"There's nothing to be done."
"She's going to die."
"Would you like to say goodbye?"
PrisonerWe were teenagers the first time your skilled lips met mine.
You were winter’s cold and dusted with new-fallen snow.
The shadows that lay beneath your haunted eyes
Matched the bruises tattooed upon your ivory skin.
We were far from alone when our calloused hands met on accident.
He stepped out of the shadows and threw you to the frozen ground.
No noise escaped your gritted, cracked teeth as he beat you. Yet no
Amount of courage could hide the fear bleeding from your almond eyes.
We were barely adults the first time I met the softness of your skin.
Life radiated from your emerald eyes as your battered
Body and blood-crusted mouth moved
Against me in ways my body could not translate.
We were in the cemetery when we finally met without fear.
He was stone cold, buried six feet under a headstone. You
Were well dressed and newly wealthy. We both were newly
Divorced. Finally free from bruises, you proposed upon his grave.
PeaceOh my oldest of friends, I feel scared. Nothing is silent on this winter’s night.
Not the monsters screaming in my mind. Not the shutters slamming against the house.
Not the winds howling through this drafty attic bedroom. Not even Momma and Daddy.
No, not even them. They’re louder than ever tonight, old friend.
When they fight like this my mind’s monsters grow louder and harder to ignore.
They howl and snarl and spit lies and deceits. They say that Momma hates me.
They say that Daddy doesn’t love me. They say that, if he did, he wouldn’t let her hit me.
They are lying to me, right, old friend? Please say the monsters are lying.
Oh my dearest of friends, I cannot sleep. Will your lullaby arms sing me a song?
To me, your embrace is comfort embodied. Your voice is like a gentle breeze.
You bring me such peace, dear. Peace: it is something this place so rarely allows.
I am seldom safe and sound here in this hostile house, where Momma reigns with abuse.
Lost PermanenceAnother now rests on your side of my bed,
But some nights I still toss and turn for your arms,
Even though my side of your bed grew cold long ago.
NightmareYou and your spider-limbs are clockwork predictable.
Every night, upon the hour of my sleeping, your
Rubber soles step from Morpheus’s chariot
Into the once-serene sanctuary of my mind.
Your lanky limbs upcycle into my sleep cycle then,
As your ebony fog creeps into the land of my mind,
Darkness settles. Darkness always settles with the coming
Of you, no matter how white-hot your skin is. For the rest
Of the night all I can see is your humanoid arachnid
Form stalking the outer edges of my dreamscapes.
Every dream drives images of you deeper and deeper
Into the soil of my subconscious, freezing it to permafrost.
All revitalization has been sucked out of REM. It has been
Replaced with a cool poison that drives me to insomnia.
Some weeks I wish I could live eternal without sleep.
Some days I truly believe I’ll never need sleep again.
Those times reveal the darker side of this twisted hunt.
These days your faceless face haunts me even in
My waking hours. Your gangly midnight sh
CompanionMy life with you is a series of days and nights
Spent on an infinite highway, traveling without a destination.
We pass sheets and bodies melded and molded
Into figure eight, jug handle infinities.
Yet we continue on our journey,
Fingers intertwined and resting on the clutch
Of our broken-down, rusted-out, manual, imported car.
The interstate rolls on and on and on and on
And some days my heart feels like a blown-out
Tire. Other days I feel like a blown out tire crushed
Beneath the heel of an 18-wheeler pulling 90
Sans regard for anyone’s safety, not even the driver’s.
Travel-weary and bone-tired, there are days when I want to slam
The car door in your face and hitchhike my way back home.
Then I remember how far I have traveled.
How far we have traveled. Together.
How desperately I do not want to go back
There, back to that place from whence we came.
I remember how I have come to enjoy watching the lines
Of your face change with the terrain, tempo, mood, speed,
Of our travel
LifetimesI saw you first on the bank of the Thames, and instantaneously fell in love for eternity. You were picking flowers for your father's grave. He had died three months earlier in the dead of winter. You were married then to a boar of a man, and there were bruises on your arms from when he grabbed you and didn't let go. You and I had a tumultuous affair in the bushes and brush all along our little bend of the Thames. It lasted until autumn came, and you could no longer sneak away under the guise of picking flowers for your father. I was a wanderer then, and you assured me that I would find another. I assured you I would not. I was right.
