The WordsIt started softly at first. Little words and instances, and small betrayals that left questions sticking in her mind like needles. Words that hit her skin like stones, leaving bruises that spread and scarred and left fear in their wake, words that kept her up at night.Who I am? What am I doing here? And who are you?The words start tumbling faster now, and come with twisted expressions of anger, bitterness, resentment and blame. It's taking her back to her childhood; the memories of disquiet and fear and always, always the blame. It's taking her back to the fear of speaking, the fear of being touched, ever. The fear of meeting someone's eyes. There is only anger around her. An atmosphere weighed down by secrets and the blush of blood rising into skin. And inside, nothing but emptiness and the echoes of something deeper, something that will never be undone.There is a stranger asleep beside me. Someone I no longer understand, who no longer understands me. I am afraid of their
Mermaid Bones - a beat poemTRIGGER WARNING: Sexual assault and eating disordersMermaid Bones - a beat poem.I'm hiding an ocean of teeth under my scalesit's in the forbidden taste of salt on my tonguethe weight of the measuring tape,of those numbers pushing bubbles through my blood and through my gums.It's written on the circumference of my waist.In the words cursing the ghost ship of my shape being plundered against my will.It's spoken by the fish telling me that I have no right to fill my gills with oxygenunderneath a sea bed of regret laid heavy with the shape of a tail.You are a whale they saidand they made me push my bones out to see the fish bones that they could wish onto beach myself on the sand reaching for a reason to say "no"No.I will not make sandcastles out of sandwiches, and pick at the entrails of the jellyfish noodles on my plate on the first date with puberty that said"you will now be endowed with an oyster set with strings of pearls that hang heavy round your throat like a
Suicides Learning To SpeakIt’s 6 a.m. A girl is beginning the journey back from Oz, anchored to life by the whirr and beep of machines and tubes. Above her emaciated body, nurses pace, write on clipboards, click their heels and purse their lips. She is oblivious. Her mind drifts in freefall, stuck in an eggshell skull wrapped in nasal gastric tubing and an oxygen pipe forced down her throat like a synthetic umbilical cord. Somewhere, neurotransmitters are sewing themselves back into conscious awareness. There is a person lost somewhere in that body. There is a mind overboard in a black sea, sending up a flare. The nurses are afraid that she will stay in there forever. A family jostles at the side of the bed in the cramped, generic hospital room. All the King’s horses and all the King’s men… I don’t need ruby shoes to find my way home. My name is Ruby, the nurses click their heels and my family makes the wish.I’m finding my way back to consciousness through the sound
VisitsHollow black-hole eyes and arms filledto the brim with primitive home-job tattoos.a tear inscribed under his eyetells of time behindbarsand time spent inside seedy taverns killing brain cellsforgetting the daysbehind the darker bars,the other cellslittered with tally marks on walls.'HATE' is inked into the fists that led him toother hardened fists met incarcerated.hate breeding hate breeding regretleading to bleeding out onto cement.hard time brewingmoonshine under bedsslept with one eye open.he flicks his cigarette onto the dirt under the houseand coughs.tally-ho is the only tally he wants in his hands now.It creeps under his fingernails and stains them yellowinstead of red.Behind him,Jamie scrubs at his dust-covered feet,rail thin with the sweet smell ofmarijuana that hangsheavy over them -aromatic defeat.His eyes run brazenly over my bodyas he tells me of the guns he owned before police raids on his home,his run-ins with the law."I'm on parole. Been in
The Doppelganger DeathIf I am dead, throw me to the seaand let me sink.My bones are soft where you have dug up the remains of drugswaking in the marrowand I don't know which part of my brainis me anymore,amongst all of those dying shipsand side effects.those ill-begotten attempts at flyingand the sadness of swallowingpills for photosynthesis.I wish I was a treeand you were the square root solutionanchoring me to the earthin the tumult.There are unclean words resting there,gritty and pregnant with the promise of rain.I fill my pockets with your gaspsand there are oceans of regret between us.You like to see yourself in the words I speakand the empty scripts waiting for a signature.But when we run and hurl ourselves into the seaand drink malt whiskey in an August downpourtelling each other our hearts are sunkenI notice nothing.You're not me anymore.I'm burying you underwater with three spadesand a red ace of hearts.My sermon is a renegade of I-promise-I'll-forget-you.There's
Love Letters On the TrainDear Stranger,I'm leaving this post-it tucked in the side of the train-seat. If you're reading this, you've seen it. I've seen you sit here every few Monday mornings, sometimes tapping a bent, unlit cigarette against your thigh, sipping from your tea (who brings a tea cup onto a train anyway?); sometimes staring at the rain outside, or reading your well-worn, beaten copy of Jane Eyre (I hate that you fold the corners down - it's bibliophilic abuse. I wish the book would papercut you to defend itself a little, but I digress).You seemed so sad this Monday morning past. Please smile again. I love it when your eyes catch the light of something I'm unaware of, something silently and intimately your own; a secret from the world that makes everything all the more meaningful to you.- The PassengerDear Passenger,I'm not in the habit of reading post-its from strangers. I found a love-letter hidden in a newspaper once, that the author forgot or was too afraid to send. It made me sad to think
