Wednesday, April 28, 2010

day eighteen.

circa 1800.
she was always a woman
born in the wrong time,
a few centuries too late
for her heart to make 
an impact.

she would have liked 
to change something,
to have a permanent place
in an interchangeable world.

day seventeen.


he made chalk murals,
his hands always caked
with the ash of his art.

pinks and blues and
greens, sifting together
to form grey coating against
his working palms.

he drew a rising sun,
unfolding from the sidewalk,
to shine on forgotten flower beds.

he snuck into playgrounds
of inner-city schools,
to draw happy pictures,
something beautiful
for children who lived
in a world of locks
to wake up to.

and one night,
he crept into your driveway
and drew a woman with bare shoulders,
her back a graceful arch
her hair, fiery red
whipping around in
imaginary wind.

Sunday, April 25, 2010

day sixteen.

her aunt told her that they were the kind of women
that make men fall in love with them

and lovely
and light

she told her that she had it,
that thing that sends men spinning.
said that it was in her blood, her eyes.

she said it wasn't conscious,
wasn't to be abused,
that it was wrong
to try to lure in a man
who had no choice. 

her aunt tells her that one day, she too
will make men kneel at her feet.

it was never something
any of them wanted,
five sisters,
women scorned,
losing in love
with the only men
who ever mattered.

the next day, she kisses her aunt 
and steps outside. looks across the wall 
at the boy with shining eyes and ringing laugh,
and thinks that the gift missed her. 

Friday, April 23, 2010

day fifteen.

this is for you

not just for you
but for me too

memories taken down
onto paper,
made alive 
a second time.

summers on 
wrap-around couches
and writing on backs,
t-shirts pulled up
over heads.

feet burnt on asphalt,
and pizza,
and too many kids for one place
but making it work.

a short
yellow jumpsuit 
worn every other day
and chlorine-gobbled

further back.

homemade play-dough
and cupcakes,
burnt carpet 
and purple hands
on a plate.

old home videos
of easter morning,
shared candy
and snickering
under beds.

long hair
and disney movies
and falling asleep
before new years.

seventeen years.
seventeen memories.
seventeen kisses. 

day fourteen.

love songs.

she asked her mother
why every song
on the radio
was about love.

her mother told her
it was because love
was the most 
important thing
in the entire world. 

she still thinks
about it,
every time
she twists 
the dial on. 

Thursday, April 22, 2010

day thirteen.


she loved him
for his heat.

his lips were 
his body was
his words were
his eyes
held fire.

when he kissed her,
hands in hair,
lips tepid,
she already knew
what he wanted to say. 

day twelve.

soda car crash.

they always

same words at the 
same time, like
they were the same
person, one
mind wrapped 
around another,

same outfits
on the same days,
same interests,
same heartbeat.



their last jinx
was turning
at the same time.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

day eleven.

"i'll be there."

be there.

be there.

be there,
be there,
be there. 

she drops 
your bracelet
and kicks dust
into a cloud
behind her
when you're not. 

Sunday, April 18, 2010

day ten.

speed of light blood 
this is where i come from
right here
can you feel it?

do you feel the beating?

that's my blood,
careening, racing,
hurtling through my body

searching for you in circles,
trying to find you
in empty veins.

day nine.

black elastic heart strings. 

the black elastic
around his wrist
was like a string
tied to his heart.

when she slipped
her fingers
underneath it,
and tugged him 
towards her,
he fell.


day eight.

what we can do. 


i know you wonder
if we can tell,
if we can see it
in your eyes
when we look at you.

your guilt
your lies
your dirt
laid out,

truth is, 
we can.

Saturday, April 17, 2010

day seven.

late nights. 
(for katie.)

watering eyes
and blurring words,
minutes melding
one into the other

the red numbers
on the clock
do a sped up dance,
sleep a teetering
close and unattainable. 

your fingers
type on. 

