subpar poems since 2012   
who was there, sarge, you or me?
who was there, sarge, you or me?
BE McComb
BE McComb
5 days ago

a random lady once told me
there's arsenic in the
town water supply so i'm
trying to drink it every day

the dishwasher is running
sandwich cooler is cooling
and i'm curled in a ball in
the dark on one of those
square cushioned wood
framed couches

and if i shut my eyes
tight enough i'm a kid
again on a lazy saturday
afternoon but i don't
want to be a kid again and
it happens to be monday

i've met a boy recently
and he's a person
unlike i who am one
part girl to one part
shaking hands to
one part arsenic

i'm screaming into
the void that i
hope this works out
hope this works out
hope this works out
but i have a feeling in
the pit of my stomach
that i might ruin it

or maybe that's
just the arsenic

Copyright 3/20/17 by B. E. McComb
#fear   #afraid   #arsenic  
  Mar 6  BE McComb
Mar 5

have your tears on the skin of my arm you
never cry as much as me;
you take it out in jagged breathing
(and softly of,)
agonised destruction//

a tip of your unknowing hand and
the whole place is in ruins,
cinder blocks sideways,
beams of wood, creaking, grey smoke
in pixilated spirals,,

your heart never left mine,
you know we can feel the other's
like christmas presents,
(different labels, the same wrapping,
one with a bow and the other, ribbon)
tilted next to each other
(the orange light a living room makes in winter, and, pine needles
at the bottom and the top of us)
-- and a little gap in the selotape of both where we try to
peek through [yours is bigger
but you were always disappointed i m sure,
when you did manage to

your memories are the same as mine and
we drift when we drift
our grandparents house
and her hands and her rings
--boxes full of costume jewelry who smelt
like the felt
of a billiards table--

and the baths we took together
(bubbles) and history
of each other's bodies
the potions we made
with sticks and dirt --
daring magic to be real

and when
some person
some thing
in you
will protect it
will put myself in front of it
flesh was always made of something

and i will slice a cut down their middle
with the corner of my pinky nail
[look closely, it's sparkling]
opening a smooth red line
through their
with  cold, and
tender   compassion,
i    will
   kill them

you questioned when we were little, whether you were allowed to breathe into marbles and have them be a world and if you could be happy inside them and kat I'm sorry i did not know enough yet to tell you yes, yes, of course you can, of course, and to take your hand and to

travel different dimensions with you through
mirrors into
space a little backwards full of
real princesses and wizards, and

and to show you the way statues move,
slight if you
twinkle a finger a certain way
pointed just at the periphery where there stone turns to air
and you'll seee
slowly (in an instant) their stories
:small hopes and all the things they loved the most

unravelling in shapes of time around you

and that you were always right, frogs are amazing, and
the mud you smushed and put in pots to pretend to cook
over a wooden pile, really do taste like chocolate
all the way from India (
if you dig far enough-- you'll get there)

i would kiss your forehead now and show you all you asked me to [eyes pleading, because you needed someone you trusted
to know that
you weren't crazy]

but i'm too far away dear so you will just have to learn to read my mind

i love you
you will be a wonderful mother
and everything is alright

  Mar 3  BE McComb
Twilight Zone

Every time I heard the word
baptism as a child I thought of a
preacher holding me by the leg
upside down over hot water.

He is about to throw me
back in like a fish.
All I think I'd be wearing as a
baby is somewhat a blur.

I view the whole congregation
in pews with a layout
as ordered as a newspaper
in a man's hands.

There is a big white bathtub
with ducks feet right
underneath the pulpit as
I sink beneath the cozy water
I see a daisy ceiling fan melting
while it's  spinning around and around.

I shoot up of course like
a bullet that is unharmed.
The wind slides through
the windows making
them wave like
charismatics in high spirits.

So as I'm about at the climax
of my dream my Mom interrupts
me with umm honey I hate
to break it to you but you
were sprinkled in an evangelical
methodist church all wrapped
up in the Preachers arms.

We dedicated you to
the Lord that day.

BE McComb
BE McComb
Feb 27

suicide is painless
but injustice isn't

it's not fair
it's not fair

i've had a migraine
and a song to match
stuck in my head
for two days

and now
i'm crying

it's not fair
it's not fair

and oh but every war
is in color blazing
bright calfornia sun
soundstage color

he was so close
so damn close

but i don't think it
was the war's fault

you see some people
just aren't destined
for happy endings
and that's not war's fault

wars are needed
to keep things
too much calm
leaves mundane
trenches in us

but it's still
not fair

not fair he had
to die and not fair
that had he died
another way
it would have
been painless

take or leave it
but do i take
or leave it?

he didn't get that choice

suicide is painless
but death still hurts

i've never been this upset by a show before.
Copyright 2/26/17 by B. E. McComb
#suicide   #war   #pain   #death   #loss   #mash   #wordvomit  
BE McComb
BE McComb
Feb 24

i hate aretha franklin
(except for her hat)
and i hate old ladies
who leave lipstick stains
on otherwise perfectly
clean used coffee mugs
(i'm looking at you joan
because i know al, bob and ray
don't wear lipstick and kayla
drinks dirty chai so it's not her)

and i hate sunshine and
i hate rain and i hate people
but i also hate being alone
and i hate how loose these
jeans are but i hate how big
they make me feel

i hate dishes and potatoes and
dirty floors and daily specials
(except the jambalaya but i'll
make exceptions for mckenna)

and i hate being tired and i
hate feeling down and i don't
hate myself more than usual i
just hate being in a funk
(why does caryl have to go and
leave me with only one coffee cake
i'd like to throw a long handled
spoon like a harpoon through the
biggest window available or just
the one with pedestrians outside)

Copyright 2/24/17 by B. E. McComb
#anger   #hate   #angry   #mad   #funk  
BE McComb
BE McComb
Feb 24

i don't want to be pretty
not today

i don't want to put on
the makeup and put
up my hair i want to
shave the back of my
head with a dull razor
rip my eyebrows out
with my fingernails
and cry

want to dump the coffee
i use to keep me alive all
over my cold skin and let
it burn me awake
want to clothe myself in
dried blood and vomit
and sweat and screams
and everything else vile
in the world and tears
lots and lots
of hot

i don't want to be
needed don't want
to be loved i'd rather
be just another greasy
cog in part of an
industrial machine

do you know how exhausting
it is to be irreplaceable?

i don't want to be pretty
not today
just for now i'd like to be
hellfire in ripped jeans
a halfway house for
my own heart
a tornado of destruction
ripping through hopes
and gardens to make them
look as godforsaken
as i feel

i don't want to be pretty
not today
i want to be

Copyright 2/24/17 by B. E. McComb
#girl   #fake   #beauty   #real   #ugly   #pretty  
  Feb 21  BE McComb
Feb 20

Everything has to do with everything

I'm seeing this more
and more
as each day slips away,

giving praise and
sincere thanks
to another unhealthy dose
of running on ice

I don't trust myself,
in turn,
I cant trust anyone else

There is no penny
I can thumb flip
into a wishing well

There is no foxhole
I can dig myself
to whisper someone else's prayer

There is only me

The mirror,
reflecting and projecting
the mess inside
to the outside world

Making my automated thoughts
a dreadfully painful reality

I was late for this,
I completely forgot about that,
My car broke down,
The future told by the narrator
of my past

There is but one excuse
to rule them all,
and that excuse is...

(Insert one of many mistakes here)

....because of who I am a person

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