it is easy to forget i have the power of words. i have been too afraid to write the stories, too tired of having to feel the memories ( Read more... )

if it was enough to make love to you with my words i would ( Read more... )

all you want is someone who will be enthusiastic about waking up in the morning. who wants to brighten children's lives instead of become frustrated by the noise.

you keep waiting. and it's all very typical.

twirl your hair between your fingers. hair you don't wash often. that girl said something today about that summer, when you picked her up from an ihop and her legs were hairy and you wanted to touch them. and then maybe that night you bought alcohol that burns and it went down soft and you kissed her. but maybe that was later. it's running together ( Read more... )

i fall asleep places. on the couch my grandfather brought us. because you sink in. i try to stay still but it's hard and robotic and there are these things to do. always these things. i steal tinctures to make teas and juices to keep our brains quiet. i don't take showers for days sometimes and the blue in my hair takes longer to fade. there's ( Read more... )

Survival Poem #17 by Marty McConnell

because this is what you do. get up.
blame the liquor for the heaviness. call in late
to work. go to the couch because the bed
is too empty. watch people scream about love
on Jerry Springer. count the ways
it could be worse. it could be last week
when the missing got so big
you wrote him a letter
and sent it. it ( Read more... )

you smoke a cigarette and he slams a door and the only difference is your lungs burn and your fingers smell like smoke.

your fingers and mouth are still stained with blueberries.

i have secret anger inside of me and i can't get it out.

you wouldn't touch my body if you had a chance.

you have to tell yourself that its not your battle. over and over again you say things like this but it still feels stuck. there's still that voice in your throat that explodes and demands and fights. you get mean. your hair is dirty. you have yoga tomorrow at 11 am. and ceramics. and you have to wake up at 7 30 and it's 3 in the morning, now ( Read more... )

i spend days in a punk house. sometimes. when i feel good.  when my size does not bother me and my head feels right. there is too much love, there. you know though, that that is a lie. there is no such thing as too much love. there is only a matter of being too vulnerable.

oh, child. i wish i could hold you.