since December, the world has turned--
turned into a skeleton place
first far away,
now commonplace
society became a bare-skinned animal
whose bones rattle in the breeze,
the infectious air diffusing
entwining inside us with ease
this animal's labored breathing--
poison emanates from every exhale--
is creeping, swirling, choking, whirling
without a visible trail
this animal roams about freely
without a stay-at-home order,
wraps its tendrils inside each painful breath,
knows not of race, religion, or border
so tell me why we've not tried to tame it,
most wonderful governor dear, oh yes!
your disregard for us, proclaim it!
instead you'd rather have fear, and death!
any call to action now
will have us all still writhing
the lame beast will conquer us,
thanks, to the lack of timing
the bare ***** beast hunts night and day
its being can't be cast away;
arm yourself against its wrath
society must pave its own path
Apr 8, 2020
Apr 8, 2020 at 12:39 PM UTC
I miss my dogs more than anything
But that doesn’t mean
I don’t miss you
Jan 26, 2020
Jan 26, 2020 at 2:04 AM UTC
Leave me alone
Move on!
You always knew you needed me more than I needed you.
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 12:01 AM UTC
Defeating the tentacled monster
once seemed impossible
The waters that my boat traversed were dark and foreboding.
i was afraid of encountering the beast,
and the threat of recurring attack shook me to my core
and left me feeling defenceless and empty
The waters would swirl and i would cower in fear,
in silence, in anticipation
that the tentacles would breach the sea's surface
and drag me down
into those dark depths
At daybreak i would set my sails,
check my bearings and
i, the skeptic, would pray
that the monster would keep to itself.
Months would pass without a threat of attack,
and i would delve into ignorant bliss
and forget about the creature
Then, a storm approached my ship;
the monster was within!, waves crashing
around its obsidian colored body,
tentacles reaching, extending towards me,
ready to grab and pull me under
it spoke in tongues i could understand,
and said the sin was now mine,
Mine?
with pleasure it smirked as it wound up to strike my ship
It struck and the wood splintered,
the sails ripped
and the boat, my boat!, began to sink,
i grasped for a piece of ship-turned-driftwood and i
screamed and kicked to stay above the surface
The monster could smell my fear and could taste the salt my tears were adding to the sea as the water rushed into the boat.
It thrusted its large suction cupped arm at me,
but i was ready.
Armed with the driftwood--pieces of the ship I had crafted with love and devotion!--
I struck back and severed the limb,
dark black goo oozing out,
reflecting the color of the hurt it had caused me
The limb sank to the bottom of the sea, and the monster dispersed in embarrassment.
I won this battle, but the monster will surely be back for more.
Until then, the pieces of my ship will float on--as will I,
and I will prepare for our next battle.
I will sail on, for the sea is vast and limitless.
The tentacled monster controls me no more.
It is my ship. My drop of sea.
My sails, and my wind.
It is me. I am me.
I am free.
Oct 24, 2018
Oct 24, 2018 at 2:10 PM UTC
who always sat perched on the porch at dusk
to watch the sun slowly set beyond the horizon
she listened as the last birds fluttered to their nests,
and inhaled the raw air as the breeze swirled around her
all the while her eye towards the sinking sun
vanilla bean was white with black specks
but when the moon rose
she became the universe
her spots radiated like a million stars,
her body obsidian like the backdrop of the galaxies
and she became the night
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 2:06 PM UTC
I do not like the cell collective
overall, I find it ineffective.
It makes me want to pull out my hair.
The information that's on there
has little to nothing to do with the course,
and requires searching in an outside source.
I am not paying my lab fees
to do simulations that are like these.
Please discontinue to use this in class.
Ask “Would you do it again?" I'd say “Nah, I pass"
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 10:08 AM UTC
Lungs pushed until even breathing is too hard, my mind reels. But that’s normal.
The obsidian monster swirls in my thoughts and consumes everything, until I give in to the feeling of loss that I’ve earned. I deserve it, I think.
It’s a square room of dread where I can’t see around or under anything, the walls are dark and foreboding.
It’s an inky whirlpool, one where swimming is impossible–I’m ****** down, down, down, into its unforgiving depths
It makes my heart fill with a weight so heavy, I think I’ll sink.
