Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Irate Watcher Dec 2017
every                boy
time                    it
   I                    splits
sleep                 my
with                 soul
   a                       .
Irate Watcher Apr 2018
Hookup culture
was raging drunk
but has since
calmed the **** down.
It's too easy.
We don't have time
to do easy things
anymore.
Irate Watcher Jun 2015
I am Bear Lady
and you are Toucan Man —
Fur and feathered backs
against a striped tent.
Cut-off like tickets,
crowds melting Dali-like
in the distance
from crystalline eyes,
frozen in time…

Wings graze skin and
fur can’t compete.
The electricity of
our eccentricity
is freakish,
yet with every touch,
I feel less like a freak.
My history
of hoop jumping
tightrope walking,
and captivity
dissolve transparently
as I search deep,
                deep,
            deep,
into supernova eyes —
they outshine
this circus life,
this love for applause,
the performance inside.

As I gaze into
frozen pools,
the broken chords
of carny music
da da da-da-da-da drown.
The morning quiet,
muddled coffee grinds
are sensitive and silent,
chilling me to the soul.
Earth, a peripheral,
to pupils that absorb
mine full-force,
until I can’t see
this galaxy anymore,
save green starbursts,
my light source.
For the one I love.
Irate Watcher Mar 2016
He left.
The wound is still fresh,
stinging with guilty relief.
Adrenaline — the open door.
An empty bed.
Sheets tangled,
stretched across the floor.
Quiet delight —
the sound of the door slamming
because he forgot his boxers
and needs to kiss me ten more times.  

No. He's already home.
He hasn't been home
here for a while now.
Dare I check my phone.
Dare I check my texts.
Dare I leave this bed.

There was comfort in
those passing fights.
Up after down,
holding each other
so intensely
we were afraid to let go,
I didn't want to let go,
but it was time, and
he's not the type to fight.
What's done is done.
It's over.
I've listed the reasons why.
Without convincing,
I've (sort of) made up my mind.
And even if he hasn't, he'll try.
*Pathological, it is to write, when inspiration strikes at strife. Hands unclamped, to hands that cramp, to touch, to love again.
Irate Watcher Sep 2017
When success finds you,
it leaves you orange,
then brown,
then blue,
green, anew,
with a shiny wax coating,
impenetrable, ready to rustle,
wind shaking you loose.

After no one helps beyond helpless words.

After no one understands, but congratulates anyway.

It can make you feel high and alone.
Somewhere sacred, secret, and beyond reach.
The sun you yearned for so eagerly in the distance, ignoring those crumbling around you.
Irate Watcher Sep 2014
The definition of evolution
is survival of the fittest,
or those that fit best
in their environment,
even if its air
is hydrogen
they breathe it and
strain polluted water
for particulates.
The atmosphere's
clogged with smog
and greenhouse gases
I have not evolved
to breathe yet.
Flames melt my
soul for consciousness.

The world is a
popularity contest,
and I just don't fit in.
Irate Watcher Feb 2018
Ahhh!!!!!!!!!!!!
A tarantula!
Get it away from me!!!!!!
Irate Watcher Sep 2014
Muzzling your lap
with a faded head,
I cross
your heart
with a
trailing hand,
the hashtag
unintended.
Please don't
followmeto
bed.
Sorry for
the @muradosmann
regram.
I didn't mean
to mislead you.
But I missed
leading you.
It's complicated.
Irate Watcher Oct 2018
Tiny hogs *******
away a bright little dream
bit transparent screens.
Irate Watcher May 2017
I bled a little
after those encounters,
a careful cat stretched across
the mattress.
Pleasantly empty.
Presently staring
space     between
leftover glasses,
water be temporary.
Irate Watcher Apr 2018
The best poems
you forget
as you are writing them
in a trance
barely thinking
a filter for the
words that come next.
It's almost as if
you can't even see them.
Each stroke a surprise
what sentence will
grow from this pen?
Irate Watcher Nov 2016
I am a clockmaker
not so keen on letting people
keep track of how I keep time.
I just do.
Effortlessly.
Without
Skipping
A
Beat.
Irate Watcher Jun 2017
I reminisce and wish to get back to her.
She was free time, carefree, kind of gypsy-like.
Just one, two, three, four years ago...

