Locked down and secure.
In protective custody over you.
And, they claim my love is the evidence to convict.
And I can't say it don't make sense.
Cause it's true.
I'll serve my time quietly.
While being in the custody of you.
You can guard me twenty four seven.
You're my angel of love sent from heaven.
nothing as sobering as a cop stopping your vehicle
even when you are riding completely legitimate
and even then with the latest figures of stop and search
you very may end up in the funeral parlour, if your black arse offends
When I was younger, I would wait for him
to die. I loved him - at least I wished I did.
He used to be my D.A.D., and acronym.
Remaining in the mobile home, amid
his “hidden” sex toys and unlocked arsenal-
when he would return, my brother and I hid.
His I.Q.? Soaring, but he lacked a soul,
he killed kittens for fun and never got caught.
Covert sociopath; maintaining control.
Court ordered visits left my mother distraught,
she wrestled the system over us for years,
our knight in shining armor that always fought.
The battle was won after many shed tears -
to a virgin life we forged, pioneers.
The Bible says
“I loved you at your darkest”
but I loved you
even when you were not mine.
(I am asking strangers if she is prettier than me
and feel the guilt of a burglar. I
am taking your property,
I can do what you
did even with my hands behind my back.)
You wrote in
your childhood notebooks
about feeling a love so great that
it puts you in handcuffs.
(You do not write about being in love)
you write about
You have been loved twice
and took the
membrane from between my legs too.
I loved you when you were in the darkest part
of my body, when you were
under my skin.
(I make strangers remove pieces of you.)
In Brooklyn, in these hectic times,
if Mom-hood gets you down
you need a little pick me up
so you won't fret and frown.
When we boomers were just babies
Mom might have a glass of wine.
Just enough to take the edge off
and leave her feeling fine.
But Generation X and Y
are more like Cheech and Chong
when baby gets your dander up
It's time to light a bong.
A little toke of Mary Jane
gives Moms a pause to sigh.
"Good night Moon" is a gripping read
when Mom is flying high.
Put the little Prince to bed
before Mom has a fit.
Motherhood is stressful
she just needs to take a "hit"
When the" little terrors" get you down
Just think - "this too will pass"
sneak off and roll yourself a joint
We know you have a stash.
A character (name unknown), walks drunkenly down the street, conspicuously sneaking drinks from his bottle before going into a drug store to steal pharmaceuticals.
He is arrested some time later atop a car with broken windows, spouting mad libs and seeing the world in a delerious state.
He is incarcerated and begins to (continues to) take drugs which he traded some of his DXM for.
Because of [its] size, he manages to sneak [it] into jail and continues to trade [it] for various other drugs until he's robbed, and released a week or so later to face trial.
-This 1960's Bob Dylan inspired land, in a psychedelic steam punk world, and as a city made of glass clocktowers.
-Strange gutter creatures with large cigarette trading operations.
-Green gremlin-like animals wearing leather and sunglasses.
-Weird, long-legged and bizarrely imaginary.
-Police as flying pigs in uniform that transform into alien insects.
-A prison labyrinth that changes shape and time and has portraits of strange worlds, the past, wonderland (like a chocolate factory that morphs between nightmare and paradise).
My hands were shaking
Not as hard as yours, I'm sure
You almost lost everything and I
was forced to watch,
bearing silent witness to a
destruction not my own
but at which I felt at fault,
thus I digested it as my own
In my mind, I had lived fantasies of
something like this happening--
you, helpless, I hold fast to your life and then
salvaging you, just barely,
scaring us both out of life and then
falling back into something new--
dark, strange, and yet intimate
This has happened to me twice now (for real)
and neither time was nearly as glamorous as
I had played out in my mind
(I'm a stupid girl)
Both times I felt drained of a vital energy I couldn't
I became an echo
we were skeletons of
the children we once were. Both times
of sleep, and years, and appetite.
of innocence, and soul, and
bleeds out uncontrollably
in times like these
and out with love
spreads guilt and shame
(I'm a jinx, I'm a cursed girl)
across the tar, filling the black empty
cracks with invaluable energy
Full of foreign weight
cargo stored too long
too far pushed down our throats
My hands were shaking
Not as hard or as long as yours
my favourite song is sail to the moon live by radiohead and when he replied that it was his as well I was overwhelmed
we layed together and let the haunting phonics echo through your room
I pressed my head to your chest and let your heart beat sync with the sound
two days later you told me you loved me and I was astounded when I heard the same words fall from my lips
I fell asleep listening to radiohead my head on the pillow and my heart in your hands
everyone warns you about heartbreak
They say that young love never lasts
and while they may be right I ask
Myself why I was never warned of the danger of a different kind of fracture
You broke my taste in music you jerk
Teenage relationships don't generally end in divorces but the forces were at play and it ended anyway
Nobody worries about who walks away with the songs you've loved since childhood
Like Bono was my dude but you loved Beautiful Day so now we're not on good terms
Like Real People Do was the jam but you ruined it man
Why did I have to talk to you about music,
Janis Joplin, was poppin and Bob Dylan was killin but I told you all about it and now I'm not about it
the opening bars of sail to the moon rip me in open
and while we didnt have children I'm the short amount of time that we were living
In each other's embrace
music was our offspring and someone should have warned me about this thing where you aren't supposed to overshare
and though I have many questions about why it ended, why it's still going on, the biggest are why I told you my favourite song
and after the pseudo divorce
Who the hell gets custody of radiohead??