We work together
Not like peas in a pod
But like sunbeams on water
And everything sinks to the bottom
to the girl with the razors in her back pocket,stop. turn around. i understand you,to the girl with the razors in her back pocket, by haphazardmelody
and i understand the sadness
entrenched in your bones. i understand
the late nights spent in anxious prayer
to the towels, to the creaky floorboard
just outside your parents' room, to the sink
that stains too easily. i understand
the catastrophic glances that people throw you
when you open your mouth and try
to belong. i understand the intense moments
spent in dressing rooms splicing together outfits
that will gracefully sweep past tally-marked wrists and ankles
and hopefully make sense in the dead of summer.
i understand the nights that you carve the emptiness
onto the razor and wonder if it wouldn't be better
to just die tonight instead. no one can be angry...
or disappointed...or judgmental...or sympathetic (because
sometimes forced empathy is the worst)...when you
no longer exist. it just stops. and anything
has to be better than this.
well, you're right about one thing. it does
get better. and not in that corny way
people tell you. you won't se
LostI am never still.Lost by haphazardmelody
My toes dance earth,
my hips balance water,
my hands peel negative space -
I am your least favorite
time of day. You drape
my hands with your palms,
reel my hips to your elbows,
cage my toes to yours; you are
my favorite time of day. I am
not river, I am not smoke,
I am not spliced clay. I am
simply lost; come with me.
Guest BookSignaturesGuest Book by haphazardmelody
frantically crowd the happy couple
adorned with purple smiles
and silver fingers,
edged in oak,
suspended in white.
ColeYou told me onceCole by haphazardmelody
that when I publish my first
book of poetry [you never
said if - I suppose you save
your optimism for me], you will
be first in line to buy it. I
sat on my side of the computer screen,
grinning shyly and trying
to remember how to take
a compliment. You sat on yours
and tried to remember how
to want to live. I think
you are still trying. You no longer
pulse the rainbow through
your timid veins, instead settling
to grin your skin in the way
you never can anymore. Perhaps one day,
the thousand saints in your soul
will finally sing alone.
Con AmoreCicada violinists,Con Amore by Concora
and champagne flutes
an autumn concerto.
LiliyaBright-eyed,Liliya by Concora
mistress of light.
It's a good thing I don't haveIt's a good thing I don't have readersIt's a good thing I don't have by vespera
They'd tell me: stop writing poems
about being crazy-
you've clichéd yourself
into a petty corner
of your bending
Does one go about apologizing
for a cyclic mind? I am I am
I cannot unbe – I have become myself
and cannot undo the learning
Stories of feelings with no names - Revision i.Stories of feelings with no names - Revision by SilverInkblot
The feeling you get the day after sending a letter, and you know there is no possible way that the recipient has received your message, let alone formulated time to write a reply. You still get just a little hopeful when you hear the mailman drive by. You rush out to the postbox a little too quickly and are disappointed by the pile of free coupons, bills, charity flyers, and a late Christmas card from your late Grandma Moses.
You lost your voice one day. You woke up to a hollow echo in the base your throat and knew you’d lost something special before you’d ever had a chance to say anything worthwhile. You checked under the bed and tried the lost and found, but couldn’t even ask if anyone had heard it lately.
A sudden awareness that occurs during funerals that you are going to die. You are dying right now – your cells are shedding like snakeskin and your hair is turning silver and every moment is one less than
Maya Angelou and what enduresA tribute to Maya Angelou, and the legacy that endures in her passing. For all those who have been inspired by her presence and her forbearance, by her passion and her strength, a tribute to her spirit.