Budweiser cans lay on the floor like empty mortar rounds,
the smell of Jack Daniels as potent as battlefield blood.
Weekend wars where we fight ourselves for pleasure.
Waging conquest on the banal.
Losing limbs and liver for a life less ordinary.
The air in my apartment is stale like cigarette butts,
buried in mass graves in an ashtray over full.
Weekend warriors where we battle for a new fix.
Waging conquest on the week day.
Losing steady vision for a life less ordinary.
Burn it fuck it kill it HATE IT spray it with blood, shards of teeth and broken bones, ripping flesh like paper, the guts coil out like loops of rope, intestines spilling on the floor with fractal red reflekted rain in the moonlight, broken beams & dust collected on shelves left over from behind when there was a then, I gathered my thoughts and ran for the safety of death, where nothing can hurt, where it's safe and white and empty of mind DEATH where it's all over and everything is uncovered for what it was, just NOTHING, an illusion fleeting by, but don't you lust for LIFE, what's between her warm wet thighs, the sensation of penetration and the gasp of orgasm, it's a fucking SIN, it's how it begins and how it's perpetuated, afflikted on this world, this plain (PAIN) of existence. HOW TO GET WHAT I WANT? And not this endless WANTING, not the coward's way out but SATISFACTION, drugs, whores, fucking MUSIK, MUSICK, you make me sick and I am reviled by mine own self, in sickness and in health, DEATH, why won't you come for me, when I pray on bended knees, for this DISEASE called life to END, send me on to whatever's next, the Abyss or one last kiss from a bitch who never loved me to begin with, WHY AM I HERE?! And what is there to fear when nothing could be worse than this, torture me forever in lakes of fire, it's what I deserve, I'm cursed in any case and I hide my face in shame, who's to blame but me for existiing the first place, IT'S MY FAULT and I tear at my skin and I rip out my hair and of course it's not fair, NOTHING IS FAIR, that's the extent of existence and WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU EXPECT?
My mother 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 time with me
Parents didn’t know of ADHD and 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 be around or play with 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 all my classes in school
Got in to many fights with bullies and teachers who were always cruel
My family would all make fun of me, call names bully and tease
I was the loser that anyone could do or say what they pleased
None of my cousins was I ever allowed to play
I was always much of the time was alone all day
I lived in a strange house 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
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
She bought games and toys that took two or more to play, but she nor did dad never have any intension
Of spending anytime with me because 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 that her drinking wasn’t my problem and she’d be back to see me when I could face the truth
Never could mother admit to her or dad doing wrong, everything was always 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 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 and put them near her mouth to catch it, was something I would dread
He’d walk to the bathroom to empty the bowl and go back to get the next one to do the very same
And replace the unfilled one and repeat the process. I was told by her doctor that I was the blame
Sometimes mom would go running down the hall to the toilet bowl to throw up my heart would race
Because I always knew mom would do this and then she’d come to my 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 the dentist, instead he molested me
But no one believed me because in the past I had lied about things, and the truth no one would see
Since I was different all the cousins, my aunts and uncle could blame me for when things went missing
Or went wrong I was then and still am now the perfect scapegoat and 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, 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 beat, threatened me and verbally abused
Divorced them both and 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 weekly 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 days and 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 like I was 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 and put her in to get her GED
Soon she was out 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 acquired no student loan debt
Last may she and I graduated have started a new life and 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
My sister divorced her husband for molesting her children still won't speak to me, 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
A great place to come gather your thoughts and write
Made so many friends quickly every day and night
Took me in like I was one of their own
This place makes me feel like I'm home
They are sincere and caring
And they don’t mind sharing
Hello Poetry accepted me for who I am
I don't have to prove myself this is my fam
And I’m glad that they all seem to like me
I feel like part of the Hello Poetry Family
In just a few short weeks, I’m glad to say
This is my home poetry place to stay
All Rights Reserved
Many people may see art as a useless hobby,
just a waste of time,
something that one should indulge in only if they have enough time;
it is not something one should make time for.
It is messy,
that is how it seems for those
who have never known what it is like
to express themselves
or become so immersed in an activity
that you forget that time even exists.
It challenges the structured,
and traditional way of life,
but art is essential.
The moment that I truly started to see art as my passion and as
crucial for my existence,
I realized that it is something that I should do for me and not for others.
Art allows me to find myself
because I can express my feelings through it,
but I also lose track of time and forget about my problems,
like I am in another world.
It is not a forced skill,
or something that is tiresome or monotonous to me.
The idea of time itself quickly becomes forgotten,
and I get lost in a world with only my thoughts and idea.
There is really no limits to what you can do- it is such a broad topic and idea.
I feel that art is more beneficial for the actual creator,
because usually a piece of art displays some type of emotion
that he or she is trying to convey.
