To suggest someone to be featured, please note WorldWar-Tori.
Words on a Page I was alone on the bus, curled up against the window with my backpack on my knees, and surrounded by people who were too tired to realize I was among them. I didn’t blame them; everyone just wanted to get home. And besides, I got the seat all to myself.
I always find it ironic that I choose to be near people when I shove them away. I’m most comfortable alone and yet I chose to sit in the most popular seats. Which then became invisible the moment I took one. Everyone passed me by, not even meeting my gaze as they walked on, grinning and shouting half a car length to their friends and holding conversations loud enough I could hear them through my headphones.
Like I said, I was alone. It made me wish I had friends. But even my brother didn’t want to ride the bus with me. If I had been the one to get out of class early, I would have waited for him. The one other person I knew who was heading to the same general area of t
i can't keep walking on these dry-rot bonesoh, i am not a poet;
like the ink scratches
of plath, i am
specter boy: decay,
dispose, & disappoint
because this is the way
that writers wane -
(this hangman head is no
survivor story, & gods
do not burn out
poem for borderlinesif i could concentrate over
seven hundred thousand eyes
at the roof to the numbers stepping
from the nicities & rows
to go back
to the shattered surface
& the ripples beating over the hang
halfway between shallow
biting lips. maybe--
she couldn't have known
that it takes a whole three minutes
for the lungs to
well, maybe she
who, oh well
the white; the haze--
the booming over
the spume and spray
me get out of my head
just pull up the shutters
my tongue the weight to talk
but that's all we'll ever be:
a match burning itself out for
under the backspray of someone else's wheels
i didn’t realize that you were my sixth vertebrae
until i broke my
( i stepped through the cracks in the tunnel when you held my hand )
you skated out of the hospital like the ribbons
living in the edges of my eyelids -
i knew you were a dancer on the left stage of my Broadway
right around the streetlights in my ribcage.
i switched my veins for electricity and my eyes for strobe lights
letting the vibrations shatter my sweet bones.
( we drove that car down i-75 at breakneck )
you shivered into my skin like hyperactive meteors
& i thought i was your polish girl [stretched into your cosmos]
displaced echoes crackled in my eardrums and under my pinky toe
as Edison pulled the wires tight
and my veins ignited under your glow-in-the-dark smile.
( you were every photo on my camera)
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