Biography- China Brown
China Brown is a young beginning writer from Pennsylvania. She plans to major in English or Creative Writing in Brooklyn. She's been writing poetry since the age of four, and admires the works of Charles Bukowski, Sylvia Plath, and Jack Kerouac.
Published 11/01/13
China Brown is a young beginning writer from Pennsylvania. She plans to major in English or Creative Writing in Brooklyn. She's been writing poetry since the age of four, and admires the works of Charles Bukowski, Sylvia Plath, and Jack Kerouac.
Published 11/01/13
StaticA skeleton's spine Hunches over the Grey river Flowing idle in The doldrums Bones break Under the pressure Of the moonlight Sonata plays in a Cracked skull from The swelling weight of A vacant mind Thoughts fall Away like white flurries When the Wind walks west Bound to dissolve On wet concrete They will Float and They will Melt away And you will Be stuck cradling Over a something Full of nothing While your head Goes mad over static |
Saturday Morning Market
Remember when you picked the juiciest and ripest peach just for me? And we shared it through kisses of that Georgia summer. Then the days became blank, white noise in my head, As my heart sank to the bottom of my soul, Drowned in the memories of what were. How have you taken up so much of my life And you’re not even here? It’s hardest to fight them whenever it gets dark. I wish on every star for you to come back. Then I fall asleep, and there you are in my dreams, Every day and every night, For the days and the months, Until it’s peach season again, And I keep you alive with every bite. |
AltoEach time she speaks My ears become a trap On every tone and syllable Of her words. I hold them hostage, But maybe I’m the one Who is trapped, Because they taunt me. I tear them apart And send them different directions In my head To dissect every possible meaning, To shed light on my restless mind. But they all end up in the same place Until you speak again Adding more pieces To an endless puzzle. Speak again darling, It’s killing me. |
Endless2 a.m. And all there is Are the lights And the pavement They make the streets glow Like there’s actually something Waiting for you But the lights are endless And so are the roads Walking them is pointless You’ll end up in the same Dark tunnel That made you follow the lights In the first place |