I'm crying, and I can't stop.
I'm sad and it won't stop.
The depression is getting worse.
The anxiety is getting worse.
Why is this happening?
I can't breath.
Why can't I breath?
Will tonight be the night I cut again?
I can't breath.
I could probably drain myself of tears right now...
I finally, finally got the guts to ask him out.
I've been wanting to ask him out for the longest time, now...
We've gotten so close.
It's kind of like we're best friends.
I thank the good Lord above because he's in my life.
But I guess I was just too late.
She got to him before I could even say "Hey."
Has she filled every thought she has with his image?
Has she dreamed about him night after night?
Has she taken the time to memorize every feature of his harsh, petite face?
But then again,
I don't know for certain.
Maybe she loves him more than I do...
But she's not the one hurting right now.
She's not the one with a million daggers piercing and stabbing her once beating heart.
She's not the one who has to keep wiping away her tears during class.
She's not the one who will never get to feel his warm hugs.
She's not the one who has to watch him with someone else dreaded day after dreaded day.
She's not the one writing this poem...
I don't mean to seem "woe is me" right now,
But I don't know how else to act.
I've been pricked,
And my wound is getting infected.
He doesn't realize just how much I love him.
He really doesn't.
He doesn't know just how many poems I've written about him.
How many times I've thought about the way he walks and the way he talks.
All the dreams I dream,
Each one includes him.
I've probably written "I <3 Daniel" more than a million times in my notebook.
If only I could tell him.
If only he knew how I felt.
Maybe that would change things...
Maybe the egg wouldn't be on my face...
But then again,
Maybe things would stay the same.
Maybe I'd just have two eggs on my face...
When people twist my words
The flip flop, flip flop of flip flops
When people SIIINNNGGG with the radio
Small children wiping their nose wherever they can
Getting left out
Having to wait for Christmas
Ha ha ha’s of unfunny things
Getting mad over nothing
Now knowing what people are talking about
People trying to control my life
Having to work in a group
My peers mocking and making fun of me
When I get beat like an egg
Going through a dry spell with my writing
People not doing what I asked them to do
Spinach, Brussel Sprouts, and the gas they give me
Being treated un=ly
LOVE IS A FEELING OF A PERSON YOU LOVE
AND STICK TO AND NEVER FALL A PART AND
MAKE A TEAM FOR EACH OTHER AND THEN
THINGS IT START TO GET SERIOUS AND THEN
YOU START GETTING IN GAGE THEN YOU HAVE
BABIES THEN YOU WILL HAVE A LOT OF WORK TO DO
AND THEN YOU WILL BE BRAKING APART AN THEN YOU GO
AN FIND SOMEBODY ELSE AND GO OVER AND OVER AGAIN THEN IT'S
DIFFICULT TO DEAL WITH WHO YOU LOVE
YOUR LIFE AN THEN YOU WILL BE WALKING
LIKE A CHICKEN WITH HIS HEAD CUT OF AN
THEN YOU WILL PASS OUT AND STAY LIKE
ALL OVER AGAIN LIKE BEFORE AT FIRST.
BY Christopher Conyers
Helicopter seeds descending from tree houses
resting in ponds shadowed by shaken needles;
—I awoke from a dream this morning—
Forests in fiery oranges plagued by pine beetles
a man fishing in the dusk, a sole fish he arouses.
—such a dreamin' I had me—
How about them men in the mountains, hermit'd, high, isolated,
with pens in ink, pensive, draftin' a'lookin' after their suicide notes:
—it was nonsensical, such nonsense—
I can feel my bones aching,
my finger bones aching.
Don't you apologize, fish, for biting bait
lest the others hear that I commiserate
amongst the fishes in the lake water:
"She could have a mother; she could be a daughter!"
I feel that boom; I know that boom:
That's Thunder's yellow rumble a'stumblin'
'cross the oak-wood floors of my room–
That's naked, nude clothes strip'd.
A pile and a bundle,
my bones are aching.
That's a candle left burning,
that's saints speaking in tongues,
that's men hung like curtains on rungs–
This world is getting old, times are a'turning.
That's a taxi cab afterlife, a mail-order wife,
that's pills on the floor of a Motel 6 in Reno,
that's forty-four hundred lost playing keno.
We can't always be lucky, who calls that a life?
My joints are a'sprainin' aching
with the preempt of a storm.
That's writer's block and cramped hands, cramped hearts,
that's a hovel heated by an oven, heads found in hot ovens,
that's the hillside and the glens past where the track bends but
just before the dens of monsters that I swear I left behind that night.
—dreamin' a'dazin' and days in always let my demons out—
That night I hid another razor in the rafters thinking,
"My thoughts I'll bury."
I ran away to sell maps of the human heart en Algérie.
I'm getting pulled to the clouds again.
I keep trying to get up high.
My hair is standing on end.
Am I scared you will hurt me?
Risk taker and I'd risk more if you trust me with your kind heart.
