Oct 20
Maisie N's picture


Ink on her skin
Fire in her veins
But it was the look in her eyes
That gave her away
She gets what she wants
Without any debate
You could count her lovers
But they are one and the same.

Show me that her youth is only temporary
And that I am no different from her
Blame it on what each of us was wearing
Say we got what we deserved.
What kind of girl would walk the streets alone?
The both of us should know better
Than to feel safe in our own homes
Than to be unafraid of the dark.

His fingernails left crescent moons
Glaring bright red against my pale forearm
Her scars blended in with her tatoos
While mine live on-- a constant reminder
Remorse and rumors surround us two
With neither of us knowing of the other
Complicit in a crime we did not choose
Silent in what makes us similar.

Tell her that she is far too pretty
To be at a bar all alone
Oct 14
Maisie N's picture


Beautiful and unusual
You, a moonshine monster
Open your lips to the heavens
And tell me which it is you dread more
As you howl out your solemn question
Is it the echo or the answer?
Would you rather know that you are alone
Or live wondering what is out there?

I will live as a map on your wall
That you fill with red pushpins and stickers
Marking all of the places you have dreamt of
From the back of a pickup truck in September
On the nights that you barely remember living
Filled with good company and crisp autumn air
Take me with you wherever you go
Whether to the edge of town or the end of the world.

So tell me is this a simple seasonal change?
Or are the trees truly catching fire?
The leaves drift so easily to the ground
While I always seem to fall much harder
Bare branches are all you seem to see
No nuance, no heart to the picture
Sep 30
Maisie N's picture


Good morning, Mrs. Dalloway
The sun rises through lacey curtains
I have nothing more to say
Except that you left me speachless
The end of the night, tangled in sheets
Nothing to speak of between us
Your heart untamed, beats and beats
Crooked, messy, just how we like it.

You belong in a fine estate
Not among the clutter of my boarded-up apartment
Yet here you are and here you remain
Amid chaos, beauty, the muse to my artist
You are nothing banal or mundane
You are alive, energetic, alarming
I would hate to see that fade away
Yet aging never went well with excitement.

So what is it that makes life worth living
When souls never last quite as long as bodies?
When the moon still rises and stars still shine,
Even on the nights when you are not with me?
When everything we know must die
For any of it to matter, for you to believe
That what we go through, we survive
Sep 16
Maisie N's picture

Fair Weather

The smell of popcorn lingers in the air
Carnival rides and tiny toys
Like funhouse mirrors, everyone stops and stares
You are music, mayhem and beautiful noise
Watching, listening, but you do not care
Colors blur with the sound of your voice
Reminiscent, I almost thought you were there
Among the laughter of happy girls and boys.

I would have ridden the ferris wheel all night
If it meant I got to ride next to you
Queasy but excited with you by my side
In a small town with nothing better to do
For a moment I forgot my fear of heights
Lost myself in fantastic views
Of you-- of fireworks reflected in your eyes
Just you, me and the moon.

You are something different and exciting
Like a car of clowns or a barrel of monkeys
Time flies by, pedulums swinging
I think that you or your battleship sunk me
My head, like the carousel, constantly spinning
Sep 09
Maisie N's picture

A Lover's Dictionary

A chair is just a chair
Until someone calls it a throne
A pebble is just a pebble
Until someone calls it a stone
A house is just a house
Until someone calls it a home
And a feeling is just a feeling
Until someone calls it love.

I did not wake up this morning
In fact I never went to sleep
Up late staring at the ceiling
Lights dance and shadows creep
Unable to understand how I am feeling
Surprised, confused, too dark to see
Thinking, thinking, thinking, thinking
Curtains drawn on what is meant to be.

I am sure that I could love you
Go get a job and start to save
Take out a loan on my own house
Open an account at the local bank
Or I could say goodbye for now
Ignore the fire in my brain
Far be it from me to stick around
Without knowing what this means.

