The ghost that shoots me up holds me like a fairytale. He paid off my patron saint and my heart tipped the scale. This is not a confession about dope or living unwell. It's playing a nightmare on repeat while praying to paradise in a gypsy hotel. These hallways are always changing. Some men hangin...Read more
Visit our daily writing prompts
Observe. I have never been a logical person. I feel before I think picking at old wounds, pulling at loose threads. But I am always watching myself do it, at least and this, I'm told, is how science works. Question. Is it possible to become something you are not, if you want it badly enough? Hypot...Read more
Brown girls This one is for you It's ok to be soft To step out of survival mode And be seen with a smile And for the little yellow girls Remember your voice Because we love to hear it's tone We are not the world...we listen. We know your voice heals. And for all my girls colored red Stand when a...Read more
Once a man is born, He grows up With thousands of dreams in his eyes, Sparkling like stars in the darkest night. Then he learns... He cannot cry. And then, Sick of his own reflection, He becomes what society wants— "man of society."
Sick of his own face Weary of his unfortunate fate Must be an awkward mind game When they praise you, isn't a shame. Smile on, suicidal thoughts going on He goes on to highway to heaven People say God bless you He hears die, die, die.
Sick of his own face, Sick of his own failures. He looks at the walls And hopes the spiders In their webs might Give him a bit of a hint, Or maybe the painting Which has known him Since childhood, Surely must know Something. He breaks At life and gives God His Deserved praises. ~ dadapoet
Sick of his own face, he will shift away tonight. From a sliver to a fraction A fractional moment to an exact half of the bed. Growing till he is at last full, and yet... He will throw it all away again, as always. Devouring himself till there is nought. I sit up with him again uncertain...if he...Read more
my childhood home has a swingset, a hammer and a yellow slide we attached with patience and stubborn love. I held the nails while my dad worked and for the first time, felt what it meant to be useful. in spring, the daffodils bloomed along the fence and in summer, the fireflies collected in the gard...Read more
If tomorrow starts without me, I would have kept my appointment. My appointment with death. I would have said all I needed to say, And did all I needed to do. The flowers will still bloom And birds will still sing Notice them The sun will rise And the moon will involve Watch them Do not cry for m...Read more
The loud noises, The people's voices, And yours is drowned among the wolves. You try to fit, You try to scream, But you were born Neptune's twin. You're far away, And in that way, You'll stay until Your silent breath, Which no one sees, Will stop in coldness, Frost and loneliness.
Once in a while I like to wonder if you will be with me forever. If you will look up at me in the silence of so many words. In a place where time does not move. In a place where death can never find us. But today, you are aging. Your body aches, slowing your strides to an inch at a time. An inc...Read more
once in a while i believe in another life, somewhere, where life is not scary to face.
Which is to say my love is as thick as the neck on a giraffe. It is sabre toothed like a foul–mooded cat, I will eagle your name on the throat of mice with my claws, I will sanctuary you in the insides of my elephant's ears, which is also to say my heart is capacious like the four rooms of a ...Read more