They hang on every word he says
He expects it
He seems impervious to water that the rain didn't drench him
He glistened
I was lame, apparently
He made it seem as though in his presence, I could walk again
I would become better even though I was good enough
Instead of being cured, he inflicted more pain
When I didn't partake of his empty food
My eyes opened from the blindness
I saw when his apostles smirked at me and told embellished tales ahead of his arrival
A supposed gift to women
Even those who don't want him
His wrath came upon me
I never sought his salvation
Nor his selfish sacrifices
I never so much as wanted to touch the hem of his skirt
A good Samaritan who charges exorbitant fees
A man who stirs up storms, unprovoked
Then acts as though he could walk on water.
May 24, 2018
May 24, 2018 at 11:34 PM UTC
The cool sun pales away in bright orange
The black cat strolls coquettishly on the concrete landing of the back of the Chinese restaurant
Contemplating which wall or galvanized roof she will grace next
Despite instinctively sticking to the same walls and roofs as times prior.
Me, a hated cliche at 28
Aimless, quarter-life crisis, millennial
The taste of mediocrity meanders in my mouth.
Guilt blocks and presses it's way into my ears and nostrils.
Funny isn't it?
That guilt begets guilt.
My ears couldn't hear my friend is dying
She smells so beautifully
I couldn't sense it.
Death.
Brevity.
Here I reek of indecision.
Feelings of grandeur, self importance, entitlement.
No action, just a meditation.
Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 3:49 PM UTC
His fists clenched, heart wide open
Her hands extended towards him
Her eyes closed but the tears seep through.
She, tired of being the perpetual temporary distraction.
He, struggling to allow the ephemeral to last just a little while longer.
She looks at him with disappointment
Then regret because she knows it's not his fault.
He wishes he didn't look so helpless, pathetic.
Her face hardens.
His shoulders collapse when she says,
"It's a boy girl thing, you wouldn't understand."
Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 2:41 PM UTC
First they crippled you, forcing you to run
Then they tried to silence you with tongue-cutting and wind-whipping so the outside wouldn't see the wounds
A scream of agony escaped
The world caught a whisper on the edge
Turned it into a solvent shout
That drowned out your cry
A shout that you couldn't hear
The world pitied you
Some awaken to the appeal of real struggle, the novelty of stories
As they pine away from contending with mediocrity
And a slumber induced by the finer things.
At least, you know what you are up against, what you are fighting for
They corral you
Your presence would ignite debate
More shouts, more noise will be heard.
With humility, you queue up for humiliation.
Overwhelmed with hope that you brought along with you,
The brand that they try to sell you
The hope that seeps out of your pockets as it becomes distant.
Indignation becomes a companion, a supporter,a mentor.
It tells you that you better survive.
Nov 9, 2017
Nov 9, 2017 at 3:14 AM UTC
Debates, heated arguments, whispers, gossip
Intimacy has become a social statement
A crisis to fight for, to stand out and picket
Joy has become a point that needs to be proven
Whether she wants to or not.
A sweet demeanor and kind words sheath defiance
They see right through it, her.
Her youth may never be completely bridled by his experience
His experience made null and void just by being in the presence of her youth.
She senses the eyes of sceptics
Struggling hard to attain the coveted self-righteous title of soothsayer
Their legal union is a contentious spectacle
The grief deemed too short-lived for their liking
His newfound happiness, an affront
She will always be that other woman, that young wife of his
A schemer working some angle
Eclipsed by his first love
She could never outshine the deceased
With the dead there is no quarrel, there could never be any wrong
She knows better than to ill-speak the one in the ground
What can she say, than to secretly wish he was unhappy, he was chained to a heinous ogre for a wife
It might have made it easier, a triumphant justification
She, his refuge, his respite rather than a ruin to his reputation
Indignant disrespect placed on her shoulders
Her first, his last
A beginning made possible by an ending
Acutely aware,
She knows her place.
Sep 10, 2017
Sep 10, 2017 at 6:29 AM UTC
"Never play with your shadows,"
My grandmother used to say
As she pulled teeth and deposited them
In a ***** under the bed
"They might play back,
At least that's what they used to tell me
When I was little."
Shadows
She never told me that they don't leave you
Guilt came knocking the other day
A little more hazy than I remembered
Still present
Sometimes she has sunglasses on
Sometimes it's a hat
Sometimes she's slim, sometimes not so much
Always something new
Keeping up with the times, you know.
Boisterous, attention seeker
Embarrassing, really
I wish Guilt would visit less often
Friend called, what a pleasant surprise.
For kicks.
Purposely losing contact, accidentally
Or accidentally losing contact purposely
Let's not get technical
Friend's voice is always muffled
Always breaking up,
Oh well.
When will shadows make up their minds and play fair?
Rules to the game always change.
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 6:07 PM UTC
Let’s be
That weird couple
No, not that cutesy, photogenic social media VIP poster couple.
The two in the corner at the back of the room at some random party
Gracing others with their presence
Absent in that world
They brought their own food and drink
Living inside of songs, in sync, they have their own soundtrack
The never ending inside jokes
The exchange of looks in subtlety
That’s us
Constant travellers
Between surrealism and furrealism
Creating our own brand of idealism
Spitting as far as any outside opinion could challenge us
Giddy in the heads but grounded by some magnetism
Contending with all the other isms
This is us
A party of two-cult, not open to charity
Clerics, well-versed in all things us
Incorrigible and unapologetic, look at us
Content with a highly esteemed meritocracy of "good enough"
If there’s oblivion, we’re oblivious
Wilfully
Just being
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 5:22 PM UTC