I left her to search for purpose,
to build an edifice to lay
my wispy hair upon,
outside the window of a cathedral,
outside the window of a
tumbling Bolivian bus,
outside the window of a
Medellin teleferico,
outside the windows of
the crumbling concrete houses
below,
outside the window of
a drunken car; blurred cobblestone streets,
cooking asado with
my friend Jeriff,
cooking plataños alone
in a cast-iron skillet.
starting a small fire,
cooking tortillas,
spreading dulce de leche.

hearing sea turtles breathe.

pushing a motorcycle up a hill,
in the rain, for some lazy Colombian.
losing sleep under stars,
drowning in a waterfall,
drowning in the Peruvian swells,
running from a belligerent coke dealer,
escaping the shaman with drunken red eyes,
emerging from silver mines unscathed,
traversing 100km in four days,
escaping an Austrian love triangle,
leaving a loyal stray behind.

I don't have wispy hair anymore.
I left, led a boring life,
built an edifice, and watched it crumble before me.
Where is the girl I left behind?
Irate Watcher Jun 2017
A mask of vulnerability,
I scheme to pry your heart open like a clamshell.
I think I know you.
My pearl lying sweetly upon the pillow of my heart,
A gift for you.
Cultivated carefully.
Roll and polish it daily
between your fingers.

It's bedtime.
Time to tell secrets in the dark.
I figure you are aware of my exposed chest,
and will notice the pearl,
even though it is difficult to see.
Water stories of lack and lore,
reflect peace.
I listen to your ocean,
help you navigate the wharf,
but when I tell you of mine,
you cut the conversation short,  
grab my neck,
and rub salt into my throat, and my heart.
The pearl breaks like
fine China fragments in slow motion,
an unwanted gift broken before
you noticed the wrapping: Fragile.
I try to smile, blinking salt from my eyes,
I'm fine.
My heart shudders, and shuts down.
I don't even know why I'm crying.
I weep over the fragments of the broken pearl you cannot see...

I turn away as if to go to sleep.
Will I ever find someone worthy
enough to cultivate another pearl.
My eyes flood with water,
you ask what's wrong --
You have no idea.
Irate Watcher Jun 2018
I want to know
what you do alone
in the quiet hours
when no one is home.

When it's just you
sitting on cold tile floors
in a dark kitchen
The fridge light
shining upon you
like heaven
casting the deepest
of shadows.

I want to know what you're doing
when the sun goes down
and your body is tired
from being upright all day.
how do you unwind?
how do you turn
from red to blue
like the charging light?

What do you eat
and do you take care
to prepare it?
Or do you throw a
frozen piece of
plastic in the microwave
and get it over with.

Are you sad?
Can you smile?
Can you preocupe yourself until
the mug and coffee again,
again, for awhile.
Irate Watcher Apr 2018
I follow you
to the places
that are good for me
more frequently
than I would normally.

There is where you are.
And,
I want to be there too,
admittedly,
more than I want to self improve,
but somehow that happens too.

It feels like we took
a shortcut together.
Irate Watcher Jan 2019
O, how I crave so much
for wandering blue eyes
to follow me.
Yet when you look
my direction,
I look down.
I dream of staring back,
of confessing the
thoughts that tie
our hearts.
Accepting your
bony embrace,
and laughing
about us agonizing
separately over
whether the feeling
was mutual.
Silently dreading
whether the
anxiety leading up
to the feeling
was worth it.
Irate Watcher Mar 2015
There will be so many
I disappoint that I,
content,
do not heed.
My mother —
Who cooks when I am not hungry.
My sister —
who frowns at my blemishes
and plucks my unibrow ferociously.
The poet slash
musician slash
magician
who calls me to ****
when his calendar is empty.
I bailed on them,
like the similes that no longer serve me,
like the poems I tossed as therapy —
You know —
The ones spun from circular conversations —
gut feelings supplemented by text messages
when you're half paying attention,
half wishing the space between buzzes would lengthen.

