I will get a pen and some paper and my hands and I and them and they will make a map

by shira

I have ideasJust a few ideasAnd optionsWith some interestBut I am not enough for any of theseI have to put myself into this work, tooAnd when I'm done but not never worn outI'd like less of me to shut down
I don't know if my heart can work in this roomBecause it's too full of pictures of youAnd the pictures can't tear like you doYou tear me up two ways
One with your handsOne with my eyesNone with my armsNo, no my heartIsn't hereI'm empty enough with it thereTaking up spaceAs it is
So I'm beneficially free of listeningIf I put down the phoneMaking you scared, tooI'll make a map to plot out my flawsSo they can all connectAnd my worries and mistakes will form a pathI will landmark withFucked-over regrets

A Trip to the New Jersey Graveyard Where My Great-Grandfather Rests

By Hopeless Hopeful


We had decorated the recollection
of the man which I have none of
and gave taciturn deference
to the unfamiliar face.
We did what we came to do.

Now I sit beneath the refuge
of this looming willow tree
while its elegant branches and leaves
rhythmically sway with the beat of the breeze.
As it does so, I feel the moist blades of grass
between my fingers
and examine the ambiance.

No doubt, the most beautiful fusion
of life and death
lay widely spread before me.
Off in the distance, the elder family members
bounce from one spot to another,
seeking companions, comrades, and colleagues
from photo-album memories
while a light rain begins.

I see a flowered vase knocked over
by a sudden gust of wind,
and while I restore its position,
I read the name of the new stranger.
I begin to wonder who she was.
I wonder what she was like.
I wonder what she did with her life.
I wonder these sort of thoughts
as the drizzle turns into a downpour,
but I don't move a muscle.
I stay with my considerations
and continue to wonder
as I am called away.

science experiment

by whitehorse

i had a few drinks
so i thought that i was a poet
and i found a piece of printer paper
and a pen your mom stole from the bank
and i wrote about how broken my heart was

when just hours ago she had kissed me like
i was the one
and she usually never kisses me when im drunk
and your sister was sad again
and i felt alone
surrounded by my best friends

and one of the best writers i know
sat next to me and cried
becuase she had no one to comfort her
and i was to drunk
to full of my own sadness
to offer anything
more then a sip from my bottle of corona
which she didnt take

and i walked home with two boys
that loved me in exactly the same way
that i loved them
and the liquor made us shout it

but you drove home hours ago
so you didnt hear
and my love was soo pure
it would burn if lit
and explode into a bright ball
leaving everything else in darkness

the cashier told me that if i really loved you i would buy you roses, but the three bundles were nine ninety nine

by whitehorse

you see, i offered her poetry
like it was a bouqet
and she took it
but it wilted

pencil never comes through clear
on a yellow pad of paper
with thin blue veins running horizontal
to conscious thought

and i thought that i was delivering
this gift, this thing to be treasured
but it got folded and put in back pockets

lost amongst reciets
of dinners she bought for me

but i still had my notepad
i still had my pen
i still had a world of words to manipulate
to say that she looked beautiful sleeping
in a thousand ways
none of them even approaching cliche
at first

but i began to repeat myself
but i began to repeat myself

and she wasnt impressed
with rhymes constructed around moments
where she undressed
and crawled into a bed
warm with expectation

and all the while i kept writing
and getting further from the truth
and i began to repeat myself
and this love that i felt was a rerun
of the love i felt last week

and each kiss felt like a device
to fill my hungry pen with ink
to think up a new way to explain
the tiny scar on your forehead
and i began to repeat myself

and i handed you my poetry
as though it were a gift
and not a burden
where with each sentence
you have to read
about a love i have for you
that only comes true when its written
when you can read it

so you pressed your hands againts my chest
and i was surprised you found a heartbeat
because its gotten so faint
these days
and i began to repeat myself

and i offered you poetry
like it was some bouqet

Starved for attention

by tinny tulle

The happiest moment of your life is ahead of you
While you stare out the window in your white dress
Hoping you made the right decision
Through the clear glass pane you can see a garden
Overflowing with roses almost to the point of gaudy
But that’s how it should be-over the top
Best friends standing beside you, enemies behind
You’re slowly moving ahead
Through your veil of tears you know this is right
Or at least pray it will turn out that way
Thinking ‘all things come together sooner or later’

The Point of History Class

by: Surreal As Sunlight

His voice always boomed
from the front of the classroom
Wake up! he would say. This is important!

