AND THE SCARS WILL BE COVERED - Richard Shelton

responsibility fell at my feet

like a dead bird

and I left it for the collectors of feathers

now I am leaving these words on sand

for the water

and when everything is gone

a voice will say

that’s home

where two paths cross without speaking

where a lost shoe full of darkness

is curled up

under the roots of the snow

then I will point myself in the right direction

alone I hope

I was never much for company

and start off down an empty road

toward winter and a silence

which no one will ever repair

Untitled - Rupi Kaur

how is it so easy for you

to be kind to people he asked

milk and honey dripped

from my lips as i answered

cause people have not

been kind to me

Survival Poem #17 - Marty McConnell

because this is what you do. get up.

blame the liquor for the heaviness. call in late

to work. go to the couch because the bed

is too empty. watch people scream about love

on Jerry Springer. count the ways

it could be worse. it could be last week

when the missing got so big

you wrote him a letter

and sent it. it could be yesterday, no work

to go to, whole day looming.

it could be last month

or the month before, when you still

thought maybe. still carried plans

around with you like talismans.

you could have kissed him last night.

could have gone home with him, given in,

cried after, softly, face to the wall, his heavy arm

around you, hand on your stomach, rubbing.

shower. remember your body. water

hotter than you can stand. sit

on the shower floor. the word

devastated ringing the tub. buildings

collapsed into themselves. ribs

caving toward the spine. recite

the strongest poem you know. a spell

against the lonely that gets you

in crowds and on three hours’ sleep.

wonder where the gods are now.

get up. because death is not

an alternative. because this is what you do.

air like soup, move. door, hallway, room.

pants, socks, shoes. sweater. coat. cold.

wish you were a bird. remember you

are not you, now. you are you

a year from now. how does that

woman walk? she is not sick or sad.

doesn’t even remember today.

has been to Europe. what song

is she humming? now. right now.

that’s it.

TODAY MY ALARM WENT OFF AT 12:30PM - Mira Gonzalez

I stayed in bed for over an hour
looked at things on my phone
I felt slightly anxious about nothing particular
I walked downstairs and poured coffee into a jar
I asked a person on the internet if I should take drugs
I took drugs before the person had time to respond

I feel alienated by people who express concern about me without
defining their concern in terms of a specific solution or goal
I dont feel comforted by the idea of an afterlife
I dont want to continue experiencing things after I die
I want someone to pull my hair because I like the idea of someone
controlling my head without touching my head

what is the difference between being an independent person
and being a person who is accepting of loneliness

REPLICAS - Lawrence Raab

We were tooling along in Fred’s old jalopy,

thrown off our game

because the directions to the lunatic asylum were confusing.

I decided not to mention how appropriate

getting lost might be, maybe later

having to battle the elements to stay alive.

I’d been reading the old myths

and liked to imagine sailing through the clashing rocks

with only an oar for a weapon,

which wasn’t the most useful idea since we were heading

south of Tampa, trying to find our old friend

Adam, who might be waiting for a visit.

On the other hand, I thought, and then recalled

Adam having said far too often: On the other hand––

a knife is up close and personal.

People didn’t like to hear that kind of thing,

but we were sure he meant no harm,

even if in fact he did. We figured by now

he’d have forgotten the dangerous inclinations

of his youth, those days when he insisted

we’d all been misled by the voices

in our heads, then turned into replicas

of the people we thought we were. “Of course,”

Adam explained, “certain men choose

to be tempted by sirens. Others just let it happen.”

I told Fred that last part made sense, or sounded

like it should. “Damn,” Fred replied,

having taken another wrong turn.

“Not every kind of craziness makes sense.

Believe me, you’ve got to draw the line somewhere.”

At first Adam was upset about being sent away,

but since then we’d heard

he’d grown accustomed to the quiet gardens

they let him putter about in. We imagined

him kneeling down in the soil

like his name-sake and weeding

something small and green,

wondering why he’d ever believed

what he had, or else why no one

had ever understood what he believed.

Or perhaps both thoughts vanished

while he concentrated on his task, half-listening

to the murmuring of the more distracted guests

as they explained to each other how easily

they had been deceived by their lives.

Backwards (For Saaid Shire) - Warsan Shire

The poem can start with him walking backwards into a room.