There will be so many irked that I,
content,
remain unresponsive.
They wish my mouth wide open,
drooling,
trained to heed queries,
They pull my time like teeth,
Blinded by the sting,
I can’t see the point
of fearing their disappointment.
Because there will be so many I disappoint,
but I, at peace.
I'm back :)
Irate Watcher Sep 2014
I like your eyes.
Your eyes are so blue.
God, I just love your eyes.
Has anyone ever told you that you have beautiful eyes?
Nope. Never.
You’re a great kisser.
Where did you learn to kiss like that?
From other guys?
You know, you're smart.
You might be smarter than me.
Is that my cue to leave?
You want to hang out?
What do you want to do?
You eat meat, right?
Ok — good.
Would you dump me if I didn’t?
I like your shirt — it’s open in the back.
Really? I wasn’t aware.
I looove your ***. It’s just like mmmm (cups imaginary ***)
Yea. I know.
(After ***) Wow. I feel great.
Cool. Thanks.
(After ***) You finished right?
Nope.
You are so young.
*Hmm, what happens when I get old?
Guys — step up and be men please.
Irate Watcher May 2017
They cloud my view
until I can't see the sun.
Irate Watcher Jun 2017
I am an un.
un fit,
un suited,
un worthy,
says the hesitation
that strikes the chords
of their voices.
Even though I know
my spirit is pure,
I am often inside at night,
with a hunk of stale bread
and glass of cabernet.

If spirit were met with as much joy
as knowledge, there would be so many less
un's in the world.
If un certainty as resolute as certainty,
diversity a road less overgrown.
The un familiar flora a familiar feeling,
dark green leafy nets of confident wisdom:
people helping everyone cut through,
even the un's.

But for the un's, life is not this^
Life  is trudging up a desolate hill
with no vegetation and getting
silently pushed down by other people,
who tell you that you're un fit for trudging,
un til you begin to slow down,
un til it gets muddy,
un til you only walk up when they tell you
walking to the top is good for you.

You used to walk to clear your head,

yet you long to be at the top of the hill
any way,
just so you can stop trudging,
just so you can be worth something,
to the shaking heads and closed fists,
perched and looking down
at those below.
Irate Watcher Nov 2017
In the vortex,
messages are
escapes

ways away
from supposed to
do.

Even the most inspirational
transmission
is
one
less
moment.

You have to live!

Often I will descend
into the vortex when
I am emotionally

vulnerable.

When everything I
should be doing, I'm not doing.
Because I'm afraid to get started.
I always think entering the vortex


just 5 minutes


will clear my head.
I am always wrong.

The vortex ***** in
intentions and spits out
regret.
Leaving the vortex
is waking from a restless
sleep, farther from your dreams.

Outside, I wake.
I walk.
I dream,
until I feel weak,
until the vortex *****
me back in.
I never learn.
Inspired by Mark Baumer's walk across America
Irate Watcher Sep 2014
After* he bought drinks

in spite of your protests

before you could say no

because you were too drunk

until you felt numb.
Prepositions aren't reasons. They just locate us in space and time.
Irate Watcher Mar 2018
They take me to a safe place
and wrap me in seaweed til I get there.
The dark green sun is so bright,
I'm almost suffocating.
But I'm safe, in a safe place.
I cannot be found by
those who want to hit me up.
I'm wrapped; snuffed.
Till the light dims.
I can't breathe and
and I don't know how anymore.
Irate Watcher Mar 2018
Looking forward to things.
When I thought about aphrodisiacs
Rory and Logan.
Not being the same age as
people who said you're so young.
Feeling secure.
The drama of youth.
Pencil sharpeners.
Writing things down.
Wawa.
Pure physical exhaustion.
Amanda's sleepovers.
Dance dance revolution.
Chocolate chip pancakes
in the morning.
Running around barefoot
in the yard.
Everything not
a business.
Minding my own business.
Yellow cake with white icing.
Blowing out candles.
Surfing the net
to see
what there was.
Discovery in other people.
Conversation.
Risk.
Serendipity.
Process.
Foresight.
Focu­s.
Fallibility.
Being OK.
Not being Ok.
Caring if someone
was OK.
Sour ****.
Monkey bars
Running up and down
the soccer field.
Irate Watcher Nov 2017
a way to purge
on paper,
truths.

i read a catalog
of 1000 sentences.
there were too many.

none gave me a lover.
all just went
forward.
Irate Watcher Jul 2017
What I wanted, and
what you just couldn't...
silence speakin' for us.

Decisive action,
that wasn't an action,
but a "No" to any further action.

Skinny girl,
sinking in the mirror,
admiring a dull reflection.

Holding hands with myself,
so no one come along.

The pause before the first
flash of moonlight.

Being who you wanted
'fore I chain my mind.

Appeasing the loss of leaves

Sensual creature:
Crouch in the corner and stay awhile.

