And So The Words Flew

"poets utter great and wise things which they themselves do not understand"

Things I Should Say (But Won't)


I’ll rip open the curtains of my pride
So you can see into the windows
Placed between my ribs

I want you to see how dirty I am
your fingerprints are still there,
with the lip prints you left last time
you glanced through my soul

I’ve never washed a handprint from my body.
Not a single…


I’ve been told
To think of everything you say
As hot air
But the smoke of my Newports
Is casting shadows on
The sidewalks under these tired street lamps
And you
Are as dark and strong as
Anything I’ve let caress my lungs in these cold months
And he
Is brighter than sun on the ice
Or a new penny
So sweet,
My teeth are aching
And my hands shake
Which can I say I crave more?
Which do I need?
Neither, of course
But I’m not one for
Healthy habits.



I ran away from home
Packed my bags,
Flew to a place
Where red clay
Wouldn’t stain my feet
And I told myself
That if I got lonely,
I would build an igloo with a wraparound porch
Fill the cracks of my smile
With Coca-Cola
And drape the miles
With stories about dancing snowmen
I told myself
I’d get…

i kind of hate you a little bit,
but not as much as i would have
if i’d loved you before
so many things happen in a year
i grow ugly
i grow sad
i grow happy
sometimes, i bloom
but none of my petals hold your
name and i don’t want
to kiss your mouth
at all
this isn’t about me
this is about self
about how all the dreams
of you turned to ash
and other things i don’t
want to inhale
fire, only lesser
you don’t burn me anymore
and i no longer think about
your eyes in the dark
because so many things happen
in a year and me changing
is one of them
shedding skin and
evolving minds and
other things that mean
that i don’t like your heart
i used to think you were
a tidal wave, but
all you are is the
rain in the
winter that i
don’t fucking

“rain in the winter”, k. mkhonza.  (via sleepychick)

(via getlostmylove)

Here’s the thing:
I’d eat scrambled eggs for you.
You have a mole on the
Right side of your neck
That I long to besmirch with my lips
Baseball is a boring sport,
No matter how many times you tell me you like it.

I think of you every time it rains.
I will never dip my cookies in milk,
Because milk is disgusting.
Five AM never sounded as good
As it did falling from your lips.

Poets are people
Waiting for lightning to hit
So hit me baby


My tryst with you
Has become a masterpiece
Of emotion and lips and

And we both know
How much I’m willing to suffer
For my art.

The Problem Is…

The problem is
I love you
And I don’t have a pretty face waiting
For me in my bed,
So I have to whisper it
To the night
And hope you hear it
Over her chattering.

Know I’m saying it
Alone, in my bed
Wondering if you’ve told her
I love you
Wondering if you were thinking of
Me when you did it.
Wondering if
Your heart broke on
The jagged edges of each syllable
Like mine did.