, by becoming what i drink in, rolling my neck and listening to the joints crack, snap, and i swirl this body through this cold air, arms wide like wings spread and let the music carry me home. we wear our jeans with the cuffs rolled up, and tonight i slip off my combat boots and hang them by their laces on the coat rack. i let —- write a note in sharpie to the inside of my jacket- the inside of the empty pocket that rests over my heart- so i can keep this close by. just for me. we mix warmth into mugs and this song reaches between my bones dissolved into the liquid: my arms, uncrossed. this morning i cried until i laughed so hard that i cried again. —- hugs me so hard that it stamps an ache into my arms, but i don’t care. the dog trots in from another room and slips and skips between our legs and we sing and forget age and breathe hard in and out. alongside each other. this is our golden hour. wrapped up in air gone black and lamp lights lit. the softening coming from the tone of my smile, not the setting of the sunken sun. this is my golden hour, the slant to which i like my body best: upright. warmth spilled from my cup onto my wrists, and just now, i kiss them dry.
  13. dust bunny

    here's a little something i wrote a long while back, it's open to interpretation - let me know what you think! :-) i just have to crawl under the bed blow away the dust that's all in my head the monsters aren't there, so no one welcomes me; living free isn't free when you're a dust bunny. mirrors make the bed, if i lie, they'll crack will a frame hide my secrets if my image bleeds black? if i drown all my sorrows then what is there left to keep? do the pillows listen when i talk in my sleep? the blankets will cocoon me, i'm a prey of their touch falling while unconscious never hurt as much my dreams all seem real 'cause reality's a haze so is that why sleeping's how i spend my days? as i delve into darkness, praying not to wake yet, the tears only last a moment, so they leave a silhouette.
  14. Angel 1

    With bloodless hands and breathless sigh The silent shadow flies. Under dreamless vaults and starless skies The Angel of Death is nigh. Bright, black angel: Turn the soul to spirits of the past! Keep immortal dread fixed fast and think upon thy goal. Only man looks on to what may and what must Only man bears his deity’s trust. The Angel comes after to gather the travelers and turn what remains into dust.
  15. the moments between the thunderclaps

    Authors note: My poetry is slightly awful, I apologize. i. what if we just felt for the moments between the thunderclaps instead of waiting for the lightning to strike? ii. she believed that there was such thing as poetry and you found it lying just past the dust of the everyday because, after all, the clouds still have their silver linings and hummingbirds still fly iii. sunshine lights up the leaves on trees but people just hurry past iv. she doesn’t. there is always that one person who noticed they are the ones who lurk in the background and smile v. smiles are beautiful, that’s for one. and so are cups of tea full to the brim and staying up till almost first light vi. the sun rises every morning just for us just for her did you ever think of that? vii. isn’t that something to smile about? viii. she smiles. every morning. ix. she also cries, you know? we all do x. rain, you see, is just as beautiful as sunshine xi. beauty is where you least expect it the quiet moments and the hidden stories xi. she noticed and she still remembers and still smiles in some foreign bed far away at one in the morning xiii. one of those moments between the thunderclaps that shook her heart beyond return xiv. on her tongue, the taste of true happiness bitter tea they shared on that crisp saturday morning rain-soaked air salty seas and bittersweet goodbyes… xv. i know you taste it too
  16. Long ago, in the days of yore, the Slam published work selectively. Having your work chosen was a competitive honor. Since then, the Slam has evolved into a thriving community in which work is shared for editing and critique. I love this new incarnation of the Slam, but I sometimes miss having a place to share my final drafts and compete for publication. Thus, a wild idea: I want to start a mag/zine (not quite a magazine, but not exactly a zine, either) where Slammers (and possibly others) can publish their best works and read those of others. As the idea currently stands, there would be an issue every two months or so containing works selected by an editorial board. Issues would be formated as a print-your-own (or possibly actually print, if people are willing to fund this experiment) with back issues posted online. Who’s interested? Feel free to comment and ask questions!
  17. on an empty stomach

