Honestly, I'm uncertain about what I should write here. I haven't really shared anything that I've written in any kind of public way (excepting the occasional short story or poem) for... a number of years now. I suppose the most pertinent thing to mention is that I write, primarily, confessional poetry and character-driven short stories -- and both have a tendency to be quite dark, potentially disturbing. Shocking, right?
Anyway, for that reason, I'll post anything in this topic within spoilers -- although I don't really expect anyone to have a problem with something I've written, I've found that it's better to forewarn than not to.
In any case, just to get this topic started, I have three poems which I wrote relatively recently and do not wish to submit for publication, so... here they are.
(Oh, and one last thing: I absolutely love critique and criticism of anything I do -- I want to get better, and the best way to do that is to know your own weaknesses. So please, if you have any comments or criticisms, say so. I would love to hear what you have to say.)
Choking on Roses
Spoiler
I want to know the taste of your fingertips,
So listless,
The contours as they trace the lines
Of these flowers we left so far behind;
To be so murderous,
Swallowing the loveless:
Ring fingers are my Christ,
But this is not communion
And you won't climb off your cross.
So listless,
The contours as they trace the lines
Of these flowers we left so far behind;
To be so murderous,
Swallowing the loveless:
Ring fingers are my Christ,
But this is not communion
And you won't climb off your cross.
Spoiler
Water laps upon the shore, irrespective,
The air a murmur -- tremulous:
To be salt-stained and caressed, but
The tears would just dilute it.
There are no words for this hatred.
The sky is just to scream,
And I'm pregnant with your emptiness --
But this metaphor is a shattering mirror,
And I'm just an abortion placed in this cradle
To so playfully drown:
After all,
What better way to die
Than to fill my lungs with life?
"But better to build bridges," you said,
So I sold you one to cross --
And I'll savor the taste of your sweat
As the skin peels and burns.
Narcissus would be proud,
After all:
I only became selfish
Once what I did affected you.
The air a murmur -- tremulous:
To be salt-stained and caressed, but
The tears would just dilute it.
There are no words for this hatred.
The sky is just to scream,
And I'm pregnant with your emptiness --
But this metaphor is a shattering mirror,
And I'm just an abortion placed in this cradle
To so playfully drown:
After all,
What better way to die
Than to fill my lungs with life?
"But better to build bridges," you said,
So I sold you one to cross --
And I'll savor the taste of your sweat
As the skin peels and burns.
Narcissus would be proud,
After all:
I only became selfish
Once what I did affected you.
Spoiler
I want you to eat the words
I never spoke.
This emptiness, vague reminiscence,
These silent lines
Running through shallowed veins
And pouring out my eyes --
The sinew and sawdust,
The mist of bones and earth,
The heart and lungs
And all the spaces in between --
Words of God and whispers of truth,
Quiet lies and
The shadows left in the pale
Of unforgiving light.
I could be what's left of this:
The hair and bone wrapped in twine,
The fear and pulling of puppet strings, or
I could swallow this innocence
And vomit the dreams.
I never spoke.
This emptiness, vague reminiscence,
These silent lines
Running through shallowed veins
And pouring out my eyes --
The sinew and sawdust,
The mist of bones and earth,
The heart and lungs
And all the spaces in between --
Words of God and whispers of truth,
Quiet lies and
The shadows left in the pale
Of unforgiving light.
I could be what's left of this:
The hair and bone wrapped in twine,
The fear and pulling of puppet strings, or
I could swallow this innocence
And vomit the dreams.