she laughed enough to migrate an entire flock of birds. that was how she said...– -Jonathan Safran Foer
first sonnet ever.
when the tap water sunk its venom and strung them early halos my parents consoled me over the women who were smooth and bald as cellos. “don’t worry! hair grows back! in any color God may choose!” a woman whose hair is less bend than slack can suddenly sprout corkscrews. as if my mother held their hair and scissors, curled them like a bow i should not be surprised, or stare if...
on the myers briggs personality test.
i am not an introvert. i am an extrovert who has shit to do.
how to be a slam poet
intangiblecollective: sierrademulder: tell an auditorium of a thousand gawking seagulls things your mother will never hear. recognize the stale loaf of bread in the mirror. rip the best scars of yourself into starving confetti and scatter it on the beach.
i’ve got a handful of poems about familial relations, sex, love, anti-love, and body image. if anyone has a unique idea they’d like to see me tackle, an exercise, or some sort of inspiration, please leave it here. i’ll love you forever. is that enough?
before i could read, i’d crack open the fat legs of a fortune cookie and ask him what they said. “megan is the most beautiful girl in the world.” everytime.
There is not one big cosmic meaning for all, there is only the meaning we each...– Anaïs Nin (via fatalistichues) (via quote-book) (via youpopquizkid) brian, i feel like you’d dig this.
white flag for napowrimo.
no more 30 poems in 30 days. new challenge: 40 poems in 14 days.
lightbulb mouth podcast. listen for the second...
18/30 - WHEN THE INVISIBLE MAN WAS IN THE ELEVATOR
He took his big, invisible finger and pressed every button on the way down. The numbers illuminated like dominoes on fire, and passengers appeased the confused onlookers simply by waving hello. Each stop added seven and a half minutes to the commute of the elevatees, which coincidentally saved John P. Closehanger’s flesh from being pilled by an oncoming taxi. Plump with air, the Invisible Man...
james warren's first experience with sushi
he pours soy sauce into a saucer, believes it to be tea. i watch him take a sip before i warn him.
17/30- Thomas Edison on the Amazon River
When the light bulbs popped he was reminded of his failure, his mockery of daylight. Nightly, Thomas’s lovers unscrewed his invention, preferred the softness of candles. It was then he sought wood, string and solitude. Thomas built a raft without outlets or wire. Weaved his escape beneath a pale ribbon of sky. He drifted in the Amazon for awhile, admiring the work of a greater...
Anonymous asked: I think yours is the kind of innate talent that can't be learned (sadly for me.)
One day I will buy a plane ticket and see you live :)
One day I will buy a plane ticket and see you live :)
at budget appeal. Megan: they just asked the queer...
(via theviewfromthelowdive) i can’t make this shit up.
i owe you poems.
goodnight baby. i’ve loved you long before i decided to be alive.
15/30 - where the money has gone.
bus tickets out of new paltz. metro cards. asian cuisine. poet books. poet books. poet books. french fries. other people’s gas bills. lucky dresses to wear to slams. entrance fees into poetry venues not the bowery. i’ve got the golden ticket. cranberry vodkas. a box of “almost-black” hair dye. produce, rung up as bananas, every time.
14/30 - eating peach.
please. dont call it a pussy. a pussy is full of hair that tumbleweeds in your throat. it smells of cat food and hisses when startled. while a pussy likes to be stroked, you don’t want to put your mouth on one. a pussy is far too indepedent for how much time mine would like to spend with you. pussy implies that it can be domesticated, and mine can not. do not call it an oyster. what i have...
the trees wore red overcoats, like audrey hepburn.– tom bair, on autumn.
13/30 - when dracula went to the pawn shop
he tried to barter his teeth. “theyre sharp enough to puncture rubber!” he bragged. the lady cashier lifted her brow, pointed to her ex-lover’s car and said “prove it.” Dracula wrapped his mouth around a tire till it flattened like roadkill. “i’d also like to trade this mirror,” said the vampire. “it has never worked for me.” the...
12/30 - the motorcycle type.
1 when he showed up at her doormat with a diamond, and a question he seemed more like a cat; a dead bird beneath his paw. should she be proud; maybe grateful? was it some kind of fucking prize? should she scratch the ears? or tug slow on the tail? or shut the door on his feet and sweep up the toenails? 2 once he said, “you are not the motorcycle type.” it was then that she...
tell me of your chat roulette experiences. i am turning them into a poem. (?)
11/30 - post cupsi.
listening to writer interviews while cooking dinner. using travel size shampoo in the home shower. snapping at the poetry of squirrels fucking in the crawl space. my suitcase, myself; refusing to unpack.
10/30 - manic.
i know these fits can be frustrating. these days when i have no skin and you are an open, dripping grapefruit. (i’m kidding baby. i still have skin! that was my fancy was of avoiding the word “tears.”) “just because i was stabbed in the back doesn’t mean kissing there will fix it” is just the kind of melodramatic shit i would say and hope you didn’t...
deuscain asked: Your poems are lovely.
my line was “he stood there in the corner like communism, far too perfect to work.” i said “he stood there in the corner like communism, far too perfect.” red scare. red scare. red scare.
dear megan, do not leave tumblr open on hotel lobby computer love, brian
9/30 - maid in manhattan.
if i was a hotel maid, i’d swipe the littlest things: an eye pencil sharpener, or single cufflink. i’d wind their dental floss tightly around my finger ‘til it turned purple, then white. i’d switch the channel on all the televisions to scrambled porn and press my ear to the keyhole to hear the couples fight. but if you came here, with your new lover checked in under a...
8/30 - the environmentalist versus the privatist.
he refuses to shower with the girl he sleeps with. not for lack of love, but a surplus of hygiene. oh, how she loves that boy. that glittering asshole.
7/30- what to do when your boyfriend finds out...
for the first time, do not judge him for smoking a cigarette. purse your lips for a drag of it, and hope he kisses you. hope your face is not a reminder of what he gave up and how little he has to show for it. consider making love right there. consider letting him shoot the future he lost with her inside you. do what you always do. take what is not yours, and make it your poem. there are two...
6/30 - the athiest.
the first time we made love, i realized why i never prayed. one human can only say oh god so many times.
headed with the rest of the new paltz slam team to emerson college in boston, to compete at the largest national collegiate poetry slam. this tournament, which is so much more than that, is the reason i still go to college and haven’t run off with a hare krishna, or a criminal, or my dog. i’m committed to keeping up with NaPoWriMo [30 poems in 30 days] but it’s going to be hard...
5/30 - scenes from a courtyard mariott
he undressed the complimentary pillow chocolate. she turned on the television. he mumbled something about room service she looked for her own name on the menu. he said “i hope the kids we don’t have are safe.” she said “i hope they’re drowning in the piss-filled pool.” he jostled his wedding ring against pennies for clamor, she thought of the lobby ice...
4/30 - native v. native
when he reached the new jungle, with its metal bears and their peculiar honking, he cursed the lumberjack who shaved branches off buildings, and his own feet, for all he could not climb. when he cracked open a pigeon and ate its wing, a cult of boys with painted lids bowed down, as two policeman carried him away all wide-eyed and feather-mouthed. when he took off his hat to pray in the language...
3/30- the american dream.
2.5 children which means twins, and a fruit salad of ear and limb.