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I'm terrified of becoming

A lot of different things

But the one that scares me most

Is someone I've been before

I know how to beat her

She doesn't stand a chance

#creative writing #poetry #writing #writing blog #writers on tumblr #spilled ink #poems

Yesterday I felt that the solar-powered trash compactor on the sidewalk

Was the most depressing irony I had ever encountered.

In today's light I saw it as the beauty of humankind's honest fingerprint,

Evidence that we were at least trying to destroy things with grace.

I am not sure which one of those options is the right way to look at it,

But I will believe that the latter is true; either way,

We will still have sunlight,

And we will still have garbage.

#creative writing #poetry #writing #writing blog #writers on tumblr #writers #spilled ink

The grand design is laughing at me

With its wide empty-pack-of-newports-on-the-sidewalk eyes

And its laugh is the sound of me having a neighbor who married her soul mate in 1991 but before I started spending time with her

He had already been stuffed with tumors

And withered and died

And at the end she had to keep the house very hot because he was just a ricepaper ghost

#creative writing #poetry #writing #writing blog #writers on tumblr #spilled ink #poems

Put a one word writing prompt in my inbox!

#writing prompt #poetry prompt

I have thirty pills.

"This is a ROUND WHITE PILL with (LOGO) 35 printed on the front"

It should have been ten.

See, what you're missing here is that it all started with the birth of time:

From discrepancies in the fluid universe, tiny things joined by chance,

and it was by chance that together they then recruited their own tiny things.

And as the string of accidents grew inumerable spiderwebbing universes from each of its gnarled twigs,

Only one twined into a rope; the only one to come to fruition.

This is the rope that put those thirty pills in the bottle clearly labeled "2 MG, QTY: 10 EA."

The first deviation from a uniform sheet of spacetime

Is the most recent common ancestor of all happenings thereafter. Including the fact that now

I have thirty pills.

#physics #medication.a #benzodiazepines #medication #poetry #poetry on tumblr #poetry blog #poets on tumblr #writers on tumblr #writing blog #writing #creative wrting #spilled ink

Fate is order, fate is predictable, fate is divided up into boxes and filed alphabetically,

There is no order, there is just entropy, there is just exponentially growing chaos,

There is no fate, there is no filing away these branched cosmic histories,

You are evading your responsibilities if you say your path has already been carved,

You are on borrowed time if you say there is no choice, if you say there is no free will

There is nothing in your future that has already been decided, nothing that has been written for you

The choice not to choose is a copout, is a get out of jail free card that comes at a price, is a destiny you shopped for and bought, is ultimately still a choice.

#creative writing #poetry #writing #writing blog #writers on tumblr #spilled ink #poems

Tried so hard to wait until I could distill it to see if love was real,

To run it through a gas chromatography column and point to its peak on a paper printout;

But some things aren't chemicals, aren't carbon-based compounds.

Love is like dark matter, like supersymmetry, like anything whose existence can only be proven by its effect on everything around it;

Those pins and needles in my arms are the proof,

That fire running down my spine is the proof,

The fact that I can fall asleep wrapped up in your body--when it only used to make uncomfortable--is the proof.

#poetry #writing blog #writing #writers on tumblr #creative writing #love #poems

I've been selling this all as self improvement

But it's just paper facades,

For people on fire.

#poetry

If she had arms

They would be strong

And the Earth would sing

In Wisdom's tongue--

Golden

And knowing.

If she could read Bukowski

She would laugh at that poor

Fat bastard

And think

He has never endured

He has never surrendured,

The ones that bear the weight

Are silent.

But she is a long gone

Winged dream.

One shred of red plastic

Over the North Pacific,

A steady heartbeat in the stars.

#poetry

You feel bad for stealing the car in the middle of the night but you have to leave here because

Crying feels like a bad habit and when you clean your room it’s clear that everything you own is a disposable waste of space and the bits of dust on the carpet make you vomit and the basement is perpetually wet and the longer you hang around the easier it is to rationalize your old knack for digging around in your own insides

And anyway this is the place where you died once already

#spilled ink #stream of consciousness

An artist makes herself privy to the faintest hues of truth; when she paints one portrait, so too does she paint them all:

Her first lesson is that few things are white and few things are black, and in essence the whole thing is a great patchwork of grey.

