BE McComb 4d

don't cry because
i'm gone

laugh because
my whole life
was a complete
fucking joke

Copyright 4/24/17 by B. E. McComb
BE McComb 4d

some children were raised
feet dug down into sand
dreams washing back and
forth with the saltwater waves

others were raised
with their hands dusty
nails and hearts stained
from red dirt and poverty

but i was raised
with a translucent blue
heart and clean hands
the bottoms of my
feet black from plum wood
that touched the sky
and gray concrete that
sunk below the earth

(for some summer meant
freedom
for me it meant
dried grass

for some fall meant
leaf piles
for me it meant
the wind and rain)


in winter i was raised
under white lights
and strings of garland

in spring i was raised
under blood red cloths
of death and resurrection

life cycled on
around and around
while i grew
up and up

(the hardest part
of letting go is
the wondering why
you even bothered
the wondering why
you wasted your time

the hardest part
of growing up is
the learning that no
matter what broke
you nothing is wasted
that shapes you inside)


in the meantime
i was raised
and raised
but a child can
only be raised so far
before they fall

people change but seasons don't
Copyright 4/24/17 by B. E. McComb

Bottled
Boxed
Shrink wrapped
Flash frozen
Angst
And grunge.
Spray on depth
And emotions,
Advertised
To children.
Individually packaged
Insomnia,
Because something
Needs to be wrong with you
For people to care.

In our pre ripped,
Pre faded jeans,
Music
About drugs
And drink,
Sung
By children
Who've never come close
To either,
At the top of their lungs
Into the night.

Because pain is deep,
Pain is real.

We're dumping paint cans
Full of black paint
Over our heads,
Clumping our hair together,
Covering our sunshine
Yellow bodies.
Just to demonstrate
Some contrast
Against the summer
Blue sky,
So we get to be
A little different.

Sabotage
Sabotage
Sabotage
Sabotage

Marketed,
Advertised,
Sabotage.

Do you feel it in the air?
Family value sized
Self destruction?

And pointing it out
Is pointless,
Because my fake nose piercing,
And brand new
First tattoo
Sting still,
You could say I'm the worst.

BE McComb Apr 15

it's that kind of morning
you know the type
where you leave your
eyeliner wings crooked
and spend the time you
would have wasted to fix them
sitting on the bathroom floor
feeling sorry for yourself

(i can't distinguish between
what i say and what
i mean and apparently
neither can anyone else)


there's a gallon of
grandmother's bleach
next to my feet but it
has 9,000 calories of
pure sodium per cup
and i'm on a diet

(see i could say i was
just making a funny joke
but there's nothing funny
about that joke)


iwishiwasaperson
iwishiwasaperson
butimnotaperson
butimno­tbulletproof

(are people bulletproof
or is it just their hearts?)


guess all that's left to do is
cry if i've lost what wasn't mine
yoga in the middle of the night
showers in the afternoons
and laugh if i'm still a believer
in second chances (circa 2002)

anyone else remember the jonah movie? let's just hope the caterpillar worm guy got his message through to me.
Copyright 4/15/17 by B. E. McComb
BE McComb Mar 20

a random lady once told me
there's arsenic in the
town water supply so i'm
trying to drink it every day

the dishwasher is running
sandwich cooler is cooling
and i'm curled in a ball in
the dark on one of those
square cushioned wood
framed couches

and if i shut my eyes
tight enough i'm a kid
again on a lazy saturday
afternoon but i don't
want to be a kid again and
it happens to be monday

i've met a boy recently
and he's a person
unlike i who am one
part girl to one part
shaking hands to
one part arsenic

i'm screaming into
the void that i
hope this works out
hope this works out
hope this works out
but i have a feeling in
the pit of my stomach
that i might ruin it

or maybe that's
just the arsenic

Copyright 3/20/17 by B. E. McComb
 Mar 6 BE
Elea 

have your tears on the skin of my arm you
never cry as much as me;
you take it out in jagged breathing
(and softly of,)
agonised destruction//

a tip of your unknowing hand and
the whole place is in ruins,
cinder blocks sideways,
beams of wood, creaking, grey smoke
in pixilated spirals,,
drifting)

your heart never left mine,
understand,
you know we can feel the other's
like christmas presents,
(different labels, the same wrapping,
one with a bow and the other, ribbon)
tilted next to each other
(the orange light a living room makes in winter, and, pine needles
at the bottom and the top of us)
-- and a little gap in the selotape of both where we try to
peek through [yours is bigger
but you were always disappointed i m sure,
when you did manage to
see]

your memories are the same as mine and
we drift when we drift
together
our grandparents house
and her hands and her rings
--boxes full of costume jewelry who smelt
like the felt
of a billiards table--

and the baths we took together
(bubbles) and history
of each other's bodies
and
the potions we made
with sticks and dirt --
daring magic to be real

and when
some person
stabs
some thing
in you
i
will protect it
i
will put myself in front of it
my
flesh was always made of something
different

and i will slice a cut down their middle
with the corner of my pinky nail
[look closely, it's sparkling]
opening a smooth red line
through their
centre
with  cold, and
tender   compassion,
and
i    will
   kill them

you questioned when we were little, whether you were allowed to breathe into marbles and have them be a world and if you could be happy inside them and kat I'm sorry i did not know enough yet to tell you yes, yes, of course you can, of course, and to take your hand and to

travel different dimensions with you through
mirrors into
space a little backwards full of
real princesses and wizards, and
demons,

and to show you the way statues move,
slight if you
twinkle a finger a certain way
pointed just at the periphery where there stone turns to air
and you'll seee
slowly (in an instant) their stories
:small hopes and all the things they loved the most

unravelling in shapes of time around you

and that you were always right, frogs are amazing, and
the mud you smushed and put in pots to pretend to cook
over a wooden pile, really do taste like chocolate
all the way from India (
if you dig far enough-- you'll get there)

i would kiss your forehead now and show you all you asked me to [eyes pleading, because you needed someone you trusted
to know that
you weren't crazy]

but i'm too far away dear so you will just have to learn to read my mind

i love you
you will be a wonderful mother
and everything is alright

 Mar 3 BE
Twilight Zone 

Every time I heard the word
baptism as a child I thought of a
preacher holding me by the leg
upside down over hot water.

He is about to throw me
back in like a fish.
All I think I'd be wearing as a
baby is somewhat a blur.

I view the whole congregation
in pews with a layout
as ordered as a newspaper
in a man's hands.

There is a big white bathtub
with ducks feet right
underneath the pulpit as
I sink beneath the cozy water
I see a daisy ceiling fan melting
while it's  spinning around and around.

I shoot up of course like
a bullet that is unharmed.
The wind slides through
the windows making
them wave like
charismatics in high spirits.

So as I'm about at the climax
of my dream my Mom interrupts
me with umm honey I hate
to break it to you but you
were sprinkled in an evangelical
methodist church all wrapped
up in the Preachers arms.

We dedicated you to
the Lord that day.

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