The World Is Crumbling

It’s two years after
The day I first
Concocted a potion
Deep inside my mind
It’s two years later
Before I unleashed
A million demons
Upon the world
I still miss the way
We spoke like the
Way I miss my ghosts
Which keep me sane
I still dance with
My mistakes until
My feet are crumbling
Under the blisters
Of tomorrow

I’m Afraid

The words traveled
So far deep down my throat
That I often found myself
Wondering which method
Of forgetting was worse
If the world tumbled
Down in flames
Would we find ourselves
Trying to forget
Again and again
In another ten years
Will we be wishing
For another case of
Living in ten years

A Plagued Journey (Maya Angelou)

A Plagued Journey

There is no warning rattle at the door
nor heavy feet to stomp the foyer boards.
Safe in the dark prison, I know that
light slides over
the fingered work of a toothless
woman in Pakistan.
Happy prints of
an invisible time are illumined.
My mouth agape
rejects the solid air and
lungs hold. The invader takes
direction and
seeps through the plaster walls.
It is at my chamber, entering
the keyhole, pushing
through the padding of the door.
I cannot scream. A bone
of fear clogs my throat.
It is upon me. It is
sunrise, with Hope
its arrogant rider.
My mind, formerly quiescent
in its snug encasement, is strained
to look upon their rapturous visages,
to let them enter even into me.
I am forced
outside myself to
mount the light and ride joined with Hope.

Through all the bright hours
I cling to expectation, until
darkness comes to reclaim me
as its own. Hope fades, day is gone
into its irredeemable place
and I am thrown back into the familiar
bonds of disconsolation.
Gloom crawls around
lapping lasciviously
between my toes, at my ankles,
and it sucks the strands of my
hair. It forgives my heady
fling with Hope. I am
joined again into its
greedy arms.

If I Die

I have been waiting
For the Earth to bear its teeth
To swallow us all whole
Because the useless theories
Have been rattled off far too many times
In this world in which
We cry to our singular moon
Of lovers, of fate, of death
I was told that it took
Years to create the crusts
Of the Earth, much like a human being
Growing rapidly at first and then
Tarnished by others, only to
Slowly emerge again
If we destroyed the Earth
The way we break our bones
Would it grow back stronger again
If I skipped rocks to hell
Could I pass into heaven
Stronger, faster, readier

We Carry Our Own Mattresses

In my chest
I always felt a banging
Against my skeleton
I was told it was the sound
Of my heartbeat
However I often felt
It was the sound of
My last breaths
I walked on eggshells
For the entirety of my life
To avoid hearing the words
The phrases of hatred
And infinite sorrow
Echoed into oblivion
Because the echoes of
Go to hell
Speak far louder than
Finite compliments
Because the taste
Of remorse and the pang
Of guilt are far more bitter
When matched with teary eyes,
Salt frosted cheeks
And years of stained pillow covers
It is the same life
In which I have wanted
To down a bottle of anything
To feel an ounce of something
When my back teeth are
Clenched so tight
As to now chew loud enough
To break the sound barrier
With the sobs of sleepless nights
In the morning
I am no longer alive
But another dying soldier
In an army of greed

Mirandas

Shrinking myself down
To sift through the wreckage
Between layers of your skin
Seems like a wonderful idea
Until you learn there is no end
To the things that make you hurt
When your arms are made of velvet
And your hands are the roughness
Of your dry throat in the Sahara
It’s lovely to think that someone
Would make themselves into
A human submarine for you
Until you realize
What you don’t do for you
Never comes about

Languages Meld

In English you are drunk
In my language you are in
A phase of unknowing
In English everything is fine
When you are drunk
Because you didn’t know
In my language I feel the
Tracing of fingertips
Across my legs
I was red and whomever was blue
When we met we
Asphyxiated to turn a beautiful sky
An ugly hue
In English it is purple
In my language it is the color
Your eyes turn when beaten
In English you are breathing
In my language it means
Holding on until death

Unnerve Me

Mother I’m coming home
I’m running beside the train tracks
Where my feet eat up the pavement
Sometimes I wonder if it is
All just in my head
Mother are you listening?
I’m scared to go to this place
Where I’m supposed to recognize someone
At least one lovely face
Mother, it’s just anxiety
Everyone here seems to say
I want to send a postcard
But the way they look at me
It makes me wonder if it will
Only make everything worse than okay
Mother will you please come
Visit me in this place where
My hair is ripping out and
My bones are melting on a
Piece of plastic

