Tag Archives: poem

[sic] innate free write

So, this might be terrible. I don’t even know. I woke up from another disturbing dream and just grabbed my pen. I wrote this whole thing with my eyes half-closed, in the real world but still hearing the screams of the dream world. Here’s what I came up with. I used to write a lot of poems like this, using wordplay, rapid fire poetry slam style.

i am always screaming

in my dreams

my voice is hoarse

from all this wailing

they are jailing


i am imprisoned by




i am such a good girl

i hate being such a good girl




while everyone else gets to act



i’m going fucking crazy

red hot rage

on this page

where’s my stage

let me out of this cage

sideshow freak

circus geek

biting the heads off of

barbie dolls

this plastic tastes terrible

bitter and hard

like my heart

like my resolve

i cannot solve




but i can fight it

deflect it

reject it

i am stronger than you ever expected

don’t blink

or you’ll miss the amazing trick

where your actions literally make me sick

and i spew right onto your shoes

chunks of knowledge

bilious brew

erodes the very bones of you

climbs up your limbs like creeping death

dissolves you ’til there’s nothing left

hose you off the cold concrete

joyfully splash in your defeat

my skin bronzing in the heat

goddess of the sun

i have won

i have won.

I definitely want to edit it, but it makes the bones of a good poem, I think.


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macabre poem

i sink into the bathtub

steam kinking up the curls at the nape of my neck

sirens play a song outside my window

screaming, glass smashing against the pavement

a symphony of recklessness


a cold concrete jungle waiting to warm in the swell of summer

i run my hair under the faucet

cool stream clashing with a pool of heat

my stomach muscles tremble as i

try to keep myself from going under



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spring: a short poem en route to AWP

new london, ct.

the sea looks like crumpled gray silk

kicked at carelessly by mother nature

tangled in sheets

one more round of tumult and then

we will have our spring

clapboard houses perched on bluffs

dusty rusty rock and sand

surrounded by history

rain spatters like

morse code on the windows


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