Stories From the Psych Ward (1 of 3)It's 2a.m. and I can hear the nurses' footsteps down the corridors,with pools of light streaming out of their torches like car headlights in the rain.Tonight is long and lonely, and voices wash over me in the dark.Night checks, and rays of light pour over the sleepy shadowed forms of us,into our eyes. Each black silhouette,the shape of a patient in the middle of a dream.I can feel insects crawling under my handsbut I can never dig them out.Early morning cups of sweet black tea bringa sense of comfort and normality to being aninvoluntary psychiatric patient locked up in solitary.Sleepless nights lying with outward eyesat the disembodied hands pushing through the ceiling.I curl around myself and wish I could disappear.My hands are red and raw from trying to scratchout the bugs that crawl underneath. I try to showthe insects to the staff, but none of the nurses believe.One of the humanless spirits holds my spinewhile the disembodied voices whisper "stay as low as you can
The BestsellerYou are a poetry book reclining on my couchand I want to turn your legs like pagesfold myself into youthe way I dog-ear favourite passagesto re-read and re-visit in the morning.You could be a sexy bestseller curled upin my bed.But I want to guard you from reviewand keep you obscurefrom publishers and popular culture -check you out as unavailable in librariesto keep you as myliterary secretand lie with you myself.We'll clothe each other in dust coversonly to undressover lazy cups of coffee in Sunday hoursour own personal bookclubof bibliophilic eroticism.(We'll slide our bookmarks in each otherand collaborate on the shelf).
BraveryDefinition of braverynoun.courageous behaviour or characterWhat is bravery? What is it to be brave?Bravery is waking up each morning to living hell. It’s as simple as making it through a day, when you’d rather just give up. It’s sitting against the door, hearing the screaming go over your head. It’s the hiding, chewing fingernails, wishing you could leave. Run. But not. It’s living, though all the odds stack up against you.Bravery is being there. It’s putting all your troubles aside and just simply being a listening tool. It’s hiding and masking. It’s the simple lies of ‘I’m fine’ and ‘Everything’s okay’ when you know inside, you’re losing your mind, losing your emotions, becoming stone. It’s never giving up on loving someone, because they complete you. It’s fighting for someone to keep living, because if they stopped, so would you. It’s telling them to do simple thin
Drowning Out The WorldDrowning Out The WorldI find myself in the sounds-I release my secrets in the lyricsInner peace is found-The melodies calm my spiritBut when silence fallsThe walls in my head break downI'm consumed by stinging thoughtsAnd every regret cries outReality and time stopThe serenity within – goes silentAnd then my mind floodsMy past memories become violent-I get this sensation-That I'm just too damagedA truthful realization-There's nothing left of me to salvageMusic is just a distraction-To blind myself from the carnageI remain lost in the destruction-Where darkness has the advantage-The remnants of rhyme hinder-The memories and I resist to coexistAs I let the essence of fear become louder-I can't defy this quiet pestilenceI don't want to be a part of the silenceBut it keeps pulling me backIt's erasing the meanings of every promis
LiarsLiarsLiars everywhereLiars who just sit and stareLiars who can't see my painLiars who can't here my claimLiars to whom the truth has diedLiars who just wait and hide
I want you. You have me. I want you... Sweetheart...I'm here But.. Can I have you...? You already have me.. You promise? I don't like to promise.. But yeah, I'm here.I'm here and I'm staying. You have me.
made me this wayFor too longYou lied to meFor too longYou made meWaitAloneIn theDarknessNowIm walking awayWhen you ask othersAbout meAsk about howWhyI have changedJust rememberIt was youWho made me this way
I Don't Want Postcards.I want to goaway inside of myselfand leaveno forwarding address.
Purpose.Purpose.What would a story be?If there was no one there to read it.What would dreams be?If there was no one there to conceive it.What would a picture be?If there was no one there to see it.What would a secret be?If there was no one there to keep it.What would love be?If there was no one there to feel it.What would a song be?If there was no one there to sing it.What would the truth be?If there was no one there to admit it.What would advice be?If there was no one there to give it.What would life be?If there was no one there to live it.Kela Lewis-Morin
A Poet's RomanceShe was the quiet sort,tsunamis tuckedwithin her eyes,anxieties pinnedto pottery skin;she would mold herselfinto moonlight butterfliesand glist'ning calla lilies,pure and white andbeautiful.and when night castitself upon her inheated, hard'ning flames,she’d smash herselfupon the rocksand in morning startagain.