He takes off his jacket and sits down for the rest of his life;

that's how we bring Dad back.

I can make the blood run back up my nose, ants rushing into a hole.

We grow into smaller bodies, my breasts disappear,

your cheeks soften, teeth sink back into gums.

I can make us loved, just say the word.

Give them stumps for hands if even once they touched us without consent,

I can write the poem and make it disappear.

Step-Dad spits liquor back into glass,

Mum's body rolls back up the stairs, the bone pops back into place,

maybe she keeps the baby.

Maybe we're okay kid?

I'll rewrite this whole life and this time there'll be so much love,

you won't be able to see beyond it.

You won't be able to see beyond it,

I'll rewrite this whole life and this time there'll be so much love.

Maybe we're okay kid,

maybe she keeps the baby.

Mum's body rolls back up the stairs, the bone pops back into place,

Step-Dad spits liquor back into glass.

I can write the poem and make it disappear,

give them stumps for hands if even once they touched us without consent,

I can make us loved, just say the word.

Your cheeks soften, teeth sink back into gums

we grow into smaller bodies, my breasts disappear.

I can make the blood run back up my nose, ants rushing into a hole,

that's how we bring Dad back.

He takes off his jacket and sits down for the rest of his life.

The poem can start with him walking backwards into a room.

MOONLESS NIGHT - Louise Glück

A lady weeps at a dark window.

Must we say what it is? Can’t we simply say

a personal matter? It’s early summer;

next door the Lights are practicing klezmer music.

A good night: the clarinet is in tune.

As for the lady--she’s going to wait forever;

there’s no point in watching longer.

After awhile, the streetlight goes out.

But is waiting forever

always the answer? Nothing

is always the answer; the answer

depends on the story.

Such a mistake to want

clarity above all things. What’s

a single night, especially

one like this, now so close to ending?

On the other side, there could be anything,

all the joy in the world, the stars fading,

the streetlight becoming a bus stop.

New World - Louise Glück

As I saw it,

all my mother's life, my father

held her down, like

lead strapped to her ankles.

She was

buoyant by nature;

she wanted to travel,

go to theater, go to museums.

What he wanted

was to lie on the couch

with the Times

over his face,

so that death, when it came,

wouldn't seem a significant change.

In couples like this,

where the agreement

is to do things together,

it's always the active one

who concedes, who gives.

You can't go to museums

with someone who won't

open his eyes.

I thought my father's death

would free my mother.

In a sense, it has:

she takes trips, looks at

great art. But she's floating.

Like some child's balloon

that gets lost the minute

it isn't held.

Or like an astronaut

who somehow loses the ship

and has to drift in space

knowing, however long it lasts,

this is what's left of being alive: she's free

in that sense.

Without relation to earth.

Grab Ass - C.L. Bledsoe

I wonder if you're dead and buried in a short

coffin, beef-jerky muscles wasted on meth

and misanthropy, daddy's money long spent.

Was the aroma of Ben Gay and rot in the air

while all the ex-footballers cum used car

salesmen wept quietly in their hand-

kerchiefs thinking about the glory days? I wonder

if your cheerleader wife stayed when you lost

your hair. When you got inside her, was there

anything there? Did you even win your blond

medal? What a waste you were. Timmy,

you hated me because I saw through you

to the void where your soul should've been,

and I knew, no matter how fast you ran,

you'd never outpace it. But all I had to do was wait

to get past you. Timmy, I hated you because you ruled

the world from the inside, because you always won

even when you needed to learn how to lose.

"They don't lie a lot" - Henry Rollins

They don't lie a lot

They just don't tell the truth very often

Truth does not mean much to them

You can lie to them, or tell the truth

Makes no difference to them

Walk on them if you want

Eat with their forks

Destroy them for the hell of it

Celestial Music - Louise Glück

I have a friend who still believes in heaven.

Not a stupid person, yet with all she knows, she literally talks to god,

she thinks someone listens in heaven.

On earth she's unusually competent.

Brave, too, able to face unpleasantness.

We found a caterpillar dying in the dirt, greedy ants crawling over it.

I'm always moved by weakness, by disaster, always eager to oppose vitality.

But timid, also, quick to shut my eyes.