I never thought so.

What if it was just a lie
Maybe Nero was just a puppet all along
Maybe Erik the Red never traveled the seas

Just believe it to make sense
Then maybe it wont happen again.

Just like how you made up the story
of last summer and covered up the parts that make you
Just like how he swept away the gold that was on my feet

Just like how
he believes all your stories
because he never doubted his history teacher

It would kill to know
How it really all comes together
The truth would rip his textbook head apart

And who's to say
that history wont repeat itself.

Yen

by: tinny tulle

<>Content isn’t a feeling
It’s a state of mind
Like waking up on the right side of the bed
That little spring in your step
It’s a subconscious yearning
A dream we clasp with tense fists

Your Salvation

by: recovery

You clutch your book with love
Out of the fear something greater will come
Professing these words as your own
Pressing your beliefs on others like stones
Scared of not belonging you join
Hoping for the same fate as them
Praying someone is listening to your problems
And will have a miracle solution
Well here’s news for you honey
You don’t need a priest
You need a fucking psychiatrist

Covergirl

<>by: tinny tulle

Her face was untouchable
The compact color 201
Perfectly placed freckles and dimples
Apricot lips and cheeks
With eyes the color of chocolate <>

Inside was another story
One no one dared to tell
Filled with failures and inconsistencies <>

As she stepped into the rain
And one by one the drops tore her apart
She melted in front of everyone
Down into the murky puddle she was
Down into the sewers of others just like her

dont ever say that about anyone, not even me

by whitehorse

i threw a punch at my past
a roundhouse
and it was in that moment
that i knew we would never be friends again

my past just fell back into the ugly couch
my parents bought when they first got married
she grabbed for me but only caught air between her fingers
and i stood above her, muscles aching
puffing myself up like a bird and hoping
she wouldnt fight back

and she looked soo beautiful
her eye starting to close
taking on a dark blue like night oceans
i really wanted to kiss her

but instead i turned my back
and walked out of my own house
i could feel my feet touch grass instead of pavement
but my eyes were closed too tight.

thirty minutes of previews

by whitehorse

we were sitting in the theater
i had saltwater for veins
i was consumed by the pictures
two stories tall and unashamed

i hade saltwater for veins
and my heart was like a giant
two stories tall and unashamed
i was breathing in the silence

and my heart was like a giant
but my feet stuck to the floor
i was breathing in the silence
with a red exit above the door

but my feet stuck to the floor
and my hands stuck to your waist
with a red exit above the door
and i was just focused on your face

and my hands stuck to your waist
we were sitting in the theater
i was just focused on your face
not consumed with any pictures

i want to show you a video

by white horse


if you knew how many times a day
i thought of killing you
you would wince.
it would fill up your lungs like water
and drown you there
in a silent car
driving home to radio static
not recognizing the difference
between that which is nothing
and the space age music those boys
listen to when they are stoned

but if you knew how many times a day
i wanted to kiss you
to drop everything i have
and throw my body in front of you
like those people
who found that stone in the park
and realized that it was thier god
i would surround you wiht glasses of milk
and coins
and bow before an alter of feelings
and all my friends would walk by
and laugh at me
but if they knew how many times a day
i thought of killing them
they would wince

Songs that Remind me of my Childhood

by line dry only

you hear me first
when cotton ball clouds and
the crisp burnt leaf smell of autumn
envelope you

there is an ice cream shop
on the main street of a town
where when you were young,
you went to restauraunts and
ate with your father
now you get your hair cut
with your mother
and shop
there is no more ice cream

you can't remember the name of the place
where you first tried superman
and it tasted like

linda ronstadt, julianna raye and a future nicole blackman's
words do
and there was cold air conditioning
and a bell on the door
with oldies music playing

sittin on the dock of the bay
watching the tide roll away

you think out loud
and wonder why the rest of the world
doesn't think out loud too