Response | buriedinwords

Response to eyes of fire :

skin of nature

Use your ears to hear the earth's voice

And feel the air with each breath you take

Response to Reminder :

Aid

Take what you will from the dew covered leaves

for you alone could burn it back to life

Response to Mustafa the Poet :

"Change"

People make money. Money "makes" people. But there is no reason

To become money. Consumed in wealth, consumed by sin. They who

Rule the world fight themselves in vain. For "the people." "Change" is

Made by overpaying but getting a deficient return to life. Giving

Taking, giving, take, take, taking. But you do not have to be consumed by

This coinage of confusion, lies. A war for change looms, and you could be

One penny in a sea of dimes, looking like you're not worth much

But valued to make the difference in "cents."

Response to Hosho MacCreesh :

Rags

Ours are but rag-picked poems & rag-picked lines

Scratched into the creosote & brimstone

To wear this tired life on our backs & carry our own gravestones

Talking ourselves to death & writing poems only rags would read

Response to Rain Song by r.m. drake :

Write Love

stand in stars as clouds

blot out the light. she stared

as their cold voices faded and

warm rain came down. a

silhouette in the street, she wrote

love on her arms to feel the despair

of being found by civilization

Response to Shake the Dust by Anis Mojgani :

Growth

Shake the dust, don't get covered, run

And have the wind renew you as it's razors

Tear away your old self. Let water wash you

Let the fire burn away old scars, regrow

In a garden of yourself

Response to Explaining Depression to My Mother by Sabrina Benaim :

Explaining How I Do Not Understand to Anyone

Hey, I'm sorry. I know that I frustrate you but I

Just do not understand. When you tell me about things I know

I should worry about, you ask me how can I not connect?

When you are in front of me, pouring your heart out. But I am not

Affected. Even something as simple as an exam question you know you got wrong, or when you

Lost that words to that song, I could not get caught up in the throng

Of your emotions.

I am a little dwarf in the flask

Desperate for knowledge, created by some speck of your Truth, but

I feel nothing for you who tries to wake me. Make me some

Thing. Someone that can understand you and why you weep,

But it cannot be me for I do not shed the same tears.

I do not comprehend the same thoughts like moths to

A flame, I am attracted, I'd forget your name

In a heartbeat, and I repel it without knowing. I could never reach the

Searing hot flame to feel the same pain

As you begged for me to cry a waterfall with you. Instead,

I wandered lost, led along by the figments I saw created in

Your mind as I listened to how you deemed

My mind unfit to understand what I am 'sorry' for.

Just as a slow-boiled frog does not realize its own death as it cooks,

How could you expect me to know what it

Feels like to cook if I am not you in that same pot?

Hey, I'm not sorry. I do not know how to feel like you

Just like a rock or steel or any piece of wood laminated on floors.

Light can burn and open my eyes as much as it can shine, but I

Was born wearing a blindfold.

Response to Flowers On the Skull by r.m. drake :

Words On the Heart

She was made

Of all little things

but she often

had a livelihood

in the way she spoke.

all that she ever wanted was

for someone

to see her

while she was dreaming

making sense of her world

and the handful of words

dancing

from the top of her heart

Response to Mending Wall by Robert Frost :

Untitled

To think that you could never love a rose

Or frozen boulders spilling in the sun

To chase the white rabbit along the rows

Truly for you, life has just begun

My life, my love, my heart and my wonder

With truth that you could tear this world asunder

That sends the frozen groundswell under

The dog will howl and chase and blunder

Beside me lives the restless neighbor, dear

He always yells at me with eyes of fear

That I might steal his apples and his cows

When I only have pine above my brow

Response to Lang Leav :

Did I Ever?

i wish I'd never told you I loved you,

for our friendshipwas lost to oblivion

Response to Warsan Shire :

To My Future Love

I love you. I don't know who you are yet, but

I love you.

I will love you even more when we meet

Already, your name is fire on my tongue

An ocean of wonder to my lungs

I am a hopeless romantic, I know, but it makes

No difference.

I cannot explain such ecstasy, but for

You whom I've not met, I look forward to

When tears leak from my heart and memories

Leap out of my sore eyes

When you are in sight

Response to Rickey Laurentiis :

Ecstasy

we are boys and girls filled with

chemicals. no more Adult than when

we smoke from the eyes and see

visions through the nose. and

like the next, we shall fall as our parents

before us, at their feet,

at god's feet, before we are to know

if he is real. for we have seen him

through these silver spoons and needles

and need no more proof of his existence

as we ascend and fall into his kingdom.

