Imagine me holding
The moon and the sun
And all the stars
Imagine me holding all the trees
The birds and the bees
All the flowers and the grass
The clouds and every raindrop
In my hands
Imagine me
Holding you
Oh, I would be holding
The whole world
But I don't
I don't need to hold you
To love you
Just like the flower
Or the stars
You stir up happiness
In my heart
Just by existing
~Natasha~
do you still despise your father
because he had another woman,
& left you & your brother for her?
"oh no, now, no one will ever care"
do you still resent your mother
because she turned a blind eye
& collasped with shame when it came to light?
"oh no, I'll be more unyielding than that"
& so it is no small wonder to me
that when you gaze at yourself
you must see the whore that you are
you still take his money after all.
that sort of self-disgust must be
pretty hard to swallow, digest.
no wonder, you're always hungry & hollow
oh you'll consume anything he pays for
(I, myself, must admit I made the mistake of
finding an abyss inside a void)
but spaces are not always places
aches are not always pains
I loved you once
but I won't ever again
It's funny that you work in a place I escape to drink to
I'm just here for the burgers and sun maybe a beer or two
Sitting day dreaming absentmindedly when you walk up to me
And when I turn the first thing I see is your infectious smile
And then your looking at me with those sparkling eyes too
Why not make it a hat trick and start talking with that sweet sexy cool accent?
Oh what was it I wanted to order? I forget can you give me a minute?
It never crossed my mind that I had any consequence
I was just happy to take the smiles and my day dreams home in silence
But on the receipt you had a name for me aside from the bill of forty ones
I think it's the sweetest thing a girls done lately to call me "Nicedude1"
-Azrael Always James
© Copyright 2013
There's something about everything about nothing about how we were created, tiny blips in a system of "Nothing Even Matters" starring the worst producers in the universe. One could catch a glimpse of us as they pass by to get to somewhere better and laugh, and shake their heads and they would know our only purpose in existence was to make them feel better inside. But whoever writes a book in the view of the indifferent? Whoever directs a movie where nothing different happens? That's like asking who remembers the forgotten, it's possible but ever so unlikely, and sure as sine is undulated, under appreciated, somewhat very deflated, and though we aren't remembered, we sure aren't too terribly hated.
There's something about anything that could be distributed as significance in this underrated little beauty, flourished world that runs about full of life and clarity, streaming with disparity, slow depreciating, and sometimes we're defeating the purpose of why we're unique, and we slowly take the filters out of our little selfie, loosing all this isn't healthy, and we diminish all signs of any significance and we become as lifeless as a meteor, and I sometimes think "What is this for?" And then I simply sigh and take my sunglasses outside and stare into the sun, and wonder if anyone in the entire world has gotten off their iPhones or TVs and stared at the sun along with me.
There's something about how I feel when the little things get to me, like grades or dating drama, getting larger, more dramatic, oh it's such a ceaseless phlegmatic, and I sit at my stirring house and wonder how I can bear to live it anymore. But then I start to realise the person passing over is really staring us in the face and watching this world run in place. I'm not going to think about it anymore, it's all part of Earth's perpetual cycle, I'm not going to stop this utter nonsense now because it's time for me to go to my next class.
Knees, keep supporting me
You know I believe in you
Stop with all the frailties
And get me where I'm rolling to
Unscrew
All the blues
You sing and keep running in time
Well fed, sleep when you're dead
Or at least aT the end of this rhyme
Pause time, wipe off the grime
Focus on the words I have to say
Ran five hundred score, just a few more
And we can be in a happy place
Don't stop
Don't drop
Reach mountaintop and valley low
Haters degrade the progress made
Saying that we run too fast, too slow
Oh yes, do your best
Until you glimpse that finish line
Past the dream to reality
And see it was you all this time
These knees
Strongly
Wanted to finish just as bad as you
God be blessed, revel in success
We all run, but how you finish is up to you
The senses of love
Complimentary heart beats
Pulsing in unison.
Echo
In the base of my chest.
Unrhythmic motions.
Friction.
The sleek film of sweat
That covers your skin
Gives rise to goose-flesh.
Only these are not a response to the cold.
Oh, quite the opposite.
A breathy whisper
Fumbles out of my mouth,
Over my lips,
And into your ear.
Groping the areas you can find the most meat.
The sound of skin,
And a whispered request.
The feeling of a firm grip around my waist.
The sight of two pillows wrestling beneath the sheets.
The taste of anticipation and fear.
And the smell of love.
Cough cough
Hack
Shudder
Head hurts
Giddy
Feel like
Sleeping
Sometimes,
I just wish this were
More than a cough
And that it will take me away
Maybe the medication
Oh yes
Maybe that little sticker
On the side of the box
Marked “POISON”
It doesn’t taste that bad.
don't fall in love
with me, i whisper
into the crooked spaces
of your ribs
i say, oh, darling
you can do so much better
then throwing you weighed down body
into the murky sea below this bridge
i hug you tight, while i
wrap chains round your body
tugging on your hand
as i gently pull you
towards the sea
one day you'll be drowning
and forget what it felt like to breathe
all you will be thinking about is me
and how i ruined you
Your
Young-Curvy,
Youthful-Attractive Body
Never Fails In Seduction.
I Love It When You Pose,
When You Do Like A Rose.
And Oh! It Breaks down
My Mature-Manly Body
It Then Becomes Softer
Strong-Soft,
Mine.
My HP Poem #165
© Atul Kaushal
how lonely sits
the city says
lamentations
guess this mouse has what you americans call post traumatic
stress disorder,
think of it more like
a path for the
eyes.
one where eyes are finally forced away
from the works of hands
by the knock knock
knocking on
heaven's door,
everybody's saying,
hodi hapa? something's
wrong if no one's answering; tonight.
my neighbor whose
name is eej (for
real) came to
the hut with
his friend.
i said do you
have siblings
he said
i did
oh
said i
you are living
my worst nightmare
one thing about an african
childhood, they say fatalism, you say you
would think about death too
and who knows
what you'd
look
like
tonight by the bagel van i said bunkle
i gotta problem
what's your problem said he
well i think i'm not wearing enough colors
no said he you're missing a bright splash in the orange red family
who knows what we all look like
inside the infinite space
of our souls
wonder if
blue means purity or
green means beauty
or red means strength
or love
or love
well
we all look
pretty much
the same asleep
hatred doesn't look
different in one
eye or another
but why does
it have to
be in the
eyes of
anyone
this mouse has
been asking
since
child
hood
why
why
why.
the cruelty
but
yet
still
and
for
ever
(you always did care for me yeah
you always did share with me yeah)
you always make me laugh, still
the book of jonah makes me
think of sea legs
and just everything,
you know all
the palm trees
huts, nonvoices
of our lives
the blessings rain down
an ocean sunsetting
on an Ocean sky.
siblings
be strong the
good kind of
dangerous
is
the
fire
just be
around
(this is real
hope: in the
searing agony
of human
existence,
the fire of
your love
is burning)