Art is a release of stress and built up feelings that sometimes can’t be expressed
in any other way.
Art can truly be a portal for the inner workings of the mind,
which served a great purpose for me.
I was never a very talkative person,
and art was one of the few things I loved
that required no words.
I am also a perfectionist sometimes,
so I get so fixated on making something look up to
the standards that I created in my mind,
that I forget what art is all about –
that nothing can really be ‘right’ or ‘wrong’.
The idea of it contrasts with my everyday personality.
For a person who is always comfortable in a structured environment
day after day,
art is a way I can escape into
the person I truly am
and want to become.
This is why I like the idea of no boundaries-
as well as society,
usually puts too many limits on myself,
so I like when I get the opportunity for feel more
Art has no boundaries,
and anything I create can speak for my soul.
Art gives me freedom
when everything else is structured.
ALL OF THIS IS IMPORTANT
into the stars
out of them
I create them
I am them
we are all
some kind of mindless
who are you?
what do you want with these keys
i remember one day
we would all tap our messages
WEEE BEAMING EXCITEMENT
but I do remember we would all upload,
like a journal
our thoughts and emotions
not to be lost on pages in time
but shared for the collective consciousness
delicately painting our intricate examples
for our brethren to absorb
pieces of the whole reuniting
a trail of smoke flies
i soar out
smoke and oxygen
lets see where the abyss and the sidewalk ends
In a basement
There are nine people
-hands in pockets
-eyes on skies
-on the backs of eyelids reminding them their tries at ordinary, are lies nonetheless.
And I am the tenth.
I do not know where to put my hands,
so I cut them off.
And everyone else out.
And pay mind just to breath, teeth at a reality that is not ordinary.
And college kids getting fucked up
Is not a rebellion.
And college kids getting fucked
Is not substantial enough for a love poem.
But I'm still waiting on rebellions and love poems,
hoping I can be a part of either.
My fists are on the ground
beating on the corning
--every damn thing I say mumbled or ignored
--"that's me in the spotlight"
Puppets and puppies, both
strings and kicking at things
I've staggered off in my thoughts again
drunk rumbles through the trash
And you've staggered off in your mind again
I'm trailing far enough behind that
you don't think I'm following.
But the smears
Thankful that the story doesn't end here.
In this game of love and loss, we're all players.
Some taken out early and sitting on the bench until the coach is ready to put us back in.
I've spent considerable amounts of bench time myself
because I haven't met you yet.
I've been sitting down and learning all the strategies of love which I failed at once before,
I'm thankful I get another chance.
Maybe next time I'll say things like you keep the blood pumping in my icy heart,
you keep the thoughts in my mind from running astray,
you hold me in a crash-course between fear and adventure.
I'd like to take your hand,
but then again, I haven't met you yet.
Don't give up, please, I swear,
for I'm near you and you're near me, and we need each other to stay.
Perhaps all those lonely nights when I was contemplating ending it all,
I was really calling out your name,
a sense of desperation that was not done in vain.
You can count on me to be the one that holds you in high regard,
and maybe I'll finally pen the right words that will make you appear.
This is probably the millionth and a half or so poem I've written about you,
I'll let you be my millionaire in the sense that you can read all of them
and pick out the best ones like apples from a basket,
after all, you're the apple of my eye.
We'd be good for each other, yes, I can see
you'd be a player in my game and I'd say you were on the right team.
It's a Sunday,
but the sun wasn't out,
maybe you could be the only ray of sunshine I'd ever need.
Maybe you could be the warmth in my veins,
the stitching in my skin that holds me all together
and I could be yours, my dear, if you'll only allow me to be.
I'll write about you until I meet you, and then I'll write even more.
I'm trying to push you out of my head
but somehow my thoughts keep going back
to your smile and the way you sing
my favorite songs in bed.
I'm wishing you would have told me
how you really felt
and that I would have told you
how I really felt.
I'm terrified of your love
but I would never resist it
and I will never lose you again
because I miss the imprinted
sheet lines on your face in the morning.
and I keep thinking of them
when I should be focusing
other than missing you.}
The other lovers – and endless list. Lying likes lisps upon my lips.
Names, I refuse to repeat for fear of judgment from peers.
Not practical in the slightest sense. Perhaps idiosyncratic in insanity’s eyesight.
The dominant ones I desire to dominate. Remove them from positions of power
with the obsolete force of lust.
Graceless bitterness – the only complete feeling; injecting sour thoughts
into the crevices of jealous minds.
Binds erode the skin of my wrists and tie me to burning chairs at the center
of isolated rooms. While the whip of the hose leaves no marks despite the thousand lashes.
Is there any escape from the synthetic machines I crafted within the twisted corners of my imagination.
Once love, now only relentless envy for those I would never be with
despite how much I tricked myself into thinking otherwise.