Whereas my friend was able to watch, to let events play out

according to nature. For my sake, she intervened,

brushing a few ants off the torn thing, and set it down across the road.

My friend says I shut my eyes to god, that nothing else explains

my aversion to reality. She says I'm like the child who buries her head in the pillow

so as not to see, the child who tells herself

that light causes sadness—

My friend is like the mother. Patient, urging me

to wake up an adult like herself, a courageous person—

In my dreams, my friend reproaches me. We're walking

on the same road, except it's winter now;

she's telling me that when you love the world you hear celestial music:

look up, she says. When I look up, nothing.

Only clouds, snow, a white business in the trees

like brides leaping to a great height—

Then I'm afraid for her; I see her

caught in a net deliberately cast over the earth—

In reality, we sit by the side of the road, watching the sun set;

from time to time, the silence pierced by a birdcall.

It's this moment we're both trying to explain, the fact

that we're at ease with death, with solitude.

My friend draws a circle in the dirt; inside, the caterpillar doesn't move.

She's always trying to make something whole, something beautiful, an image

capable of life apart from her.

We're very quiet. It's peaceful sitting here, not speaking, the composition

fixed, the road turning suddenly dark, the air

going cool, here and there the rocks shining and glittering—

it's this stillness that we both love.

The love of form is a love of endings.

"Some people don't need much to live on" - Henry Rollins

Some people don't need much to live on

Hell some folks live on pennies a day

I was right about to wrap my arms around that girl

But at the last minute

I jumped back and wrapped them around myself

"I want to take a screwdriver" - Henry Rollins

I want to take a screwdriver

Mutilate my face

Find a beautiful woman

Make her love me for what I am

Then say I don't need it and walk away

"If you're not strong inside yourself I don't even want to be near you." - Henry Rollins

If you're not strong inside yourself I don't even want to be near you.

Don't even look at me. I don't want to know your name. Life is too

short. The closest thing I can come to love, is respect. To me,

respect is miles beyond. That's the problem. Love can exist in spite

of a total lack of respect. To me, that's a fucking fat lie. I can only

carry myself. I can't respect anyone who can't stand on their own

two feet. If you want me, then you must want yourself ten times

more. You must be strong. Otherwise go fall in love and lie to your-

self as you beat yourself into happiness.

"I don't want a shoulder to lean on." - Henry Rollins

I don't want a shoulder to lean on. I don't need it. The whole idea of

“Someone, that special someone...!” is for me, a load of shit. I must

be fully contained. No leakage, no spillover. Dependency is weak-

ness. It's such a lie. Lying there in bed, in your lover's arms. She's

behind me, she believes in me! No one is behind me. I am behind

me. I believe in me. I don't need any support group to keep my head

together. I know what I have to do, so I should just shut up and do it.

Untitled - Warsan Shire

I'm sorry you were not

truly loved and that it

made you cruel.

Today My Horoscope Read - Warsan Shire

You are the alchemist

of your loneliness.

You can create anything

in its place.

"It hurt when I found out she dug her lies more than my truth" - Henry Rollins

It hurt when I found out she dug her lies more than my truth

It hurt when she finally broke down and saw the real thing

She was so let down

She felt like she had been ripped off

My truth incinerated her lies

I asked her if she loved me

She said that I wasn't the person she thought she knew

I told her I was right here

I was a lie to her lie

I let her down

I couldn't feel bad for being myself

It hurts to think that when we were looking into each other's eyes

We were looking at strangers we thought we knew so well

"I'm in the hot room again" - Henry Rollins

I'm in the hot room again

I am a time junkie

I am a user

Like all addicts, I come to the point where I ask myself

Who's using who

I take a look around and I see what I do

I look in the mirror and I see what it's doing to me

And I come to the conclusion that we got a pretty good thing going

"My mind and I had a meeting, and we came to the conclusion that you're going to let us down." - Henry Rollins

My mind and I had a meeting, and we came to the conclusion that

you're going to let us down. We are here every minute of the day

getting ready for the let down. So when you push me away, I'll just

say ok, because we came to that conclusion a while ago. Like I said,

we were ready for the let down. If you're ever walking down the

way and you see me on the side of the road lying broken and scat-

tered, you keep walking right on by.