Was there a start without an inevitable end?
When lines reach the edge,
Do they keep going or simply bend?
Why are these letters addressed,
If you had no intention to send?
Was there a go that had no inevitable stop?
Can I surpass gravity – to fall and never drop?
How low can I go
Before I find myself crawling up?
Why would you let the phone ring thrice
If you had no intention to wait for me to pick up?
Word count: 82
You lost? She blinks once. How drunk did you have to be to hear the moon? You deaf too?, the moon asks – but it wasn’t the moon – a boy was sitting on the roof just outside the window. She sticks her head out for a better look. The moonlit boy shrugs and sinks back into his beanbag. Cool place you’ve got here. He scoffs, Ah, she speaks. She crawls onto the roof with him. The boy didn’t seem to mind, she thinks. The side of the house they were on was nowhere near the nauseating yard. Underoath played from a tiny speaker nearby. She winced at the fact that she knew the band, let alone the song. She sits where it wasn’t awkward – where she thought wasn’t awkward. She stared at him, staring at the moon, before staring back herself. Stare too long and you’ll get moon blinked. She saw the boy smirk, or maybe she imagined it. Now, if only your taste in literature was as good as your taste in company. She shrugs.
The moon continued to tell tales to the two still strangers under her light. It spoke as it trekked the sky, but the sun wasn’t far behind. Though La Lune’s tale was far from finished, the book was about to close. The moonlit boy stands to pick up the tiny speaker. Hey, I was listening to that. The boy nods then shrugs. He steps around the girl and slips back into the window. Hello, goodbye.
Word count: 250
The probable sequel, maybe. Read part one?
White dry lies
Diamonds in the sand
White dry sand
White dry lines
Outside looking in
I don’t think I’m having fun
Crossed some lines
White dry eyes
I shouldn’t have
The quiet me
White dry skies
Word count: 45
I keep trying to impress the wrong people.
The moon watched you cry through the narrow part in your drapes. It wished it birthed stars that gleamed as brightly as your tears did.
Word count: 25
This goes to the ones that fall in love. I’ve been neglecting the blog. I’m sorry 😦
She swirled the soda in her cup and listened to the clink-clink-clinking the ice made against the glass. The music was blaring, but she was deaf to everything. This wasn’t her scene and she shouldn’t have gone before she stepped into the door. Right now, it’s like she had forgotten what it is to have fun. She convinced herself this was better than being locked up in her room – like she has been for weeks now. She looks up from her drink and starts to count the number of unsmiling faces in the room. Her eyes stop at a mirror one, she counts.
She stands and pushes through the crowd of strangers to get somewhere more tolerable. The yard was just as nauseating as the living room; she bolts back inside. She tries to remember whose party this was or who invited her out in the first place – she thinks she’s forgotten, or maybe she had no clue at all. Upstairs, she let her ears enjoy the muted version of the noise blasting from downstairs. She takes her time through the hall of picture-perfect, framed families and muffled, moaning doors, until she comes across one slightly ajar. The cold, night air greeted her as she pushed it open; the flapping curtains let the moonlight dance around in the dark room. She watched the moon peek in and out from behind the folds of the drapes. Before she knew it, she was at the sill, meeting the moon’s call. You lost?
Word count: 250
There’s a probable sequel, maybe.
Read part two?
It’s probably too much,
I shouldn’t even ask.
And you’re probably tired,
So I’ll just ask later.
But it’s getting pretty late,
Maybe I’ll ask tomorrow.
Work’s probably hell right now,
On the weekend, for sure.
You’ll probably be resting then.
Next week will be good, yeah, next week.
But I miss you now,
And it’s been months.
I’m not waiting.
Because you aren’t taking any hints.
I’m not asking because I shouldn’t even have to.
Yeah, I’m tired
But I can rest later.
But I can’t wait till tomorrow.
And work’s hell right now;
Nothing I can’t make up for on the weekend.
I should be resting right now,
But I can’t take another week of this.
My bag’s packed since this morning.
Finally. So, maybe soon,
You’d come and see me for once.
Word count: 137
I wrote this piece after PartyNextDoor’s Come And See Me. I don’t really know why I wrote this. I think it’s for me, or maybe for a friend; but it’s the internet’s now.
My eyelids were on their way down when the fairy called my name. I was gone: too far into my own head, I couldn’t ignore it.
“Hello,” I say. She says nothing. “Hello,” I say again. Nothing. I pick the lid off a porcelain jar and put a pinch of sugar on my palm. I hold it up to her and she perches to rest.
She looks at the sugar and politely declines. She thrust her tiny foot into the mound and kicked up a sugar-dust cloud.
“Hello,” she says, finally. “Why did you wake?”
“Shouldn’t have I?” I ask.
“No human should see a fairy. No half-asleep human should see a fairy.” She says, sitting down at the edge of my palm.
“But you called my name.” I say, confused.
“I called a name, it just happened to be yours.”
“So, you weren’t calling for me?”
“I wasn’t calling for anyone, no.” She stands and shakes sugar off her small delicate wings.
I wonder what she meant when she said no human should see a fairy. Was she not a fairy or had I become non-human? My eyelids were starting to drop again; the left from being pulled down by the not-fairy, and the right from lack of will.
I wake up – sugar in my palm, pain in my head. The clock doesn’t move. The fairy was gone. Fairy? What fairy? Sugar? Where’s my coffee?
Word count: 238
Are you who you are by what you are capable of? I need sleep – you do too. Goodnight. I’m still trying to get my posting schedule back on track I swear.
I’ve found my muse in rage
In anger, doubt, and bitterness
On my insecurities she thrives
And arrives in fits of ire
I’ve found my muse in rage
In pain and despair
At the sound of my dropping heart
She is there
Boiling blood in tow
Word count: 50
I’m still getting used to my current schedule so I haven’t been posting as much as I planned at the start of the year. I still do think that I’ll be able to post regularly soon. Also, if you haven’t already, please take a look at this piece from my chapbook which I will soon be making available for free online.
Her smile met my eyes,
As I turned from reading the horizon.
The setting sun transformed her,
A bloodless deity.
I wouldn’t have noticed her come in,
If I wanted to.
She wouldn’t have,
Wanted me to.
She wanted me too.
Psychic, she shook her head,
Before I could ask my tired question.
“Stay as long as you need,”
I say with still lips instead.
Neither an approval nor a denial
I couldn’t remember,
The last time I’ve seen darkness.
Sleep isn’t for those,
I let the sun get bored,
Of our still play.
Statues on stage.
Ballet-ing to the silence in our stares,
To the beat of off-beat hearts.
I gave no permission to the moon.
The night was here
She had faded, but not her smile
All that remained were words unsaid.
Word count: 138
This piece was one of the entries in the first and currently only chapbook I’ve ever put out. The collection is called Precognition and it contains 12 poems. Hit me up if you are interested in a physical copy.
I must be going deaf.
The lines are pure static,
Whispers, no words, just noise.
I try to call the past,
I’m lost in my own self.
My ears dig deep: nothing.
To this blur I’d rather
Sink into my own thoughts.
To this noise I’d rather
Ever growing silence.
Word count: 50
Some days I would crave a particular song but i wouldn’t know which and everything would just sound like noise. I’d dig through my collection and never find what it is I’m looking for. I’d put on a favorite track but I’d only disappoint and scare myself when I find myself indifferent to it.