Response to Tyler Knott Gregson :

Puppet Wings

Dance. Fly above the rafters, paint your mask

Rehearse your lines until your smile breaks

S t r u n g along by flitting shadows

You are suspended high above the ground

Untouchable

Then They will cut all the strings to send you

Crashing on the ground, a mere puppet in the act

we twirl and spin on cold glass floors

as shards tear at our feet

we begin to reflect red, but you

don't complain. i say nothing but wonder why

as you lay battered, shards pinning your

freedom to the stage of the microscope

so use all your might and

rip yourself from your marionette body

and crawl far away from this nightmare theatre

before They examine you, pick apart all your

features and remake you to be

UnReCoGnIzAbLe

Response to Darshana Suresh:

Burgundy

1. Almost the dark violet in the rainbow, the

same I see from your cardigan

2. It is a strange warmth. Familiar but stranger still

I'm scared to have its arms around me

3. don't know, don't know, don't know, don't know,

DON'T KNOW- WHY do I not feel the same?

4. and you'll be standing, wearing that same cardigan

5. Warm again and distant, a memory of every day

6. as you paced, reciting lines in a foreign language

7. Nowadays I don't see it so often - maybe you've

Grown out of it or there were tears in the fabric

8. but I miss such familiarity, thought I- Never mind

Response to Amanda Lovelace :

Few Words

4. When I was young, I never lived in the cruelty of children

3. Just tell your problems to fuck off, it'll be okay if you just live

2. If you say something, say it with confidence and don't be hesitant

1.Spend time with your friends, enjoy life, confess - don't allow yourself regret

Response to Rudy Francisco

Peonies

In potted soil, a hand grows

and fingers stretch for the sky

searching for life beyond

Peonies sprout row on row

over graves that once held life

not needing the sun to grow

laughing at bones that reach up high

there is no heaven when flowers die

Response to Nikita Gill :

Self-Love

3. my singing voice, though I hate it recorded

6. dreaming and remembering those stories is better than reality

9. to write is to express the soul of explosive creativity

Response to Yrsa Daley-Ward :

Self-Hate

Honestly? What do I truly like

About myself?

There are so many stages

In which I've hated this

Gorgeous, strange body of mine

And there's not much else to say.

I hate it

I love it

There's no difference

When they exist as one

And that is acceptance.

But it's not really my body

There are limitations, I totally

Get it. But I don't know

How I feel considering my mind

Is much more vast than

Any-body in existence

All minds are. That's the

Only thing that matters to me

And that is bliss.

Response to Trista Mateer :

Like the Stars, Like the Night

gazing to the dark cloth above

is a favorite pastime

filled with wonder

and little lights shining

like reading lamps

for planets.

royal blue, raven black

birds and bats still see

through glass lenses

all the brilliant colors of the night

and i am just a shadow

drinking in the moon above

quenching a thirst for its glow

Response to Eileen Myles:

Lovely

Love, love, love, love

if you love me

I must ask why

but it's unfair of me

to ask why

my words of love must

sound empty to you.

But if so, I

don't know what else to do

for you, to not feel

like you have to

kill yourself.

I am so

powerless to a feeling

so familiar

to my skin

where I cut thin

and you grabbed at my

shins to keep me

to pull me to

the end of the tight rope.

I was so sure

you loved me then

so honestly, you did

and so honestly do I.

I just wish- No.

How unfair of me

to disregard

you

like that. I guess that's

part of the problem.

Where my eyes held stars,

yours see nothing

but clouds, and we are

submerged

in puddles of

tears.

Perhaps remaining by you

is the only way to

clear your eyes

and in turn,

your lovely skies.

Response to Bythe Baird:

Numb

I stand for the blood that has spilled,

too many times by

one's own hand,

because I once severely thought

I wasn't killing myself,

when I was really just

feeling numb.

Response to Marie Howe:

Smile

He asked me "what"

I "wasn't sure."

What kind of a response was that?

Putting yourself into my life

without any permission,

forcing yourself to hear my misery,

I don't know why you'd do that.

You asked "what"

I "can't say."

So instead you said

"smile,"

and I "didn't know how to react."

So when you accidentally

tripped and ran into a wall,

and turned around with

a goofy look on your face,

I was so surprised I

I felt the corners of my mouth

turn upwards.

And you smiled back.

Response to Sierra Demulder:

Silly Fears

I'm scared of a lot of things:

Horror films, falling, rollercoasters,

the general fear of dying, big fires.

But there is nothing more terrifying

than the

passage of

time.

Silly, right? No one would think twice

until you are 2 years, 10 years, 43 years older

than you originally thought,

and you've bypassed the mid-life crisis

without breaking a sweat! Man, aren't I amazing!

