(I think I've lost the ability to start things, so please forgive this poem for not having an attention grabbing genesis)
I've been twiddling my thumbs for almost eight months now
Putting off all that I care about
(And especially everything that I don't. Here's lookin' at you, AP World History)
Sitting around amassing a booklet of words to use in the future for novels and whatnot
But only using them in essays so I seem smarter than I am
(For example, susurrus means 'a whispering or rustling sound; a murmur')
Hoarding anything affiliated with Ben Folds because he makes me feel things on occasion
(I currently have 189 songs of his on my iTunes library; No one understands me.)
Making dick jokes at lunch while masking the thoughts of substance ricocheting around in my head
(Also your mom jokes because no one would think that you're crying internally about the uncertainty of the afterlife whilst making lewd stabs at their mother's integrity(and vagina. Ba dum tss.))
Apparently craving the lingering feel of another's touch
As illustrated by my subconscious through the medium of dreams
(I had a dream a few weeks back that Ben Folds licked my hand; My stomach folded (hahahah, folded) in on itself.)
Thinking that my feelings of misanthropy and apathy and everything else I can't find the words for yet are mine alone because everyone else is too stupid to have thought them themselves
(Even though I know that I'm not particularly special and I should stop being so elitist and stupid)
But I've finally found a light at the end of the table in the last place I'd expect--
(I meant to say tunnel, but hey, the source of said light does sit at my lunch table.)
A cherubic Presbyterian boy with an aversion to all things perverse,
(Which includes my sailor's tongue and occasional tendencies to want to put it on a member of my own sex, thought he doesn't know about that)
A spec of cleanliness on the grimy waistcoat of humanity who makes me want to be the best I can be
(Today when I saw him, I only swore once; I was very proud of myself)
But maybe I'm just jumping the gun
Because what would a good Christian boy want with a heathen like me who isn't even sure she believes in God?
Maybe his prolonged contingencies were merely contingent and I'm just overreacting because of my few and far between incidences of human contact.
(Seriously. Don't touch me.)
Maybe I just want someone to talk to for hours about everything and nothing at all.
(What with me being relatively antisocial, it's hard to find people with similar mindsets.)
Maybe I just want someone to funnel my adolescent attention to
(Because teen movies have taught me that one obviously can't be happy without having a crush on someone at any given time.)
Or maybe it's just because the way the Bible quote on the back of his t-shirt conflicted so humorously with the way he shook his hips to a J-Lo song on "Just Dance."
(Seriously, though, it was hilarious. I was dying.)
Or the way our fingers brushed when we were catching frogs
Or the way he blushed when I stepped out in my bikini
(I went to a pool party today.)
Or the way he held me momentarily in the delirious confusion of the flashing strobe lights
Or the way he got one point higher on his research paper than me a month ago
(He was excited; I was upset.)
Or the way that he does everything nearly to perfection.
I could go on..
But I don't know.
Maybe I'll get over him in a week and slip back into myself.
Because, like I said, what would a good Christian boy want with a heathen like me?
You rested your palm open like the desert
we spoke in darkness
I closed my eyes to feel you
growing in that corner of my chest
and I wished I could have touched you
but your voice acted as hands
and took off my skin
and there beneath my humanity
growing my spine crooked
"Angel don't go", the moon spoke.
darkness crept in like fog
killing everything with its shadow
I am no angel
I am death's daughter
I am the thing you feared most as a child
all your nightmares
because I am all of mine
The reaper is here to steal the harvest
please don't grow here darling patron,
because I'm hiding
hide from me
I sit on my grave alone
hearing the wreckage of my carnage screaming from
pieces of my childhood in my branch hands
I watch you
behind my body
your eyes reflect like mirrors
and I see
I am the prison gate
Don't be sad.
Don't be blue.
Today is extra,
It's as if today
Were made for you!
So don't be sad,
And don't be blue.
For a while.
Than a smile.
It turns sad faces
And then you do
Not feel so bad.
And a kindly word
When spoken there
Can catch a
And for the
We get to share
The softest smile.
The sky is bright -
The robins sing.
Just listen to the
Song they bring.
The breeze is crisp
As morning dew,
And oh so extra,
And on days like this,
You just have to smile,
And spread around
A bit of cheer!
And that cheerful lot
Is still in style,
Especially when shared
So, don't be blue,
And don't be sad.
Don't be angry.
Don't be mad.
Share a grand old
And chase those
Pesky frowns away.
Copyright © 2013 By Richard D. Remler
She kept me warm
so i gave her my heat
and she re-gifted it
and i was cold.
He tucks me in
with sweet words
that evoke crinkled eyes
and upturned corners
and someone will be lucky
to be his love
She knows the sound
my tears make as they fall
through the ground
because hers have fallen the same
and she knows the taste of pain
when a heart breaks this way
because hers was broken the same
so she indulges me
and loves me
and carries me through the day
and i don’t tell her everything
but she feels my misery
She caught the choke
around my throat when
i didn’t know how to live
and she picked me up
and told me to walk
gave what she had to give.
I’m not fixed,
but I’m still alive,
and she is responsible for that.
He validates me
when i feel i must be crazy
he tells me i’m not
without any prompt
and says he’ll always be
Big Brother to me
She sticks around
even though I’m obviously crazy.
