birdlike bonesit's like you
wrapped your fingers
around my throat
and then had
the nerve to ask me
Daddy, am I pretty?Daddy, am I pretty?
"Daddy, daddy look at me!"
She laughed and twirled around
Dressed up in her dress-up clothes.
Daddy didn't make a sound.
"Daddy, daddy look at me."
She told him once again.
"Daddy, am I pretty?"
Asked she, feeling empty within.
"Yes." said daddy flatly
Though look he never did.
She ripped off all the clothes,
Ran to her room and hid.
Daddy never came
To ever see if she was fine.
In her floor she laid.
All she could do was cry.
Daddy didn't love her;
She knew that in her heart.
It's not right for a five year old
To feel broken, torn apart.
Although too many years have passed
The story's still the same.
I called only when I needed him
But daddy never came.
Now my dreams are haunted
With that broken little girl
And her horrid misconception of
The best daddy in the world.
RegretOnce, you were my everything.
I was blinded by my need.
How could it have ever worked,
When we could never touch?
You were my fantasy,
My dream love.
I still don’t understand why
It had to end the way it did.
Our beautiful love
Splintered into thousands of nightmares.
I know I was the one to break it off,
But I’ll always regret we changed so much.
Why did you drive me away?
Did I mean so little to you?
Or could it be I dreamed you into being?
All I have now are muddled memories,
And more missing pieces…
imaginemy vacant fingers miss
the press of yours
even if it was only
in my mind
that we were
you were mine, there
floating happily through
eyes squeezed shut
because you were
right there with me
but now you're not.
are pressing into
the dips of her spine
and it's not
you said you wanted to
always make me happy
all you did was
make me cry.
The Broken Things InsidePoor child, you have no idea what's in store.
You spend your childhood feigning adulthood,
Watching your mother smile with her ruby-red lips,
your father reading the paper and drinking his coffee,
thinking it's so wonderful, so fabulous,
you want to be just like them,
but you are unaware of the woman your father has on the side,
how your mother cries every night,
biting at her lips to keep quiet and that they're
not red from the makeup.
You have no idea of the broken spirits that
walk around with empty eyes,
I'm fine, they lie, often enough that it's believed.
'Fine' is now warped,
sitting on the stool of words that mean
please, please save me.
The shiny life of adulthood is an untruth.
Poor child, I have no way of sparing you this pain,
for my heart's already dead.
[ Time kills hearts,
it's inevitable. ]
SirensThey converge towards her tumultuous tide
At a pathetic peasant like pace
Foolishly lured by this oceanic muse
As the sea and their vessel embrace
Enchanted melodies from the undertow
Ameliorate the stagnant sea
As resistance sinks to a watery grave
Temptation shows signs of buoyancy
It is only a whisper in the wild wind
Though such a sweet and innocent call
From beyond the slate grey clouded horizon
Comes the wretched waves of the white squall
Watching on in wonder from the widow’s walk
As the weak willed cast their final shadow
Entranced and entrapped by her prurient gaze
And swallowed in her seagirt meadow
Diabolical desire filled the boatman’s minds
Now as they sink down to the seabed
Copious levels of brine shall fill the lungs
Of their doomed, hopeless corpses instead
Dead water ripples gently under moonshine
Equilibrium is now restored
No sign of the siren’s most recent conquest
Nor of those souls that have gone before
MonstersThe monsters don't
live under your bed anymore.
They don't rattle your closet doors
and scratch at your windows.
They hide in your
pill bottles and sleep
with your razors,
laughing as you choke on
the smoke from your cigarette.
They sit on the toilet
as you vomit whiskey and rum,
counting down the days
until you self-destruct.
They throw flowers on your grave
surrounded by people pretending to give a shit
and tell everyone you were so
and that it's okay, because
you're in a better place, now.
the writer's diseasemy conversations become
blurs of i-miss-you's
littered on the cold floor of empty promises.
you deserve something more than
silhouettes of words, casting shadows onto my heart
filling it with tricks of light
that try to hide away the darkness.
sit down and stay for a while--
except i'm going to go
because i never learned how to keep
the beautiful things
for more than a little at a time;
i'm left chain smoking words like cigarettes
one word after the other after the other,
exhaling them all with my cancer
and my thick, black lungs.
and they say a cigarette takes seven minutes
from your life--
yet these words take memories from mine,
stripping me bare of the way you said my name
or the way you touched my face
i read you poetry in the dark, once
fingers curled around wrists and hips
breathing words onto your lips as if i could
keep you, as if i could wrap you up
in the network of stars that made up your eyes
and get you to stay
but you could never stay
and we both know it isn't something
seabonesyou told me to walk on water
but all i did was sink to the sandy bottoms
of the salty sea.
the brackish water stung at my eyes
and filled my lungs,
seeking refuge in the spaces between my ribs.
i remember barely breathing
wet inhales and slow exhales of the briny sea
through slightly parted lips.
my heart was lost in a century-old shipwreck
found through the haze of floating sand
granules that looked like dust in sunlight,
fingers wrapping around wood and forgotten memories.
i wondered if this was death,
ocean water pressing down on the hollows in my chest
world moving in slow motion through teal colored lenses.
you told me to walk on water
but all i did was drown.