|I'm a poet who occasionally draws.|
daughter's dishonorit's not the preparationdaughter's dishonor by LatchkeyGirl
or the base we'll be calling home
that shrieks in my head like chased prey
but the sound of trees dropping fruit
and losing leaves.
what a scream.
but what could be worse than this?
my old man, the old man,
not wise, or grown, just old.
no kind words any more for me,
the seeds you sowed between us
grow strong in the hot black sun.
I won't live like you have,
a youthful buck on the side of the road
for months, rotting.
atrophy's your middle name, right?
but promptness is ours
and it will take less than 48 hours all told
for me to disappear from your life,
even if I crawl away,
plucking pins and needles and bits of eggshell from my feet.
I'll remember this
with the clarity of a child's memory,
and a new name I can use to forget yours.
moving ondear you, little white friend,moving on by LatchkeyGirl
would that life were easier,
would that finding comfort in your arms
was a real answer instead of a distraction.
when your superman dons his monochrome,
hides in his fortress, is his own kryptonite,
you lay in bed and wonder
why do I even read comic books anymore
packing my suitcase, get out the back Jack,
a sort of mourning without death,
I was an orphan before the death of my parents
I was always staring up at this ceiling, from day one
I have so much hope for new beginnings
even if as my life is starting, yours is ending
your loss will be as a leaf in autumn,
your body the mulch that feed's next summer's green
so many days I spent in a haze of childhood
the cells have died and I'm a new beast
running and jumping and flying and chancing -
until I finally curl up, in my home, in the ground.
promiseI have heaps of lover's sighspromise by LatchkeyGirl
you hand me in the dark
They carry me through the day
and I wake up with a genuine reason -
a rope I pull myself on
that leads into our future.
But I want to know,
were you serious?
I'll throw myself into our life -
but if you meant it,
stars and stars and stars.
Bone dust, sugar.
I know the feeling,
so I can't say anything
but kiss your face and hold your hand.
When your train comes,
I'm on it, babe.
We'll be together forever.
broken hearts don't beatsometimes, it's morning. and i've forgotten to brush my hair again. or how to tie my shoes or what my name sounds like. and that i don't believe in anything anymore. and that's when i realize that i'm losing little pieces of myself to you.broken hearts don't beat by paperheartsyndrome
and the tip of my tongue is stained with the taste of stale paint from the renovating you've done with my mind. and for the next four hundred and seventy three and a half hours i'll be staring at the ceiling. since i'm waiting for your flavor to fade. or maybe i'm just waiting for you to come back to me. since my fingertips are losing their feeling. and the strands of my hairs are splitting. i'm aging in reverse. or fast forward. and the next time you see me, i'll be older than i've ever been before. so press play. since i'm sick of being stuck on pause.
and some days, when i'm waiting for the earth to move again, i count every one of my eyelashes and measure the distance it would take for them to fall so i can calculate all the wishes i'm missing. a