It pushes on my shoulders and propels me down until my ears pop from the pressure of the depths, and tells me it’s my fault I’m so deep. I scramble frantically for the surface, lungs screaming, head bursting, and reach it only just in time.
I wish I could wring the gloomy blackness out of me, like a towel, then cleanse it with bleach, make it white again, and try once more to wipe the darkness from my heart. My cloth is soiled with the sooty colors of mistrust, jealousy, and lost time.
I want to feel the darkness dripping off of me. I want to feel each droplet travel down the curves of my body like a stream of thousands of tiny snakes slithering, sliding. That is what I deserve.
I want to hear the drops of my sorrow hit the floor with a roar, and splash away into oblivion, the drips getting softer and softer as each one hits the ground, leaving me to hear nothing but my steady heartbeats and my unwavering breaths.
Yes! I want the onyx-colored pain to drain away into someone else’s space, into someone else’s time. I want it to defy gravity and go up, up, up, until only the stars can see it, and I am faced with it no more.
I want the twilight infused darkness to choose someone else. Choose someone who deserves it; I don’t want it to be mine.
I am forever stained a murky black.
I carry the stain with me, hidden. It threatens to take over me time and time again, in the most nuanced of ways.
Sometimes the shadows are felt in the spaces between typed letters, or it is exposed in the silence between spoken words. Sometimes it’s a moment captured in my memory, but all I can see is the shadows cast on irrelevant charcoal figures. Sometimes, it’s a picture. The darkness is there, right next to me.
The darkness refuses to recognize that it is not the victim. My darkness is naive, and it blames me. The wrongdoings are mine, and my darkness tells me so. It asks me why I don’t respond to its antagonism, but I stay silent.
The darkness fabricated stories of devotion, of caring, of kindness; and I believed it. It targeted my heart, my head, my soul.
It manipulated me, and it wounded me.
It singed my heart until it was black like coal, and all I can do is wonder why.
Feb 21, 2018
Feb 21, 2018 at 10:31 AM UTC
Upon returning from Deutsch class,
Where we spoke of Sturm und Drang,
I reminisce about Schiller’s scull in glass
and think it rather wrong.
Maybe it’s just komisch
your best friend stealing your noodle
somehow it makes sense, I wish
a really great poem he did doodle
Schiller and Goethe, the poets
and quite a pair were they!
Even after death we know it,
“Schiller’s” head was on display!
The inspiration knew no bound’ries,
words flowed without a hitch,
like blacksmiths in metal foundries
he truly found his niche
Know nature, life, and death alike
looking in his hollowed out eyes
you never know! Inspiration may strike
n'ere prompt, like lightening, o’re the skies.
Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 5:26 PM UTC
I miss her laugh
The way her nose crinkled
and the way she looked to the side, and sort of upwards when she giggled
How she nodded her head
and chirped her laughter
just like grandma did
I miss her effervescence
Her ability to talk to anyone
And how she could make anyone feel special
How she could turn the worst day into the best one
It’s been three months
But I think about her almost every day
If simply just in passing,
But her name is there
Floating above me like the angel she’s become
Her name hangs on the rim of the coffee cup she gave my mom
On the picture of a giraffe in our bathroom
On the Christmas decorations she gifted us
On the card my uncle sent my dad for his birthday
It’s been three months since she left but
It seems like just yesterday
we were eating lunch together at the Chinese place on the other side of town
we were sitting at her white table in the dining room, talking about my college experiences
we were eating cinnamon rolls around grandma’s table after mass on Sunday
I wish I had spent more time
Talking and giggling with her
But it makes the memories we do have together
more cherished, or so I tell myself
to cope with the hole in my heart
I miss her
Dec 27, 2017
Dec 27, 2017 at 11:43 PM UTC
I am sitting on the bus
and the man next to me is wearing
one white work glove
and one black snow glove
He looks too closely at his watch
His wrist inches away
from his face
I study his bearded silhouette
Watch as he hovers his hand
above the yellow “pull to stop” cord
His grizzled ****** hair
is sprawled out in all directions
His purple backpack
and camouflage winter jacket
clash with each other
But if you couldn’t tell
by the mismatched gloves,
this man is blind.
I wonder if his socks match.
I wonder if he wonders if his socks match.
Dec 22, 2017
Dec 22, 2017 at 3:56 PM UTC