skin pulled taut and tight
burning like the light
that seeps through cracks
underneath the door

from stray branches and walking
throughout the woods, balking
at the idea
of no path

water rests on skin
as the drain pulls water in
and we are clean
as clean can be

pillow soft and wet from hair
the scratched skin no longer fair
skin is pulled taut and tight
as we drift off to sleep
 

random prompt: valentines day at a bus station

rain falls down, unforgiving against the pavement.
two pairs of shoes; worn to the soles, muddied from cutting through yards to reach the road. slapping through the thin puddles.
and yet they’re too late.
the bus pulls away right as they hit the sidewalk, panting and soaked to the bone. clothes cling to skin, hair sticks to the nape of necks. water slides over freckles and dimples. 
espresso hands curl into fists, punching at the rain. an exasperated sigh causes water to drip onto the lip of a pale girl.
“we missed it.” scratchy and grating, the pale girl’s voice fills the non-existing silence.
raven-haired, lanky, and burnt-almond brown, the boy beside her curls his lip. “what do we do now?”
the red head heaves a great sigh and moves towards the small glass structure. it reeks of cigarettes and cheap perfume, but it’s bissidly dry. 

worry has arrived
he sits at the open door
to my tired mind
waiting, not coming in

ivory teeth grind together
in thought as a
small bird
flies through the door

he is a robin,
perched precariously on an old oak
that has managed to grow inside
the unlocked door

worry looks in
in wonder, in confusion,
as the bird breaks
into song

the rhythms wraps around
the unwanted figure
until he
is gone

and i am free
of the thought of someone
at my door
in the shadows, the closet

of the people in 
the peripheral blur
in the idea that their thoughts
change me.
 

same photo, edited twice because i couldn't decide which one i liked more!
 

the music is playing,
dancing in a forgotten rythem 
beside deafened ears

i pay it no attention, for
my mind is elsewhere.

the music, a noise that does not exist
on paper, on a solid surface
has become a blur.

when i am focused, the noises become silence
but a loud silence,
the kind that hums,
the kind that you do not notice
until it is gone.


 

Sometimes, photos or poems will make you guess what the big picture is really about. Write or take a photo about something that will make the reader think more about what they're looking at!
 

 

 

freedom

noun

the power to do as you wish,
to love who you love,
to be you.

to speak,
write,
read.

to not be brought down
by shackles of self-doubt
and longing to see an open blue sky.

to be free
free of anything and anyone
who traps you down

to not have to hold onto the grass
to stop yourself from drifting up
into the darkness of being controlled

to wave a ripped, tattered flag
and still know
that you are free.

I want to write.
And yet here I am, deleting the same line over,
and over,
and over.
It feels like sometimes, words simply...
f
 l
  o
   w
      from us.
And the other times, words come to a
s
t
o
p.
We can't control it. Maybe others can. I can't. It's something so uncontrollable, and yet so unnoticeable. When the words flow, writing is so simple.  
I have a friend who says she can't write. I have multiple friends like that, who spend hours on a small haiku because they can't break that dam that stops the flow of thoughts and words and everything in between. 
The dam can be repaired, of course. But sometimes, once broken and rebuilt, it's easier to break again.