boredom is a tight shirt,
a blanket shamefully pulled over it
boredom is how whiskey learns how to taste better,
chum steeps in the waters constantly,
the fragmented dregs of flesh dance and so we catch them cautiously
with our gnaw of impatience
boredom is waking up early and laying in bed for an hour or three,
occasional outbursts of "fuuuucccckkkk" - and then it's coffee
rolling cigarettes out of abandoned butts - a true old stogie
television, pornography turned down in volume,
pot, movements of no virtue
more whiskey and then the pillow and then things get interesting
Today my mother looked at me and told me I was becoming someone,
I smiled back at her pretending that my smile didn't have a gaping hole that let the happiness seep out.
I was 7 years old before I knew who my father was,
I tried desperately to be like someone, anyone, clinging on any similarity I could find.
At this time I didn't understand that some pages remain unwritten, I'm still not sure if I do.
I had the same question for every black man that walked by,
Is that my daddy?
Is that my daddy?
Is that my daddy?
A child can't hold the whole world in their tiny fingers.
Because kids in a 2nd grade classroom don't know why I'm different,
I don't know why I'm different,
I don't know why you can't write a letter.
How was I somebody if I had no idea who I am,
its like trying to build a house with no dimensions.
Today I was asked to make a family tree,
my teachers stare was almost as dark as the color of my skin
when my answer was that I couldn't.
Because my dad never bothered to show up.
Now I am forced to look at myself in the mirror and ask where I come from,
That one mole over my left eyebrow,
The beat of a drum in my heart calling me home but I keep my feet firmly planted on the ground because I don't know where home is.
Don't ask me why it matters, if you do, come back to me when you don't know half of who you are and tell me why.
I cant stop apologizing because no matter how many times I'm told I'm wrong, I know the reason he didn't come back was me.
So I'm not becoming someone, I'm left wandering in a dark room with no furniture.
All because you couldn't even write me a letter.
I am caught between two sets of chains;
One digs into my flesh with patches of rust
Entering my bloodstream through old wounds
I gave myself in years before…
The toxins take action ever so slowly.
Another is of satin,
Gently caressing my knuckles
Making me happier—
Than I’ve ever been in my whole life,
But there’s pressure on my clavicles
As the pull becomes stronger.
I have cried over you
All the while I’ve been saying:
‘I love you’
For I know that I feel more deeply
Than you could ever feel
I see farther forward
Then you’ve ever dared to look,
And I’m trapped here with my
Adoration for you,
And I already miss you.
The coming of the light was disorienting at first, like the shimmer of the surface of the sea when viewed from beneath. Ossie Mae was swimming up to meet it head on with the fearlessness that only the children of the Great Depression possess. That stark light called out to her bones.
Ossie Mae could hear faint sounds of work: the crinkling of cellophane wrappers, muffled footsteps, and an incessant chatter of beeps nearby. She broke the water's surface and spied a silhouette moving gracefully around the room's only bed. The lights' intrusion subsided, and Ossie Mae was able to recognize hospital scrubs as the silhouette's garment of choice.
"Am I dead," Ossie Mae ventured feebly.
"I don't know," the silhouette responded. "Do you feel dead?"
"I don't know what dead feels like."
"Then how do you know you were ever alive?"
The question hung in the air for a moment while Ossie Mae gathered her wits. "I don't reckon it matters, does it? What happened? Where am I? What is your name?" Now the questions flowed like water over the falls.
"I am Nurse Cassandra. This is a hospital. You are here because you fell and broke your hip. You came in alone...is there anyone you would like me to call for you? Family? Friends?"
Ossie Mae's pupils dilated slightly, as if looking past Nurse Cassandra, searching. "No. My husband, Jack, passed away eight years ago. We never had children and the few friends I have are all in nursing homes or moved away to live with their babies and grand-babies, or to Florida. It's just me now...," Ossie Mae said, her voice slowly and steadily trailing off.
Nurse Cassandra, who looked to be a woman in her early fifties, set down the clipboard she had been scanning while Ossie Mae spoke. She sat down next to Ossie Mae and took her hand. Ossie Mae thought to herself that for such a young woman, Nurse Cassandra had old eyes. They were kind and gray, but seemed old and out of place.
"Is there anything I can do for you, Ossie Mae," Nurse Cassandra asked gently.
"Well...my daddy was a simple man, and he always told me 'Ossie Mae, you ain't got to know what you want in life, but it sure does help to know what you don't want.' I sure do miss Daddy...but I reckon what I don't want is to stay in this hospital any longer than I have to. Could you get me out of here? Please? I don't belong here no more."
"Are you sure? Really sure that is what you want, Ossie Mae?"
"Yes'ums. Yes ma'am." Flatly. Definitively.
"Then of course, Ossie Mae. I can help you with that." Nurse Cassandra stood up, reaching into the pocket of her scrubs. "One escape, coming right up."
Nurse Cassandra turned to Ossie Mae's I.V. drip, moving quickly with practiced hands, emptying the contents of the syringe into the port on the line.
And so it came to pass: Nurse Cassandra, Ossie Mae's Angel of Death, sent her home to Jack and Daddy.
i am still undecided if i should continue to pursue this genre....
Time goes, the curtain falls
And the hourglass is dry
Be kind, eyes sharp
There's no time to cry
Shedded tears have no place here
Bind myself so clear
Happy for so many years
Look in my eyes
Tell me if I deserve to die
Rescue me from this living hell
From the bottom of the well
I can't keep hoping that you'll come
'Cause I'm the reason that you fell
Let's run away like we used to
'Cause it's been years and I miss you
Just run with me to the end
'Cause I wanna be with you
I wanna be with you
Time stops, we're on
Act two has begun
I remember when you said
This time was our last one
My knees trembled and ached
Reminiscing on the day
Remembering your face
I can't sleep at night
Why do I wake up and try?
