Buy me ripped skinny jeans
And feed me LSD
Maybe then I'll be happy
Earlier this night I traveled down memory lane
Please call my friend Mary Jane
She'll help me forget
I'm in this ****** life I know I'll never win
Unless I get my veins full of heroine
I don't even know how to keep myself sane
Without a hit of *******
All I ever wanted was to leave behind a legacy
But the thing is I no longer feel the ecstasy
That's supposed to be lingering in my ways
I'm in no position to pretend that I'm holy
Especially when I'm always seen
With my good friend Molly
Cause who am I to avoid all this
I'm just a sad lonely teen
Feeling psychedelic
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 9:30 PM UTC
i was 14 years old when you punched me at the bottom of our stairs
i couldn't believe what hurt more
the bruises or the fact
you could lift your ******* hand
and still look me in the eyes the next day
your stare felt like daggers on my back
seeping through spinal chord
as i poured my morning tea
and you ruled in your kingdom of messy bathrooms
walls of a fortress made up of broken dishes
that would sit with food on them for two days and
some days i still find crumbs and glass in the dark corners of each cell in this god forsaken dungeon
i was 16 when i floated around
the side of my house to trip over
a broken chair
it seems that since the chair was wobbly
it just wouldn't do
and you smashed it to pieces
like you did with my brothers, and me
not thinking maybe all it needed was a little glue
to continue to stand proud
or maybe a hug or maybe
a word of encouragement or two once the pressure and weight was applied
i proceeded by in a haze anyway
******
i am twenty ******* one years old
and i come home to this hole in the wall
that you apparently created out of rage
it gets increasingly bigger and darker with each day
i cant begin to coherently create a metaphor that
can depict the snarling devil you turned out to be
father of mine
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 9:26 PM UTC
this is the last time
i will not write about you
anymore good bye
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 1:59 PM UTC
you are the harsh storm
that my parents warned me about
oncoming, you approach
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 2:07 AM UTC
Are you honest?
Are you fair?
Are you looking for the things I am, or just here to compare?
Because the waters just will never calm or boil over
Until you recite the words I am expecting
"I'm sorry I just didn't feel the
Spark
I didn't think you would compare so much to
A shark
Lovely upon first glance but then
I spotted the blood dripping from your mouth
And the jagged scars on your dorsal fin."
Yeah, this is the usual routine
Because I am addicted to a fantasy
Where in one dimension
You might have grabbed me
And asked me what it was in the world
That made my skin crawl
And what color my sunsets are
But expectations are like children with balloons see
We inflate them so much
but wonder why when we rubbed them against the concrete
they would
combust
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 4:10 PM UTC
Some call me a *********
because
I don't bother waiting for my food to cool anymore
I scold my tongue every single time
And greedily indulge on seconds of hot pie
Some call me nostalgic
Because
I staple the memories of you on every inch of my skin
Leaving scars and faded notes
Each starting with the same ******* anecdotes
Some call me dangerous
I compare myself to shark
Only beautiful to those who can withstand my menacing bite
My teeth are sharp like daggers
I've taken on a transformation you may have never seen
And I'll continue to put cigarettes out on skin
In order to just feel again
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 10:11 PM UTC
Imagination
Is all that is required
To write a haiku.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 11:36 AM UTC
I read last Saturday in the
redwoods outside of Santa Cruz
and I was about 3/4's finished
when I heard a long high scream
and a quite attractive
young girl came running toward me
long gown & divine eyes of fire
and she leaped up on the stage
and screamed: "I WANT YOU!
I WANT YOU! TAKE ME! TAKE
ME!"
I told her, "look, get the hell
away from me."
but she kept tearing at my
clothing and throwing herself
at me.
"where were you," I
asked her, "when I was living
on one candy bar a day and
sending short stories to the
Atlantic Monthly?"
she grabbed my ***** and almost
twisted them off. her kisses
tasted like shitsoup.
2 women jumped up on the stage
and
carried her off into the
woods.
I could still hear her screams
as I began the next poem.
mabye, I thought, I should have
taken her on stage in front
of all those eyes.
but one can never be sure
whether it's good poetry or
bad acid.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 7:21 PM UTC
I want you to see all the stories I’ve written for you
But I’m scared the characters will chip and fall apart
Serifs sharp like broken glass
Are you still breathing
while you drown in me?
There is a curve
In soft vowels that create you
and any letter that drops below the baseline, like a sinking rock in the murky shores
My words more often than not drift like wood at sea
Part of something once
But no longer whole
And crushed constantly by blue waves of doubt
That pushes and pulls me
Into every direction
Every lighthouse I've ever seen
has never shined bright enough
to guide me home
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 5:46 PM UTC
i have racked my mind
trying to figure this whole thing out
the staying, the going
the threads we claim hold us here
& the people who've stopped to play a tune on them
i sometimes relate it
to waking up in waist deep snow
in our former selves
the us we wish we could give one another
the children we've sat on the shelves
trapped, like the looks
we leave behind in snow globes
i sometimes imagine ships
dragging the bottom to the sea of "me"
for sleep & pieces of my old self
to sell to the new one
like history doesn't repeat itself
it gets me wondering
if you too want an apology from the rain
or if you dream of burning family photo albums
and wearing the ashes like perfume
if you're anything like me
how i hope god chokes
on memories of me blowing out candles as a child
i know i shouldn't reference my reader
but don't you know, the only difference
between alone & lonely is you?
that if my hands could talk
the only thing they'd be able to say
is "dear god we've missed you"
and how can you tell me it isn't love
when even the rain refuses to fall
in places where i've kissed you
i remember the day
you found my smile at a yard sale
it reminds me of how you'll leave
i wonder if when you go
you'll tell yourself
the person in the rear view mirror
is closer than they appear
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 5:51 PM UTC