Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Nothing candid for me,
thanks.
I like the planned. The known.
The contrived.
The professional.
The way I can’t
feel
inside.
Skeletons.   Mirrors.
It’s so sad that we have to explain that the symbol only matters if we agree on its meaning.
Society doesn’t want to agree that we don’t begin to teach
life’s important milestones.
The corporations sold government at least thirteen years of mandatory education
the breaking of the soul
for a life in a cubicle.
Earn, or die
on the street.
A shell that never knew,
never had a chance.
Just waiting
to be buried.
Oh, but the flashes. The sparkles. The lust and
amusement.
What it means to actually be alive — reduced to a few replayed moments.
The poisons, sanctioned
and otherwise.
The offer to **** everything else.
No rewind.
No delete.
The punches we never get to throw.
Our faces — always that attempt at “best we’ve got.”
The days that pass where we
can’t imagine what
or why
anything matters.
How do we learn the skills that transform us,
or give us the promise to set us free?
Do we think
of this as a time that could even belong to us?
The forced meaning we shove onto
our suffering.
Truths we’d rather never
revisit.
Filters inside of filters.
Inside is a shriveled, ambiguous thing we used to think
of
as an inner child.
What if it’s an old man?
What if it’s the Minotaur with no red thread?
What if the maze is
us,
and
we’re fine wandering?
The escape we wanted was from everything — especially ourselves.
( A self most of us wouldn't recognize, have never actually confronted and were never given the time or space ... to really ever, get to know.).
I saw you there
as a snowflake,
and there was no requital.
Desperation bewildered us both, but only one of us was falling.
YOU ,  never dreamt of me.

It doesn't matter that no one knows the difference.
I wasn't born of the sky, so perhaps I lack
perspective.
We can only imagine the glory
gleaned on such an expanse of blinding vantage.

The fascinating thing is that we didn't have to lie,
but conspired to nonetheless.

Our fleeting nature,                                                                                                                                                                        we have only come to perceive                                                                                                                                                    long after it's too late.

Could we have ever been                                                                                                                                                                    anything different?
Behold, dear friends, a sight so rare,
A marvel of craft, a tap with some flair!
Not just a  slap for the place down there
, nor just common everyday strikes,
But tailored pain, bespoke
maybe with spikes ?  Or whatever he likes

Doohickeys, knobs, and  gears so bright,
It measures your jewels for the perfect of smite.
Crafted German care  from hands most skilled,
For those who seek their torment and must be fulfilled.

It has a sign above, for all to see  it twinkles proud,
you'll want one too,  but for now,  look at  me !  It Flashes with  wisdom both, bold and loud:
"You're almost there!" it proclaims so proud
it scrolls with glee,
your knees will buckle,
while yearning to flee.
Oh  the joy,
the joy there will be.

"Believe in yourself!" the message insists,
As the metal fist curls up its wrist.
A countdown begins.
Crowds will draw
what did you choose.
You can't do it wrong there is no way to loose.
exclaim  with  little  warning
" take 2 of these and call me in the morning "

Don't be caught last in line .
Get yours first.
Don't be left behind.
a  ****  to twist ,   to  tap   or  ram
" we now  interrupt  you  regularly scheduled program !'

For the highbrow type, a touch of grace,
Gold engravings etched in place.
Perhaps a monogram?
A family crest?
A symbol of honor upon one’s chest.
Something Crass, classy or morose ?
" If you can read  this  you're  too  close."

And should you opt for fine décor,
A velvet lining?
A marble floor?
Let not your suffering be too plain,
Let taste and wealth enhance your pain!
Extoll your wealth for all to see.
Look what I spent on my ***** punching machine.
They aint given these away for free !
Be  the  first to scroll...
" for God and Country !"

Customization, Because You Deserve It!

Why settle for standard when you can refine?
let  the  world  know...
"No  I'm  not fine. "
Adjust the force! Set the design!
From "playful tap" to "instant regret,"
Each punch is precision—you’ll never forget.

Some want leather, some want steel,
Some want a setting called "The Eel ?"
For the sentimental, engraved with care,
"Hang in there!" flashes to all   in mid-air.
Oh the laughs.
the office fun.
Even ***** with no *****
will surely want one!
To hell with  the world and its pronoun.
"Turn that frown upside  down."
You can have it say ,
or just you in the closet with
"pray away the gay."

A haiku option? For Doc and his Ilk.
A Shakespearean verse?
Perhaps a joke to make it  all worse?
" Just like mom used to make"  
red dots slow scrolling
bleeps in  delight,
As your  pain begins and last through  the night.

