the world & words of a new york city writer

gretchen is a writer in new york city

Category: poetry (page 11 of 63)

open house

open house

this. six foot, something, southern skateboarder
showed up. again after i say… forfeit.
initial resist. fuzz and disorder.
he owned this gift; eradicate torment.
forte pulse. piano words. i unfolded
around him. environment of one. choice.
we closed the door. and both… repaired broken,
he spread me out to discover my voice;
we filled each other’s world, then, disappeared.
i stretched beside an open window i
filled my lungs with city; swearing him near.
late night calls. sideways looks. 4am cries.
a new life texture. to sway and reside.
devouring time until he’s inside.

ode of despondency

ode of despondency

this novelty
of love
knocked
on
my door. Continue reading

someone has youtube

After being shitty over my second “husband” deleting all of my videos during another childish tantrum, I decided to fire youtube up again today.

Uh oh.

My first project from my video poetry page. Me reading The Summer That Burned Me over Mind One.

That one hurt, blog tribe. Never trust a pair of violet eyes. Continue reading

the summer that burned me

the summer that burned me

hibernating. to protect from outside
weather. a fast season of summer came
with sandy gold locks and violet blue eyes.
convincing me temperatures stay the same.
winter petals clenched. drooping to the floor. Continue reading

a venerated vehicle

a venerated vehicle

between. this. (k)new
combination of reality.
someone hurt him.
this white trash baby
mamma drama. loose
pussy suburb trick.
i saw it in his face. not her.
to real women; she’s nothing.
sometimes i practice not
telling truth to what’s wounded.
my throat was slit before –
and i came back in this way
i never talk about with anyone.
but i saw him, and how he
moves. his hands create. quickly.
and he says little and i am
running again. after broken limb
past. he escaped from a lie
close to how i was once executed.
my words were abused previously.
my hips widen and thighs flex
in a tight lipped consciousness.
i bow into understanding.
back stretch agreement.
he never sees the ropes of my
locks thrashing side to side and
in circles. a keyless entry.
every time i burn down what
i could never save. i can’t help
wondering if one beat will
walk the same pace. true.


wedding dresses
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