Posts tagged writing


Just something I wrote while watching spoken word poetry on youtube.

My eyes are blind but my ears can see
can see you next to me
your hand behind the pillow as it crinkles in submission and you reach out to touch my cheek and I shudder before you
so warm was your finger that it caught me off guard and my face relished every prickly sensation of your touch and all those years of nonreligion fell down like the berlin wall and I was praying for more than just your finger on my cheek
my brain felt heavy in my head as I lifted it just far enough to touch my temple to the home that houses your lungs
and I pictured molecules in my head as I heard your breathing, flickers of the oxygen and carbon dancing in my head like vague memories of old films I watched as a kid
and I touched my cold fingers to your throat, your pulse validating every daydream I’d ever had that you were here with me
my body felt more that first night than my brain ever imagined possible
and when you placed your hand on my waist I fell into a black hole and every atom in my body was spagettified and the bits of my hand I could feel ran through your hair like fish through water, the chipped silver nail polish on my fingers sparkled but there wasn’t a drop of light left in the room, it must be the glow of your eyes, my love
I gasped and hummed as the darkness lit fire to my imagination, we were on a raft far off at sea, stars in the sky and dolphins below our feet, and you took my hand in yours and dipped it into the water and kissed the salt away
but sharks started nipping at the raft and my heart beat fast as I grasped at your hand through the cotton of the sheets and when one jumped out of the water my eyes sprang open and there you were
and you whispered stories of the heavens where the greek gods lived and traced portraits of dead leaders on my shoulder blades 
the house creaked as the wind blew and I morsed on your hip “I love you”
you morsed back “xflaimgb”
I kissed you anyway.

by Andrea

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.
— Mary Elizabeth Frye

you are ohio

so I had this dream we 
were a map of the midwest.
you were ohio & I was 
michigan & I was all over 
you & it was so fucking hot 
your spine was on fire all
the way down to cincinnati, 
& god damn if that ain’t 
the most depressing thing
because I knew I’d wake 
up wishing I was kentucky 
& your ankles were a river 
wrapped around my throat, 
but it don’t matter either way 
because motherfuck if you aren’t 
always telling me the same thing—
it’s not happening, uh-uh, 
not in this time zone, brother, 
or any other place.

by Nate Slawson