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 Mar 2015 Pokkuri
Nat Lipstadt
oft on bus seated next,
every one of your senses
adjusting, modulating,
to her unpredictable
solar flaring

you don't ever risk
that first missing
           misstep,
your entirety is
sun bursted
        (un)/consumed
in unhappy joy of her
consuming presence

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

you laugh
years later
re the topic of
your first shaky
foot in the mouth
a classic misstep
first bow shot,
opening one liner

and each storied retelling  
is nature!s
snow and rain
refilling
the love of your
groundwater table
welling up

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

you love her scent
the silly hats she wears,
her short skirts arouse,
that last open button
a misstep invitation,
angry it incenses,
her every solitary everything is
incense,
pervading a daily
co-riding
passenger's
oxygen? starved soul

~~~~~~~~~

her umbrella is a wet
selfie stick
accidentally opening and dousing
an un random next door
seatmate

just another unlucky misstep for
someone sitting next store,
oil on the fire of
happily ever after

two selfies are last seen as
one
un selfishly
toweling each other off and
on
with wet kisses

~~~~~~~~~~~

you eavesdrop on her
earbud music,
weep internally you do with
crazed jealously

The Temptations
are so unfairly
singing to her
"Ain't to Proud to Beg"
and neither are you

you heart is misstepping
to every beat,
your fingers
thrumming,
you idiot, not quietly enough
humming
in the next seat

the first,
will not be
the last

smile exchanged

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

poem writing on the tablet,
amidst the groaning awful
no moving
city traffic

overheated bus
combustible with
winter snow dampness,
wet dog sweat smelling people clothes

all you want to do is get home
shower off
the daily dirt

the poetry writing pastime
is the place
where you put yourself
to better to pass over
your sour surroundings

her finger rattlesnakes,
misstepping over,
noisily invading,
the invisible boundary
constructed to hold up the
eye-averting
Keep Out sign
to momentary,
too neighborly
strangers

her red painted
pointer finger
smudge prints on your tablet,
accompanied with
bespoke words
"try this"

that smudge suggestion
won't come off

insisting on crediting
a shared authorship,
you ask for her
email and cell,
so you can share
her
forever

co jointed tangled
bus and bed sheet first efforts
on writing, all about
what you play~argue
what should your entitled poem
be titled

you think

endless short love story bus poems

but she prefers,
with red fingers persuading

the first misstep is the best

both see the merit
in each other
I love this poem. I do.

Lyrics to "Ain't to Proud to Beg"

I know you wanna leave me,
but I refuse to let you go
If I have to beg and plead for your sympathy,
I don't mind coz' you mean that much to me

Ain't too proud to beg, sweet darlin
Please don't leave me girl, don't you go
Ain't to proud to plead, baby, baby
Please don't leave me, girl, don't you go

Now I heard a cryin' man,
is half a man with no sense of pride
But if I have to cry to keep you,
I don't mind weepin' if it'll keep you by my side

Ain't to proud to beg, sweet darlin
Please don't leave me girl, don't you go
Ain't to proud to plead, baby, baby
Please don't leave me girl, don't you go

If I have to sleep on your doorstep
all night and day just to keep you from walkin' away
let your friends laugh, even this I can stand
cause I want to keep you any way I can

Ain't too proud to beg, sweet darlin'
Please don't leave me girl, don't you go
Ain't to proud to plead, baby, baby
Please don't leave me girl, don't you go

Now I've gotta love so deep in the pit of my heart
And each day it grows more and more
I'm not ashamed to come and plead to you baby
If pleadin' keeps you from walkin' out that door

Ain't too proud to beg, you know it sweet darlin'
Please don't leave me girl, don't you go
Ain't to proud to plead, baby, baby
Please don't leave me girl, don't you go
Baby, baby, baby, baby (sweet darling)
Every time I catch your eye
mirrors search my soul
I feel the urge to stop and cry
as tumbleweed does roll
the filth and fury that lurks within
suggests I may be mad
I only see in black and white
just like my good ol' dad
BPD- oh yes that's me
or so it has been said
I'm not so sure
the label fits...
although it might when I am dead
 Feb 2015 Pokkuri
smilesjpg
i am the definition of self destruction
i hurt myself until i cannot function
my skin is scarred by my self harm
i rip apart my legs and arms
i have bruises from punching walls
but i just say they're from nasty falls
i simply crave to be alive
but my body only thrives
on self loathing and on hate
so i often wonder, is this my fate?
am i doomed to hurt every single day?
is life worth living if it is this way?


**( c )
 Feb 2015 Pokkuri
JWolfeB
The day that you passed was the only time I felt close enough to understanding why you are gone. It made sense to me because your hand was in mine. The curvature of your fingertip figured times tables into my palm that I will spend the rest of my life decoding.

Each day since then I question each footfall I conquer. For I can find your footprints upon this sandcastle heart yet all I see are my footprints being eaten by waves. Everyday has been a dislocation of hope, wondering why they took you and not me.

Asking my cells to work musical chair patterns to fine a cure for the algorithm I can't remember. Your nails. I remember them. Pictures. I have them still. You told me, in a house fire it is your 2nd item to grab. For a photo can't be recreated.

You never wanted to be recreated. So we cremated you. Burning ash tray loneliness into the humid smoke upon these lips. So why does it feel like I am jigsaw puzzling you back together in each picture. Attempting to take pieces of the past and walk into my future.

My feet are wet from walking through the watered down alleyways of yesterday. I have robbed myself, beaten the best senses senseless, and found my ****** self laid up in darkness. Interrogating the best reasons to walk into the light.
A recap of the emotions and warfare that take place due to losing my mother many years ago.
 Feb 2015 Pokkuri
JWolfeB
Created
 Feb 2015 Pokkuri
JWolfeB
This time I broke my heart
Giving us a chance to be together once more
Lacing
Weaving
Quilting
Stapling
Creating a stained glass temple
Beauty created through cut palms
Melding
Forming
Fitting
Polish the tainted glass windows of my soul
Bring me clarity in crystalline fractures
Kaleidoscope
Transparent
Allow your parts to hold my heart together
Creating this bombshell heart
Outright
 Feb 2015 Pokkuri
Emm Jay
When I see a rose, I see it pass with time,

And slowly I start to realize as my life follows behind.
When I see a rose, I see beauty in its simplest form,
Wearing those survival scars proudly from the storm.
When I see a rose, I see all the pain it can cause.
With thorns like steal it forces those to take a metaphorical pause
When I see a rose, I see the pain that lies within
Cutting off the roses’ lifeline should be considered sin
When I see a rose, I see as the world kills it.
Slowly but surely the beauty’s wounds catch up with it.
When I see a rose, I see, well I see hope and love inside
What do you see when you see a rose?
 Feb 2015 Pokkuri
Jade M Matelski
12:48 am
**** god and religon **** presidents and their ******* **** school **** laws **** normality **** clothes **** ***** **** drugs **** love **** sexism **** rascism **** blood **** words **** suicide **** murderers **** rapists **** knives **** guns ******* **** this poem **** this aint even a poem **** this

11:58 am
its like everything in the world is so beautiful and i am in love with everyone and everything and theres so much beauty and so much love that i cant function because theres no way for me to experience it all and theres no way for me to love all of it back
i hate that i do this (everything is black or white-good or bad)
its all either awful or wonderful
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