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

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
3 days ago

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
3 days ago

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  
  6d  BE McComb
7 days ago

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

  6d  BE McComb
7 days ago

Dropped off in a desert.
Combat uniform tight against me.
Sweat gripping my skin in a desperate plea
For sanity to return, so I may escape.
Gunfire stutters its loud whispers of death against my eardrums.
Explosions drown out screams. My own?
I blink. The dust engulfs my body as I writhe on the ground;
Fetal position my permanent placement.
Longing for the ground to swallow me whole,
To the comfort of death's womb.
Cries of, "Get the hell up! What are you? This is a man's war!"
I get up.
The gun at my side like an old man's artificial hip;
Comfort and support in an unstable land.
I look at the chaos and depravity around me.
This is supposed to be Heaven to me,
Yet the combat boots feel too heavy.

  Feb 19  BE McComb
Feb 18

It wasn’t important until now.

And I’ve always been a late bloomer. Didn’t even know my appendix had ruptured until it was too late. Opened up like an origami flower. Blood spilled onto the page. It serves no purpose but it is necessary.

Cut it out.

You should probably know that I snore. Bite my nails. Fear committed relationships. I once walked fourteen miles because I couldn’t stand to look at my own face and was going to throw it off the side of a cliff. But I went home. Put it back in the drawer. Wore it again that night in shame.

When my father died in front of me, I died in front of him. And that kills me. That the last thing we both saw was a corpse. I have a lot of guilt. I failed him. So I carry around his ashes in a wooden box so that I can apologize. But he never forgives me. And I cannot forgive myself.

I probably should have told you that the last person who loved me laughed when I cried. Smiled when I struggled. Put poison in my dinner. Kicked me when I was down. Smirked when I finally caved in.

That I trust people too easily. See the best in the worst ones. Wear my heart on the outside so it will break easier and I will no longer have to protect it. Because I hate it. It is useless.

Everyone I have ever cared about ends up hating me.

I’ve had surgery. Three times. Twice for cancer. And once to rid myself of that hopeless and impractical organ that does me no good. But just sits in the main body and festers where no one can see it. I did that last operation myself.

Maybe having breakthroughs are significant. I’m trying to have one today.

I always open up too late.

But if you think this is cathartic. That I will heal. That draining all this filth is going to help me to get better. It won’t.

There are some holes that never get filled. I just thought I should say that. It’s vital that you understand. That when things burst to let them. Don’t try to cover it up or say that you are ok. That’s what I did for a really long time.

Look at me now.
And my ugly blossoming appendage.

  Feb 18  BE McComb
Feb 17

"Whats anxiety like?"

Sometimes I have to remind myself to breathe.

In short.
#short   #pain   #anxiety   #breathe  
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