Flavors of Love Please Poem
2/26/2014

I don't want to live in a world without love.

Without cheap dates.
Without wallowing and wine,
wondering where things went wrong.

Without melodrama,
Without attempts to understand,
why we get hurt when we open ourselves up.

Maybe to others,
a world without love
would be alright.

Maybe to others,
they don't need those special feelings,
to be feeling just fine.

But not me, no no.
I need to live in a world with love,
a world with laughter and a world with light.

A world that doesn't forget to include the things,
that aren't quite so nice,
like someone turning away from you,
but you know their ****** expression anyways,
cold as ice.

A world that is harsh and tormenting,
where you can easily retrace the footsteps,
that once held two pairs of feet,
or you can retreat,
but would much rather follow.

I demand to see the stars disappear into sunlight,
trying to decide which option is the better kind of shine bright.
A bold blazing sun, easy to spot in the sky,
or the millions of stars that look like they are struggling to fly.

And I,
don't want to give up on love anymore.
I just needed some time to press my heart's snooze button,
and snore away the hurt.

But now,
I am wide awake and hear my heart's drum beating,
it calls to me at night,
pleading for something it is needing.

The sizzle of eggs I cooked in a pan for breakfast,
with little flecks of salt and pepper,
a slice of butter on some whole-wheat toasted bread.

Together, this breakfast conglomeration,
told me what the point of this poem is.
To live on, without love, is to eat boring eggs.

And I,
would rather live a life filled with hate,
then be stuck eating what is served to me on a plate.

Give me all the flavors of love please.

Young and Naive Poem
2/18/2014

I'm feeling trapped in these walls.
Ready to fall
through the floor.
Don't wanna sleep in my bed no more.
I can't see in the dark,
but unsure - I could feel more secure.
_
I ran home when I was a kid.

You picture a sad child running away from their family.
But I ran home to tear off my clothes.
To stand in the shower and numb my brain
with senseless waste of water.
Drops smashing violently against my face.
Distracted me from the real storm approaching.

If I could wet the air
I draw in for breath,
maybe the heavy gravity of things
would become more apparent.

If those violent water drops soaked into my pores,
maybe they could sink into my thoughts.
If I could do that,
then I could be somewhere else.

I was worried I would have to disappear
from a world that I loved too much.
A world I loved too much
for it to love me back and yet still have me hate it.

I could not accept the things that just could not change.
Luckily, if you want to call it luck,
there was still too much I needed to say,
…. yet too much wanting to remain the same...
And all the same, it's all the same,
just maybe with another name.

Or another person,
and in another year,
their acting will worsen.

For shame I blame.
My steps scorched the Earth,
burning up under the pressure
Of a body bloated heavy with burden.
A ****** buddy without a body - its called a thought that you don’t want.
With the heavy weight, and my boots quake
My resolve, it shakes.
So settle down.

Listen…

The little boy who went running through the streets.
No he was rollerblading.
No it was me, as a child.
I was strolling, so carefree.

A long ago day,
before I became me.
He said, “I resolve to be drug free.”

...
To be so young and naive.

Cyber Bullying Poem
2/6/2014

Let's talk about cyber bullying.
I wonder if you instantly thought,
"Oh gosh this is gonna be intense."
Well maybe, maybe not.

Some forms of bullying aren't intended to be intense.

Sometimes bullying comes from the smallest things you can do to someone.
Sometimes bullying just takes a minute to type and press send.
Sometimes bullying just takes another minute to close your web browser.
Sometimes bullying just takes a third minute to walk away fine.

Bullying is possible in just three minutes:
send a comment to anyone anywhere in the world
ruin their day.
destroy their confidence
personally insult someone you don't know personally
influence their minute, hour, day, week, month,
life, suicide.

But this poem isn't about suicide,
it isn't about life or death.
It is about those small things you say to someone on the internet,
without ever realizing
you are a cyber-bully.

This poem is about the time I met an internet troll.
Someone who says things in chat forums to elicit an elevated response.
I was in middle school, one of three Jewish kids.
I posted on a forum about video games,
and for some reason
another middle schooler on the same forum as me,
somewhere unknown in the world,
posted off topic about how the Holocaust was great for population control.
*******.

This poem is about the messages you get on your dating profile,
that just say "hello" or "hi."
Because you took the time to fill out and divulge personal information,
and the best they could come up with was a measly greeting?
26 letters, 10 numbers, and 46 other keys at your disposal,
with unlimited time
no pressure at all,
but you'll use a hell of a lot more keys when you retaliate to my angry response.
*******.

This poem is about the debates you get into on FB.
someone posts a provocative status about cultural misappropriation
or about how English should be the national language,
and you respond unable to resist,
trying to keep it professional and scholarly,
citing sources doing your thing,
until they make a personal insult,
unrelated to the debate topic,
maybe about your political orientation or religious beliefs.
*******.

This poem is about the person who you were supposed to go on a date with,
but they told you about how they once got upset at their ex,
and posted their photos on Craigslist.
******* and no thank you!

This poem is about the poems that I've posted on my blog,
that someone out there thinks are open to public criticism,
as all art should be they said.
Maybe if I was published and making money, sure?
Maybe if I actually thought your opinion was valuable?
Or maybe, just maybe, you could be a cyber bully.
Spewing your **** like the internet is your personal toilet seat.
*******.

This poem is about the minutiae,
the minutes in which someone can damage you,
because your screen on your computer has no filter,
it won't protect you from the cyber bullies,
who say small comments that make a big impact.

No happy inspirational ending,
other than that I hope they read this poem on the internet,
and maybe feel a little bullied themselves.