I saw you again on the bank of the Volga. I was fishing in the shallows, ankle deep in frigid water. You were on the deck of a ship sailing past. Ours eyes met and held until you were out of sight for the rest of that lifetime.
You appeared to me next in the form of my best friend's arranged bride on the bank of the Ganges. Neither of us
ColdThe sun is rising and you're staring out of your bedroom window at the horizon. He's still asleep in bed, cupping the void where you're supposed to be. The blankets are twisted around his legs, his torso, his arms, creating a great maze of fabric. The sheets are pulled up here and there, revealing a restless night, a restless sleeper.
The morning beams are hitting your pale face in hues of orange and yellow and you're staring at the cars passing beneath you. The rush hour traffic is just beginning, heralding Monday and the start of another paycheck cycle. He should be getting up soon, beating the cry of his alarm, just like he always does. He'll forget to turn it off, as always, and it'll begin to ring while he's singing old ragtime tunes in the shower. Only you won't be there to turn it off for him. He won't have you to kiss goodbye after he's donned his suit. You are not in the bedroom you two once shared. You are in a hotel room, and there is another man in this bed, one who also cl
planesWe are parallel planes in the sky, flying toward the night. Intersection means certain death, but we'll meet again upon landing at dusk.
GoneMom's gone. I'm coming to get you.
The words bounce around my empty skull for a moment, refusing to sink in. Gone? How can she be gone? I just saw her this morning. She made me coffee. Kissed my cheek. Waved goodbye as I hopped into the car. She can't be gone.
I slump helplessly against the tiled wall of the bathroom, and slide to the floor, not caring what exotic diseases may lie in the grout. On instinct, I pull up a blank message, and text the only person I can.
Within minutes the door swings open, and the pulse of the party breathes life into the vacuum of the bathroom. It's Kara. She's covered in glitter and body paint, wearing nothing but a neon bra and a white mini skirt. She raises an eyebrow at my dazed expression. She's clearly not happy that I pulled her away from the party.
"What happened to you?"
I pull up my brother's text, and hand her my Blackberry. She sighs at the message. Kara's never been one for emotion.
"Didn't they say she had a few more months?"
I nod. N
acrimonyi have spent too long loving you
like a store shutting down, slashing my prices,
hoping there’s something here you might
want to buy before i go under.
this is not your fault. i was told that loving
desperately and wholly was light years
better than loving practically, but you
have spent four years loving me like i am a siege
and you are worried that your fortress’s walls
are not high enough. i think i mean
that you love me cautious; you love me
most nights i waste hours not looking at my phone
and trying to remind myself how much i am
worth without you by my side. the numbers
never add up. maybe this is because
you have never been constant enough to be an equation.
look here, i have it on good authority
that universes exist in my skin and stars have died
so that i could live. stars have died and i have
survived and you will not be the one to make me wish
my soul was nothing but a black hole.
i can’t shake the thought that you are my novel and
i am y
He Wore My Makeup AgainAt least it wasn't a dress this time,
but I know that my boyfriend
has something to hide.
When I'm not looking, he takes my purse,
uses my make up to cover the hurts.
Dabs his fingers into my foundation,
taps it on his face, with hands
as skilled as a physician.
The brush he rubs down the angles of his cheek.
He should be thankful that he's
the same complexion as me.
I've never seen him with a bare face,
whenever he's with me,
the make up will stay.
At least he hasn't used my lipstick
yet, I don't know how I would
feel about him adorned in red.
And my eye shadow, he seems to leave alone,
it seems he uses my make up,
just for an even tone.
Perhaps he'll progress to using the rest,
and then I suppose then, he'll start
wearing a dress.
I guess it's slow, this painful transition.
I just want him to say it,
he's already got my attention.
I get it he's a cross dresser, he has to be right?
Isn't that what men who want to
be women describe themselves like?
I think I'll confront him about his f
AlcoholicYour tux is the color
of a coal miner’s face
after a long, hard day of work-
something you’ve never
had to experience
yet you talk as though
you’re just as worn out;
your trivial chit-chat
is turning syrupy with every sip,
although your sentences
aren’t getting any sweeter
you grab another glass
of the effervescent liquid,
hoping the sea of people
will turn to black coal,
and it will be dark enough
for you to fall asleep
as you walk tipsily to the bathroom,
the overpaid opera singer
belts her last high note- a bit too high;
your crystal glass shatters
into a thousand pieces
And with it, you shatter too.
