You are an ocean,
filled with life and
color. Everything so
lovely as the moon
shines down. The
moon soon sinks and
the light reveals truth
as society comes to
pollute the ocean blue.
Most only see the waste,
chemicals and smoke,
but I see far into
the abyss, the labyrinth
of the deep. I want
to get lost in the
maze and remain inside.
I can clean
up the waste and
make the ocean lovely
once again.
I'm dirty
covered in filth
sick
hopeless
lost
I'm not even trying
to be found
I thought I already hit rock bottom
but it seems to be on repeat
why do I keep falling?!
I'm a liar
the pain is everywhere
physical
mental
it hurts everywhere
I don't deserve this soul
my body is hardly a temple
I let it become thrashed
forsaken
desolate
I've disowned my heart
bathed in all things impure
it's not worth it
to be alone
And when the end draws near
I am lost
We never prepare for this sort of thing
because we don't have the time
for time
when it comes to quickly.
Life is brief.
Souls are forever.
They don't get along well.
I see the moments I love flash before me in vintage photographs
Polaroids of past pains past pleasures
And I long to get a grip of myself
But the teared memories won't stop
and the time is slipping through
again
If I am salt
In your wounds, I burn
In your mouth, I leave distaste
In your glory, I am the particle swept away
In your ocean, I am the invisible lost one
In your life, I am salt
If I am salt
Then what good am I?
In your burns, I bring cleansing
In your wounds, I bring healing
In your distaste, I bring flavor
In your glory, I stand aside smiling
In your ocean, I bring life
If I am salt
A furious typhoon
slipped through the heavens.
The unraveling of time is a linear process,
Prediction is not.
Dynamic instability in the system
caused by the chaotic theory of thought.
Lost in dissociation,
We see the lines
that transcend time.
Infinity:
I can't give it up;
Because it's not enough
2-CB typhoon run amok.
A bright pink head scarf reveals my position not allowing a disguise.
Piercing eyes set me alight
as you stare me down,
pinched by curious frowns
surrounded with whispering tensions.
Shame floods my pores and drowns me in accusations,
Lowering my gaze
anger courses through my veins
At the disgusting disgrace
of my kind.
Their moments of inhumanity, striking nations with tragedy and a horror stricken pain to the Muslim name.
Islamaphobia fame has spurted to tame and it cannot be held to blame,
For sick
T W I S T E D
individuals have stained and hate filled memories remain.
This is not my Islam!
I dare to mention
My heart along with yours
weeps for the innocence lost,
the heartbroken families left behind and the fearful scarred onlookers who survived.
(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
(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 into
(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?
Help
I might be broken
Help
I might be lost
Help
I might be a dreamer
Help
I might hate myself
I'm here to help
says no one.
Park smoked as we walked,
Lost trees of autumn smoldered,
. . . Cold sun in her eyes.
lost weight recently
but found it in the freezer
some Girl Scout Thin Mints