Friday, April 16, 2010

day six.


she watched the power
drive him mad

slowly warping 
his heart and mind,
eyes rolling back in head
returning with red

wealth frothing from 
corners of lips,
it robbed him
of all he ever
and all
he ever
could have been. 

day five.

beautiful things. 

like a cold front 
on the precipice of spring,
the flowers curling
back into themselves

like a cd scratched,
stalling and skipping
right before
the climactic solo

like a voice lost 
in its prime,
cords dried,
silenced forever

you were just another 
beautiful thing,
cut off too soon.

day four.

small things.

a smile
a look
a word
a moment
a message
a chance,
not taken

it's the small things
that build us up
and break us down. 

Thursday, April 15, 2010

day three.

what we are. 

we are not you

we are not quick embraces
in parked cars,
we are looks
across rooms.

we are not fevered kisses
and fumbling hands,
bodies knowing each other
before hearts or minds
ever do

we are not outlandish promises,
we are honest omissions

we are love

not in your hard
kind of way

we are slow
and steady 
and deep
and constant

marking days on calender
and making plans
and shyly smiling
from a distance. 

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

day two.

december honeydew. 

makes the house
smell like summer

but without your laughter
ringing out 
from the balcony at night,

it could be december,
for all the warmth i feel. 

day one.

thelma and louise. 

he asked her if she'd ever seen
the movie thelma and louise.

told her she was like that car
going a hundred and five towards the cliff

and it might be far off,
but from the sky view
you could see what was coming,
if she didn't turn. 

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

joe's head

i had a dream last night, that we were somewhere and you knew the words to this song. we were the only ones in the room who did. that was important, somehow.

then i woke up and hated you again. it was nice while it lasted.

Monday, April 12, 2010

books, poetry, and love

Hello, hello. We'll take end of the title and move backwards from there.

First off, much love to you all. Everyone who reads, replies, and lurks. You are all awesomely awesome so don't say I never said it.

And secondly, I will be attempting the poetry month challenge twelve days too late. Don't judge. But do reply. :)

And finally -

Yep. Yeah. Yes indeed. 

It's just a little self-publishing site, nothing huge. But I'm so happy I could burst, so I thought I'd share. It's for sale, and of course I'll link, but just as a warning, you won't find anything there that isn't on this blog already. Just so you know.

But even if you take time to flip through the preview on the site and tell me what you think, I'd love it. 

words for you can be found here.

And that's all there is. For now. 

endless love. xx.

- Nadia.  

burning pages

The way you looked at burning pages reminded me of silver lights with the bulbs burnt out. Mother always said books were never meant for burning, but you were never one to listen, were you?

Page ash smells like the stories they used to tell, in a crumbled, broken kind of way. Like ocean mist and sand mixed with ash, flowers mixed with ash, the hollow of a voiceless scream - and ash.

Words were never meant to be lost.

Thursday, April 8, 2010

negative twenty, baby.

if anyone cares. just thought i'd let you guys know. :)

Monday, April 5, 2010


a woman 
standing on the ledge of a building
does not wonder if it will hurt.
she wonders if you will miss her. 

a boy 
watching his father's car pull away
does not understand the word divorce.
he wonders what he did wrong.

a girl
with bruised thighs
does not understand that it wasn't her fault,
she only smells your breath on her cheek

a man 
who told you that you smell like rain
does not understand your empty drawer,
only that you left his ring.

and the sun still sets and rises,
without understanding
why the moon
stays so far away. 

Friday, April 2, 2010

the story of you

Honestly, no idea what this is. Not even sure if I like it. But why not? 

How about this? Boy meets girl, and girl sees her father in his face. They kiss, and her heart soars back instead of forward while he grapples with her blouse. The first time he screams, it scares her, but she chalks it up to old habits.

First curse, first slap, first punch. All old habits, learned again and again. All the same.

Then a baby boy with his father's face comes, and he is no kind of beautiful to her, scarred and broken.

She leaves him by the church door for you to find.

delicate, fragile relationships

held by tenuous ties

liars walk on tightropes,
dancing in disguise.