I know how I’m going to die.
Trapped inside of my mind with no room to stretch
and no oxygen to breathe,
surly my own thoughts will suffocate me long before
I turn to stone from my rigid posture.
I’ve always wondered what I was meant to be
and if I will ever be able be that..
To attempt to accomplish everything I’ve laid out for myself
is terrifying, especially when
those I loved the hardest
already have a mold ready for me.
as if this was a twisted tale of Cinderella,
I was forced to wear something that could never fit me.
Blisters and bruises weren’t the only things I received.
now I hide inside of my mind,
a body inside of a body,
because how can he hurt me if
the real me is hidden ?
A fiery pit
is blossoming inside of
Where my heart
used to reside
no longer resides
a place capable of any
Hate slithers in
like the first rays
on a Sunday morning
consuming me before I even open my eyes.
and I’m finding out
that the only way to
silence the voices in my head
is to scream my own voice raw
and drown them out.
bubbling up like a volcano
on the cusp of erupting
is every penny I’ve ever collected.
holding the memories of what
could never be again.
I’m not sure what
I hate more.
How you made me feel
Agonizing over you is what I’m best at.
The memories of us scream through my mind
during the times I should be sleeping.
You’re all I can think about,
even though I’d rather forget you.
You’re all I want,
even though I know you’ll never want me..
I wish I could forget you.
But, instead I’m ablaze
in the memory of us.
While you simply wander through the streets of life,
I seem to be streaking.
Every street consumed by fire,
I miss your heat.
but decay and destruction are all I know now.
Who knew that it would be your love
that would burn me alive?
late night thoughts are the worse, but they make for great poems.
I have tasted human flesh
From the oven of
Lips and tongue;
In savory sauce,
To stir me to feast on.
Yikes. Don't say I wrote this.
Loss is a more apt opposite.
I don't hate.
Euphoria is distilled to misery;
Happiness trickles into sadness;
Delight drips to deflation.
Nope, I don't hate.
I'm lost, Love.
How nimbly I stick my fingers
into the mouth of monsters,
those beasts with all the fury
and sound of playground dictators,
whilst sugar coating sour truths
and feeding them to those
I am aiming to argue into
the enlightened states of freedom.
I am awed by
the forest green
of spring’s clean
as I am defecting
before the door
on my creative luck.
I can overdo it,
till my rhymes
and my thoughts
with alien intentions.
Swearing I am
for those who
when they read me,
but they can
the tricky ****
I try to do.
If it is
a zero-sum game
then I lose,
when I choose
and work through
the background noises
forget to listen to.
In fact, I
to inflate a debate,
that does not
exist in this place,
to try and say
a beautiful verse.
But I am just
playing with words,
and they do not
love or need me,
nor does my
both will survive
to acts of destruction.
When acting on passions,
we ask people in passing
if this wit with which
is enough to elaborate
our currently confused state.
The saturation of the markets
marks this as some capitalistic *******.
Mixed messages of messed up maxims
and the memes of mad men, fallen children,
and land barons,
of the lost bounties
once saved for sharing
the hearts made for caring,
but we will rebuild good will
in these soiled fields
by replanting the seeds of those
who rode the roads
from which we came,
who plucked the rose
from which the thorns grew;
Then bleeding passed along
the wisdom that they knew
could help us be better.
Fox news and OAN,
and Tucker Carlson,
versus fake newsmen
vying for the views
of the uninformed population,
trying to defund
with the message
they are constructing.
Obstructors of truth
as they misdirect
with their misconduct;
Stir up fear and anxiety
about people who are
in the same boat
that we are.
A spendthrift grift,
cursing the gift to uplift
that empathy is
and replacing it with
vile slurs and *******.
All that bile interspersed with
the commercials we’ve seen,
cause it is a money making,
hate cultivating machine.
cause it is easy to see
that snake that devours itself
after it has destroyed everything else.
I'm not winning by spinning
weird rhythms in the ninth inning.
This isn't a champion’s beginning
for some super sports saga.
There will be no happy ending
as the credits roll on to an upbeat song.
I maybe strong, but this world is wrong,
and a heart that beats for justice
will certainly get crushed quick.
On the uptick, I’ll fix my own ****
and get on with living in the world
that greed and ignorance broke.
As innocence gets crushed under the yoke
of the a cross our leaders swore salvation brought.
Anxiety stifles your ability
to see the ineffable beauty
in all the variety of diversity
that invigorates our society.
Light skin transitions to
darker shades that smile through
long limbs thick with
fat or muscular tension.
She to he, they to em
theirs, eirs, her, him
so many pronouns
and I have failed to
name all of them,
cause I am still learning.
Sometimes it’s hard to figure out
leaves us with a little doubt
as uncertainty grows to
fear that flows to
Strangers strain your composure,
especially as you grow older
and your brain grows more rigid
and your heart goes more frigid
till you are vivid with lividness
The erosion of resistance
to the love of what’s different
It is so late. I am so very tired
and there is nothing here to restore
the fire that burned in me before
exhaustion ran through my back door.
Inspiration would be a fine elixir,
a sweet supplier of an eternal shine
that would make me as hot as the divine
intermingling with other demon beings.
Heavy red eyes scratch the surface of
inconsequential stuff that was stuffed
somewhere under the cover of my skin,
with secrets sharper than razor blades,
that let letters and vowels bleed out in
thin spinning lines of linens draped over
my slumping sore and aching shoulders.
Fatigue makes me a nervous overthinking,
fool cowering, and shrinking from daylight,
longing for the lunar loving touch of night.
Hungry, I eat junk, but I’m never sated,
so many universes of the knowledge
split infinities, divided by eternity
still, I am a ravenous rumbling mess.
My mind is a mad mass of confusion,
foggy abstraction thinking any action
might make the slightest difference,
but consciousness is a lie of persistence,
a disturbing pittance better paid
when sleep lets strange dreamers play
and I can wake fully rested and focused.
I'm sending unending lines,
editing and accrediting
these collegial rhymes.
Inspecting and perfecting
in obsessive over editing
these miraculous words
that I was temporarily hoarding.
Trying so hard not to be boring
with my own verbal exploring,
reporting to myself about myself
for everyone else to read.