Buried beneath the
raw flesh of every scar
there lies a story, a veiled
truth manifested in the physical form.
If you listen
close enough they will
whisper, confessing our sins,
our triumphs, our follies and, even,
our secrets.
Call me a Psychic | Poems that Suck
We'll chance upon each other, some day or evening a long time from now. By then my heart will have scabbed over, but still the edges are tender. You'll be excited - "it's been so long!" - but I'll be full of dread, caution. I'll regard you coolly, just enough detachment to make you unsure, ill at ease. I'll make some cutting remark, veiled in subtlety, then excuse myself from your company. You'll mull the comment over, repeating it in your mind, puzzling together its meaning. And slowly, you'll reach the soul of it and know that I'm still bleeding. You'll watch me from across the room, and I'll know by its focused heat, But I'm too old and too tired to play the games of young girls. You won't see me feigning laughter or pretending to flirt with some random person. I'll simply be me, as even keeled and placid as you knew I was. It will remind you of those quiet moments we shared, tangled in each other, Doing nothing but marveling at the miracle of love, the wonder of eachother's breathing. You'll then be in touch, and I'll hesitate but answer; no sense of preservation. You'll apologize for it all and I'll give you a halfhearted, watery kinda smile. (Actions, of course, speak louder than words and I'm simply mirroring your past indifference.) You'll realize too late, like they all do, that you made a huge mistake. But it'll make no difference to me because you had broken something inside me That day, way back, when I stared out of the window, watching a squirrel as You stood above me and recited a litany of why you didn't want me. And maybe then you'll long for me the way I did those many months, The wind blowing through the hollow in your chest, whistling past the ragged edges. And then you'll understand, it dissolved that warm October as I sat in silence. You'll know it's too late for me, for you, for us. It's just now that you're catching up.
Empath’s Eye | Poems that Suck
"Look at me," he murmured. So I did, choosing his left eye over the right. Like I knew it would, the pupil dilated, blossoming under my steady gaze. There's never an option, I'm taken hostage by eyes and that's why I never look, see? Now I saw him, stripped bare before me, the scars raw on his flesh. Yet, he never blinked, never broke contact as I penetrated and saw it all. I admired his courage - I could never be that vulnerable - but also his stupidity. After all, he didn't know what kind of woman I might be or what I could do with his scars. Then again... maybe he just wanted to be seen.
Some More Stuff | Life Updates
Just got the nod from Once Upon a Crocodile that they will be including my poem “The Shit You’ll See in Paris” in their upcoming Issue 7!
Keep your eyes peeled for it!
Rumi | Poems that Suck
Rumi was really onto something -
writing poems about God, who for
all we know could be a figment of
our imagination, or a madness of spirit.
The point is: when you love something intangible
and invisible, it has no chance of ever breaking your heart.
Timeless | Poems that Suck
It was the jolt of
recognition
that unnerved me when our
eyes met
for the first time.
The Universe held its
breath
and I didn't feel homeless
anymore.
Brittle | Poems that Suck
You were frail in body while I
was delicate in mind, yet we curled
around and underneath each other trying
to provide comfort to one another - because
that's
what
empaths
do.
You held me as I fell to pieces
in your hands, mind ridden and soul
overflowing with trauma, pain and anxiety.
You held on until I stopped crumbling - not
healed,
but
stable,
enough.
Then I held you, in your emaciated
brittleness, all edges and angles, as
you allowed yourself the space to dissolve
in my hands, slipping through my fingers - like
water
down
a
drain.
Somehow we held each other up,
held each other together, just barely.
Maybe that's what two people do for
one another; the simple kindness of - offering
safety,
compassion,
and
companionship
as we try to
weather our way
through the shitstorm.
Bukowski | Poems that Suck
Bukowski once said,
love was like the early
morning fog
that burns
away
with
the
sun.
.
What he didn’t say was,
that the fog would
slither into your
bones, leaving
you
chilled
long
after.
Eye of the Hurricane | Poems that Suck
I could feel your presence -
passionate, intense like the eye
of a hurricane - just outside the
door.
My fingers hesitated on the
lock for just a moment - a
heartbeat - before letting you
in.
You slipped in, as silent
and light footed as a shadow,
simultaneously locking the door
and,
pushing me against the wall
with your slim body. I folded
beneath the slight pressure of
your
mouth, both urgent and exquisitely,
painfully slow. My breath caught in
my chest, head spinning with
vertigo.
And before I knew it,
you sank to your knees and
began removing my pants with your
teeth.
Sexual Insomnia | Poems that Suck
I think about you late at night,
when I’m trying to fall asleep
which is counterproductive to
relaxation.
.
I think about me stripped
bare beneath you, legs spread
wide in eager welcome and you
inside.
.
There is a feeling of awe
each time you slide into me
and I look down the long length
of you
(to watch).
.
Yet, even though these images
make the vein in my neck throb
I still fall into a deep, peaceful
sleep.
Poems that Suck 