A talk with Dad about his cancerI put my trust in the pilot,jade-pandora
the man in the cockpit
to get me home.
With closed eyes he adds,
I can live with that.
June 1, 2014 1:39 PMI lean in to kiss you.KaitForest
I push hard, because I want you
to love me. and you push back
because you want to fuck me.
I am a cliche. for so long
I believed that you loved me
even when there were sings
to prove that you did not.
I am that girl
that clings to an idea of love
fed to her by the twisted mouth
of someone just as hungry.
you unclip my jeans, you push
back my neck, and I hold onto
you tight, thinking
this is love, this is how you
14 WordsMaybe it’s not the blade that hurts;ItCameFromWithin
Maybe you’re just expected to feel pain.
Who Is Your MotherThere is no tired like new-mother,fernknits
brand-new mother exhausted.
Sleep a while; please sleep a while.
I tuck your arms into soft fleece, mark the 'O'
of your tiny mouth as I do it, crook you
in one elbow. We are surely alone, and slip
into dreams, you and this woman
who is your mother, drowning together
in pillows, bed-sheets, down.
There is no fear like new-mother,
groggy, incision-pain, narcotic-haze,
frantic new-mother terror. Sleep
a while; please sleep a while.
My heart lurches -- stops -- breaks.
I jolt across the bed, scanning
your tiny face for breathing signs,
a twitch, a sigh. We are still alone
and when you move, I crook you back
into my elbow. Sleep a while.
of the ground-freudenschade
It was Sunday night when Geo climbed into my room from the fire escape. I was painting my toenails and listening to the sounds of the city: police sirens, pulsating bass, the kids in my tenement running guitar riffs back and forth with the street musicians on the sidewalk. That was the year I turned sixteen and took a two-month vow of silence to honor the death of autumn. A premature snow had robbed the season of its delicate warmth and color, forcing the maples to weep their leaves into the gutters. All that rainwater, all that decay. How could anyone create when October was dying outside their windows? Pete and Jake practiced acoustic that entire month. The rest of us were too fragile to play in suicide weather, when the right chords might move us to open our veins.
Geo sat down next to me, examining my bottle of red lacquer. "'To Eros is Human,'" he read, and rolled his eyes. "I'll keep that in mind."
I offered him my shoebox of nail polish. He selected a purple the color of opium
Favourite genre of music: Alternative rock and metalcore|
Favourite style of art: Photography
Operating System: Window
MP3 player of choice: iPod(c) and Zune HD
Personal Quote: All those feelings, those yesterday's feelings will all be lost in time.