The Girl Who Was Afraid To BeShe speaks to me fondly
of passions and talents,
of guitars and stars,
with such breathless intensity
then stops short and
for speaking at all.
All because somewhere in her life,
someone she loved broke her heart
her beautiful words
and telling her to
keep it down,
People aren’t born sad.
We make them that way.
GayI am gay.
I'm not a disease, I'm not a problem
I'm not an affliction
I don't need treatment.
I don't need help
I'm not sick
I'm not confused
I'm not a sin.
I am gay.
I'm your daughter
Your co worker
A complete stranger
I am gay.
I need love, just like you
I need smiles
I need support
I need a hug
I need a friend
I need a family
I need acceptance
I need understanding
I need you
I am gay.
I know what love is
I know what pain is
I know what hate is
I know what life is
I am gay.
And I need you to love me
The same way you loved me before you knew
I am gay.
And I have experienced hate
From more people than just you
I am gay.
And I wont change.
I wont give up.
I wont back down.
I wont pretend.
I wont lie.
I wont deny.
I wont hide.
I wont hurt.
I am gay.
And that's okay.
things to take to college1. between the two of us, we have eaten miles
of pavement, we have spent months pressing
the same four wheels into the ground.
whenever you need to, follow those tracks again.
they will lead you back home.
2. there are songs i only figured out how to sing
with you beside me. even now, the words
sound awkward in my throat.
the notes are wrong. i’m not sure what makes
something sacred, but words like that
i only know how to sing with a quiet
reverence i can’t seem to find anymore.
3. i am good at writing poems that convince
people to stay. i don’t know how to write
a poem to someone that i know is going to leave
no matter what i say.
4. you have faith in spades. and i’m not talking about
god. i’m talking about that tangible faith in
humanity, the faith that always makes you
ask me how my day was, even if the answer
is always the same.
5. to be truthful, i don’t want you to stay.
some people are made for the great unknown.
6. we have watched more sunset
xciv. you are the stardust between my sheetssilently our bodies
meld together in waves
of hot and cold as our
arms and legs tangle
like comets dancing at
the feet of Orion,
your soft and lecherous
lips sweep across my
stinging cheeks as your
delicate fingers work orbits
around my hips leaving
stardust trails in their wake;
we are two bodies bound
to collide like the brilliant
colors of the northern lights
for we are cosmic lovers:
you are my shining galaxy
and I am a black hole--
I will swallow you whole.
I won't cryyou can ask me how I am.
that's okay I won't cry
I don't know how I am, I can't correctly describe it.
Other than to say there's a constant ache in my chest
and a tightness in my throat,
with swelled up emotions sitting somewhere at the back of my eyes.
You should be careful what you say
but then I can't even explain what triggers these feelings
so say what you like,I'll just react in which ever way,
cos I have no controll now.
The way I feel everyday, has become so familiar to me,
since I lost him.
Sometimes it's so hard to bear,
the constant ache in my chest threatens to crush me
It's hard to breath.
The tightness im my throat burns,
I want to wail out loud my inarticulate utterances of grief
and release all my pent up emotions.
But don't worry you can ask me how I am.
It's okay, I won't cry.
Written by Suzanne karbach
21st may 2015
It Was Never You...It really wasn't...
And I know that I can twist this truth as much as I want...
Whenever I'm sober, when I know I can put up that fake plastic smile;
Just a few formal words that burn like acid from a liar's lips!
"Differences in personality, a divergence in ideals..."
Please, fucking, SPARE ME!
Because when I look in this mirror, I know.
When I see myself looking back at me, I know.
Right here, right in front of my own blackened self;
Those eyes that both reflect and stare into my dingy soul.
I was the problem.
I was the instigator.
I was the perpetrator.
And when I had broken every last bit of her,
I was the one, who let it all fall to pieces.
So please, you don't have to feel sorry for me,
I am a bastard and I've got a very special place in hell waiting for me...
- Word of Chen, Darkest Hour, 16th February 2015