'til danger passes.
Irate Watcher Jan 2019
Think of
all the time you wasted

trying to find
the matching sock.
when the one
in your hands
was perfectly sufficient.
Irate Watcher Feb 2017
When I was a child
my only task
was to write the world down...

But too often I had
neither pen nor paper.

Now I have
a fingertip keyboard,
and I write sometimes...

But too often
I'm just
responding to messages.
The chase for simplicity is ongoing
Irate Watcher Aug 2014
Most of us are poor
when it comes
to the currency
of retweets.

We are unworthy,
at the bottom
of the Twitter feed,
Swimming in a stream
littered with what is trending.
Rafting whitewater
every time BuzzFeed tweets:

Follow
the bouncing lamb
Vine account
immediately.


Bots multiply:
I want a #lamb
and we're
drowning.

CHOO CHOO!
It’s moving.
QUICK. JUMP ON,
the steamboat
of salacious content
is
LEAVING.

I say:
Let's fight the current;
Stop being
slaves to click-bait;
Start a revolution with
140 characters.

@KarlMarx
Topple the Verified Twitter users.
I'm actually serious.
Irate Watcher Feb 2018
I want to be available
to the people who love me.
I want to be there
emotionally, physically, financially.
I want to be their shoulder
their crutch, their solace.
The person who does not drop anything.
I want to give the feeling
of lightness to every being walking this earth.
Every human, creature, and plant
as they grow up fast.
I want to be nutrition,
a steadfast superhuman
so unfazed, so cool-headed.

It infuriates me
that I'm not this person.
It should be so easy to give.
If I just get my **** together,
I've repeated on and off again
the last five years.
But somehow, I always manage
to waste enough time
to get there,
but late.
When I have nothing
left, a hollow person
someone gave too
many tries.

Still, the people I love
tell me I'm wise,
an angel body.
Like they must justify,
who I am,
the imposter
the transient,
always planning,
for when she can
run away again.
Irate Watcher Jan 2019
You say —
it is impossible
to read
people within
your own frame
of reference.

You’re a neuroscientist,
so I should probably believe you,
because you know
more
about how
the brain processes
information.

You say —
communication is the closest thing
we have to reading someone’s thoughts.
You can't infer the type of person someone is
or what they'll do
from their actions alone —
you just need to ask them.

Evolution is a testament
to the power of speech.
It allows us to co-exist peacefully
with other human beings,
warn them of danger,
or tell them where the food is.

But evolution isn't so
intelligent, and I would premise
that communication
is just a workaround
telepathy.

First of all,
humans lie
when they want
for us to read
what is NOT in
their mind.
Rarely will one
get a straightforward answer
to the question: "Are you lying?"
And should you really expect to?

You say,
of course you can tell
when people are overtly lying.
There are biological signs
of deception
and we're hard-wired to detect
them —
the overly detailed stories
prolonged eye contact
calculated breathing,
are all indicators
of fibbing.

Ok, so there is truth-telling and lying,
but like most dichotomies
there are several somethings
in between.
Like when people don't mean
what they say,
but say it anyways — miscommunication.
Or when people genuinely
believe the words they spew
are true, but they are — mistaken.
Or when people
want so badly
for words to be true...
but they
are
just
not — denial.

For example,
someone like you
could tell me over and over again
that you're sorry,
But communicating isn't gonna help
heal the bruises, honey.

I’m so scared
you'll hit her
when you raise your voice.

I don’t know how to talk about it
because when I do,
she suffers the consequences.

I’m so nervous
I’ll have know about it
the entire time
and still have done nothing.

If I say something,
I’m so worried
she'll think I’m overreacting,
and then stop telling me stories.

What is the least about of harm
you can do
before I’m allowed to speak.
Is it a bruise?
Why must I wait
for the inevitable
just to say
I saw it coming all along.

The complete disregard for her as a partner,
your disrespect, the verbal assaults,
are known precursors of domestic violence.

As is my silence.
But I can't seem to
communicate the situation
without making it worse.

I can’t known for certain
why you treat her this way
from my frame of reference,
because the evidence neither supports or denies
my claim, and I am judge-mental if I infer it anyway...

until it is too late.
Because it wasn't a truth or a lie,
just a thing I knew deep in my bones,
but was told I have no
evidence for
from people like you.