    i. some days i feel like i'm drinking in the silence or more like it's being poured down my throat; sitting in empty cars, empty rooms all gray matter and cold air ii. other days it's breathing in noise like catching raindrops on your tongue-- only these droplets have a sort of bitter aftertaste that you'll forget maybe some day iii. but i'm running miles on an empty stomach till my legs give out and i fall iv. because pretty hollow things break every time
  18. tired girl howls, act three

    every day my understudy sits up in my bed and walks across the carpet, rehearsing her lines. she slips into green jeans and walks across the hall looking for something to live for. some days it takes twenty minutes to stand up, and on those days, my understudy makes up her face. she outlines her eyes in black, pretty girl war paint. my understudy walks across college campuses and listens to the songs that direct the dances she will do that day. she’ll smile at professors, because she knows that somewhere deep inside, we truly love this moment, these books and words that we try to read, that my understudy pretends to have studied. my understudy smiles at my rapist when he sits next to me and rubs my knee, telling me it’s my fault we aren’t happy, that we are so very hipster beautiful together, that they could make movies about the barista poet and the librarian poet, opening a bookstore and cuddling cats in dim bed, kissing. soft. ladybugs and summer parks and backpacking through europe. open windows. that’s who we are. my understudy nods, says silently, we are open windows to jump from? my understudy nods when he says that i should be happy that i am alive. my understudy stays inside my body, while i float away. i climb among the rafters, closer against the sky. my knees covered in cloudy dust. the wood sends slivers down my fingertips, and through my mind, and i climb across the roof and i look towards the sky. my understudy, she holds me like a balloon. she carries me with her, always. my understudy holds me down every time i curl up around my migraine mind, when i wish i had more bottles than i have. more alcohol, more pills, more anything. she looks at orion and sees more than his bow and arrows. she sees personal mythology. and somedays well, the first poem in my capstone chapbook. critiques welcome, as always,
  19. flashbulb

    i. once upon a sunset, long summer days; i was there you were two ii. seconds caught in f/5.6 aperture frames blending together until iii. reality is distorted by filters because we can’t let our true colors show iv. turning us to faded moments caught in polaroid flash, memories diluted by v. plastic film freezing forever smiles into vi. place and time
  20. heart strings pluched

    some days we are the musicians playing the cellos as the ship goes down. there is no quiet way to end this. in an alternate universe, love is a flat rock that never sinks no matter how often we skip the stones across lake reflected skies. so let us stay strangers. let us breathe right here still and empty handed.
  21. Silent Dance

    Dance to the silence. You gotta dance to the silence }x2 Learn Train Condition yourself. To move. Without. Sound. Without. Telling yourself to move. Bow* your body break your heart break your mind. Bow your body. }x2 Bow** and bake the times. Break your mind Dance to the silence. Thank the thought. And Let it be. Appreciate the way you think. And bee. Break your heart. Sew your soul. Save solitude. Bake the times. Thank. Dance to the silence. The way it sounds. Soul silnece. Sole silence. Dance to silent sounds and sew solitude. Dance to soulful saves. Dance. Sole sew to save the dance. Soul dance to save the silence. Dance to the silence. Dance to silence the sew. Dance to silence the soul. Silence the save sole. Silence the sole save. Dance to silence the sounds that sew sole souls to save the dance to the silence. Soul silence. Solitude dance. Solitude dance. Dance to safety save the silence. Dance to save. Sew the soul. Sew the dance. Sole dance. Dance to the silence. Dance to the silence. Quiet. Bend both bosoms. Bake the times. Bow.** Bow* the body. Break your heart. Bow and bake the times. Break your mind. Bow and bake the times. Break your. Bow your body break your heart. I said dance. I said break. I said silence. _ Footnote: }x2 previous two lines are repeated *bow | bō | **bow | bou | Author note: This is better performed, but I wanted to share.
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