poem: alien

poem: alien

(100 words) Originally written 3 Jan. 2018

By S.R.A Markin

i lay in my bed
staring at the wall with a blanket over my head
i wouldn’t dare look the other way
they can sense these things
i won’t get out of bed
and walk either
they will only try to grasp my ankles
and pull me under.
drapes cover my closed window
my night-light shines the corner of my room
and casts shadows elsewhere
they play tricks on me.
i lay here for most of the night
trying all kinds of ways to sleep
mom says that my friend is an alien
from the United States.

 

Fund stevenmarkin.com

Your donation goes towards writing, editing, publishing, and keeping stevenmarkin.com going. Your generosity is greatly appreciated.

C$3.50

poem: fire

poem: fire

(101 words) 5 May 2018

By S.R.A. Markin

although my quads burned nearly as bad as my lungs,
it was the pain that lit a fire under my ass to get up the hill
it is the younger me,
the vulnerable me,
the me that YOU held down
and kicked.
i motivate me. Not you,
YOU pricks,
YOU pieces of shit.
and when you are in need of help,
look deep within and pull on your weakest moments,
the times you have grown from.
but not you,
YOU pricks,
but you who have suffered under the actions of others

Fuck YOU, said the boy who cried himself to sleep.

 

Fund stevenmarkin.com

Your donation goes towards writing, editing, publishing, and keeping stevenmarkin.com going. Your generosity is greatly appreciated.

C$3.50

poem: love others and love yourself

poem: love others and love yourself

(100 words) 10 March 2018

By S.R.A. Markin

he turned off the display screen, and then the cell phone
vibrated in his hand. it was a text from her.
she wrote about how sweet he is to her
and how good he makes her feel.
she wrote about meeting him
in dreamland
and filled the text with emojis.
and before a red heart, she wrote out:
i love you.
he clicked on her display photo and kissed the image
of her forehead. he walked to the mirror
and looked at himself
and watched the tears stream
down the sides of his face.
“i love you too,”
he said.

 

Fund stevenmarkin.com

Your donation goes towards writing, editing, publishing, and keeping stevenmarkin.com going. Your generosity is greatly appreciated.

C$3.50

poem: blew It

poem: blew It

(100 words) 7 Jan. 2018

By S.R.A. Markin

when my SOS isn’t received,
i try again
my fingers are bloody and numb
from scraping a blade on stone
i only get sparks
the humidity dampens the flint and chills my bones
i shiver away my heat,
and my core restricts the cold air
i have been here for longer than i can remember
the days are short,
and the nights are long
when she was here, we kept warm
little light attaches to the wool,
so i lightly blow
the flame goes out
because i blew too hard
i lost
my chance again.

 

Fund stevenmarkin.com

Your donation goes towards writing, editing, publishing, and keeping stevenmarkin.com going. Your generosity is greatly appreciated.

C$3.50

poem: a bee and a pen on paper

poem: a bee and a pen on paper

(100 words) 4 Jan. 2018

By S.R.A. Markin

i really need to learn to watch what i say
sitting at my computer writing,
i am texting my girlfriend
we have emojis to represent that we are working:
a bumble bee and a pen on paper.
she writes poems,
and i write short stories.
i sent her the emojis earlier. i didn’t want to
because i prefer talking to her,
but want to
focus.

i told her that i am expanding an old character of mine
and using my shitty life
to build on his life
“you think your life is shitty? :(”
i wait to respond

“no.”

 

Fund stevenmarkin.com

Your donation goes towards writing, editing, publishing, and keeping stevenmarkin.com going. Your generosity is greatly appreciated.

C$3.50

poem: back to quiet

poem: back to quiet

(164 Words) Spring 2016

by S.R.A. Markin

i can’t stand the quietness
any longer.

today is one of the coldest days
this winter has had, and i
have not stopped walking. i
walk knee deep in snow
far from a trail. the sun
is behind the clouds. my
frozen mustache pricks
my nostrils and melts
into my mouth. my
finger tips are white and numb
and with each breathe i inhale,
i exhale slowly and cough
my mind
wonders.

then from behind me, i hear a tone
a whistle,
like a bird chirping from a high branch
the same tone i would hear from outside
of my window at home
during the summer mornings
i enjoy the tone. i bathe in the nostalgia
i chirp too. i chirp
as if i am singing along
to text that runs along a screen of an old tv
during karaoke night. i chirp
as loudly as i can,
as if the intoxicated locals are harmonizing
along with me.

i hear a branch snap
back to quiet.

 

Fund stevenmarkin.com

Your donation goes towards writing, editing, publishing, and keeping stevenmarkin.com going. Your generosity is greatly appreciated.

C$3.50