Next she is taught that there are no lines; boundaries are never clean enough to fit in one brushstroke. Separating things requires relentless attention to detail and depth.

What she trains hardest to master is forgetting everything she has seen or learned before. She brings to her canvas no schematic of the human form, and she imposes no laws upon it. What she paints is governed only by what she sees.

Her vision crystallizes when she understands that no facet of her subject may be teased apart from the others: that every piece is itself an intermediate, and that looking closer at her final product should reveal only ever-smaller worlds.

#writing #creative writing #writing blog #writers on tumblr #prose #art

The carcass of a tender fawn laid all day at the curbside, barely five feet from the graveyard’s hungry gate. Blood dripped from its ear and studded the fur above its quieted mouth.

It was a caricature of death, almost, and a caricature of itself--its tongue unfurled against the street, its eyes open and shocked. A flurry of white spots had yet to fade from its back.

From its flank, a stretch of flesh and fur had been torn clean off; I saw the meat strained across its ribs, and the mass of dark green that spilled from its stomach.

I pinched one yellow flower from its stem. While I was bent close to the clouded pupils, the smell of death was evil--though I knew that the deer’s innocence was deeper than any body buried close by.

The desperate pain that blooms as we watch animals perish is born from a sympathy for things that must die without any way to beg the darkness for forgiveness.

#prose #writing #creative writing #writing blog #writers on tumblr #spilled ink

Towards the end of the summer, details had begun to add up

in such a way that the persistent rain

sounded vengeful on the rooftops.

The vacant skeleton of the move theater

that no one had bothered to claim;

Thunder rattling the remaining bones

in the graveyard across the street;

Her twenty-third birthday only speaking

to the absences, or at best:

the disappointment of the town’s ordinariness;

Branches peeled from your favorite trees--one more every night. Layer by layer,

strips from the paper mache.

When her father almost left them in August,

she wouldn’t speak to him

for a week, and whispered to you

that she had started telling them to get divorced

when she was eight years old--but now

it was too late. He had a young daughter.

And even her ex-lover’s hand

on a stranger’s waist was echoed in the downpour.

Somehow you thought that the Earth might have been trying

to swallow you up on purpose.

#poetry #spilled ink #creative writing #writing #writing blog #writers on tumblr

I remember when the neighbor girls were born; today I watch them

Through the kitchen window while I brew the third pot of coffee, peeling out of the driveway

On their bikes--no helmets, and careless the way we are

When we don’t consider the things that can go wrong. They have dissipated

Out of view, to be caught somewhere else in the tide of mechanical

Sounds; the swell and dip of cicadas clicking, the constant electrical static, the stochastic

Sonic booms from the upper atmosphere. It’s too easy not to notice their resonance--the unexpected

Rhythm, a single sheet of noise always suffocating the new houses. A child’s mouth

Surrendered to a plastic bag. They will find that no innocuous amusement is without its risk, and I dread

That moment, hot as it is on their heels.

#poetry #writing #creative writing #writing blog #writers on tumblr #poets on tumblr #spilled ink

Are they out there?

Is their planet blue and green?

Does it have a sun? How far from it are they?

Do they have DNA? Is it a double helix?

Are they made of carbon? Hydrogen? Oxygen, nitrogen?

Do they have neurons? Do they have thoughts? How many ways are there to make a brain?

Do they build rocket ships?

Can they see our star? Have they watched us through a telescope?

Do they wonder if we’re out there?

#poetry

I cut the controls and I'm flying by wire--

Striking a match to get baptized by fire.

God only answers from Monday to Friday;

On weekends you pray through an amplifier.

I can't keep gathering dust on this shelf,

So find someone else if you can't find yourself.

#poetry

Don't wish me luck;

It's my time when it's my time and when that time comes

I can laugh it off or cry it out, and I plan on

Never shedding another tear as long as I live, and I plan on

Lifting me up instead of letting you down, and I plan on

Getting it together and not falling apart.

#poetry

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