Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
kara-rose-trojanPoems
My message seems too abrasive to send Like handwritten ransom notes With a geriatric hand, Gnarled and pimpled with                 Weariness                 And experience. Our war stories Are cards thrown down at a poker table So initially casual Then troubling after the fact. People spout perspectives; Our inputs are faucets overflowing With the chemicals that change the mix. Each of us contribute to the compound of strife. What I need – what I want Is my own element,                 Thoughts pure of your life, For you do not fully comprehend my experience. My wuss-puss whines that resonate As sure as a saxophone’s wail. My jazz demeanor, burlesque figure Only mask the pedigree of emotions Beneath my wiggling hips, fluttering eyelashes. Remember: this is a woman. From smudges to sunlight to wind to aligned stars –                 The cracked liar’s smile never eludes me                 Just as the bite still scars my neck. Marked, experienced, wrung out, aloof –                 Live for sin, looping exponentially. The seagulls scavenging in The grocery store parking lot, We know them and hate them for it. **** drink, yell, tip your way, son. I’ll tap my cigarette, clamber into bed [my motives are my motivation] Deepstep, baby, deepstep:                 Come willing because I won’t. I am the renegade impulsively flipping cards, Smirking across the poker table And yelling, “Checkmate” For no good reason. Scattered to the winds, My nonsense is the very ground you have to tiptoe upon, My sense is the word on the tip of your tongue that absconded. I am not your maker for he’s my friend. I am not your mother for she’s my servant. I am not your lover for you’re my witness. This [whatever it is] is a syllable caught skipping on the record,                                                                                            And we’ll never know the rest of the word
0
Apr 7, 2011
Apr 7, 2011 at 11:49 PM UTC
Are You Stuck?
My message seems too abrasive to send Like handwritten ransom notes With a geriatric hand, Gnarled and pimpled with                 Weariness                 And experience. Our war stories Are cards thrown down at a poker table So initially casual Then troubling after the fact. People spout perspectives; Our inputs are faucets overflowing With the chemicals that change the mix. Each of us contribute to the compound of strife. What I need – what I want Is my own element,                 Thoughts pure of your life, For you do not fully comprehend my experience. My wuss-puss whines that resonate As sure as a saxophone’s wail. My jazz demeanor, burlesque figure Only mask the pedigree of emotions Beneath my wiggling hips, fluttering eyelashes. Remember: this is a woman. From smudges to sunlight to wind to aligned stars –                 The cracked liar’s smile never eludes me                 Just as the bite still scars my neck. Marked, experienced, wrung out, aloof –                 Live for sin, looping exponentially. The seagulls scavenging in The grocery store parking lot, We know them and hate them for it. **** drink, yell, tip your way, son. I’ll tap my cigarette, clamber into bed [my motives are my motivation] Deepstep, baby, deepstep:                 Come willing because I won’t. I am the renegade impulsively flipping cards, Smirking across the poker table And yelling, “Checkmate” For no good reason. Scattered to the winds, My nonsense is the very ground you have to tiptoe upon, My sense is the word on the tip of your tongue that absconded. I am not your maker for he’s my friend. I am not your mother for she’s my servant. I am not your lover for you’re my witness. This [whatever it is] is a syllable caught skipping on the record,                                                                                            And we’ll never know the rest of the word
kara-rose-trojan
Written by
kara-rose-trojan
American
Apr 7, 2011
Apr 7, 2011 at 11:49 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem