Free Verse
more elegies for a small town
1 loneliness engulfs my thirtieth summer / I lose many things under the summer heat: a half inch of my cervix / my whimsy, and any desire for it / my grandmother / my friends / my sense of belonging / I abandon the pretense of inclusion / life lacks meaning, enrichment / I circle my cage / slam my body against the glass / I lash out, dangerous / to anyone who gets too close / ignore the warning signs and double barriers / and you will lose a limb / I will sink my teeth into everything / mauling / I want to know how it feels / to be messy / to play the victim / stick my tongue out at turned backs / and cry bitch in response / I am feral / I think I’m about to break 2 life as a living ghost: always the hostess, never a bridesmaid. I exist only in theory, a memory of a memory you might remember someday. I fill my table as if doing so will keep me distracted from my loneliness. how else would I survive? life as a living ghost: I am giving away each part of myself, until I am gone. 3 the last three people to wrong me / to hurl insults from slurred tongues / wake up sober in jail cells / poetic karma for my own sentence / in the prison of their addictions / she says, you don’t fucking know me / and I am one part laughter, three parts rage, shaken / and poured over ice / because I know a city of strangers all too well / I know who does pills and who does coke and who does heroin / who is divorcing and who is cheating and who is stealing / and I knew she was a problem / thirteen months before assault charges and rehab / the totaled car that wasn’t hers / I hold this knowledge with my sadness / with my anger / I hold the guilt and shame of people who do not know my name 4 hope isn’t soft here. it grows in jagged shards of broken beer bottles. I have the conscience of a wildfire; a destructive, desolate thing. I’ve forgotten the taste of empathy. at the end of it all, I am empty. I no longer know if I want to be whole, nor if I can be. 5 I want to be soft / worthy of love / kind / I am too much, I know this / I can feel it / like watching a drink fall from an edge in slow motion / contents spilling up and over the rim / the moment it hits the ground / the ripple in the glass at contact before shattering / this is my grief / my joy / my rage / my love / I can feel it but I cannot stop it / the fracturing / and it is too much, I know this / this is what I have become here / a monster / or maybe this is who I always was / a mess of a girl / a scavenger drawn to the bloody carcass / feasting on chaos / where do I belong / if not here? and with you / you with your own ghosts of flesh and liquor / haunting you and haunting me / there’s blood in my poetry again / and you do not deny me that small sharpness
By katherine j zumpano3 months ago in Poets
A Different Kind of Romantic
If you’re looking for my love, you might not find it in the sweet scent of flowers though who could deny the allure of a rose From the fragile beauty of its petals to the dangerous beauty of its thorns each shade symbolic of the many forms of love Keep seeking but you will not find my love even among the rarest of jewels But who am I to deny the glint of a favorite gem clasped around my neck, wrapped around my finger You will find it in the most subtle form shown through quiet devotion of everyday presence So quiet and subtle, that seeking eyes might overlook You will find it in the simplest form in my attentiveness to you your favorite things your preferences the little things you think I don’t notice Look beyond the affections of love of the most grandeur Then you will see it wasn’t always about the flowers and gems You might say I’m not a romantic but in reality, I’m just a different kind My love was there It’s been there all along
By Jasmine Aguilar3 months ago in Poets
What I plan to do with my one wild and precious 36th summer. Top Story - July 2026.
I made enough plans to shame the stars. I scattered them across the sky like constellations: following train tracks, and skinny dipping in rivers. Eating lángos standing up at beach bars until there isn't a grease-less spot on our sun-roasted bodies left. Or we could wander through cities, our pockets full of the wrong maps. I'd call myself Lucy, and you'd refuse to play your part. But in my head I'd still pretend you're Mario, the exchange student who only needed a little love. Plans are like fireflies—cup one in your hands, a flicker and it's already gone. So this is what I plan to do with my one wild and precious 36th summer: memorize the blades of grass, kiss the face of passing storms, search for true darkness until I, too become a glowing whisper before laying my bones in loving hands.
By Imola Tóth3 months ago in Poets
Soundlessness
The sound of Two eyes blinking As I ruminate Silence deafens me Redefining the meaning of This deceptively Non-Binary concept Every roaring inhale Every gale force exhale Leaves me bedraggled Blown out by the Fractions of decibels Searching for the myth Of soundlessness My blood rushes Through vessels Like an ocean Invading a subway tube Drowning out my Thoughts and former mood As I take Thunderous steps Across a forest of Screaming Fibrous bristling nails Digging into Skin and bone A metallic trilling Ramps up At a moment’s Notice The flaming touch of Sonic doom Emanating from Inside my racing Mind Adjusting Always louder Then, the last truth You uttered Endeavoring to suss out The formation of Text on your lips As I cringe and Flinch at the Siren reaching a Fever pitch Watering eyes Pained grimace Static blinds snow-bound eyes Racing existence to The garbling finish
By K.B. Silver 3 months ago in Poets
The Smell of Burst Balloons
I don't recall how old I was Maybe that's a lie A clever line I just say To sound accidental anecdotal nostalgic notation - because - I feel well...I feel so damn old - We all do that, don't we? it can't just be me - But I recall that jolt that rush The surge of electricity as As my hands grip the rubber Full of breathy promise, And I rub the enlarged sphere Against my hair - Closing my eyes with pleasure, anticipating As the rubber balloon demands And then after just seconds It happens, gravity defeated - But is it really, well no, but to me A small nipper, knee high to a... ... You know - some kind of miracle, of science, unseen powers and laws dictating our movements and life - When I was young the need to do it always gripped at me Or, if I'm honest, when my height shot up I still felt that urge, but nothing stays The same can't stay the same - I stand on any day no particular day A Tuesday evening. A Thursday after dawn. Most likely a Saturday... - A Saturday after our wedding anniversary It was twenty-two years to the day Since those words you say when asked - But in truth again - I don't remember the day I remember the smell - Of burst balloons Of the promise balloons offer to rekindle something specific From my past And look at those still inflated ... Waiting And take the rubber and rub it Against my skin my hair or at least - At least what's left of it as I chase That buzz that lightning bolt charge - But as I desperately Rub the balloon against my old head It's never Ever quite the same - Like the first time you hear that song You know the one We all have one Lyrics and melodies Echo echo echo ... In the silence We find ourselves in - In our heads When we need it But it never sounds the same - Still magical, still transformative But without that original fire - While everyone goes about their lives - I'm just stood there, static - Static - noun definition Not moving, unchanged - Static
By Paul Stewart3 months ago in Poets
