the world & words of a new york city writer

gretchen is a writer in new york city

Category: poetry (page 1 of 64)

i still fuck with you

some(x)
(timez)

when we walked
these
creatures and
things kept. moving
we swam
in salt—
water. and (8)ate
in be(tween)
verses. we did (k)not
talk. a—
bout; the most
remarkable. period
of time: getting t(o)wo(o)…
MUCH.
there. a/our/e functions
how no one will
ever. as we keep
singing. i love saying
no—
thing.

pairing paroxysm

pairing paroxysm

We can
Pretend
And act
Like anyone
Else. Ever. Matter(ed)
When
I am
Rocking inside
Tides of
Not telling
That I never
Cared. To show
This side
Of a circle
That rounds
And comes back;
Ties. Into (k)not(s)
Which I
Rope around
My neck. Nodding
As if every –
Thing remains
Fine.

here. nor. there.

I’m back in town.

The plan was to hide in sticks-ville for my entire out-of-office time… alas, things are always beckoning me back to my favorite girlfriend of Manhattan.

I reckon I’ll stick around two weeks, then dip back out. The trees and sunshine are suiting me.

Also, my heart is bandaged after being diced. Repair isn’t the right term. Some things don’t exactly heal, getting better is a start.

In usual form, I wrote a poem about it. I promise I’m not usually so predictable… only when it comes to heartbreak and poetry.

(untitled)

we remained
beyond a(s)(certain)
state. we spoke —
i mean he
said things to(o)
my heart. that
you would never
he/re/ar… understand
when we combined
together, became
a new expression.
i never sang before
exhaling our whisper
and blowing out —
extinguishing all
prior pictures of
never. before.

 

face kicks. life licks.

The past week-ish hiding in the forest immensely helped my head. The roughly 14 days that led up to this particular stint was head spinning to say the least. A lot of life-culling has been taking place behind the scenes.

Regardless of consciously projecting love to whatever’s around me at any given time, I keep a small click close. When I’m not deliberately breaking my phone, there’s usually about six numbers in it.

It’s not that I’m misanthropic, it just happens that the worst I ever get hurt is off the back of human behavior. So rather than expose myself to the risk at close-hand, I admire from a far and silently blow gold kisses that I hope contribute to the creation of a higher state.

I’m steadying from a throat slit that came from left field. It was an inadvertent slash from one of the most wonderful people I have ever met. For a minute, I believed it was a divine addition to the soul circle keeping me together. The ones I share the best secrets with.

The person I fell in love with left as fast as they appeared. I shed tears and wrote a poem. I guess that’s what I usually do.

Killed Commitment

my heart
collapsed
at the hit
from one
voice. declaration
and detraction
like i cannot
be any part
of my truth —
crushed another
way of false.
i wished
he knew
we shared
the same
scar.

 

let me love you

he had these
long legs and blue
eyes and i
immediately
complied with a
completely. please
could you possibly
keep me? hold
this disheartened
heart that holds
anything close. that
comes with this
imperfect perfection. Continue reading

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