Abhorrent

There are spots growing
On my body in places
They should never be
It seems everything I write
These days is a love letter
To someone or something
Which cannot be touched
I attempted to ensure I wouldn’t
Feel a thing this year
But I know the second my eyes
Catch their fleeting gaze
I’ll spend the next month wrapped
Around the sewing spool
While all they do is spin
Millions of useless lies
I know I don’t love them
I’m only filling up the empty
Spaces, the holes in my life
With expectations and virtues
Which shall never come to peace

Digging My Own Grave

I am searching for my bones
In a wasteland of carcass
All I can hear in my head
Is why would anyone pluck
The innocent, ugly weed
From a pile of roses
To place on a pedestal
Designed for a flower with folds
Curves, outlines, a thin stem
Is it hard to realize
That love is not decided in the heavens
But in the graveyard
Where when one love dies
Another emerges just the same
Our loves are plucked
From an array of possibilities
As easy as the next option would be

Crawling To The Finish Line

When you left
I felt something growing
In between my bones
They said that was why
The metal splint was needed
To remedy the damage
You had caused to my body
Not once did anyone ask
Of the damage to my mind
Why didn’t you leave
Why didn’t you run
Why didn’t you say something
Because this wasn’t supposed to end
This way, we were meant to
Be mended by each other
Not destroyed by the tsunami
Of violence and fractures
They say this splint is going
To fix me
I say it is weighing me down
Farther than I can rememebr
Being asked to go by you

Girls Like Me

Girls like me
Studied Margaret Thatcher
Fell in love with words through
Maya Angelou and Rosseau
Girls like me stayed up until
2AM to read the last page
Over and over again
Until the world made sense
Girls like me never stared
In the mirror to long
For it was said to be a trap
Girls like me weren’t meant
To want to be pretty
Girls like me didn’t write
Abominale poems and stories
To express themselves
Girls like me didn’t bleed
Tears at every puncture or wound
Girls like me developed backbones
And read on Jane Eyre
Only girls like me are slowly
Disappearing in this media torn world

Falling Around You

I always wanted to love
Someone that was broken
So I could learn to mend
The broken pieces of someone else
Before I stitched together the broken
Parts of myself
You’re dying, people used to say
I can’t love someone who is dying
I used to hear
When I look back now
I question the psycho appeal of
Gathering the harmed pieces
Of life and holding them
Tightly to your chest
Knowing when you drop them
They will fall harder
And crack in 10 new places
I guess it’s the appeal of knowing
A murderer who kills people
Can kill the demons inside you
Just the same

Gathering Leaves

You are seventeen years
Into what could be a lengthy life
You are flooding grey, ashy smoke into
Your lungs where it dissipates
To corode the empty spaces
Your mother thinks you are
Watching a wonderful movie
Off somewhere with someone
Instead you are popping tiny white pills
Into your bloodstream
Until the loneliness sets in again
There are tiny stars
Exploding inside your vein
Every time a needle is
Injected to give you a temporary
Moment of joy until everything
Crashes down again
You used to say gathering leaves
Was the most useless thing
You could do because they
Would crunch in your fingers
Or decmpose into the land
If they were left alone
Only I wsih I knew that
You were really speaking
About you then

A Little Bit Done

 

At times in our lives
We crave different kinds of love
The warm, trapping love
In which you are encircled
By the comfort and rhythm of everything
The desperate, needy kind
Where you need someone to stare
Into your soul and pick the shards
Of glass from the designated targets
So you can feel whole again
The breathless kind
Where you spend your time floating
On air because if you exhale
Things may become so heavy
As to break before they had the
Chance to flourish
The spell binding love where
The emotions fight each other
Until there is nothing more

Auction Life

At some point in our lives
We will feel the stardust
Bursting through our skin
Like we burned far too bright
And the universe found
We needed a healthy dose
Of imperfection and sadness
At times this healthy dose
Can lead to a tidal wave
Of medicinal treatments
And finding the cure for sadness
We are all paperdolls
Blown away by the wind
Stepped on by the storms
Covered by the clouds
Often we forget
Yes, we are made of stars