The Art of Encouragement, could scroll in  it Lights.
Anything  you'd like.
It's bespoke after all
In all of its rights.
Scroll  what you want and  at your  leisure
"Warning ! , contents under pressure... "

"You snooze, you lose!"—in ominous glow,
Or  here's lookin at you kid" right before the blow.
"Champions are made, not born!" how quaint!
A message of strength... just before you faint.

For pop-culture fans, a classic tease,
" Thank you sir, may I have another."
You may indeed.
"Viddy well little brother. "
It's yours after all send any message you like.
Maybe something for the boss or landlord
or the sullen little tike.

Oh, but beware the tech that malfunctions,
Scrambled words, ominous junctions.
"Maybe next time..." it flickers low,
As steam and sparks begin to blow.

And who, dear friends, maintains this beast?
A sage? A monk? A mad-eyed priest?
No, just Jeff, the intern schmuck,
Who’s stuck in a job with zero for luck.
He's on standby to help you realize  your creed.
" Just do  it it says. " Just do it .
indeed.

Get what you want get what you need.
whatever you feel, where ever you roam
after all...
“Go big or go home."
Say what you need and be heard whenever
"better late than never."
With or without a custom pearl lever.

Its all in good taste.
Fashions never a sin .
Tell them all in  white lights
"Must be present to win."

Its hugs your waist lightly or tightly  
no need to carry. Get  a back up  or two, don't be wary
after all..
"Your mileage may vary."
Make it say whatever you want it to say
because in the beginning or end you can...
"have it your way."
Its super clever , prestigious and funny
and you just cant deny it .
Mine  now says.
"you break it, you buy it."

So step right up, embrace your doom,
Let old-school Led lights your fate illume.
And should you cry, collapse, or fall,
It's just the evolution of competition
after all.
Flex those bad boys and your wallet at once
Come up with your OWN witty scrolling slogan
don't be  a dunce.
Don't  be  the  last to  realize.
Yours  could  say  something important like...
"Keep your  eyes on the  prize."
Kool-Aid mustache, no shirt, shorts made of asbestos and dreams, and you're launching off a rusty piece-of- ramp built from  a saw  horse plywood, trash, and the quiet whisper of "this is a bad idea but  we  gotta be totally  rad."

The hot pink and gray flea market  skateboards?
, that thing looked like it was designed by a demon who just discovered  neon  sugar and cool.
Skulls. Castles. Flames. Creepy warriors. Bruce Lee  or  an  eagle
riding it, ?  you were summoning it.

And that   HE -  man "tracks" tank-thing?
Oh hell yes.
Guaranteed to: eat  batteries

Break toes

Destroy every baseboard in the house

Get stuck in the carpet     terrorize     the  cat.

Somehow flip over on a perfectly flat surface and start screaming like  me  ma stubbing a toe

Then the    THE BIG WHEEL.             plastic  status

your first real whip.
To  ride that plastic trike   plastic tassels over 165  degrees .  Ready and  broken  like it was a ******* war horse of  possibilities...               .................         FREEDOM.

   The  smooth  front wheel spun so fast it sounded like a tortured monster, the handlebars were always wonky  , slick  or  sticky , and when you pulled the spin-out brake lever, you felt like you were being recruited   for  Knight Rider as  your  spine bent  in  3.

  ( Only Knight Rider didn’t smell like melted crayons and stale peanut butter. )  or  did  he .  The  A-  team  did  for  sure.

And holy hell, THE  real  TRAMPOLINE.
This was the rectangular  battlefield.
Forget  rules  this was Survive the unstable Slip-N-Slide of Doom.

You armor-all   up  that mat 'til it’s shinier than your dad's bald spot, throw a sprinkler underneath, and suddenly it’s a Roman death match.
You'd try to walk and it was like:

👣 step
🫨 slip
🧨 scream  sliiiidddeee
🪦 YEET into the springs like a piece of boiled  bologna
nard  pinching  glory.

And you didn’t get off the trampoline.
You got launched.
By your cousins or some  rando
In mid-air       cursing.
While eating a  drippy  Bomb Pop.

Parents? No clue where they any  ever  were.
exactly one  almost  rule:

“Don’t die before dinner.”

And Travis?
Yeah, that dude was a  clumsy  goofball  of  a legend.
Swirly gray wheels, creepy graphics, flea market gear, and a mischief radar so strong it picked up cops before they even turned down your way.

If he showed up, something was gonna catch fire, get duct-taped to a lawnmower, or turn into a new fad.


Sprinkler trampoline

Peach trees  and  mongrel  dogs


Rottweilers

slide failures

and a soundtrack of Twisted  sister    Journey , Mr. T cereal, and someone yelling “HEY! GET OFF THAT ROOF!”

