Creative | Posted by Katie M on 09/21/2012
We all know I’ve given you everything,
that – as far as I’m concerned sometimes – I have nothing left.
You took it all, because I gave it. Freely, willingly, without hesitation,
you didn’t have to ask.
Sometimes you didn’t.
I’ve given you all my words,
and now I don’t have much more to say.
At least, I won’t, when I finally tell the whole big scary truth –
which, despite my best efforts, I have yet to do.
When I say that it’s all out there… Well, that’s a lie.
Some of my secrets I’m still keeping.
Some of my wounds, well, they’re still bleeding.
You cut me deep, you know, and I can still see the scars.
You said you wanted it to have always been my choice.…
Creative | Posted by Tiffany C on 05/4/2012
One Night Stand
Did she mention how I’m the girl of the moment?
Splashed across magazine cover pages like dripping acid from batteries
Radioactive toxic waste
How could you.
How could you.
Your bright blue eyes, cornflower blue—they said
He’s a gentleman and knows manners long dead
But you really weren’t; not at all what they said
Should I listen to them or the voices in my head?
Tell me this is wrong because it feels so right and I can’t think anymore
No end in sight
Your poisoned words so dark, so deep, penetrating their sickly message beneath
Smudged lipstick and weak resistance
And I’m not too sure what the truth is anymore
So when you tell your girlfriend the next day
Clock’s at 7; the minute hand set slightly off
Creative | Posted by Blue Rose on 03/30/2012
He’s inching closer ,
I’ve seen it before .
His lips ask love but his tongue says whore .
He caresses farther,
I am not there.
He kissed me back to my 8th year.
Momma just watches,
She kinda laughs.
Kevin is done so he strokes my calf.
I am defiled
I am dirt
I am handled
I am hurt
9 years later
A pawed up pet
I am not completely corrupted yet.
They can take my body,
And shatter my heart.
They can feed me lies,
And rip me apart.
They will grope every inch of me . I need it to feel whole
They will squeeze my being ,
But never molest my soul.
He’s inching closer,
I’ve seen it before.
His lips ask love but his tongue …
Creative | Posted by Emaan M on 09/23/2011
Jane had pretty poetry
And hands the size of shoes
And swirling inky look-at-me tattoos
On the trophy shelves of her skin
And Jane never thought twice about you
And nor did she digress;
Don’t help me once, just hurt me
Yet in the eyes of everyone Jane was a trailer-worthy mess.
And some sweet girls they said things about Jane
How small and suffocating cotton would stick to her skin
How a boy with dark hair and slinky eyes
Boasted about the game and the win-
Yet no one ever seemed to whisper anything poisonous about him.
Friends, teachers, the
do-gooders and world-changers
Her righteous church-community youth leader
Would always have their little snickers of Jane
And that’s what drove her from church.
And no one ever had …
Creative | Posted by Nicole T on 07/15/2011
The Dishwasher’s Daydream
The sink-washed dishes clap thunderously as you dry them
against one another, as if attempting to ignite a fire between
two friendly sticks. The result: a broken dish
or another proclamation that “This cup…plate…bowl is cracking.”
The washed skin on my hand is growing apart, like the leather on
a cow’s back, and it goes down the drain, and gets cozy with the debris
along with the blood that came from cleaning knives too quickly.
You scurry around the kitchen, telling me about your day
as you shove the dishes into their proper places. The plates go
above the larger plates, and ceramic cups go into a different cupboard
next to the other things that aren’t identical in size and shape.
And if I were a bowl, I would be …
Creative | Posted by Talia on 07/1/2011
He Promised Her A Rose Garden
It was 1976.
Peak of the women’s lib movement.
New York, New York.
Peak of the peak.
She was going for a PhD in psych.
She could, thanks to Betty Friedan.
“After you finish your PhD,” he told her,
“We’ll move to Long Island.
Have three or four kids.
Buy a house.
With a white picket fence,
And a rose garden.”
She was nineteen.
She fell for it.
A week after the wedding
He got fired.
It wasn’t such a surprise.
Between the mental illness
Never showing up
And long sick leaves
It was just a matter of time.
“I won’t get a job immediately,” he told her.
“You can type anywhere.
I have to do something important.
I have to have a career.
I’m the man of …
Creative | Posted by Halee K on 06/24/2011
I can shoot lightning bolts from my fingertips
Poetry spouts like jewel-encrusted bullets
From my chapped lips
Soul shining like a beacon
Behind my eyes
Creating tiny worlds
With each sleepy sigh.
Beautiful is a fecund seed inside
Empowering all, despite the lies.
Creative | Posted by Tesneem A on 06/17/2011
I’m sick and tired of you,
And I’m sick of the things you do,
I’m sick of the things you say,
And how you insist you have your own way,
For how can I forgive someone who can’t respect me and the choices I make,
A person who turns every rule I make into a rule to break?
My body is my temple and what happens to it is for me to decide,
And no, it is not just a matter of pride!
Shower me with all the sweet words you can say,
But I am not one you can easily sway,
You can try to make me cry out of guilt and sadness,
But it is all emotional blackmail I will not process.
Call me unlovable and stupid,