I read poems this morning and wonder how anyone could be so mean.
I like what I like and know who I like nobody should worry about me.
I don't feel used, abused or the fool for seeking out who I like.
If I'm lucky and have the pleasure of getting to know you better in the real,
I would feel happy and honored and it would be what I want.
What you want is important to me so no hurry on meeting.
I'll be spending time getting to know what you care to share.
Would be my pleasure to gift you a ton of presents and sit
with you and watch your face as you open all.
It would also be nice to spend time with you in a cabin sharing
time reading the real Christmas story from the good book.
Whatever makes you happy and at ease makes me happy.
I learned something from posting all the poems about you.
If I want you to know it's about you, I must post your name.
This one is about and for you and hope to get to know you Betty Ponder.
I don't know if I can make it
Might as well just fake it
I am failing
My mental illness's are getting worse
Maybe I should just stop trying..
After all, what is it worth
So everyone keep burying her in expectations
And dig her a a small grave
Who knows if we will see her tomorrow
So lets make the best of today..
My mother always called me the devil child
Because I was loud, destructive and wild
I found out years later I was born with ADHD
No one wanted ever to spend any time with me
Parents didn’t know of ADHD or why I was different
They didn’t understand and they were very intolerant
Parents told older sister I was bad and she didn't have to play with or be around me
So much of the time alone was really no fun, however for some help I did make a plea
I heard my mother double dog dare my father to hit me
Mother would refer to me as a turd in front of the family
All my cousins were smart, while I was failing most my classes at school
Got in to many fights with bullies and teachers who were always cruel
All my family made fun and they called me names bully and teased
I was the loser that anyone could do or say whatever they pleased
They all knew my mother would not try to defend
Because she and my grandmother started the trend
Once I told my mother that I was happy about something
She said happiness was by me not deserved but a thumping
Mother was always mad at me since I never wanted any piano, ballet, or baton lessons
I had my own mind, and impressing other people in life was not one of my obsessions
Could never make my mother happy, she was always very angry
I use to hit myself, scratch my face because she drove me crazy
When I was ten got mother a gift at the five & dime for her one birthday
She tossed the gift in the garage, called it junk, said was best to throw away
On Christmas day, when I unwrapped a gift if I didn't act surprised in a certain way
She'd throw a fit, get drunk and make me feel guilty about things the rest of the day
I was always afraid of my mother, never knew
what she next to me that she would try to do
None of my cousins was I ever allowed with to play
Was always much of the time alone every and all day
I lived in a strange way my dad was very to the T religious
And my mother was always drunk and of course blameless
She’d drink when home from work, on the weekends or holidays
And could always hide it from all her friends and the relatives
No one believed me when I told them that she had been drinking
They acted like I was crazy by then I knew what they were thinking
Never knew of anyone I could be close to, for a hug or some kind words
Things were always bad I needed encouragement for me to be heard
My mother took me out on Friday nights to eat and buy whatever I wanted, after work
Her last stop was always the liquor store for drink and smoke, I was left in car like a jerk
Bought games that took two or more to play, but she nor did dad never have any intension
Of spending time with me, I was in there way. I was a bad child that needed intervention
Wasn’t the perfect child I admit; I ran off when I was 16 did things I regret parents put me
Away, they came for counseling I complained about moms drinking, and she felt angry
She said her drinking wasn’t my problem, she’d be back to see me when I could face the truth
Never could mother admit her or dad doing wrong, everything was because I was a youth
Came home from school one day mom was passed out on the living room floor dead drunk
Called ambulance for her Dr blamed me and said no visit, and he called me a worthless punk
My dad would come home and find she was throwing up while passed out always in her bed
I’d watch him take bowls put them near her mouth to catch it, was something I would dread
He’d walk to the bathroom, empty the bowl and go back to get the next one to do the very same
And replace the unfilled one repeat the process. I was told by her doctor that I was the blame
Sometimes mom would run down the hall to the toilet bowl throw up then my heart would race
Because I always knew mom would do this and then she’d come to room to scare rant and pace
Since I was a bad spoiled child who had parents with money, nice house cars and good jobs
And I was not willing to help out or be responsible, was told I made the family look like slobs
My sister let her boyfriend talk her into letting him take me to dentist, instead he molested me
No one believed me because in the past I had lied about things, and the truth no one would see
I was different all the cousins, my aunts and uncle could blame me when things went missing
Or went wrong I was then and still am now the perfect scapegoat yes about it I’m still babbling
My father ran out the back door, when he heard me wake up and come out of my room
So he didn't have to bother with me, and I wanted to spend time with him he’d assume
Somehow I managed to graduate from high school and I then would move
To a different city I felt I might have better luck and my life would improve
Married two very bad guys both who daily beat, threatened me and verbally abused
