Megan Falley's Blog, page 47

Vol. 3 - Autumn/Winter 2014 [Megan Falley]

Vol. 3 - Autumn/Winter 2014 [Megan Falley]:

borderlinepoetry:

Fool

“I hope she grows up to be a pretty little fool. That’s about the best a girl can hope for these days, to be a pretty little fool.”
-Daisy Buchanan

They always ask 
how I got so many men 
to love me, to line up 

like I was the only
speakeasy for miles. 
It was simple. 

I knew a parlor trick. 
Taught the men how to be
ventriloquists, to throw

their voice from another room
and force it out of my own
painted mouth.

I loved you. I love you.
Yes. You, you, you.

I heard Gatsby was shot down
in his swimming pool—the one
built with me in mind:

my white suit, my hair
tucked into a swim cap, splashing
around like his little bird.

I heard when he was shot
it looked like Valentine roses
scattered about the chlorine

and this, too, was for me.
How wretched, and how divine
to love two men and have one

murdered,
so you won’t have
to choose. 

Oh, simple flower,
you know you would have  
chosen wrong.

germmagazine:Company by Megan Falley"I don’t tell them how...

germmagazine:

Company
by Megan Falley

"I don’t tell them how the front door was wide open, the dining room chairs knocked out on the floor. How I carried a knife upstairs as if I was brave enough to use it."

So happy to have another poem  up at GERM Magazine. I love how they mix poems and photography. So eerie and rad with this piece. For a preview of Redhead and the Slaughter King, read on!

gnumblr:reblog if you’re the gay cousin

gnumblr:

reblog if you’re the gay cousin

rachelmckibbens:from my new book, MAMMOTH

rachelmckibbens:

from my new book, MAMMOTH

I'M GOING ON TOUR!

shoot me an e-mail if you want me to read you poems! meganfalley@gmail.com

Telling Him I Kissed A Woman

Telling Him I Kissed A Woman:

by Megan Falley

I cut the pill of truth
and served it with honey.
A half-lie, I said

we were drunk.

Painted us starved,
in dresses of gin, egged
on by the barstools.

Painted myself stumbling
onto her face,
more so than an actual kiss.

Painted it as if cameras were rolling.
An image he could beat
off to, instead of curse. Said

it meant nothing

And how could it?
I was straight
as a wedding aisle.

I touched
his beard. Begged him
to stay. Insisted

it was only a kiss

and hoped he wouldn’t hear it
in my voice, how it sounded like

it was only a decade.
It was only a war.

I didn’t say there was no bar,
no audience except
the magnetic poetry falling

to the floor as she pressed me
up against the refrigerator, beaming.

That I felt more in that
one kiss than anytime he thrust
his tongue down my throat,

or wouldn’t get a condom,
or wanted it facedown.
I swore

it will never happen again.

He called me a whore.

I said

I love you.

He called me a bitch.
I said

yes.

"I read her messages over and over.They were the first poems.They were cave paintings.They were my..."

“I read her messages over and over.

They were the first poems.

They were cave paintings.

They were my own palms.”

- Megan Falley, K (via thesewrists)

Photo

nothingbuthoney-713:Late night poetry session with Megan...

nothingbuthoney-713:

Late night poetry session with Megan Falley.

shiraeeee:S H I R A "I was 10 / when daddy put a gun in my...

shiraeeee:

S H I R A 

"I was 10 / when daddy put a gun in my hand / first I shot at tin cans / then a target in the shape of a man / oh I’ll be ready / if he unzips my dress too quick / I’ve got to be ready / if he calls me his wife / it gon be a shotgun wedding"

.

Photograph by Katherine Finkelstein. Styling by Alessandra Genovese.