"tell me you remember you are still a human being, not just a human doing"
it hurts to know i cannot love the way i want to
we fill the cut out cavities with hands we plug the holes with writhing fingers
it startles me when the insides flail out the tiny creature inside facing death like another quick jaunt over the river
oh oh oh oh oh ohhhhhhh
i am coming to terms with the fact that they might marry someday
she picks up the pieces with painstaking attention gathering half before abandoning the task the mirror reflects the glass still embedded in the planks of wood
i cannot commit to having a child i already feel a sense of loss
24 Jul 2016 / 58 notes / #poetry #spilled ink #twc #twcpoetry #twritersdirectory
Don’t you wonder how the tiles are ubiquitous? You watch them ripple underwater and inside mountains, beneath bare feet and overhead. The flash of light between two consecutive tunnels wakes you with a subtle grinding. Your teeth remember even as your lips hand off the story to someone else.
23 Jul 2016 / 21 notes / #poetry #spilled ink #twc #twcpoetry #twritersdirectory
Remember that, as people stop feeling the painful things,They stop feeling the rest of it too.This life is the practice of forgettingwhat it means to be alive.
Remember that your heart beats 115,200 times a day.Remember the last time you cried,The last person who made you smile,The last time you noticed the sky.Remember saying “I love you” every time.Can you feel it?
8 Jul 2016 / 9 notes / #poetry #altonsterling #philandocastile #blacklivesmatter #saytheirnames #183
It doesn’t occur to you that something like a body could float, it’s as foreign as heaven and the way there. Your thoughts abscess on the drive home, as your knees bend in prayer at the asphalt altar. It still feels strange to breathe in rotting air through rotting lungs, it’s still surprising to be falling apart.
4 Jul 2016 / 13 notes / #poetry #spilled ink #twc #twritersdirectory #twcpoetry #182 #*
Let me list all the ways to keep quiet. You know those stories they tell you aren’t stories, how they pile up until they weigh heavy on your soul? I dropped my history book in the hallway, and it clattered so loud on the linoleum, that’s all I have to say about that.
28 Jun 2016 / 24 notes / #poetry #spilled ink #twc #twritersdirectory #twcpoetry #181
Neon lights draw him into the future and the past, and all he notices is the chrome reflection and the breakfast sandwiches. Typical, how the eyes wander in so many directions, you never quite know where he hides it. The will to set another date forms knots in your stomach that you have no choice but to evacuate. The bile matches the crime, the drapes are hung and there’s nothing for him to grab ahold of. Maybe it’s nothing, but it glitters in the night sky just the same.
28 Jun 2016 / 31 notes / #poetry #spilled ink #twc #twritersdirectory #twcpoetry #180
I can feel you in the room. They talk about you as if you’d gone, but I know better. The air is heavy with you. The last time you were here, we filled the memory until a little red light came on announcing that there was no more space in this moment for us to live. These sheets still feels like home, because you slept in their fold. The kitchen, the ants, the desk lamp, every piece of this image has a blur, billowing at the edges. I know the shape, I know the hue. You aren’t yet a ghost. You still cast shadows in this room.
24 Jun 2016 / 27 notes / #poetry #spilled ink #twc #twcpoetry #twritersdirectory #179 #c
I fall asleep before I know how to process the news, before I know how to hold it in my mouth, to let it escape in gasps and sobs before the language rescues me, a rope in the water, but unpredictable, like the stories playing out inside my head. I don’t say the words at first, I extend the letters tentatively, just far enough to snatch them back before the light hits them. The brine floods out alongside everything else, and somehow, I smile, knowing it’s a start.
24 Jun 2016 / 7 notes / #poetry #spilled ink #twritersdirectory #twcpoetry #twc #178 #c
The flies aren’t lazy, you insist, and I want to believe you, like you believe in progress, that entropy is not lost on us. They’re only slow because they are so small,and I cannot bring myself to notice the layer of crystalline wings powdering the floor. Sometimes gravity is still the losing force.
21 Jun 2016 / 17 notes / #poetry #twc #spilled ink #twcpoetry #twritersdirectory #177 #*
Find the place where the moisture leaks out, treat it with the respect you afford the women in the pews who wait so patiently for the wine to make its rounds. Their eyes crinkle kindly at the babies clamoring for sweets, as the young mothers hear the burden of scolding and shushing— this place is meant to find you.
20 Jun 2016 / 22 notes / #poetry #twc #twritersdirectory #twcpoetry #spilled ink #176 #sorry it took me so long to catch up