People rarely mean what they say.
Why should I trust their displays
over my own judgement.
Yes, sometimes we are trapped in perspective
and then our perspective turns out to be wrong
about people.
But it takes someone strong,
to risk being wrong,
when she is
chastised for it.
Irate Watcher Nov 2014
I dressed as me
for the party.
What do you do for a living?
I am a poet twinkled
calloused eyes
between disbelief
and comic relief of
fake heroes marveling,
spitting out punch
cause it tasted like grease,
their business cards burning
in speechless canopies.
Those grieving batmen
pleasuring the guilty,
wasting precious time,
Oculus Rifts on their eyes.

But..
You should be going to more events like these and...
Didn't I see you at the Belvéderé party? and...
You should be getting drinks with people twice a week...
It's the only way. (I think)


What is this table?
Is this free wine?


Oh and...
I wasn't asking what I should do with my precious time.
I am asking what you don't do...
and why?
You say you hate to trick,
but that it's the only way to get treats.
You probably were the kid that
filled your pillowcase with
doorstep pumpkins of candy,
abandoning the suckers like me.

But life isn't Halloween all the time,
just one night.
And lies are not costumes
we can sell on ebay
when we are done tricking people.
They eat us alive.
Trick n' die.
Life in LA (A series)
Irate Watcher Jul 2017
I'm shy.
I'm tongue tied.
My hands struggle to type.

My bottom lip quivers.
My body shakes
(and not in the good way).

I can't eat,
tie my shoe,
just relax or
make the first move.

I'm always first to text you

with shame,
but masquerading
and gray.
A noctural opportune,
cold,
******,
bound,
seduced,
a freak —
your flavor of the weak.
And when conversation skips a beat, sad pride rests between.
Irate Watcher Jun 2017
She is in the department store
rifling through the clothing rack,
inside the dressing room,
at the makeup counter,
purchasing something,
holding many bags
minus the ones under her eyes.

She is orange, with hard rocks
as ****, and curled straws as hair.
She crows like a baby,
someone please help me
swipe my hubby's credit card.
Her breathe precipitating
the bottles of wine she'll drink later,
after complaining she doesn't
look like she's 20.

I want to save him from her,
throwing her hands up scaring everyone.
He is kind and calm and doesn't deserve this.
I wanted to save him years ago, but it wasn't my place.
Now he won't leave.
He'd rather drain his retirement than leave.
He'd rather listen to her blab and watch cable tv than leave.
I want him to leave, but I'd also hate to see him alone.
She makes him happy, even if she's ugly.

He is at the bar
flirting with the girls she hates
staying out until 8
A.M.
double timing with her bestie.

He is scraping by,
stuck in a college town,
the scent of whisky on his breath
as he crawls into bed with her,
apologizing.

I wanted to save her from him.
She is strong and he is weak,
crippled by too many drunk nights
turned into vice.
She is sweet,
her history of
revolving hospital doors,
has mellowed her,
at least someone loves her.

For seven years she didn't leave
I wanted to save her,
but I didn't know how.
She loved him and it wasn't my place.
An outsider, I couldn't believe
the intricacies of their chemistry.
He made her happy, even though he was ugly.
Irate Watcher Feb 2017
Silence
Lightness
Breaking Free
Twisted heavy heart
Reach into my soul and tear it out
The shaman
Tension release
Details in your watchful eyes
new process of being
Listening
Genuine concern
All yummy
It seduces me with faith
Moonrocks
Vagos
No problems
Beck
Radiohead
Jamorequi at your request
Most comfortable bed
More than just the week's tension
Themes not rhymes
Truth not games
Breaking through to 25
Growth accelerator
Your learned eyes
Whats behind them
Magician
Wizard man
Trying to figure it out ruins the high
I can see you fighting
Your putting your guards up
Tears at my slow pace
Not being able to catch up
Grasping for any thread of intimacy
I can find neath the cloak
of ****** favors
Not so naiive now
I was performing
An oriface of experience
Needing to be
Filled
Filled
Filled
Until naturally i exploded
Guards down but fighting back
Taken a night
to look at my self
Stream of consciousness exercise: It feels so good NOT to edit something for once.
Irate Watcher Jan 2019
I stared into the abyss and the abyss stared back.
Something comical yet resounding my co-worker said today.
Irate Watcher Sep 2017
I find it impossible to be anyone but myself.
Irate Watcher Oct 2017
The exclamation.
Then lack of
salutation,
or signature,
signifies loudly.

I get it.
You got your message across.

Even though I asked for no response,
you responded out of politeness.

So I responded.

