Just looking at you
barefoot in my tiled kitchen
floor, makes me so weak.
And when you step out
of the shower after bath
oh, makes me secrete.
You, pointing your toes
when you put on your stockings
makes me lick my lips.
Oh, I love your feet.
And I love your legs too and
Oh, I love your feet.
Let me make You remember that time when we fell from grace,
We were a pair of Angels - Gabriel & Isabel in The Team of Ace,
We fell in Love with each other in January - The Month of Face.
Though we knew Love was Forbidden in our Cult - The Angels,
Still We fell in Love for We were most beautiful of - The Angels,
Uriel wanted to snatch all my power as one of The Archangels.
Dragged we're to the courtroom of God and holy Angel Father,
Though The Holy Mother tried We were still given punishment,
So we fell from Grace they forgot I gave the prophecy of Christ.
My HP Poem #312
©Atul Kaushal
Found someone new and I lost the old me.
I miss that little girl that's locked up screaming to be free.
Find that little girl and hug her tight.
She's weeping, trying to keep her head up high.
HA HA HA. HAHA.
Those laughter rang in her ears since she was five,
when the kids in kindergarten called her ugly.
Until now, it still haunts her.
Those words slowly became the monsters that she have came to love.
Because they become her shield.
How can she love herself when she loves the monsters in her head more?
When she can't bring herself to run away from them.
When she listens to them and shut out the ones she holds dear to.
And these people who actually LOVES. HER. BACK.
And before she can love another, she needs to love herself. FIRST.
She. Is me. I, am her.
I have been mourning for these monsters for a while now.
I realized I need to kill them before they kill me.
Before they make me kill that little girl that is crying but is trying to fight her way back.
These monsters have been a part of me that I have been holding on.
I used to hide behind them whenever I feel insecure.
They helped me build a wall to cower and cry behind.
They helped me disconnect myself from the world.
So that the rest of the world can feel comfortable.
Being disconnected gives you time to think.
Loneliness breeds thoughts.
Guess the fuck what?
No more of that bullshit.
My impression is here so stay.
My footprints will forever be marked behind me,
whether I like it or not.
And I think that I need a small spot for my footprints.
For me.
ME.
I crave for understanding and support.
I crave for genuine embraces.
I will explore.
Anywhere, everywhere.
Anything, everything.
And maybe you,
someday, one day.
My thirst for genuine affections
are driving me insane
but is inhibited my angst.
Because…
How do I explain to my mother that her only daughter,
her only child is one confused mess.
I like girls.
I like boys.
I might not like girls.
I might not like boys.
Maybe I like both.
Maybe I am just blind…to gender.
One way or another,
I have come to accept that it doesn't really matter.
Whichever way, I go, it's okay.
I want to stop apologizing for cussin’ around.
Because to me they are motherfucking appropriate.
I am fucking tired of having to be sorry for being me.
I am fucking tired of having to be censored.
Just because some people think that
my orientation is an abomination to the population,
blaming people like me for the demoralization of the institution just because they are the ones without proper education.
But fuck that, this is my identification.
I will never know when the time is right,
so I'm putting the hourglass into someone else’s hand.
I guess I will let time do its job.
For now, I am happy with our
awkward little conversations.
You deserve to know that I am just flattered of your existence.
And y’know what?
I think you do a fucking good job at that.
I want you to exist beside me.
To hold my hand in public
and not care about offending anyone by doing so because it shouldn't.
For now, I am holding on to the hope
that maybe you will accept me one day.
I feel things that I don’t understand when I’m with you.
Fucking kiss me out in the streets.
When our eyes met,
fireworks lit up in my chest but at night
those monsters put them out like rain
I trip over these feelings but hold them back because
of my fear of rejection.
Because I want to be good at being good to you.
Taking out these monsters may all need a lot work but I got time.
first, if you're intoxicated,
don't be surprised
to see a lipstick stain
(that's still fresh red)
on your cheeks.
second, if you're intoxicated,
don't be confused
about who is the owner
of the number
embedded in your palms.
lastly, if you're drunk with love,
don't be surprised
if you are knocked down
with only one smile.
Some was shocked.
Some was amazed.
When the dad said, I love you.
Some was astonished.
Some was surprised.
When the dad said, I love you.
The biggest shame were from the men.
Who told him to be a man.
Don't show that emotion.
It just something a man doesn't do.
Be a man's man.
And the children's will know it.
Still, the dad said, I love you.
Besides, that just what he chose to do.
Well, I like preposterous and cirrocumulus,
curmudgeonly and humungous,
audacious and bodacious, scripturient,
irradiance, iridescence and magnificence,
flamboyant, fandango and flibbertigibbet,
(but this is difficult to say when you’re drunk),
voluptuous and vertiginous,
sumptuous, salacious, slithery, sexy and glistening,
crepuscular, strumpet and strawberry.
And I may as well include whipped cream
here as well, because this can be laid on in dollops,
and dollops is really an excellent word.
I also like anthimeria to mix up grammar
and make things all the merrier.
Drooling is highly evocative, too,
and I don't need to be provocative to observe
that even weapons can drool
when they're in the wrong hands.