You didn’t just live in 1982.
You  lived
And if you stood real still and smelled your yoda  shirt, you could still get  the scent of grape Bubblicious,   cap  guns , and play doh, if  the  dog  didn't  eat  it  again.....
You got advice for me?
Cool. First I really need to know, did you serve?
Did you wear the boots, eat the dust, give up
holidays and birthdays?
Ever sleep on deployment with the sound
of your own death breathing down your neck?
Did you get a half-gone roll of toilet paper
as your only gift for Christmas break?
Was it the best gift you ever got because
it could double as your only pillow?
And second
do you vote?            Do you?
Ever drag your *** out to hold a hand  made sign
when it’s raining and the tear gas is  like a wall of fog , blinding,
paint the letters big enough
so history can’t miss them.
If the answer’s no,
then step off,
because I earned  it.
and you’re just another unpaid preacher
with a mouth full of borrowed words I’ve already ignored.
Go back to your doom scrolling and Latte lies
the adults are talking. Or at least attempting to.
#Anime, #Gamer, #love, #truth, #armyoftherepublic, #protest, #passion,
Did you pass me and honk?
Or yell at me while I rode my bike, “get a horse!”     right?
( Even as I had a 4-wheel drive beast sitting in the driveway),
I smile because steel and gasoline can be fun
but never,  made ME    free.

There ARE  things I’ve done
that still live in the dark corners of my inner self,
but the things I DID NOT do
that’s what this is all about.

The things YOU DO should make you CRINGE and
the sickest part is that they DON'T

See, it’s the games you don’t play,
the garbage boardroom songs you don’t download or listen to,
songs I didn’t sing,
lusting ****** from radios or halftime shows.
(Tay Tay is gross, she doesn’t care about you, just your money.)
You probably don’t get it though and never will.
K- pop bletch !

Not a single Bieber note
has ever slipped its talentless nubby paws into this skull.
I wouldn’t know a Britney or Beyoncé track
if it climbed through my window at 3 a.m.
and danced naked leaving a snail trail on the kitchen table
nor would I call THAT art.

I can’t justify wasting the time
to sit still for baseball,
a game that peaked before the radio.
Or let squeaky gang-member basketball
drone its repetitive pointless idiocy in the background
like a sermon from a greedy, confused preacher.
I never asked for ANY OF IT AND I REFUSE TO FUND IT.

I never stepped foot in a sportsball theatre,
never cared who " won ",  ( what do they  " win" , again ? )
because every penalty fest mislabeled as a game looks like a rerun
of someone else’s father’s sad beer-fueled failure.
I succeeded without a team, without their vicarious lies,
without a locker room full of ****, sweaty dudes
slapping each other’s butts and prancing around.

So no, I never listened to AM radio.
So no, I never voted for a Republican.
Not once. Not ever.

I don’t own a gun.
I’m proud I’m part of a white community
where I don’t need one.
I don’t sleep with bullets under my pillow
or polish metal like a greasy prayer.

I served my country proudly,
with a good conduct medal.
I don’t chase their enemies... anymore,
because the last of MY marks
are already reduced to bones somewhere far away,
and I don’t need revenge
the way I need to breathe.

I have no enemies.

I don’t need A.I. to write my poetry or my novels.
My music and my art speak for themselves
and do it well.

I don’t have a soul-stealing spy glued to my hand all day.
I don’t pay to have my phone lie to me and keep me
in an echo chamber
like you and yours. Look around.

My kids once thought I was made of stone and stardust.
They STILL  love AND  respect me.
I’m proud of their black belts and MBAs.
( We drive the Tesla for them, because of them.
Same with the 2 solar systems. )

So don’t worry about me.     Focus on you.
I’m okay separating my recyclables
while you waste your energy begging your invisible sky daddy
to forgive and love you
with NO  results.

I know,  I don’t have to lie    to me and mine
and that’s enough    to keep my chin held right.
So I sleep well
at night.


#Treehugger  ,  #hippie   #patriot   ,   #Liberal ,   #truth ,  #Life , #done ,
Bare feet drum the dirt,
My ******* quivers,  anticipation.
Slaughtering fragile patience.
Nerves, played with too long,
Fray and snap with delicious excitement.

Our fleeting freedom  a slipping trance     of enlightenment    The waves beckon to us all
The moon is shared by the world again.

Youth and its laughter sparks
Across the bruised horizon
Raw hot pink, wet and lugubrious,
To purple fading night,
Where a new kiss tastes
Like salted life and spilled tequila.

As bonfires rage their hiss,
Smoke curls, a tickling that stitches
Our shadows to the night,
Remembering every touch
Like a crime worth repeating,
Living in our minds
Till we stumble, enfeebled.

I beg you, make my blood rush again,
My heart yearns to be alive,
With the squealing carelessness of innocence.
Next page