RIIIIP, they rasped,
A raucous sound, a rattling gasp
But what a relief
Because they hugged me--
My shoes:
They used to have Velcro,
Simple, sound, safe.
My shoes
Not velvet, nor suede,
Leather or the like
Just perfectly plastic
With blue stripes
And broken soles
That bore holes
Where I stepped.
Now I have laces,
Lanky lengths, lethargic strings
They lazily link
Crossing, confused, careless.
They say things get complicated
As we grow up,
But why do my shoes have to
Too?
May 11, 2019
May 11, 2019 at 12:17 PM UTC
Dewdrops drip from butterfly wings
An unseen cricket in the undergrowth sings
Mosquito bites fresh still throb and sting
Time is only thing that changed
Tell me about the earlier days
Frostbite, thunderstorms, and summer rays
These are all the things you say
Time is the only thing that changed
Your smile is still childish
Tongue still loves licorice
Ever bewildered by the ridiculous
Time is the only thing that changed
Your skin is speckled with liver spots
Hands tied with arthritic knots
Old memories, your brain forgot
But time is the only thing that changed
Because you will be and always will
Be the one I love, be the one I still
Cherish in my heart, admire until
Time stops
You may think you've changed
But it's clear to see
Even after an eternity
That you're still the same to me
May 10, 2019
May 10, 2019 at 6:50 PM UTC
Television static
Falls on my umbrella
Glass tears popping
At my feet
As I wait for a bus
To somewhere without rain
Mar 15, 2019
Mar 15, 2019 at 7:11 PM UTC
To be, or not to be. That is a decision.
To learn, or not to learn. That is a lesson.
To see, or not to see. That is a mission.
To love, or not to love. That is obvious.
To live, or not to live. That is an option.
Who am I? Now THAT is the question.
Feb 21, 2019
Feb 21, 2019 at 5:51 PM UTC
Silken sweet is the sycamore's song,
where robins roost and raise their young,
and smooth smells of chrysanthemums run
to see the sordid spring.
The shiny sheen of nature's skein is too delicate
for my Velcro eyes, which tear and wrench
the tranquil strands into a tangle of rough satin;
be my sandpaper soul that skins salamander to
brawny bones and bores raucous cores like
maggots and ****
Raw sewage seeps, creeps carefully into
the spaces of Her starry quilt
until squelching squishes escape
my hoarse rasping whispers
and see the calloused corpse that casts its rueful shadow
into bright days, silver nights
to a twilight that will not end.
Caustic contaminants cross my veins and cake skin in
corrosive gasps; fumes funneling fingers of pus
pancake pores of porcelain dust to a mortar
of blemished touch.
May I bathe in boredom's ennuinous ***** so that I may emerge
blessed, reborn best as salty caramel springs,
let the day spray sparing tea into me and cleanse
careless cacophony.
Burrow my body,
leave quelled, cool Calvin to play the fool
and be me for the day.
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 9:19 PM UTC
You were gone too suddenly
For me to be sad
You went in a hurry
And you left
Some of yourself with me
Your hair is still here
Floating lazily
Tangling, twisting, clumping
Golden pillows
Hugging dust bunnies
Strings that twist and tangle
But never unwind
And perhaps they are broken or cut,
But the knots remain,
Proof that there was once a connection
Solar strands steal into cracks
Crevasses now filled with memories shedded
Lost perhaps
But still present
Like the sun on a cloudy day
You’re stuck to my sweaters and socks
Coating me in gold leaf
Twenty-four karat nostalgia
Priceless, hugging closely
A subtle weight on my heart
The house is quiet now
But still warm
Still dusty and grimy
Just as you had left it
Because I don’t vacuum anymore
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 5:48 PM UTC
I can squeeze myself like an orange
Giving my sweet and sour soul
To sate the thirst of passerby
Whose stomachs will never be full
Strangers sipping saccharine nectar
Spitting putrid pulp
Tasting only the sweet of fruits
Wasting what makes us whole
I give my body for others to love
Not for them to take
My personality is part of me
So please don't cherry-pick
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 7:57 PM UTC
Forgive me for I have fallen
From the fair sky
And ruined your beautiful wings
That you had made for me alone
And yet as I plummet
Plumes prancing about my descent
Your gift is even more lovely
Each fragile piece flickering in the sunset
And as I am burnt from heaven
With third degree burns of passion
I will bask in the flames
My body branded black to the bone
A coal to light another pyre
As my passing brings another life
My cries converted to cries anew
In the larynx of another love
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 11:09 PM UTC
Should I change to be the me that others want me to be?
And change to maintain that which I have already obtained, or remain the me that I have always been?
How will I survive without the me that has been alive as me when I throw reality away for another me?
Now I am not the me who I have been for I have changed my personality, permanently barking up an unknown tree.
Tossed aside what I was inside so that I may contrive an identity, from me others can derive their sweet desires.
Will others flee when they see that I have not become what they want to see and rather the me that pleases me to be?
I agree with great certainty that the me that I want to be is uncertain, for even I do not know why I cannot simply be just me,
Why I need the validation of words from lips unimportant,
from gazes of eyes that widen with admiration and pride,
from applause to a facade, a disguise,
compliments to a me that is not me?
I try to provide all that I can provide,
for without the lie that is not me,
those that look up to me may lose themselves too
and just as I have, with a sigh long, long ago
they die.
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 10:48 PM UTC
My eyes are not furnaces,
melting realities into idyllic casts
disfigured until their original forms
are but ashen memories
upon the ****** anvil.
Nor are my eyes windows
Through which I gaze
And through which others gaze back
Pure transparency
And no deception
Or mirrors that reflect
Images mimicked
Upon an insincere facade
Merely a copy
Never as beautiful as the first
My eyes are not any of these
They are pools of water
In which I see both myself
And that which is beneath
The world below the surface
Everything I see is painted me
The shade that I have made
For myself and no one else
Ugly, beautiful, personal
To me and me alone
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 1:11 PM UTC