poetry app

this weary swan song,

a flighty girl always slipping
through your yellow-teethed want &
she tastes like another colour.

always running &
your smile a stitch in her side
like a knife, something
she pulls out & throws away.

something she leaves on the side
of a back-country road to rust.

this doesn’t end with you balancing on
a sharp edge & winning. it ends
with her, miles away,

smiling at the city lights.
—  Maddie C, GIRL/GONE 

sometimes you’re the Sun
shining brightly on my day.

others you’re the Moon
lying patiently in my wake.

once in a while you’re Mars
incomprehensible and stray.

but mostly you are Pluto
more distant than I can say.

—  letters to pluto #1 - a. CLAW
The weather channel app tells me that its thunder-storming where you are, animated lightning crackling through the night sky. It’s sunny where I am, infinite blue skies except for the perfect cartoon clouds above the mountains. We are worlds away from each other, and I’m still thinking about you. Are you thinking about me?
—  i write imaginary letters to you when i daydream

first kisses, as if i
had been holding my breath
for the past few hours,
looking at you through my eyelashes
hoping that you liked me
as much as i liked you.

sugared kisses, as if i
had painted my lips with the red
of a strawberry, picked from the field
with just the right ripeness
and just the right sweet.

tired kisses, as if i
had only three hours of sleep
and you were the first one
who has told me good morning
the entire day.

goodnight kisses, as if we
had just had the time of our
lives and we didn’t want to leave
but the kiss was a promise
and not a goodbye.

quick kisses, as if i
was running late but
as long as i was with you
that was okay
(but really— i have to go)

last kisses, as if we
had reached the end of us
the end of an era
the end of a story
and it wasn’t dramatic
but it wasn’t sweet
it was just you and i.

—  there are many types of kisses || k.w.

Your beauty is a curse from your father
A poison apple offered that you were forced to take
But you wear it as if it were an evening dress
Instead of chains that bind you

They only see the green of your eyes
Your cupid lips
Your cascading locks of gold
And you pretend like it doesn’t kill you when they call you ‘baby’ and leave you to wonder why you ever let them in

Your body is a temple at which they worship
But they’re sinners that you pretend to forgive
For you have been told that you don’t have to speak your mind
Your beauty speaks for you better than your voice will ever manage

I wonder if you know what they say behind your back
And if you feel the twist deep inside
Because you know they’re the revolutionaries
And you’re a martyr for a cause you don’t believe in

I hope you’ll realise that you’re more
That your beauty isn’t an apology for your character
That forgiveness is not handed out freely to those who don’t bother asking
That they don’t know who you are and how many jewels it would take to get you to stay

the hot new app is called
the living swiping left & right
for ghosts
some of us are trying to find
a memory
most want to prove we can delete
old voicemails
there are humans who hate the sound
of their lonely
so much that they will call upon
every spirit
if only for a moment to imagine
i am not the
that haunts
my own bed
inside this darkness
to touch death & remember
how to be the last saloon standing
inside a whiskey dusted ghost town
—  HAUNTR by Alex Dang!