Wanted Ad Poem
1/31/2014

I've decided enough is enough.
I'm putting out an advertisement on every dating website,
It will read at the top:
Wanted

Man or Woman,
scratch that binary.
Regardless of gender or sexuality,
Seeking a person who can communicate.
Someone who chooses words wisely
and even better knows how to use them,
not to wound you, but to woo you.

Physical features need not apply
all stripes, squares, and bulges of variety are acceptable,
as long as they limit their smoking to while drinking,
I can't stand a cigarette smell on furniture in the house.
That was a simple request.

Maybe I should ask for something in greater detail.
Must appreciate new experiences,
whether of the culinary variety
or involving outdoorsy adventures.
Don't worry about being good at it,
I only know how to pitch one kind of tent after all.
Although I admit I am savvy with a spatula in the kitchen.

TV isn't a big deal, neither are books or music.
Those things tend to blend when you meet someone anyways.
But the really important one is to enjoy cuddling.
When I say cuddling I mean the Olympic sport!

Apply the golden standard,
have at least 2 of the 5:
car, apartment, job, schooling, beautiful smile.
A laugh that makes me smile is worth bonus points.
... whatever you're supposed to do with those - I have no clue.

Voila - It seems like I need to meet myself
and fall in love with what I see.
Because lately when I look in the mirror,
there's a stranger staring back at me.
Someone who I don't know or ask how he's doing.
Lately I don't even take the time to say hello.

I think this guy has a lot of potential,
but I'm scared to really let him into my life,
you see I heard he is insecure at times
and might not like me back in that kinda way.

I need to figure out a way to make him
fall deeply, madly, in love with me.

I should pamper him,
take him out to dinner just the two of us.
We don't need others' company after all.

I should take a walk with him outside
for no real reason at all..
We could even go somewhere in public,
maybe to a club or store at the mall,

I should just show him these things so he can understand
that he doesn't need others' company at all.
He is fine with just me in his life,
the best part is he'd have nobody else to please.
Nobody else to cast on him their needs.
Nobody else to keep him from being free.

It seems like all this stranger needs
is everything in my wanted ad.
It seems like all I need is me,
if I could just learn to appreciate my own company.

https://soundcloud.com/wynnith/wynn-poetry-reading-1-27-14

copy and paste the link into your browser to listen to my public reading of the poem.
Comment and leave your thoughts, suggestions, or throw virtual tomatoes at me below.

****** Poem
1/26/2014

In the mind of a ****** person who doesn't rarely ever get ******.

This is nice, getting to watch online videos on my laptop.
It is entertaining to think about.
Wow, what did people used to do in like ancient times when they got ****** without electronic devices?
Back in the ****** Ages, did they talk to horses in their stables or something?

I really wish I remembered to bring that guacamole to my bed,
I don't want to get up and grab it.  
ugh, but the salt sounds so tasty right now.
Hey, why do we say stuff like 'sounds tasty?'

Maybe I should write a poem about StonedHenge.  
haha henge henge
haha

Okay, that might have been a bit too much.
Do I always follow my stream of consciousness like that?
How long has this song been on?  
Wow, it feels like forever.

The point of this poem at the beginning of the high
was to demonstrate some big idea that I thought sounded really smart
but I think I've lost it now that I'm a ****** person who doesn't rarely ever get ******.
I'm gonna get up and get the guacamole, bye.

Oppression Ownership Poem
1/26/2014

Why do we lead our hearts by the hand
into our lovers' volatile elements
quicksand mixed with fire
Why do we blame it on desire
say the heart wants what it wants,
but mine doesn't want this at all
Stop.

Alleviating your hearts of guilt and shame
because they're doing it perfectly.
to fall in love and be willing to take set backs
Stop.

Let's take a step back.
Give our hearts back their guilt and ownership
over the oppression of a heart beat you can control
but actually choose not to.
Stop.

Hear that?
It is the sound of a heart beating,
barely breathing
but
Stop.

Now we've fixed it
the problem we couldn't solve
but don't absolve
yourself of sin yet
We've got another oppression needing to be handed over
false ownership we play pretend.
rather than play in a playground with each other.
we blame another for our heart's oppression

but right now in this room
I am the only one holding a broom
trying to tell you that you can't sweep it out
out of your mind
or cover it up with doubt.

I'm not saying don't blame society for creating social constructs of love.
I'm not saying that we don't live in a world that is filled with a sickness
a sickness in some to say that like this we can't keep on living,
because
stop.

We can
and we have
and we cannot and have not
given up on each other, just on ourselves
with every breath we use to utter
that famous druther
that our hearts are victims.
needing to be fixed.
that the world wants to see us suffer
that we can't own our emotions they are far too mixed
with envy and rage and the deepest sorrow anyone could never know.
but I do know,
that
stop.

I do know
that stop

that
stop

stop.

I do know
no I don't.
I don't know but that's for you
to figure out
How to feel your heart's oppression
but don't keep it under ownership
instead let it out.
squeeze it out through your soul
before it gets to take its toll

you have too much to do on this planet
or even on mars, somewhere far up when you reach the stars
because you shine brighter than bullets baby.
when they get shot and hit something leaving a lasting impact.
you pierce through the hull of a steel ship
with that wicked bite of your lip
when your silver tongue speaks golden beauties.
to my wicker ears eager to be burned
with the splendid delight of your brilliant vocalizations
shouting, screaming, taming, keeping an eye opening message.

that you do not own your heart's oppression
and thus it does not own you neither.
because you lived it but it is not your life
like your heart
when you felt it
but did not control it
not because it was out of your control,
but because you chose to set it free,
and so too,
you should be,
rise above your society.