But... it's gruesome

just how fast the time

ticks by.

I would miss it if I

were no so conscious,

so it is

scary.

Perhaps even just as scary

as a tarantula on your face,

though that doesn't scare me

nearly as much as death.

More-so, that's I guess,

a journey closer to death

that I could still live through.

Funny how I've never broken a bone,

but I want to,

so I can experience that pain before I die.

Of course, I don't really.

That shit hurts. Anyone oughta know that.

But still...

would it be worse dying without

being able to relate to all the bones in my body

but being too inclined to

care for my heart?

I think not. Because I want to die

understanding myself.

Just because I speak in first person

does not mean I know what I'm thinking

or why I do things.

That scares me: having no control,

especially when I had to dissect that frog-

you know, in grade 10 science?

I won't touch a dead bug, oh no,

but I will carve the frog like a turkey

if you push my time limit.

And again, the time limit, where each second

of scooping up remains is another second less

in this funny thing called life.

I am so terrified

of the arms of death

coming to scoop me up when my

life-clock runs out. It's all

a little too scary.

But what's it matter to a

childish time bomb like me?

Response to Harry Baker:

Music

mu sic

mu-sic

mu-sick

sick of the sound

sick of the muse

what sound can be heard

in sickness

of sound?

when all that surrounds

is sickness that pounds

in my chest, my ears

my lungs, my fears

fear of being sick, being sick

in the sound

not able to hear

the music

no longer sick

immersed in music

Response to Omar Holman:

The Future In Money

1. We balance the budget on children's shoulders.

2. We gamble our future with children's money.

3. And playing with lives during playtime.

4. We have lost the right to sanity from our monstrosities.

5. Why are we stealing from each other? Is it different robbing lives? Because I can no longer tell.

6. We are killing freedom the way kids kill bugs. Squashing them under our sneakers, stamping on them until they do not even twitch.

7. We learn about finance and dollars in school, but we never learn how to earn a person's acknowledgment. We are so caught up in impressing others that we forget how to express ourselves.

8. Emotions are merely borrowed rent that I may one day have to pay back, but I am running from it because I've been taught to save every penny and that Death, no matter how much he lends, always gets his payday in the end, so it's worth escaping it as long as you can.

9. I am a stingy person for money, but I cannot calculate how many times I've calculated my change to the dollar, being so conscious of how I've changed. Money is an object, and it's worth more than any Monet.

10. I don't really know the value of money any more than I know the value of human life. During the Great Depression, money meant nothing, and your life was less than a half-cent to any god. For he would not visit, disgusted by our need of a thing created by His gifts, because our recession was perverted and unnecessary to continue loving. But for us, it was absolute to continue the world on its path of destruction and everlasting turbulence, when paper bills sway in the breeze, carrying our invested hopes along with them, never to be seen again.

Response to Sarah Kay:

Weird Boy

You're... kinda funny.

You sound weird when you talk

cuz your voice changes

and I don't really think I know you.

I feel like you're the kid sometimes,

cuz you don't get me a lot of the time

and I wonder if I'm seriously younger.

Mom uses the words "spaced out,"

and I think you're just that.

You're great at it. You're fast at it.

Like nothing even happened.

But you're still kinda funny.

You have these strange hidden talents

and though your voice changes

when you read, it makes the story

more interesting. I listen, then,

don't bother falling asleep,

but you're still pretty weird.

Sometimes how you speak is complicated

but I try my best.

So, I mean, keep doing it, I guess.

I can't tell you off cuz that's rude,

and I can't find any reason

to try and reason with you if

you won't get what I'm trying to say,

like, ever.

Response to Sam Rush

Colorblind

When I was little, I always wondered

the things you aren't supposed to wonder

"why is grass green? Why is there pulp?"

Why can't the grass look white

except when there is snow over it?

Why is your red not the same as mine?

What is color? How can you say

that something is pink

when I don't know what makes 'pink'.

For all we know, black could be blue,

and orange could be periwinkle

and we've just labeled them wrong, like

everything else.

Everything else that we've called

"color" is our blind eyes,

some seeing the colors so vividly and

segregating them from

the ones who see no difference.

We diagnose "colorblind."

There are new glasses out, that

help the colorblind see color for the first time.

I think this is amazing because some people

only see black and white,

and when you can see all the colors,

you'll see the beauty.

Everyone should have these glasses;

maybe then we call stop seeing grey

and be able to take in the beauty

of so many colors together.

Response to Rudy Francisco

Greetings

I am Chinese, born north and moved south

Born on December 3rd in 1999-

I think.

