I am wrapped up in the tide and it crashes me against the shore

shaking my body with the impact

shattering every nerve with the pain

again

again

again

I twist and scream but all I receive are lungs filled with salt water

this

this is how it feels to have your heart broken

my sheets twist like a whirlpool around me and I am no longer in control of my limbs

I thrash as if possessed as gasps escape my throat

my face is wet with the taste of the ocean your eyes mimic and I am overwhelmed with pain

Space. The final frontier

whose voyages are yet to happen.

We quibble the concept of endless

and argue the concept of limitless

yet so far as we can tell we hang

balanced amidst both.

Look up at the stars and think

they’re so far away that some

are dead and you see light

from celestial ghosts.

And contemplate the galaxies

the billions spanning in the black

and think about what planets

hover within each.

And ruminate, just for a moment

how stellar is the interstellar

a vacuum of nothing, the road

between existences.

And possibly, just one day

we’ll figure out how to travel

in between the leagues of hopeless

void.

And maybe, maybe in the future

we’ll find others somewhat like us

who write poetry about neighbors

on the other side

of the universe.

"what the HELL?"

he shrunk away, defeated, deflated, embarrassed.

she leapt up from the couch, turning away as her heart pounded furiously

apoplectic, she stood there, her eyes finally meeting his

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, "I thought... you... I don't know."

she just stood there, trying to calm her pulse

"I'm sorry, Shellie." he whispered again, looking away

she left without a word, the door closing quietly behind her

he sat back on the couch and she sat down in the front seat of her car

their lips were still warm

her fury faded and she realized

she wasn't really angry

at all

Descriptors come so easily

Like cheap wine out of a cardboard cask

And while they may sound quite pretty

At least in my own head

I have to confess that while they flow

They clog my page in ways I dread

And before much time has passed

My story's been driven to quite a bore

And pages of dry prose have amassed

Enough to drive any wrinkly old grandma

Directly into a perfectly restive coma.

Literary sleep aids...

Hey, do you think there's a market for that?

She got lost in the noise. The clamor wasn’t unpleasant to her; it was something she could hide in, and Clare was very fond of hiding. People filtered in and out of the bus with eyes averted to their phones, buds in their ears, and on the rare occasion, noses in novels. She needed no such diversion. The movements caught her eyes, and she watched them with equal parts interest and trepidation, wishing in some part of her that she could observe behind the sanctity of bulletproof glass. It was unsettling to be so near that many bodies.

Time passed. Her stop was not for some distance. The office she worked at paid well but only in respect to whittling down her commute, which she did with dreaded public transportation. Initially she’d had to take anxiety medication just to get through it. Now she’d managed to whittle that down too, to just the curling and uncurling of a paperclip between nervous fingers.

The streets whirled by. She reached up to her face as her other hand fished out her pocket mirror. Flipping it open, she turned away as she checked her features. The makeup was smudged. Couldn’t have that. A quick dab and the blemish vanished. An important technique in her hiding.

People fascinated her even as she feared them. In front of her, she could see a Jewish man right his Yakama, and she took a moment to admire the little Star of David on its top. In the seat across, a toddler swung her legs in and out as her mother yammered away on a pink-cased android. The girl turned her head and studied Clare, before dimpling and waving shyly. Clare waved back, before looking out the window again.

The bus hummed to a stop. The exhaust sighed. More people filed on as others filed off, taking up vacancies. Her eyes widened momentarily as a large man made his way towards the back, a black man with powerfully muscled arms. The shirt he wore seemed barely to contain him, and he bore himself with straight-backed confidence and strength. When he took up the place beside her, grabbing the handhold hanging from the ceiling, she shrank back against the wall and tried not to make eye contact.

Her phone rang, and classical music poured out, a haunting Mozart motif. She flicked the call on and watched the man warily from the corner of her eye, hoping not to draw his attention.

“Clare!”

The shout was a bullet from the speaker, loud and furious. She yanked it from her ear and cringed.

“Please don’t yell,” she whispered, “I’m on the bus.”

“I don’t give a fuck if you’re on the bus, bitch! I told you to iron my clothes this morning! You knew I had to go in for that interview, and you made me look like a fool!”

People’s heads rotated to look in her direction, picking up on some of the words. Tears of shame pricked her eyes and her face felt hot as she desperately fumbled to turn down the volume.

“I’m sorry, really. I’m sorry. I forgot, but I didn’t forget the interview! I made you breakfast, I-”

“I don’t care about the fucking breakfast. When you get home your ass is mine.”

The phone signaled the call had ended. She pressed it back into her purse and traded it for a tissue to wipe away the tears. Wincing when she pressed too hard, her heart skipped a beat as she yanked the mirror back out again to desperately make sure she hadn’t smudged the precious makeup.

“I was mad at first, you know.”

With frantic dabs, she tried to turn the garish blue of her cheek back to fleshy tones. The man’s words made her sick to her stomach and she pressed herself harder against the wall, as though to meld into it.