We'll drink to the nines someday
And I'll make a toast in your grace
Drinking devil's blood out of gold chalices
'Cause you're my best friend
I wanna live on the edge
Break me out of heaven
I wanna go back to the past
Because I lost my only friend
And I wanna try again
Shirt's off, I'm up
This is my moment
You set me free
This life can only get worse
Not for you but for me
Through the tears I could see
No point asking why
Without you all I do is cry
I know I fucked up this time
But baby I really try
I won't scream into the night
Sky, I'll whisper this time
I wanna grow old with you someday
Fingers-crossed that you're on the way
I love you and I'll wait forever
'Cause I wanna be with you
I wanna be with you
So it’s 11:46 and she’s dreaming.
curled up beside me like fingers around luke warm tea.
I would kiss her head if I could
hold her in my arms, like I should.
but my mind belongs somewhere else
a seeping darkness pulling, pushing, pursing me.
To stay around, but not.
Just sit a little, she had said.
You need a place to rest.
That was three weeks ago,
Now I need to move
away from her beauty, as it intoxicates me.
Her smile as it fills me with dread.
I’ve been here before
it’s so easy to stay.
maybe I should just say…
“I’m not hungry.”
She starts, awake in me.
she stretches, like she’s been asleep for centuries.
“It’s nice to see you again, old friend”
I wish I could say the same to you.
I should get up, I should go…
but she’s so tempting…
I guess in the end I
am alone again.
I'm still awake
Still, as the cold seeps into my bones
And my candle gave up an hour ago
I toss like a raft in an ocean
Puppet of the waves, and yet riding above them.
Sing to me, please
Like you did when I was a child
When I still believed in God
When I didn't hate myself
Before I poured myself out for others to ignore.
I miss you
I will choke my pride and say it
Because the missing is more bitter than my ego.
I miss the way the world would sing
Vibrating with a passionate harmony.
I'm still young
But I feel very, very old
Weighed down with selfishness
Already wasting away as my blood peeks out
From the perfect razor lines on my skin.
Will anything ever change?
There are too many years left,
If this is all there is.
I miss you.
And I don't even know who you are.
The very blood in my veins looks for you,
Spinning around and around with
Every beat in my heart
Until it finds an exit and bleeds out
Just for the hope
Of hearing you sing
One last time.
When you grow up, you grow up with your tree.
Growing up you pick fruit from your tree,
You attach a swing to your tree,
And on your tree you swing everyday.
You get older your tree is your only true friend,
You talk to your tree your tree always listens.
You get a girl friend, you don't see your tree as much.
You have problems your tree is always there for you.
You start to get old, your trees leaves begin to fall.
You die, and everybody knows how much you loved that tree...
So the ones you love decide to build a casket made out of your tree.
You passed away, but you're buried with the ones that lived for you your entire life.
I loved a boy with a rather small heart,
sometimes he'd let me in and I'd roam through,
running my fingers along the scratches the walls held
and cautiously stepping over the loose floorboards.
He told me love once lived
in this dark and brooding place.
He told me he'd have married her,
but she damaged all the rooms,
so he forced the doors shut.
I loved a boy who put off cold distance
and placed a "keep out" sign on his front door.
Sometimes he'd let me in
to paint the grey walls vibrantly,
or put down new flooring;
to replace the glass windows she'd shattered,
and open the curtains.
He told me love once thrived there
and that every day the sun would shine through.
"It was Love." he would say,
who kept him warm in the winter,
but she dismembered the foundation,
and flooded the basement,
so he locked himself away.
I loved a boy who couldn't love me back.
Sometimes he'd let me in
to fill the cracks in the molding,
or plant flowers in the garden.
Sometimes he let me start a fire in the fireplace,
and turn the bed over.
He told me love once belonged there,
and that my renovating was comforting,
but futile nonetheless.
The old creaky staircase
would never forget the imprints of her feet
and the gates in the yard
were not strong enough to keep her out.
I loved a boy once who chose to remain haunted
despite every attempt I made
to set his soul free.
I loved a boy once who couldn't let go of a ghost.
Hold your tears little man,
Ignore the hurtful things they say.
Rest your head here, with me.
Ten year old kids can be cruel,
Say things they should not say,
Hurt even their friends for no reason,
As yours have done today,
Thoughtless and mean words they were,
Said without thinking,
using bad judgment no doubt.
This thing they called you, “Fat Boy”
Or words to that effect, they mean nothing
Unless you let them, unless you don’t
Understand. . . Let me explain,
You are a growing boy, nearing what is
Called puberty, a physical change of
Your body from a little boy, on the way
to being a full grown man. Your body
will be ever changing, it’s how it is,
how it’s supposed to be, how it is for all people.
When I was your age, I had a more rounded
Shape as did your Dad at your age as well,
We too heard those mean thoughtless
Words directed at us. And I cannot lie
it hurt every bit as much as these words
and names hurt you today.
Rest assured son of my son, dearest friend,
This chubby stuff, it’s only temporary not a
Now as to the stupidity of Mean people,
that hurt other people so thoughtlessly,
for them that state of Ignorance and
stupidity might just last forever.
Now dry your eyes and go get the ball
and Gloves and let’s play us some catch.
Here wipe your eyes and blow your nose
on my sleeve and think no more about it.
Some things never change when it comes to dealing with other people.
Meanness and ignorance it seems is generational.
To my grandson "W" you won't see this 'till you're more
grown up, until what I have told you has become a truth
apparent even to you.
With Love Poppy