Crumbling Parthenon

When I first saw the
Parthenon in Greece
I found it to be the
Most beautiful piece of
Architecture I’d ever seen
You told me it was because
I hadn’t watched it decay
For hundreds of years
Until all it had left
Was a picturesque stature
Of shattered marble and stone
Much the same way as
One learns to love
Something broken
Even if you pour water
On fire, you’ll still see
The smoke breathing out
How hard has it become
To understand someone
Can love you when you are
Free falling down a bottomless well
In the summer of heat and angst

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

The worst mistake I ever made
Was breaking up with myself
When all I loved was lost
In the world I assumed it was
Due to the ramparts I had built
A cracking in my attic
Led me to go fleeting
From the scene
What I failed to realize
Was the cracking came
From my bones
In the cloud soaked sky
Very few people realize
Breaking up is hard to do
Because everything you imagined
Could have gone wrong
Was all suddenly because of you
Inside my chest
I am listening to a stream
Of sadness- a dying heartbeat
All because I, in my forlorn sadness,
Broke up with myself

The Anatomy Of Disappearing

Art by Ramona Zordini

I am self calibrating
My stomach to feel
No desire for simple sugars
Complex carbohydrates
I have rewired my brain
To crave wrapping
My fingers around my wrist
Ten times over
I count my calories
Like I’m counting sins
I breed my lies
Beneath my tongue
Because no one informed me
That I could be a hazard
To myself before
The time I knew the word
Corpulent
I am petrified to hear
That I have gotten heavier
In another world I could say
I’m happy I’m becoming so heavy with love
That my ankles can be dragged back down
To the surface instead
Of 9 feet higher
My body is written in a code
Which I’m afraid I’ll never crack

An Act Of Defiance

A fire is burning
Aptly beneath the surface
Within the core of my being
I am going up in flames
Wondering if the fire inside
Is enough to propel one forward
I was once told that
Pain and passion have one
Thing in common
They demand to be heard
In an icy tundra or
Commotion of flames
Sometimes I wake with
Aches in my lungs
Because fire burns
In me like a smoker’s debt
The room grows smaller
When I see someone lost
Because when you reach forward
You can either pull someone back
Or be dragged down yourself

 

The Unknown Anger

You told me
There were two types
Of anger that lay
Within us all
The warm, wet kind
Where one streams tears
For all that is lost
And all that will be
Wronged in the future
When there is no one
To blame but yourself
The other being icy and dry
Much worse than being
Stranded in the desert
For your voice shakes
When your jaw tightens
I wish I had believed you then
And I wish I could now
You never mentioned the
Third type when there
Is a galaxy in your eyes
Stars stream down
My cheeks because I’m helpless
I am jumping in the deep end
Of a pool where there is no lifeguard
I am struggling to kick
The vines from my feet
When you don’t know what binds
You here in the disturbed air
I guess they were right
When they said you can drown
In a pair of eyes

Play The Part

 

I’m searching for love
In a barren desert
Scorched by the sun
Too many times to want
To move to a lesser place
Where the rains are
Short and often
While many may belive
I long for the touch
Of another, or many
I am searching for love
From within myself
To feel the touch
Of gentle hands caressing
Burned, bruised arms

I Could, I Really Could

Not my photo

I could easily love you
If the invention of the plane
Did not reciprocate the invention
Of the phrase ‘plane crash’

I could if I wasn’t
Trouble from the start
An unlit candle
Waiting for the wax to drip
To scorch your hands
When you played with fire

There is a preemptive
Apology slithering between
My teeth waiting for the moment
One begins to love me

The floorboards are swelling
Enough for me to see
This candy house was established
On a foundation of dough
Meant to dry and crumble
All the same

I could easily love you
If I wasn’t the storm before the calm
And I was the smell of soil
Upon its first rain

Staying Alive

I am a a porch
In the effortless morning
And you, as dull as ever,
Are a vine
Afraid and incapable
Of surviving on you own
I tie tongues
To desks and see
Many begging for mercy
As they are often not
Worth my warpath
I am a moment
Of utter silence
Amongst your screams
Which match the rest
Of the world
I am a match
While you are a flame
Something that needs
So much to help it
Sustain its beauty
Even on my worst days
When the sun has fallen
From the sky
I can look to the mirror
And remember that
The sun glows in every
Corner of my being
You are the tears and
Embodiment of awful
I am being alive