I am not happy.
I have spent too long,
In a mold,
Self-imposed-
An idea of idealism
That didn’t quite take form.
Implied as it was
Buy the media
(who knew how to sell, too)
That I am not good enough
if I am just me.
But everything has significance,
Every letter and punctuation.
Every Capitol, and every lower case.
The fact maintains, that there are words at all.
There is substance behind symbol, and meaning behind sign.
And so, although they sold their wares on an “if”
They forgot that behind that “21 year old literature graduate, female”
There was a girl.
Full stop.
There was a girl
Who went to school
And studied something she thought she was passionate about.
And that girl grew, into a tree, into an animal- into the very breeze
She grew into the whole world
And was as big as could be.
And the media laughed.
And she was happy.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 3:16 AM UTC
Hehe
A gentle giggle
So feminine
And delicate
And light
He he
Why then is he
Not allowed to be
What are these words?
How did we attach them to such ideas?
How do we let he-
Free to, haha, hehe
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 11:41 AM UTC
A silent prayer
to the dead thing-
on the side of the road
Avert your eyes
but pay your respects
indistinguishable
deformed
and once breathing
air
Empty lungs
once full of life
scampering/skittering
across the paved path
(bushy tailed and bright eyed
some may even say)
Now.
Avert your eyes and look away
as you say a silent prayer
to the dearly departed
(vermin)
on the side of the road
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 3:42 AM UTC
He was the nicest guy she’d met in a long while- it wasn’t about false flattery with him. He was genuine. He understood. And then it occurred to her that maybe he understood too well. Maybe he knew more than any of the other ones ever had before.
And she was right. Because that one night, after he thought she was his, they went out for drinks. And he saw her talking with another guy. He was the best listener she’d met in a while. And he was funny. And it wasn’t about false flattery with him. He didn’t understand quite the same way- but maybe that was for the best. And then he left the bar for a minute to explain to his girlfriend that he’d be late that night. And he looked at her, and she returned his look. She wasn’t sure what it was asking of her. Until she felt his hand on her leg. And then she understood. And she turned away. But he’d found the answer to his silent question.
“So he’s tonight’s conquest.”
And she swallowed her tears and drew lines in the little beads of sweat on the glass of beer in front of her. Because only she was allowed to look at them like that. Only she was allowed to think about them like that. Only she was allowed to see herself in that light.
But he had figured it out. He understood. And that terrified her.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 12:59 PM UTC
“You Gorblax!” I cried out
In pain and in woe,
When suddenly I stubbed,
My littlest toe.
Spewing crude words
At the villainous wall,
I bumbled and grumbled
As I walked down the hall.
Then mother glanced over,
With the sternest of looks
“What have you been reading,
In all of those books?!”
I hung my head low,
Stroobling with shame
And softly I mumbled,
“What harm’s in a name?”
To mother’s dismay-
She thought she had taught me
What words I could say
And once more turned to lecture
In her old gorblax way.
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 12:09 AM UTC
Brought to new land, though old in comparison
Fought by the people in their land of origin
Induced by the government who meant it be fatal
To a language with so many words on the table
They wanted new words; language infested
So many already and another invested
In with the foreigners- teach us your ways!
Help us to lead our dear children astray
The people spoke up in a language their own
Turned the game ‘round with the mightiest groan
Supported a liar with money and power
Who promised the country, of teachers, to scour
Turns out in the end, they were lied to again
The new puppet in town’s under Russia’s ordain
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 12:02 AM UTC
A sweaty finger, and blinded eye
Aimlessly wandering amid muffled grunts
Lead me here
And turn me there
Whirring fan, outdoes the sounds
Suddenly deafened by padded walls
Let me guide you around
My fingers in your hand
The world flipped, and was
Turned upside down
When suddenly I,
Was leading around.
Careful,
Touch.
Oh-
Don’t make a sound
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 12:02 AM UTC
Oh the fluid blood that flows
Thick
Dark
Blue.
Through tiny orifices.
Plastic
Metal
Too.
Forming words
Thoughts
Ideas.
Scribbling on.
Scratching at.
Oh the things they've felt
a hand gripping tight
Forcing ink out of the tip
Like a freshly popped zit
Oozing and flowing freely.
Or pre-cum on a raging *****
Dripping
Tantalizing
Suggesting.
What may come of it?
What masterpiece will be born?
Mar 5, 2012
Mar 5, 2012 at 5:11 PM UTC
What ******* will form?
Where will it go?
With bear-clad feet
Clawing through
Fermented forestry.
His journey begun,
Words will spill forth.
Through pin-like orfices,
Leaking and scribbling.
Thoughts transform-
Ideas, Beliefs, Signs.
Neon path, follow me here.
Mar 5, 2012
Mar 5, 2012 at 5:05 PM UTC
I just want to hide away
To crawl under a rock
Pretend the world was slipping
Apart
Through my fingers
Fists and jaw
From the shock
Of living as us puppets do
From our stings and strands
Our tufts of hair getting in the way
Blocking the Puppet master from the stand
So instead we tune our notes and look
Below
To the hiding space we might crawl
Away from harm
And cold, frozen snow
In hibernation, we turn a cold cheek
To destruction, flame and sorrow
Curl up into safety pins
And ***** those who come too close
Hidey holes are not for sharing
Or so the story goes
But the truth is we’re needles too,
Wrapped up in our thread
We look to mend
Tie knots
And break off loose ends.
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 3:46 PM UTC