|the reasons I keep going back to this pen, paper, typewriter.|
how i imagine paper abstainsI heard the first sound of morninghow i imagine paper abstains by your-methamphetamine
in the crack of my wrist--
stretching its vine-like hands and
shrugging shoulders. these eyes were still
crossed with Mary Jane dust
and nightmares about shady uncles
when amnesia began to wear off
and the sounds all echoing before,
dulled to an audio ache. there you are,
laying akimbo almost
proud in your clueless sleep-driven
poses smelling like day-old love making
and stress leaving for the night.
there you are, one part peace, ten parts
honesty-- your fingers rolled to hold
the contours of my own. there you are,
paper-lover, enveloping my scissor form
bleeding and smiling all the same.
rising above mediocritylet's hear the ocean die,rising above mediocrity by your-methamphetamine
our resonance is excellent.
we reiterate gravity's victory
at the shapeless currents
of the wild.
our insecurities cannot be paved
by its rage up in the mountains.
we only mock with little minds
and littler goals: we only know
how to scream louder
than a crashing wave while we
stand knee-deep on the ground
to the girl still kneeing her eyesnot much has changed;to the girl still kneeing her eyes by your-methamphetamine
I still listen to the red-lipped boy
frightened back to the closet
passing comfort under my door
to every disarray he left
I still close my eyes in winter
mornings, hoping the sun warms
my breath and melts
the dewy tears from the nights
don't worry, love
not much has changed;
I still listen to a thousand brittle piano keys
breaking into a sinus rhythm
and blasphemous hymns
I still sing along
I still think of strangers sweating
I still hope no one knows
hold my breath till it hurts
more than the crunched cluster
of pain he left
I don't hurt over wonderland
and fucking him to submission
I don't have friends the way
I used to
I don't tear up at the thought of god
even if I secretly hope he finds
it in him to love me still
but I still wish on grains of sand
till they are washed away to silt
and find life within their centers
I still write to ventilate
and smile to validate
the wrong done unto me
I still dance harder tha
chronic respiratory distress syndromepsssst, go listen: https://mockinroojay.bandcamp.com/track/chronic-respiratory-distress-syndromechronic respiratory distress syndrome by your-methamphetamine
if you could spare a look that doesn’t drop
my surfactant by the halves, please do. the truth
is this; your favourite song is Virtual Insanity
and my favourite is watching you tap a quadrant
on the steering wheel when you drive
on the afternoon-warmed pavement.
the truth is that you sleep till the pit in your stomach
dissolves, that you draw diagrams for my morning
mechanics and arrow out results like, “hey, beautiful,”
with dust still rimming your tearing eyes,
just so I don’t fall off every tight-rope
dawn welcomes me with;
you throw your head back so your spine is erect.
your dialect rolls r’s in envious ways and I want to be
your tongue most days, to rim your cheeks inside
and out gathering your taste like settling dust
in dark rooms with beams of light.
the truth is that I could be wrapped in all of time
and space, the matrix that stretches across
with so much love.
10011 | poet | infj | med student | wanderlust-bitten | yugen-driven | eternally unrested | music-ventilated | forgetful | human.|
(still learning to be softer.)
I fancy myself a youth slam poet, guilty of falling in love with the unfamiliar. I have been published over at The Missing Slate, Pankhearst, Up The Staircase Quarterly and cahoodaloodaling, which I now read for. my first spoken word album, the articulation of my vertebrae is now available for download on my bandcamp! go get your copy!
stolen from 0hgravity"You can tell a lot about a person by what they write, but there are lots of other ways to get an idea of who they are. What they wear; what they read; what their room looks like; what posters they hang on their walls; what they keep in their bedside drawer. If you're like me, bored with answering the same questions, then feel free to jump in and show your watchers who you are in a different way. "
What's the story behind it?
Post a selfie.
Post a photo of your bed.
Post a photo of your bookshelf.
Post a photo of one of your more unusual possessions.
Post a photo of a favorite accessory you love to wear.
Post a photo of something you've had since childhood.
Post a photo of your pet(s).
Post a photo of your neighborhood.
Post a photo of your closet.
Post a photo of your shoes.
a short description after each photo would be sweet.