However, I'm really very flexible about words,
because in my lexicon, low moaning noises are OK, too.
These sounds are part of the chord of creation
and reverberation from the time of
primordial ooze, which would be great between my toes.
Then there's protozoa, spermatozoa and also
wriggling flagella everywhere. So there.
And fecund is my second favorite word after love.
I also like ejaculation, and
I think we should celebrate salivate,
along with onomatopoeia that helps choose some words here.
And really, orgasm is good too,
particularly if you try to defer and prolong this.
Words I don’t like include don’t, can’t, never,
stop and mustn’t. Also, irascible, indescribable,
unmentionable and ineffable, incoherent,
impotent, incontinence, leaking colostomy bags,
importune and misfortune,
gawping, cavernous and cretinous,
circumambulatory, circuitous, and pursed lips.
These words should get the heave-ho.
And I definitely don't like parsimonious and mendicant,
which are miserable words.
Shut the fuck up and piss off should be taboo, too.
But the word I really dislike is cunt,
because this is an insulting word, and
to be taxonomical,
the negative score of this word would be astronomical.
Hate is also right up there on this list. Hate is abominable
because it tries to destroy love,
and love is indomitable.
Indomitable
is the
mightiest
word
of them all.
Mike T Minehan
His Voice or Mine
With his kiss upon your lips
As you close you eyes
Do you think about the life we had
Or the new life he provides
Can his hands carress your body
The ways that mine once did
Will his touch give you pleasure
Like only I could give
Can you see true love in his eye's
Like the love I had for you
Will your heart beat just as fast
As when I walked in the room
Does the memory of him fill your day
Is our memory lost in time
And as you listen to these loving words
Do you hear his voice or mine
Carl J. Roberts. March 2013
Losing control
sucking in sin
in amber shot glasses, beer glasses,
goblets red like blood and twinkling in the fire
I try not to mind it
I love him and he just turned twenty one
the age of no more
I try, I promise I do
But I watch a woman drink herself to death
Every
Single
Night
And it occurs to me that I cannot see
the difference
between out of control and completely sober
It has gotten to the point where I see horrible fires at beer commercials, lighting them all up, eating away their sin in explosive technicolor
And I want to hurt the woman in the Spirits Store
even if she has done nothing wrong
but sell my mother the evil
No, it's not actually evil,
but still, I want to choke the life out of her body and keep squeezing
until I feel vertebrae pop
red grapes in my hands
will you partake of that wine?
The pleasure is still there, a kick of adrenaline.
Will you partake?
My sin, though worse than yours, is still sin
Waste not, my friends
suck it in like rats
and I will fall upon you like an avenging angel, reaping
But then I realize
that's crazy.
That's unreasonable.
I should just go to bed.
That One Lost Love
Have you ever had that one lost love
That you remember from your past
The one who seemed to get away
But you wish you could have back
The timing wasn't perfect
For the love you had back then
Their broken heart not ready
So now they call you friend
Every now and then you speak
You hear the story of their life
They tell you that they fell in love
You feel an emptyness inside
You wish that they had felt this way
For the love you shared back then
For how can they have fell in love
When you have this love within
The future holds a different path
Then what we think we know
You cannot change the way they feel
You must let the friendship grow
So no matter what the future holds
Just know that love is true
For this friendship with a broken heart
Is the friendship I have with you
Carl Joseph Roberts
.
Raking the tops
of the wind swept wheat
with the tips of my fingers,
gliding freely without pause,
I was a ghost to my own shadow;
a being, living, with no moral law.
The sun would burn away
my familiar friend from another time,
popping in and dissolving out,
now remaining, never mine.
This intangible energy
that now hovers above Earthen loam,
wanders without proof of purpose,
searching, demanding, always deceiving
those who walk alone.
My hair swings but no breeze.
My heart remembers but doesn't beat.
My head thought of my knees,
when my pride did compete
for the love from a girl for this deadbeat.
I'm stuck, yet alive;
alive as one might be to suffer.
The unholy grain through the vastness,
combs the air and presents,
itself as an evil muse to humans,
and my impending ever after.
10 years ago,
through a flash of most brilliant light,
I died, I appeared, I hovered
aimlessly haunting nothing now,
….though I might.
I can't find myself,
for my eyes cease to see;
the eyes aren't even mine,
a vexing landscape now empty and daunting.
Another flash consumes my sanity,
to throw me back to that summer date;
a burning, biting heat starts to arrest me
when a gurgling voice shows its hate,
and slaps, what a slap,
this curiously hurting man who, left unhappy!
Circular faces appear
to have welcomed my presence,
but my legs numbing, unbecoming,
haven't worked in my absence,
just as an elder figure
in my wake sheds a tear.
This was much more frightening
than swimming in the grain,
sensing my shadow's departure in vain.
A loud beep and my hand squeezed,
assured me reality was coming back in
as I heard the whispering voice say,
"Jessica was found headless in the grain."
A cop's uniform had accompanied
this circus of angels and devils,
opening my weary lids to a wash of white;
that same voice whispering again, saying,
"That bastard son of yours killed our rebel!"
-Mark Lach