She’s already seen me go through my worst.
She just listens and takes it in
and we go for a walk
and another day passes
while she is my friend
It all began as an observation,
a mere innocent study,
to watch people in cars,
First, the tired workers,
who glared and stared in the road in front,
who slumped in their seats,
who held the steering wheels in a glum manner,
who had dark circles in their eyes,
who had cans of beers at the back seat,
tired, weary, drained, exhausted,spent.
The cheeky children,
who yelled at their siblings,
who wrestled with siblings,
who sat listening to lectures,
who texted with their phones,
who went tippy tappy with their laptops,
who ignored the world; reading,
innocent, busy adolescents.
Of course, there are mothers,
who glance at their sleepy children every few minutes,
who smile at their babies dotingly,
who gave loud lectures to kids,
who smoked cigars,
who was on the phone,o was just driving ahead,
loving, fussy, unleisured.
There were the out-going,
who head-banged furiously to booming music,
who sang aloud to radio,
who chatted enthusiasticly with passengers,
who smiled the whole way through the journey,
who stuck their hands out to feel the wind,
who had nothing to worry about,
free, wonderful, liberated, loose.
Also, some were fretful,
who needed to visit hospitals,
who had their heart broken,
who got rejected at interviews,
who lost someone,
who is obviously in anxiety, who were simply drunk,
worrysome, tired, sad.
And then there's me,
who had nothing better to do,
than to watch and observe,
and felt many things should be changed,
The nights are long
Once the sun sets, the thoughts come back
Something about the absence of light drawing my mind back
To the darkest of times
The gun in my mouth, blood stained sheets
A handful of pills in my lap, so easy to swallow them all
Tying nooses for practice, just in case I ever need them
All those things?
They really happened
And they feel like so long ago
But in reality, it was just
8 months ago
That I decided to fuck it all
Roll the dice, end my life
It was the only failure in my life that ever made anyone proud
Which is sad
But most things in life are sad
Just like me
A broken boy, age 16
So young, to be so damaged
Released from the hospital because i was "fixed," whatever the hell that means
Struggling everyday now just to wake up, move past those nightmares
Over caffeinated, lacking sleep
Splitting headaches, fear of anyone I meet
Anxiety so constant a bother
It never lets me be free
So any and all interactions are tinged with more dark thoughts
Like, "i'm messing this up, she must hate me"
All day is like this
Forcing laughter, always tinged with hysteria
I don't know if anyone notices
I highly doubt it; nobody ever notices me
But even if they do, they say nothing
But I suppose there is nothing right to say
To some lost soul, losing his sanity
Your back is almost broken.
Your mind is almost taken.
Your sex is just a token
Of the hearts you've broken
On the day you kneel down.
You used to know the clean cool water
As it drove itself around the bend.
But you forgot the notes from father
His will found you talking without end.
Find the silence frozen in you mind,
The half-song that was your pride.
Feel the stomps of boots on soil.
That's our rythm, and the sign its time to move.
You feel the hands of thunder reaching out to touch
The lightning you forgot was still hidden in your groin.
Everything else you know doesn't matter that much.
Lets find our masks and guns and go find the coins
That only we know were ours, but still belong to us.
You will know the answer to the riddle in her cries.
You will remember every word you ever heard.
You will finally know why you did the things you did.
You will agree with all the reasons why she left.
You will see there's no wrong, but only right.
You will see the dirty dreams she dreams at night.
You are the rapist and the raped.
You are the guard at your master's gate.
You'll hear the the secret that you feared.
The music of the game of masks.
You'll know the end has come and gone.
The sound of lightning when it comes around.
On the day you kneel down.
My heart aches, from time to time,
When I think of all that's been left behind.
How I wish I could go back,
To retrieve the things that I now lack.
Is it just me who feels this way?
I feel there's so much left to say.
At least I have memories, with those I'll never part,
Holding them deeply, deeply within my heart.
There's a soft moon on the horizon.
A new song in the mist.
And nobody knows just what it sings,
Or the wonder it brings.
There's a bright star over the mountain,
A cool breeze to the night.
With the cornflower dancing row on row
Where the blue grasses grow.
And if you listen very closely
You may hear the shadows cry,
As they weave their wonder
Across the drifting sky,
You may feel the fairest, faintest kiss.
And just a touch of hopefulness
And in every note the nightingale sweetly pines,
Whilst the blossom of eventime softly weeps,
The silvered moon of Ever shines
With every secret that she keeps.
There's a morning fog over the meadow,
A firefly seeking the dew,
And that whisper of evenfall tucked away,
Where the long shadows play.
Copyright © 2012 Richard D. Remler
The moon peaks,
catching the glimmering
snow, the rustling trees
But I long for the cabin,
the cabin up ahead
Kissing the night,
as she would me,
with warm firelight
A small crack offers entrance
and, as in before,
I sit beneath the floorboards
Notes drift through the cracks,
and soft thumps echo down:
the ghosts of dancing feet
I catch them in stride
They show me glimpses,
but only glimpses
To reach, to touch, my
still heart yearns to
join the lonely dancer
But what would she feel?
The slip of one hair?
The chill of silent breath?
The crawl of closed eyes?
Better to stay, sleeping,
beneath the floorboards