“I thought maybe, you know. Looking at me, you saw the color of me and figured I was a violent man. But that ain’t it at all, is it baby? Thing is, you got one living in your home, and when you see someone big like me, you think I’m gonna take that bigness out on you. Because you’re small. Because you break.”

His voice was measured, calm. Gentle. People turned around in their seats again, strangely, away from them and their conversation. Perhaps in response to his air of authority. She quivered, first bodily, and then only in her lips.

“I don’t know what sorta religion you follow, sweet thing. But in mine, we believe that God took women right from a rib of ours. The ribs, they’re meant to protect the heart. So the way I see it, women are meant to give us that heart. Keep us remembering how it is we’re supposed to love and cherish something.”

Hesitantly, Clare looked up at him. Now that she did, she could see a kind face, a young face, with brown eyes that emitted warmth. “A man that hits something like that…I say that’s a broken man. This strength ain’t made for hitting. This is made to hold.”

She swallowed thickly, unable to speak, afraid if she did all the tears would fall. And the mask would too, and they’d see the marks on her chin from the coffee table, the slit from his ring, the bruise from his fist. Humiliation washed like a tide over her head, and she felt as one drowning, unable to breathe.

“You deserve better than that. You remember that you deserve better than that. They got a safe house for women down the street a ways. Got a big sign. I don’t know where you live, but think about it. I don’t want to see your pretty face in the newspaper. I don’t want to live with that.”

The bus ground back to a stop. The man gave her a parting glance, before getting off. As he left, she could see angel’s wings were stitched into the back of his shirt.

The houses blurred by. Clare clung to the purse in her lap, her fingers white-knuckled, her tears streaming freely as they ate away more and more of the cover-up.

When it was time for her to get off and go home to him, she didn’t.

the blue of his eyes

the strength of his arms

aren't the half of it

it's the way he looks at me

focusing his entire ocean on my

existence

it's the way he holds me

not possessive, but protective

as I disappear into him

his voice is nothing special

but the way he speaks to me

with such sincerity is love

his lips are clumsy

but far from unpleasant

my stomach takes off

the way he smiles

just for me

priceless

with him everything is simple

when he says I love you

I almost believe

that I could be lovable

(I messed up my challenge entry but I'm posting this anyways)

listen to your gutt

it is more powerful than

all of your five senses combined

more people will hurt you than will help you

but love will make you forget the pain

bad hair days happen to everyone

if you get tired of them

but shave it all off

it will grow back and you will better appreciate the warmth

take a day off

it's okay to fall apart for a little

kindness saves lives

never ever eat popcorn kernels

your skin is sacred

and does not deserve

to feel any pain

no matter what

the voices say

always carry pain killer and bandaids

you're never too cool for anything

there's no need to be ashamed

in enjoying life

socks and sandals are actually really comfortable

some day there will be someone

who traces your flaws

like they are paint strokes

on the canvas of your body

containing the masterpiece of your being

chocolate fixes almost everything

hug people who smell good

smell good

people will want to hug you

sometimes you will feel like

you can't go on

but if you hold on

just a little longer

you'll breathe again

I promise

subway train

so crowded you aren't sure

if it's your feet holding you up

or if it's just the bodies surrounding you

she turns her face to move her nose

away from the man

who smells like he hasn't washed in

at least two months

she finds herself nose to nose with

hand gripping the silver bar

trying to ignore the stickiness

trying to avoid being washed away

turns his head to look around

he finds himself nose to nose with

him

her

"hi"

the subway slows and they gravitate backwards

it's a bit like falling sideways

unprepared she falls into him

awkward but not entirely

unpleasant

her

"this your stop?"

him

"not sure. is it yours?"

her

"not sure."

him

"where are you headed?"

her

"away"

him

"me too"

her

"at what speed?"

him

"huh?"

the subway train jerked into motion

"there are two types of going away

running away

walking away

one is considered cowardly

the other is probably

the bravest thing a person could ever do"

"I see."

he thought for a moment

"a bit of both, I think."

"I see."

him

"how fast are you going?"

her

"at a sprint"

him

"can I come with you?"

her

"if you can keep up."

doors open

they flood out

into empty space

dear boys who stare at us in gym class-

I have no idea what you're thinking

you could either be impressed

by our relative enthusiasm

or mocking us

for our comparative weakness

if it is the latter, as if you're much better

if the former, don't be sexist pigs

you could either be checking us out

or be wondering where

our asses disappeared to

in our sweat pants

if the latter, go stare at the girls in yoga pants and leave us alone

if the former, there are better places than gyms and better girls who won't gorge out your eyes with a spork

you could either be zoning out

absorbed in the lovely music

or obsessed with us

either way you're creepy

sincerely,

the chicks you keep staring at for no reason

ps. if you make one more sexist comment I'm going to burn you alive and do squats with your dead body on my shoulders