Tag Archives: read

Will The Real Author Please Stand Up?

Do you ever get envious of other people’s words?

The way they’re so intricately, elegantly, genuinely made. The way that the sentimental fervour and tortured passion rings out plangently from beyond the curled pages of the book and strikes sharp aches and twinges in even the most desensitised heart. The way you could read them for days at an end and never get tired of the intangible shapes they form, the sophisticated literary art they create, the breathtaking stories they tell. The way that you can never really understand what that individual meant, what they truly felt, and you aren’t quite sure if you could even place yourself in their perception and situation, but despite all that, they’re still your emotions. They’re confusing. Messy. A foreign tongue that no soul, living or deceased, can ever know how to speak again. But you can feel them latching in your hair, your skin, your eyes, your lips, speaking your mind, all the words you don’t know how to say, all the senses you never knew existed in the first place, all the thoughts you don’t know how to feel.

And so you feel inspired. And so you attempt to write.

But your words, on the other hand, are rather insipid and unamusing. They’re the proverbial rain that never gets written about. The damp, stuffy, erratic kind of drizzle that relents to the point of irritation and drips down cracked ceilings and forgotten open windows. The kind that’s well-meant by the dear weather, but never makes its humble way in poets’ thoughts and poetry books, except occasionally to emphasise a depressing thought. You could stand outside that downpour for days at an end and get not a single drop of water on your skin. Your words feel cheap and secondhand, sharp edges worn-down to cliches and dull torpor, no wit to be found anywhere. Your words are no one else’s and you aren’t quite sure if they’re even yours, or just by the ghost that resides behind your empty ribs. It’s confusing. Messy. A foreign tongue that not a soul, living or deceased, knows how to speak. They’re all the words you can’t say, all the thoughts you don’t know how to feel, but you try to make sense of them anyway.

Do you ever wish…that you couldn’t write?

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Filed under Prose

Vega

I cried and listened to the rain in a rental car
One day somebody’s gonna go and get pushed too far
But now I don’t know what to say
Shall I deny my lungs their breathing rights?

~*~

it’s him—and the sunset

is as dusky as eclipsed eyes

overturning ocean waves

and my mouth will never recover.

a phantom in restless dreams

of a spellwork that went wrong

an escape from locked hospital wings

and a drink of cold sobriety.

oh, what a shame—i have none

and he has plenty to share

for his soul is a catacomb of

broken bones and thoughts that never

should have come to life

in the first place.

look how these lost hands adore

and spectacled visions strain

to read between all your blurry lines,

watching the once-fiery struggle

turn to death’s pugilistic ashes.

and buried underneath the detritus;

beyond the vaguer outlines of casualties

and heroes waiting for an answer,

lay a falling sunset—it’s him.

~*~

So give it up, give it up
Don’t let your mind slip away
Don’t drink, don’t get so high
Your beat’s too obvious
Not gonna say what you want me to say
I guess you’re right…

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Filed under Poetry

here for nothing

Watching as the fire starts
I could be here all night
Never really wanted much
Only ever asked for flight
It could be you…

~*~

i have

no desire

to read

into your

messy mind

as if there

was anything

i would find

taking turns

at insults

like our

hurtful words

don’t mean

a thing

like it was

just another

bee sting

i’ll be okay

i have gravity

to keep my

heart right

where it

should be

but your ribs

are broken

and ransacked

yet don’t you

even see?

i have no

intention to

watch as you

trip again over

your own

callous tongue

but i have

to admit, it’s

actually

kind of fun.

~*~

And I could be fire
And I could be rain
And I could be caught in
Everything that’s in between…

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Filed under Poetry

write and wrong

i’m a liar

and a faker

and i just can’t

say it straight

hide behind

this wall of words

and you can’t

read me so you

would hate

how quite vexing

i am, when i

think i speak so

honestly profound

and i preach

unholy gospels

like another

nameless sound

make a story

with a soft landing

like that would

help the blow

but all it does is

pretend i’m not

dying, that heaven’s

the place to go

i’m a liar

and a faker

i don’t know how

to be sincere

and i wish i could

change myself

but i blurred the

lines too much

to return into clear.

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Filed under Poetry

The Art Of Oxygen

“And baby, honestly it’s harder breathing next to you, I shake.”

~*~

A million breaths were held in the company of hope

As the lack of oxygen is making the wind choke

Exhale now, I’ll pick up your pieces if you can pick mine

But don’t taste what you can’t have, don’t be asinine

All my worries are invisible like the writings on the wall

As I inhaled opalescent fog, I only found out about the catch as I fall

Between the lines of what you refuse to read, I’ll get what I need

I’ll learn to live without my lungs, I can’t afford the air that you breathe.

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Filed under Poetry

blood.letter.

those words

felt as if

they were

cutting into

me themselves…

so just what

is the better

difference

if i b l e e d ?

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Filed under Poetry

[s]hard

it’s so

difficult

trying

not to

assume

anything

when all

one can

see is a

double-

bladed

meaning.

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Filed under Poetry