But a conversation
was not what you wanted.

So you shrugged email
ettiquete off and sent
back two lines of text,
almost like a text.
It wasn't even formatted.

Do you hate me?
I dumped you a year ago,
so you must hate me now.

There is no room in your new room
for our fond failure.
Only success happens.
Mistakes are holograms
we can't change yet
linger over
again and again.

Perhaps for you,
it's just easier to
sprint through
hey! hi! how are you?
Finish,
and move on.
But I can't.

I loved you.

I am not just an ex;
I gave you the locket around your neck;
I don't want you to forget
me.

I want you to remember
every moment in 3D color.
Be the intermission
to your originally scheduled programming,
the star of your dreams,

I want to be that girl you think about sometimes.

The one that got away.

I mean, not in a torturous way!

Just someone deserving
of more
than bitterness and blasé.
I don't understand why as you as you stop dating someone, it's like this switch turns off in their head and they immediately start treating you like some rando on the street.
Irate Watcher Jan 2017
He said he loved my body;
then i felt satisfied.
We had only talked of fruit
all dinner for christ sake.
In his studio:
white walls; white sheets;
french romance novels
stacked beside
bright sneakers.
A shell; no story here -
just objects sorted in
nondescript piles.

Lizard kisses,
soft moans and
pathetic utterances;
chest puffed
neath my palms,
riding him half soft,
barely penetrating.
He fought his eyes open;
mesmerized.
I came bored and empty,
validated; ****,
waiting for him to come
and ask me to leave.
Instead we showered;
he was all over me,
after all.
Irate Watcher Jun 2019
We touch. We vibe.
Has me shaking with delight.
It's electric. It's fire.

I want to touch more of you.
Irate Watcher Sep 2018
It is always
beautiful
behind you.

Yes,
there is wisdom,
but it's endless.

Look forward.

It is also endless, and hilly.

Your knees ache to extend.

Don't worry,
the resistance
is good.

Pleasant views
will exist,
when you decide
to look back.
Irate Watcher May 2017
It makes me crazy,
Those knawing pops of color.

Welcome distractions!
Abstracts.
Plentiful letters stuck
To loved ones.
Characters
With layers.
Annoyances
to empty minds.
Friends,
Faithful and familiar.
Electric acquaintances
Jolting perspectives.
Careful and considered.
Almost silent.
All purpose.
Niche.
Violent.
Hypocritical.
Invaluable.
Unnecessary.

­Soft.

Solipsary.
Irate Watcher Nov 2017
The child points and says,
"Look, mommy, look!"

The poet points and says,
"Look, world, look!"

The collective groans,
then sighs.

Mommy
responds after
a long pause:

What?
Irate Watcher Jun 2018
What a strange dream
I had of us
on the beach.
Gritty and grimy
you pushed me into the
sand and I loved
how I sunk so
deep into it
the waves clapping at my legs
almost halfway
the coolness in this summer
heat tickling
getting wet
and drying off so
slowly.
Irate Watcher Jul 2014
Hi,

You've already forgot my name,
but I'm selling something!!!
I don't know how it works, but
It's really great!
It'll rock your world,
change the game,
and make you rich.
You'd be crazy not to try it!!

Plus what I'm selling
is better than what he's selling.
Why? Cause I care about you.
He doesn't care about you —
he just cares about money.
Buy what I'm selling
and you'll see the difference.

Trust me. I'm your guy
and you NEED
what I'm selling.
It would be a great fit.
And once you have it
you'll never
have to imagine
yourself without it
again.
how NOT to sell something.
Irate Watcher Sep 2018
I want you to be different.
Different from the same,
but still the same
uncouth
and
artistic
person.

But with your **** together.

Is that too much to ask?

Where are the sandy blonde
documentary filmmakers in my life?
Hunky, rugged, and on the road.
A hustler on the African savannah.
Paper driven type
of my soul.
Everyone says to marry for love. Money is not important. And mostly, I agree. But if you're broke, I can't help but find you unattractive. Makes me feel like a horrible person sometimes.
Irate Watcher Mar 2018
Jeriff designed
a turquoise and pearl
necklace for me
in 10 minutes
as brother ray's piano sang
she knows a woman's place
is right there, now,
in the background.
Irate Watcher Dec 2017
People give me things
and I let them!
"I have always depended on the kindness of strangers." -A Streetcar named Desire, Tennessee Williams
Next page