jonathan-david-adkins
Jonathan David Adkins, also known as J.D. Adkins, was born in 1986 on August 8th. He was born in Ohio and has remained there his whole life, despite the few trips west and to the south to explore(or so he calls it). He is a student at Ohio University studying literature and writing.
I see myself on their faces.
They walk the streets at night,
lit up by frail streams of light as they go.
They step on cracks
and pass trees dying for the next rain.
They shuffle through headlights that capture
what they don’t want you to see.
I don’t mind.
They talk about nothing
and laugh at stupidity,
beckoning each other
with open arms and wide smiles.
They waste away their lives
taking drinks and walking miles.
Their shouts are loud and absconding,
as they scream to the heavens
and sing to the moon.
They don’t care.
They paint portraits with their words,
give grins of innocence with acts of hate.
Reliving old characters and old ways,
they wrestle with esteem.
I don’t mind.
I watch their strange paths.
They tell lies and form truths.
Seeking out themselves,
They never know who is who.
I see myself on their faces.
Mar 14, 2010
Mar 14, 2010 at 2:32 PM UTC
Must I say that I am lost
The sun dripped fields have turned
Into waving trees and creaking limbs
The sun no longer smiles
But the moon, it gives a starry grin.
The way behind me I do not wish to go
For I have seen the perils that lie within
The road back to my sanity yes,
But the road back to normalcy it intends.
Shall I cross the creek on rocks made of clay
Push through tall grass with a trustworthy blade?
Stumble into the waters made by the gods themselves
Or be lost for a bit,
Try to find the way myself
Cheers to the bathed moonlight
Behind tall giants of bark,
Dropping boulders of pine at my feet
They block my way
And make their mark
I strike up a match
And host a giant’s fire.
Unapproved by the surrounding frowns,
The whistle fear in the form of darkness.
Shall I stay in the odyssey?
These new friends of mine,
They whisper thoughts of company.
Mar 14, 2010
Mar 14, 2010 at 2:32 PM UTC
There is a person you might have seen.
Her hair has streaks of gold
And a smile that is welcoming.
Black push up bra
with eyes that sag.
It’s a wonder they still shine.
She is the lady down the street,
Miss Bunny Laundry herself.
Stain on your ****
No problem.
Button you want sewed?
Her pleasure.
She dances with the suits
and laughs at the blouses.
Living in clothes
with different fates,
her stage is never set.
But with her hair up,
and a polished face,
she could pass for royalty.
She is the bearer of good news,
but has secrets she won’t tell.
She finds fantasy in men,
Pink lipstick stains
along with hairs that don't belong to him,
she seemingly knows all and tells none.
The mistress of the wash.
So tell me Miss Laundromat,
Will you wash my clothes?
Mar 14, 2010
Mar 14, 2010 at 2:31 PM UTC
Never noticed me
Under her pink dye
And thick thighs.
Never noticed me
In others eyes,
In others lies.
Didn’t notice me
Sinking in
And taking name.
A kiss on the neck
And I’m to blame.
Didn’t notice me
Notice her,
The other one
With darker fur.
I feel like a kid again,
The butterflies
In my stomach
And on my face
Give way to
Nails on my neck
And choke
That I can taste.
I drink to
Blue eyes
And costly affairs.
The timid blonde
That broke silence
Now laughs at me
With a stare.
“Smile,” she says.
Mar 14, 2010
Mar 14, 2010 at 2:30 PM UTC
Drunken guides pour
Through the crowd
Like hunters to prey.
Their eyes are bloodshot,
but narrowed from the haze.
There is no smirk here,
Just a grin to hide the lies.
Walk with her through the desert,
and knowingly be demised.
She touches you with
Sweet lips.
Her stain evident on the cusp
of your tongue.
Temptation stopping
to linger,
Her smoke coursing
through your lungs.
I walk with her through
the desert,
her fire being my sun.
She guides me with green eyes
and open lips,
without her,
I would be shun.
Mar 8, 2010
Mar 8, 2010 at 11:04 AM UTC
I sit alone.
Half tempted to walk
across the room to eyes
that know my lies.
Gesture out willingness
and hope she reads
between the lines.
She has the mark of past beauty,
perfect for the eccentric age.
Flat cheeks flushed
but never reddened.
Eyes that catch gazes,
seemingly all knowing.
Undermining my expressions then,
but since never showing.
We sit together.
She speaks of selfish men
And I speak of conniving women.
She insists we aren’t all like that,
even in our dismay.
Just left swimming,
lost in someone else’s bay.
We both made our demands
And swore hearts
had been beaten.
Now laughing at our hearsays,
Laughing to still be living.
I wish I could sweep away her browns.
Her hair,
it's always dangling.
Those potent lips
I will not confuse,
instead beauty from a simpleton,
just misconstrued.
Mar 8, 2010
Mar 8, 2010 at 11:02 AM UTC
My feet leave imprints in sand
as impressionable as the faces
I willingly glance,
they are much too divided
as my parents were,
after an unsatisfying chance.
Who's to say that we too,
can't fake romance?
Notes written from
a boy in the clouds,
fire at his back
and friends at his side.
Is there anything
that can't be tested?
Shy away from fickle hearts they say,
and leave the ******** where
they belong,
don't stop pouring drinks
and singing the same **** songs.
Keep testing the others
to see if I’ll ever be strong.
Who's to say that I too,
can’t fake all wrong?
Mar 8, 2010
Mar 8, 2010 at 11:01 AM UTC
“Mom, I’m not an idiot.”
She had been off her meds,
I could swear it.
The same nagging voice
As if I was a child,
“Jonathan David, I give you
money and the first thing
you buy is *****
What did she want,
An informal letter of my condition?
I apologized for having
a father as a drunk,
And a mother that took
more pills than she could stomach.
She hung up,
And I took another drink.
Mar 7, 2010
Mar 7, 2010 at 8:09 PM UTC
I sit
Feeling young and tired.
Tired of the steps,
Tired of learning,
Tired of the fresh
Faces that smile
With ease.
I didn’t brush my
Teeth this morning.
Whiskey and smoke
Sit on my breath
As two week flings
Sit on my chest.
The hum.
It is constant in summer
as is cold in winter.
The sheets are sticky
even with the lack of play.
Smell of dull laundry and smokes
to see me through the day.
Lure me out of these old ways.
Shut my mouth
and stop these old sayings.
Broken aches heal broken limbs.
I'm up for the taking.
Mar 7, 2010
Mar 7, 2010 at 8:08 PM UTC
Black man beating on drums,
the red on her hair like fire in my arms.
The wild child that I have been seeking has
finally crossed the tracks to see where I humble.
I'll whisper sweetness to her,
and my heart will pour out,
my body and mouth no longer it's lid.
Speak to me you golden muse,
send the messenger to read my reviews.
Her body swayed against mine,
each new step to dance
a leap for my heart.
Hair drags on my shoulders and
for the first time in months, I'm happy.
Outside, between the bricks and tape,
our trails leave laughs and skips,
heard as footsteps amidst the wondering crowd.
We are the rulers of the world,
and we are setting it
on fire.
Mar 7, 2010
Mar 7, 2010 at 8:03 PM UTC