Marigold: Favorites

Dec 2013 Marigold

Junkie

Dec 2013 Marigold

Jeremy Duff

******

I was always a needle kind of ******.
My friends thought I was crazy, and I suppose I was.
They say to take baby steps,
but addiction never works like they say it should, does it?
I went from *** to pills to blow to needles just like that.

It was nice though,
seeing how I've always been a fan of instant gratification.
Tie the knot, heat the junk, wet the cotton, **** it up, slap the veins, stick it in, get high.
Easy as pie, nothing can be simpler.
Nothing could be more complicated.
I've been home for ten minutes,
and I promised myself this score would last me through the week.
I'll be happy if it lasts the night.

My track marks were starting to fade,
due in part to probation,
and also in part to the love I've been surrounded with.
Who needs to shoot up when you have people to love you?
Me.
A ******.
A loser.

I would like a million things,
and a million more,
but why would I want things,
when I can score.
Nothing could be simpler.
Nothing could be more complicated.

Nov 2013 Marigold

The Hill

Nov 2013 Marigold

Daniel Magner

The Hill

Where I almost died
where I took the first
love of my life
where I yelled at the
sky
where I laughed and got
high
same path
same dirt
same good 'ol
Mother Earth
Another night
on this ground
where I grew
here's a puff
to forgetting her
and remembering
youth

Daniel Magner 2013

Nov 2013 Marigold

second child syndrome

Nov 2013 Marigold

b for short

second child syndrome

I find myself wondering what my mother
expected to get when she
decided to have a second child.
There were undoubtedly
some preconceived notions
of what her daughter would be like.
I’m sure she pictured a graceful beauty
with an attractive smile and a gentle demeanor—
deep, dark brown hair like her own.

Sorry, Mom.

You had to settle for
a uncouth ball of tangled ambition,
the stubborn, imaginative smart ***
you never knew you could want—
who will overthink this enough
to form it into words.

At least you can say
you got the hair right.

Nov 2013 Marigold

Poet

Nov 2013 Marigold

Javi Claycombe

Poet

Who I am to you
Is whom I shall be
A person of expression
Using whit as an insecurity
Having words carry my impossibilities
An excuse for hopes dreams and miseries

I long to be
I desire to be
What I can never be
My identity, of make believe
Of which I know everything

As me I can be like anything
As a poet I can be everything

I am the man I've lead you to believe
The man who wants everything
Who'd rather live in fantasy
Where his words are powerful and his soul is clean

Forgive me
My insanity
I am a poet
Unwillingly

#poet #desire #believe #identity

Nov 2013 Marigold

My Father

Nov 2013 Marigold

vibrantveins

My Father

My Father is the little boy kicking ant hills and pulling wings off butterflies, but he will cry and not understand why that beautiful monarch can't fly away and he will not understand why the ants have gone away. He has a spirit that has been lost for decades and I think now he has realized that he must search in order to find it. My Father crushed my Mother's spirit because he just never understood who she was but he knew he loved her and it was infuriating to him. He never meant any harm, genuinely, he only wants the best like most fathers, and that was his downfall. I love my Father. He is my Father and the only one I will ever have. I will never look through the same glass as him and I have learned from his mistakes, just like I have from my Mother's as well (my father being one of hers). I have a little piece of my Father in me but I have a big part of Me inside and I know that I must learn and not repeat.

Nov 2013 Marigold

Death and Birth of a Poet

Nov 2013 Marigold

Sean Yeterian

Death and Birth of a Poet

Death of a Poet

Bittersweet, the whispers in my head,
Slugging tender punches intended to dismiss –
and yet they aggravate my sensitivities.

Calm, the winds that catch my sails
churning waters flow beneath my bow –
yet aggravate my need for comfort.

I witness beauty in the stars that hang their glowing spark
an effervescence in night's taut and endless hold –
yet aggravate my desire to endure another day.

On this Sea of Consciousness my shapeless form exists
to float upon its undulations and ride the coming storm –
knowing that sea's starving mouth
hungers to consume a ragged soul.

And knowing that this soul is mine.

Now sinking deeply to bottom's waiting bed
I close the final curtain
of a poet's pathetic act
this pretense that he existed –
as a poet –
at all.

Birth of a Poet

Renewed,
light beckons my arrival
spirit’s song still buried in this heart
its beating throb nurtures undying lessons
awareness courses through a sunken soul.

Returned to water’s restless surface
A vessel waits unscarred from stormy ire
I paddle, sensing land’s embrace –
encouraging my desires…
… to aggravate my sensitivities
… earn my comfort
… and encourage my desire to endure another day.

As this new act begins the curtain rises to reveal
a soul finding ground to call his own – and knowing –
that he never existed –
any less –
than a poet –
at all.

Nov 2013 Marigold

Saccharine

Nov 2013 Marigold

Silver Wolf

Saccharine

Your words melt in my mouth
I savor them in
Drawing the flavor
******* on them
And they dissolve
Leaving me craving more
You had me hooked
On your saccharine
Your very own heroine
Marketed specifically for
Idealists like me
Optimistic
Unaware
I turned my head away and refused to see
Refused to taste the underlying sour
The syrupy sickness surging through your veins
Travelled up to your brain
Tainting your thoughts
Your words
Your actions
And you cast off your innocence
Like a snake simply sheds their skin
Revealing the rotten core
Within you
Beneath layers
Walls you built around this tumor
Carefully guarded
Drowned in a lake of fake maple
Syrup you find in grocery stores
With empty promises
And wishy washy half truths
I didn’t realize your poison
Until it was too late

Nov 2013 Marigold

Instinct

Nov 2013 Marigold

Emily Tyler

Instinct

That instinct
You have
When you're this depressed
And
Every time
You're in the
Stainless Steel kitchen
And your mom
Is stirring soup at the stove,
And a dribble of
Tomato basil
Slobbers down the side
Of the black pan.

And there's still
A knife out
From when
Tomato intestines
Sprawled across a cutting board,
Which is now in the
Soap-water sink.

You feel it,
In that second.
Instinct.
Need, really.
To take it
And slice open your wrists,
Or maybe just one,
If you're having a good day.

You seriously consider it.
It isn't just a thought.
It can
Scare you, really.

You want-
And one day, might need-
To pick up that knife
And do bad things.
Things that good girls
Wouldn't dream of.

But you don't do it,
And you won't do it,
Because your mom is right there
Stirring soup
And ignoring tomato drool.

And it's such short notice,
You haven't written your note yet.

#suicide #depression #**** #knife #cars #instinct #emilytyler