I was left in a supermarket for adoption.

My name is Charlotte, but

my first is Nian.

That word means 'year.' I don't know why

it's important, but

one thing's for sure.

It is the most said 'name' around New Years.

I am 5"3, and most of my friends are much taller.

It's a little discouraging,

but I can get around easier.

At least being small lets me run and hide easier.

I'm a coward for anything 'horror'-labeled,

but I wonder if I'd been raised differently, so

maybe I could be braver, and feel better.

A chubby baby, Dad was told that I would be healthy,

and I only get sick twice a year, but

as a kid, my waist was too small for jeans,

I could suck in my stomach to shape the muscles,

the body amazed me.

The mind amazed me, particularly my own.

I was obsessed with symmetry and favored my left side,

but I'm still not sure why.

There's a lot of things I don't know.

It's a bit discouraging.

They say ignorance is bliss, though for me,

ignorance has become indifference.

Watching the news with my grandma is a favorite pastime,

for a 1/2 hour a night, I watch with her.

It's the most I ever get out of tv.

I'm a damn good motormouth, too,

but I know that people always want me to shut up,

because I'm usually singing or talking.

It's a bit discouraging.

I went to paper words to avoid deafening they who listened.

I poured ink on my heart and turned it into

royal blue, dark grass, black, but it was stained crimson.

And when I speak, there are only flecks in my teeth

being spit out because people

would rather judge me than what I'm saying.

So I wear a surgeon's mask,

because you're afraid I'll get germs on you.

I say weird things, I talk about strange stuff,

but I love the voice I have.

Sometimes it's quiet, but mostly it's loud and

I couldn't ask for better,

when it is meant for opera and I can break windows

with just a whisper.

That's not discouraging.

It's not like I want my thoughts to infect you,

but I guess the way I preach them may get

a little irritating.

So now you're pretty discouraging.

I'm sorry I like to apologize cuz I'm so Canadian,

but we have a lot of rude people, too.

I think I'm rude. I can mind my manners but not if you

don't take mind of the manner in which

you decide to look at me from one day to the next.

I love to think of the different ways people split me.

To some, I am quiet. I barely speak a word.

I am polite and hold all the thoughts in as they

eat me from the inside. Why?

Because all the others see me as loud,

maybe even obnoxious at times, but even when I know it,

I don't really care.

If I cared enough to wonder how you care to think,

I wouldn't be caring enough to accept you.

I think all my friends are beautiful.

I love everything about them; eyes, hair, smile, heart.

I would not want them to change for the world.

I seldom see people as ugly, except for when they

decide to tear themselves open and let a

disgusting soul slip out.

Where their heart is as repulsing as Pro-Life signs,

and animal cruelty looks angelic next to their minds.

I like to wonder

about people's lives.

I like to make characters and their own lives

because even through fiction, there is often someone,

who has experienced just that type of metaphor.

And so here I am, so plainly and honestly

ME. Me. me.

Simply me in a compressed sort of way.

There is plenty more I could say, I'm sure.

But I'd rather leave it here.

Like my last thoughts about

the dirty napkin beside me.

Response to Reina Biddy

Trivial Matters

Bandaged flowers and finger cuffs

are all second nature to me,

where cacti shoes and teacups

are no surprise anymore.

When trashcans and lampshades

are all that remain of our faces,

it doesn't matter what we look like.

Our end is always disguised.

Response to Don Marquis

Caterpillar

Awful sweet, it looks,

to be a little summer wind

when it passes me and tries

to sweep me off my feet

from this little place on my leaf.

I just eat and eat,

and I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be

be it seems that I am

meant to fly.

Even when people say I am too fat

and will never get off the ground,

I'm sure the cocoon I will shed

will be enough to renew me.

People have squished my friends,

my friends have been thrown

and smooshed,

with all their sticky blood

flowing and oozing from their bodies.

I hope I do not become

just another corpse to be swept up,

to be tossed aside.

I am meant to fly high

like my cousins,

like perhaps my parents,

though I have never known them.

But that doesn't bother me.

Cuz people just want me to

bug-er off.

Response to Cremating A Daffodil by Jheo Navarro

Lighting of the Body

these emotions
like this body
will wilt, pale, silence,
burn, ember and dust
and then grow something else

And so, too, when my body has become

too exhausted to burn fuel.

When the embers of my eyes

will become ash,

but this time they will not be reborn,

for I am not a pheonix

or any other mythical creature.

I am only human, and though I am plain

I find that the way our souls burn

and the way we light fires by using our minds

is just as magical.