Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
you awake, and your blood
it’s changed, wrong color,

which color matters not, just,
it isn’t what’s supposed to be,

the wound that wasn’t there yesterday,
won’t/isn't being healed, somethings wrong

you don’t need to admit the admission,
no supposition, the truth, it will out you

wearing the weariness in/on your eyes,
your forehead and anywhere it matters

even strangers double take, cross over the
street to avoid visiting your visage

sometimes it can’t be helped, enormity
seems insufficient to redress overwhelming

gonna give up this wretched writing gig,
recording date & time futile & unimportant

the everything everywhere every day is
well past  the Nevery, but specificity is not

yeah gonna take a breather, a whole season,
put aside the reasons, no more deep cuts

when the portico spaces shout, sorry ,closed,
in spades, but you don’t feel it or care

go off and cater to yourself, knowing in
advance, that work won’t advance you past

the point of return, who, you’re too wounded,
no forward, the past is clout clouded, rough

the word some is a totality, what you got,
is something else, & need another something

taking a break from fools and friends, at now,
ain't any difference, gonna lie down, yeah,

lie down or lie up
because


sometimes it helps
Maybe I’m too simple
or too shallow
but I’m not angry.
What’s wrong with me?

I was trying to think
of someone I hate,
Jews, CIS guys, republicans,
palestinians, blacks, democrats,
the left handed, authority figures,
central americans, parents, vagrants,
the usual suspects, but I’m coming up empty

Things aren’t perfect
don’t get me wrong
I’ve got a pug nose
a flat chest
a giant forehead
and too much work to do
but I’m trying my best—

Worse yet, I’ve no plummeting anxieties
no obvious neurosis
—that one could be a misdiagnosis
no painful hangnails
no sad life tales
no addictions to defend
or hated ex-boyfriends
I have no emo hooks to pin my verse.
no current melodramas to cozen and coerce
between you and me, I think I’m off the rails
It’s really no wonder my poetry pales.

Yeah, that’s what’s wrong with me.
.
.
Songs for this:
Gee, Doctor by Dimie Cat
Sweet Lovin' (feat. Anna-Luca & Iain Mackenzie) by Club des Belugas
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 01/11/25:
Cozen = to win over, or coax.
Thoughts can be thin fractures in the order of things.
Sometimes my dorm room seems a sterile sarcophagus, like an accusation, or an interrogation of my romantic choices, with nothing warm or inviting there. Sometimes I’ve just got to get out.

Leong and I decided to go to ‘Toads Place’—a bar right across
the street from campus. Still, it was a 10 minute walk from our
residence.

This night seemed different, not the usual, winter, claustrophobic gray. No, the burning heavens were a canopy of spirals and light events—a show put on by an insecure deity needing to overawe.

It was Charles and Chinthia’s anniversary, so Leong and I went alone. The place was busy, and unsurprisingly, we met up with a few friends, including this guy I’ve been calling soccer-boy. His name is Troy. As the night went on, and the martinis flowed, we kind of hit it off.

I have a boyfriend. He’s far away. Sometimes, his memory’s like a warm beacon broadcasting from that far away. Other times, our connection seems to bleed across that distance, and his questions and concerns seem foreign.

At the end of the night, no, well ok, the start of the morning, a group of us began strolling back to our dorm. It’s safe to say that none of us were feeling any pain. At one point Leong paused to chat with a friend and Troy and I carried on alone.

After a certain amount of Facetiming with the boyfriend, the texture of face-to-face is immediate and mesmerizing. Troy’s eyes are the blue of gas flame and there are a thousand flickery reflections dancing there. When I looked in them, I felt like an astronaut heading out for oblivion

At one point, I realized that we’d left Leong behind and we paused under a streetlamp. After a moment, I leaned back on the pole—it was steadying—and Troy took the opportunity to move in close. Have you ever felt a molasses-feeling of lust that made your legs feel ropey?

I half-began to hum a nonsense song as a distraction from the closeness of him and to regain some mental, objective distance. Then he moved very, very close and I could feel my resolve wavering, like a cardboard construct.

He leaned in and kissed me, quickly and so softly that it was almost a whisper. Then the edge of his fingers brushed against me and faded away. When he really committed to touching me, it was with a coiled restraint, backed by the urgency of a ticking bomb.

He nuzzled my neck as hands moved slowly, with the overflourish of an amateur magician—there was no disguise in it—but there was a kind of magic. The breeze had taken to moaning, or was that me?
It didn’t encompass the full range of my thoughts, but it was a strong, representative sample.