There is a definition for every word
There is a reason for everything
Sep 01
Maisie N's picture

The Architect

The city stands on strong foundation
While your heart beats soft and slow
Hurricanes tear through your imagination
Skyscrapers lost to rain and snow
As the world takes back it's former station
Wonder only nature can know
Architects watch in fascination
Know there is no way to manufacture the world.

To create would be incredible
Yet your hands and voice work overtime
To make what is inconceivable
To bring what is empty to life
To say whe you mean because it is meaningful
To let the world turn without passing you by
To know that you are capable
In your spirit, body and mind

And I could never be a builder
As I stand before you, the architect
Visions of ivory ballustrades
Swimming and glittering through your head
I stand in awe of your creativity
In unprecedented fear and fascination
Of what you can bring to life, make to be
Admiration and aspiration.
Sep 01
Maisie N's picture

Grandfather's Stories

He said that where he came from
The world was falling apart
Amidst poison gas and fiery bombs
There was no room for breath or art
When those around him questioned his existence
His identity and his culture
His home became a vaulted prison
A padlock around his heart.

He said that when he moved away
A weight lifted from his chest
But he felt some part of him was missing
Something was pulling him back
The ones he had to leave behind
Uncles, cousins, grandparents
It was enough to make a man wonder
What he will sacrifice for his religion.

 He could talk for hours and hours
Stories from before he was free
Of writing letters by candlelight
To people he knew he would never meet
To the love of his life
To the wife he would never marry
To the people he would not know before he died
But who everyone should have the chance to meet.
Jun 03
Maisie N's picture


Morning coffee tastes bitter
But your lips taste so sweet
Waking up never felt better
Yet you don't know what you are to me.
I write your name in clandestine letters
That I will never let you read
For I refuse to be a beggar
I refuse to let you see me.

For you are the blood I spit into the sink
After I brush my teeth too hard
Wash it away, give you no reason to think
That I feel anything in your regard
Scrub from my mouth the taste of yesterday
Tear your hands away from my heart
For I'd sooner let it bleed than ask you to stay
Your fingernails leaving crescent moon scars.

You are the first aid cabinet that I run too
When my wounds are dripping blood
But you are also the ground that I hit too hard
When I trip over myself trying to run.
The truth is that yes, you are the fire
But just as much the flood
You douse the flames you dare to start
May 28
Maisie N's picture

Parting Wishes

Name the feeling I get
As I watch you undress
Forgetting myself entirely

Name the rhythm of my heart
As I listen to you confess
Secrets for my ears only

Name the colors of your eyes
That enrapture and obsess
My mind with sparkling subtlety

Name the sound of a bullet
Exiting the chamber
Name the sound of losing me.

If I get shot down in the hallway
I want you, the last to see me
Not to place roses on my grave
Or an altar in the library
I want not to be remembered
As a headstone in the cemetery
Just spread my ashes on the river
Force no one else to grieve.

No good has come from headlines
From politicians with empty minds
From statisticians and protest signs
In the hands of children unrefined
So easy still to dismiss
Yet getting harder to ignore
"America, you have to stop this
Before we all turn out like her."
May 12
Maisie N's picture


You were a dark, abandoned chapel
At the end of a long and winding road
You were the place to which I escaped
On the nights that I needed to be alone
The words that collected between my lips
Spilled onto pages, the poems that I wrote
For you, for pain, for love, for the world
Journals filled with heart and anecdotes.

I could write for hours and hours
And still be without words to show how I am feeling
How you are the best thing in my life
My masterpiece on the chapel ceiling
You may call me Michelangelo
And I will call you, my love, Sistine
For of all the wonders in this world
You are the most worth seeing.

I believe shattered glass to be beautiful
And scribbles in margins worth reading
That every word is meaningful
Regardless of who is speaking
You live your life by different rules
You call me young and naive
So alone, I walk your hallowed halls