— Courtney Snodgrass (via courtneyksnodgrass.tumblr.com)


The first night I stayed under the stars at your house,

I tossed and turned until finally I woke you with

Soft kisses over your bare shoulders and on your chest

Just above your heart.

After stirring out of your slumber, your lips brushed mine

And the crook of your arm fit perfectly around

My body as you held me close.

One of us just barely awake, the other wide.

Learning to sleep with someone new takes time;

Discovering the way their chest rises and falls

Like the tide comes up to kiss the sand

Before receding back and pushing forward again.

Listening to their deep breaths as they lay

Almost lifeless on their back,

Matching their breaths to heartbeats beneath your cheek.

The way they stir in the sleep and reposition

Themselves so their arm holds you safe and secure

Even when they’re dreaming.

-Courtney Snodgrass (via courtneyksnodgrass.tumblr.com)


Do you know how many times my mother coughs so hard in an hour that it still surprises me she hasn’t lost a lung?

I wonder if all the money that she spends at the gas station on that tiny cardboard box was saved instead of spent, if she could manage to pay the bills before the late notice arrived in the mail.

How many times do you think she tries to quiet the change being pushed around the tabletop as she counts out the quarters, the dimes, the nickels, the pennies before she has enough to slide the coins across the counter at the station?

How many times is her anger thrown at me because nicotine is absent from the house?

I can only imagine the color inside her chest, protecting her lungs with a black tar after too many years of flicking a flame to a thin white candlestick stuck between her lips.

The house smells of smoke and the yellow filter lines the walls, around the frames that hang themselves by nails.

I clean the mirror and see the paper towel golden from the lingering tobacco.  My clothes reek of a stench so strong no amount of perfume seems to be enough.

I’m paranoid that every time I’m in a room of people and someone mentions that it smells like smoke, if they know I harbor such a scent that I pour it off second handedly as if I inhale the drug too.

I open the mailbox and the temptation to “lose” the coupon booklet addressed to her grows stronger.

The business cards labeled with a barcode on the back subtracting a dollar off when you buy two packs strengthens the urge to scrabble up the silver coins or summons the question, “do you have five dollars? I’ll pay you back when I get paid on Friday.”

Friday never comes.

I often think about how much longer it will be until all the money spent on tiny cardboard boxes will be split between tobacco and medical bills.

How long can you smoke a pack a day and still be cancer-free?

And I wonder how it’s fair to watch your mother gamble with her life each time she places a thin cigarette between her lips.

Russian roulette with cancer is a game she’s become too good at.

-Courtney Snodgrass (via courtneyksnodgrass.tumblr.com)


I remember being tangled up

In a mess of bones and organs

That had lost their homes inside the carcass of my body.

We wrestled in nothing but our skeleton frames

While my intestines seemed to strangle me,

My lungs could no longer help me breathe,

My heart lay tossed on the floor,

A rib cage that couldn’t hold it any longer,

Couldn’t protect it anymore.

And I could swear our love was still alive.

-Courtney Snodgrass (via courtneyksnodgrass.tumblr.com)


If I could write you into the walls of my home,

I wonder if it’d still be standing.

Would the candlelight dancing on the wall

Remember the way your lips danced with mine?

The kitchen where we watched the birds

Dance through the trees, chasing one another

Similar to how we played tag through the hallways

And bedrooms of our house.

The bathroom where the tub fills with water like

How my anatomy filled at dusk and dawn with your love.

The living room where we fell asleep so many times

Watching our favorite movies in nothing but our skin

And the light illuminating from the TV screen.

I leave the screen on, the images flashing against

The wall where our pictures still hang.

I blanket myself in make-shift flesh and tell myself

The threads of the cover are your hands and arms.

The sheets over our bed hold your absence

Like an infant child cradled in his mother’s embrace.

Your pillow, covered in cologne and aftershave that lingers

Rests in my arms as I hug the object and pretend it’s your body.

The shower head rains water that blends my tears

Down the drain with the heartbreak I’m left with.  

But your voice still sings from inside the painted walls,

Behind the picture frames, blowing in the curtains that

Cover the windows. Most importantly, you linger in the

Floorboards and inside the beams that hold my house together.

-Courtney Snodgrass (via courtneyksnodgrass.tumblr.com)

new pic on the blog!

— Steve Moakler, “Hesitate” (via courtneyksnodgrass.tumblr.com)
— Steve Moakler, “Hesitate” (via courtneyksnodgrass.tumblr.com)


Restless nights in one-night cheap hotels

Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows.

Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

What did I know about drowning or being drowned?

Sorrow is my own yard,

And in short, I was afraid.

My life will shut very beautifully, suddenly

When everything broken is broken, and everything dead is dead, and the hero has looked into the mirror with complete contempt and the heroine has studied her face and it’s defects

Who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment cliff-banks,

Who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessively,

Who jumped off the Brooklyn bridge this actually happened and walked away unknown and forgotten.

I used to pray to recover you

Who wandered around and around at midnight in the railroad yard, wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts

Who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each other’s salvation.

Your most frail gesture are things which enclose me.

At twenty I tried to die.

This is the way the world ends, not with a bang but a whimper.

Watching the others go about their days, likes and dislikes, reasons, habits, fears that self-love is the one weedy stalk of every human blossoming.

How do they do it, the ones who make love without love?

-Courtney Snodgrass (via courtneyksnodgrass.tumblr.com)

*these are some of my favorite lines from the poets of, T.S. Eliot, Lucille Clifton, William Carlos Williams, e.e. cummings, Allen Ginsberg, Sylvia Plath, Robert Hass and Sharon Olds.*


After you ignored her legs that she held clamped together so tight that magnets would be jealous of the strength she possessed to try and keep you out,

Did you confuse her groans of pain as moans of pleasure?

Did you not see the tears of shame glistening on her face?

Why didn’t you listen to her when she yelled for you to stop because of the pain you were causing her?

Is having sex with someone as she lays anything but still on the floor comfortable?

When she dug her nails into your flesh and bit with teeth into your arms, releasing the pain you forced on her, returning it into the monster who destroyed her,

Did you think that was permission for you to start again, when she had yet to finish fighting you off for the first time?

How did you confuse her silence when she finally laid still because she knew she could not push you out from inside of her as enjoyment?

-Courtney Snodgrass (via courtneyksnodgrass.tumblr.com)


"Maybe" -Courtney Snodgrass (via courtneyksnodgrass.tumblr.com)
From my collection of poems, Partially Whole



I just started a new blog. It is solely quotes/text posts that are strictly 25 words!

You can submit stories/sentences/scenes/etc as long as it’s only 25 words.

Go follow and tell everyone! :)

— Courtney Snodgrass, “25 word story” (via courtneyksnodgrass.tumblr.com)


There are pictures of naked bodies

Bouncing from one cell tower to a different cell tower.

We live in a world where technology allows us

To see each other’s bodies long before we ever

Climb under blankets and have the privilege

Of exploring one’s anatomy in the comfort of the dark

Instead of…