Divorced them both had one child and how I’d raise this child alone I was confused
Tried to work and go to school never was competent enough to follow through
Each time I would start either I did not have the ability of completing anything new
Am not proud of this but I had 30 jobs that I lost in 10 years and even tried going to college
Unable to remember how and when to do things, my head from years of abuse was in a fog
Filed for SSI and Social Security, got on section 8, food stamps WIC and other government aid
I needed a home for myself and my daughter so I had to depend on things like this to get paid
My daughter grew up, became ill with a repeating debilitating disease
I dedicated myself to getting her well, and nothing about it was a breeze
Had to take her in pain for Doctor visits many times she’d cry and wished she were dead
This broke my heart with no family help, just her and I to face things in the years ahead
Unable to attend school for years, the Doctor signed permission to stay home
School system assigned a teacher who was mean nothing about her was tome
School Social workers interfered
And my name they smeared
She finally one day went into remission
And now the nephrotic kidney condition
Seems for now to have forever gone for good away
For years it’s been don’t want others to downplay
For a while I homeschooled her and the first semester back in the public school
She was on the honor roll things seemed to be looking up and I felt exception to the rule
Then one day she lost interest in classes, homework and attending
And the principal of the high school was calling and threatening
Pulled her out of school and placed her in to get her GED
Soon she graduated quite quickly within month of three
A year before she was supposed to graduate
I knew by then that I was doing things right
Enrolled me and her in community college we made the Dean’s list and no student loan debt
Last May she and I graduated have a new life now I don’t feel things in my life are a threat
But alone I’ve raised a good child, self-published a book and kept things together
I’ve published some poetry and stories in magazines that will be on web pages forever
Even though my parents have helped me out once in a while financially
I feel lack of respect since they helped family who treated me crummy
I’m still feeling and have most of the hopeless thoughts when I was young
But I still try to steer my daughter to be different from me and hold my tongue
Those cousins with the high degree
Don’t seem to have too much on me
Both lost their jobs within a year out of college from being snobs and dishonest
But the parents just think that it was because others were being so glibbest
Both stuck alone in life working in their old age
That just mostly pays a low minimum wage
Sister divorced husband for molesting her children still won't speak told her kids I was bad
She lives in my town and over 20 years she’s never visited so by her I've been for life had
Most of all I think it's because my parents never would face reality or admit
To any wrong doing of years of abuse and neglect, something I couldn't forget
Why am I talking about this after all these years still?
Because I think that it may just possibly help me to heal
All Rights Reserved
In My Real Life (IMRL)
In my real life,
not a poet,
just an astronomer,
an observer of
named and oft,
Some never find true love.
Some never fly first class.
Some of us
never see the
South of France.
Some of us wear
and never forgive
of the shame of it.
Some never experience
Some of us are
and never forget,
and never forgive.
Some of lose
avanti nel tempo,
before their time,
the anger is both
Some of us
were raised by
someone else's parents,
and never rest
the abandoned taste
Some we can pass
over with ease,
new tissue grows,
cuts marked -
But the ones that scar,
the ones that visible scar
that there is a real
promised land of
peace of mind.
Peace of mind -
not even for a second,
a biblical myth,
a promised land,
a capitalist paradisal hoax.
Some never feel
always wearing the T-shirt labeled
Property of Someone Else.
Most of us remain
cloaked in bills to pay;
Living a triumvirate of
heart ache, loneliness, worry,
our normal table fare
of hand to hand
into the mouth
just stay alive.
We are not digitalized,
our faces hidden, and
in no one's heart book
are we recorded,
yet our viewing habits,
purchases, secret sites
are enumerated, captured.
Some of us live
in the real life,
never to escape to the
province of Wifi,
in the landscape
of the electronic mind,
an option for which
Perhaps sanctity of separation,
safety of text, email,
avec the cocaine intrusion
of tweets are
the real life today,
games are always won,
and what we don't enjoy,
we just delete away
But In My Real Life
getting up is trying,
the trying is trying,
delete buttons don't exist
in the keyboard
of our brains,
all we have is a
measly twenty six aleph bets
to find new ways to say
that living is striving and
what we feel is
oh so real,
when I laugh out loud,
beat the walls,
registering their feelings
in my face,
in my book,
so to speak.
I got a friend,
all I need,
voices to help soften
the 400 blows of RL.
Their synthesized silence
of their breathing
on the phone
is precious unto me.
limp from Friday
a bottle of Medoc
my weekend reward,
my bedrock cushion
in order to sleep.
After all these years,
gains and losses,
conversations with God,
I look up,
see the risk,
the slightest breeze
hanging above me
swaying in living color,
is no legend.
But what I have is
to let anyone know
in my real life
anyone who touches me
with fine and good intent,
a momentary glancing blow
or a gunshot to the ventricle,
is part and parcel of
my real life.
This makes you real too,
savior, and hereby notified,
that you are not
just an observer, but
a poet of me,
an astronomer of my heart,
and namer of
a secret universe
inside of me.
Sept. 1, 2010
US Army jargon: meals ready to eat