Daddy, you've drunk enoughDaddy, you've drunk enoughDaddy, people will laughDaddy, one question I ask:Daddy... will our car crash?I think you're too heavy, or am I too weak?Because your weight on my arms, it's pushing down on meAnd people look at us when you fall down on the streetI am ashamed, but I am still hereDaddy, why do you drink?Daddy, is it because of me?Daddy, did I hurt you somehow?Answer me! I need to find out!I feel so guilty, maybe it's my fault that I couldn't help youMaybe if you had another child you would find a way to stopI have dissapointed you, 'cause I'm not perfectAnd it's killing me insideDaddy, I know I'm a trashBut please, daddy, please, leave this glass!Daddy, you're breaking my heart!Daddy...Daddy...Daddy...I'm so torn apart
If you drink enough vodka it tastes like loveHe’d whisper sweet nothings to treesHoping the roots would remember his nameI watched him drop pieces of himself like bread crumbsHis lantern limbs quiveringI don’t think he ever really knew how lovely he wasAnd on a sunny day when the pavement was sweatingOut onto the roadsideEveryone else found out tooI don’t think I’ll ever forget him because he was like a dream catcherSo quiet and magical in the way his eyes turned green in the darkAnd blue in the winterLike he stored the world’s secrets behind his cuckoo spit heart
Telling someone I am going toHave toTell someoneAren't i?Would you forgive me?Could you? Tell someone what? About meAbout who I amWhat I am Who are you?Tell meTell meWho you areTell me, and I'll forgive you. Thank you
Composed Upon an Abandoned SofaWe refuse to wake; trapped in pharma-sleep.This place is as worn as the clothes we wear -Look at the beauty of it all laid bare.Our flesh and limbs lay still, knotted in heapsOf spit and blood. Our narco-coma lies -We have nothing but red eyes, skin ice-fair,Our thoughts are stifled by the blackened air.We are helpless - scarred at the mouth and eyes.Here we crash, together. In smog we steepOur secret, buried away from the skyAmongst the ash, the phlegm and comrade fliesWe'll sleep 'til one of us, from the gloom, criesThat these beautiful things, their scent and glare,Are too scarce to sate our thirst for the deep.
Try Again"Your life's such a..." tragedy."Wrong.
Why Don't You Understand?Do you understand what it's like to be dead among the living?When your heart keeps beating against its will?The feeling is surreal, standing in the crowd of those who claim to be living.Where everyone around me has a fear of the end; of death.That's not me.I see a beauty in the decay of life, a peace even.Unlike the living, I understand death is a release from the world of pain we live in.An understanding I wish to convey.The fear I see in the eyes of others; I don't understand like I used to.All fear is based on the same thing; a fear of loss.Fear of pain?Only a fear of losing comfort.Fear of failure?Only a fear in losing what you hope to achieve.Fear in death?Only a fear in losing this world.But when you have nothing to lose, what is there to fear?A dead among the living, oh the things I wish I could teach you.Make you understand.But the words w
his hands are not like yoursii.i cannot rememberwhat i should not forgetyou are nothing, now,but echoes.i.these shadows,[hands]peeling back layersof bone. your hands--cauterised nervesand steel-edged gilding--pry me apart& i breakopen.
Throw It AwayStop!Put the blade downYes, youDon't you think it's time for something new?A new attitude, a new way of dealing withThe things they put you throughA new way to surviveA new way to pull you throughI knowYou may not see it nowBut if you hold onYou'll seeIt always gets better somehowSo throw your self-destructive toolAway and join the fightWe'll show those in painThat there's always a lightAnd I know you think that no one's thereAnd I know you think that no one caresBut the things they said, they're not trueThey're only trying to hurt youIf you go through with thisIt'll only get worseSo just throw it awaySo just throw the guilt awayAll the anger, all the painAll the fear and all the shameJust throw it all awayOn the edgeThere's a girl stood looking downAnd she's so far upShe can see the whole townLittle did she knowThe very next dayThey'd take back all the things they sayBut now she'll never find outWait it outJust wait and seeIt will get better for b
The Layers of SkinShe laughs out loud.Talking to herself.She's crazy.She doesn't care though.She's happy.She laughs.She smiles.This girl is surrounded with her friends.Happy with her life.She sighes.She cries.She can't cope with the stress.Stress of work.Stress of life.Then the feeling that all of these other feelings simmer to eventually.Depressed.Dead.Down.Drained.She wants to scream.She wants to shout.She wants to let it all out.But her anger she must bury.Otherwise a rampage of spilling out swear words and other vile.Out of control, reckless and stupid.Not thinking of consequences.So look emotionless.Or 'in a mood' as they call it.She hates her anger.She hates her thoughts and feelings.She hates her looks.She hates herself.Selfish.Selfish.Selfish.That's what guilt whispers in her ears.She cries.She tries not to infront of people.She sobs herself to sleep.She can't help.She's hopless.She has no hope.She's helpless.Confusion eats away at her brain.What made
Found"You're nobody.""No one""Nothing."Lost in worlds of 'no's and nothingnessSearching for"Somebody""Someone""Something" to see insideI looked back and found:Me.