However, something dark was rippling beneath the pleasure, like a shark beneath a sea’s reflective aqua surface—it was common sense, and restraint. At first it felt like I was fighting something that wouldn’t properly show itself. I mean, the pleasures were real, but there was an unreal mechanical overlay to them.

We humans are such blunt instruments. Nature’s given us buttons that can be pushed for its own purposes.

With a quick dart, like a bluebird from a bush, I gained the upper hand on my foggy, lecherous emotions.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I said, gently pushing him away, “I’m going to have to opt out.” I offered a weak smile.
He was a gentleman, he backed away with a shrug. “Another time,” He said, with a wide devouring smile.
“I have a boyfriend,” I said, kind of late—like it was a matter-of-fact that shouldn’t need repeating.

That’s when Leong arrived, she gave Troy a look like a feral cat. She can have cold, flat, judgmental eyes. For me, she had a frown that I could feel—it was that powerful. She likes Peter—I’d get a talking-to.
“G-night, Troy” she said, her disregard for him made him seem like an outline, not a real person.

As we turned to go on to the dorm, I saw that we’d been under one of those stations they have on campus where you can summon help, and there was a little obsidian surveillance camera.

I wondered how many other 2am noir-romance scenes were playing out on the darkened campus.
.
.
Songs for this:
Beautiful Trash by Lanu & Meg Washington
Princess Crocodile by Gry with FM Einheit and His Orchestra
.
.
our cast: A reader once asked, “Who are these people?” (a solid question)
Leong, (roommate) 21, a ‘molecular, cellular, and developmental biology major,’ is from Macau, China - the Las Vegas of Asia - and she’s a proud communist (don’t knock it til you’ve tried it). Growing up, I lived in Shenzhen China (about 30 miles from Macau) we both speak Cantonese (maybe why we were paired?) and we're able to talk a lot of secret trash together.
Troy, (soccer boy) He’s 6 feet tall and fit. His hair's a rich, thick, mahogany "collegiate mop" (Think Hough Grant) and there's an easy, uncomplicated strength about him—something polished and fresh, he's like a shiny new phone. When he crosses a room, he seems to move in slo-mo. He's a environmental studies major - whatever that is.
Charles, a 54-year-old 6'4" retired NYC cop, has been my escort, driver, security and surrogate parent since I was 9 years old. His wife Cynthia is also an ex-cop and the VP of a cyber-security company. My Grandmère hired Charles for me when a classmate was murdered in Year 7 (6th grade).
Your author, a simple country girl from Athens Georgia, is also a molecular biophysics and biochemistry major (pre-med)
.
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 02/03/25:
Sarcophagus = a stone coffin.

*Ok, this little vignette of mine has a bit of flash fiction thrown in, Troy and I did have a walk and a wait, but there was no fleeting kiss or handsy explorations—other than in my lurid and freaky fantasies.
I showed it to Peter (my bf) last week and he said, “Hey! Are you two-timing me in your ***** little mind?! I’m jealous.” 🙃
I climbed this mountain to once again
look upon your face.

You always loved sunsets, called them
mystical, said that if we looked deeply
with purposeful conviction that we
could see the face of those that we had
loved and lost.

As with most things, in this also you
were right. I climbed this mountain to
once again see your face, and I see you
in its warm sunset glow and deepening
bright star light, if there is such a place
I know you are up there my mother dear.
She died at only 54, too soon, never forgotten
and loved forever. I camped on the summit
that night under billions of bright stars, each
a heavenly glowing monument to all those
loved ones that have gone before us. Gone
but never forgotten.
Years gone by
Tears fell down
So many nights
I stayed awake worried
Didn’t know what to
Make of it
Not one word
Not one call
Not one visit
That’s in the past now
I don’t know how
To process this
Why?
I cried for years
Felt rejected
Felt not enough
Lost all confidence
It felt like a nightmare
Now 20 years
It’s come to words
Never understand
Why you left
I’ll never see you again
Miles apart
But you will stay in my heart
I stand alone, amidst the green meadow,
Grass embraces softly in its glow.
On the left, a cozy home,
where warmth and peace freely roam.

Blue sky,
shaping clouds with grace,
birds dancing in wind,
a lively chase.

Eyes closed,
the sun kisses my soul,
Eyes open,
I leave that heaven whole.

I write, unseen by all,
to know my truth,
I find myself in every word I choose.
:)
Next page