Rickie Louis: Favorites

Dec 2016 Rickie Louis

Michelle Garcia

Like the bulls in every existing china shop,
we danced clumsily past midnight.

The soles of our feet sticking
to the hardwood floor of my living room,
twirling, dizzy--
in hopes that if our souls learned how to tango,
minute hands would cease
to spin.

It was holy bliss.
It was the sweat shop
factory of affection.
Our bodies-- luminous in the
palest moonlight, a passerby
might have believed
we were angels.

Even now, as we sit
in the midst of silent tension,
furrowed brows of frustration
with no words left to promenade
out of our jaded bodies,

I watch your chest rise and fall
to the hostile melody of our
fruitless accusations, each breath
a reminder of our dance.

Your soul is still liquid music to my ears.
And as long as it continues to play,
I will stay, the hem of my dress floating in motionless air--
waiting for midnight
to intertwine our silhouettes.

#love #anger #dance #memories #frustration #relationship #music #dancing #musical #midnight

Dec 2016 Rickie Louis

Best Friends

Dec 2016 Rickie Louis

Robyn

Best Friends

Skeletal cinnamon trees
Frosted with the breaking, grey sky
Know more love than you
And they know more life than I

Flowing as white as the snow
With the one that she loves by her side
She'll regret this day again
When she has nowhere to hide

And I'll sit and watch them freeze
And my fingers will go numb
In the coldness of their timing
Knowing I should be the one

Dec 2016 Rickie Louis

You Make No Sense

Dec 2016 Rickie Louis

Meenakshi Iyer

You Make No Sense

there was no past
to remember,
and forget,
there is no future,
to long for,
and wait,
there is no present,
to consider,
and let go,
there is nothing
to honestly think about
anymore,

yet when you walk past,
my eyes wonder,
did you hear my desire
in the sigh of breath
that left my lips
and make their way
to yours

you make no sense,
but you are fire
and I've been cold
for far too long.

Dec 2016 Rickie Louis

B l u e s

Dec 2016 Rickie Louis

Ally

B l u e s

Words could be a dangerous thing.
Once they are said, they can’t be forgotten.
But what’s more even dangerous is the idea of ‘you’
Once, you felt home but soon became storm.

Love stories could be a wonderful thing.
Once they are read, they can fascinate us.
But our story wasn’t perfect as everyone would expect,
It narrates how you put me into dark abyss of loneliness.

Songs could be a powerful magic.
Once they are heard, they give meaning to everything.
Yet our song consists of sad melody and unsaid words,
It is pleasant until it drowns you.

And like a photograph that captures everything,
That is supposed to be kept on your pocket.
But our photograph isn’t worth to keep
I’d rather let it carried by flood along with your memories.

120816 // 10:30PM
Everything we consider as beautiful could be destroyed by the wrong people in our life.

#love #broken #sad

Dec 2016 Rickie Louis

Threatening Kobold

Dec 2016 Rickie Louis

Kurt Philip Behm

Threatening Kobold

Escaping the prose,
  I hid in the verse

My mind to compose,
  instead of converse

Defying description,
  I sang through the notes

And placed my inscriptions,
in lyrical rote

I chose to hear music,
  over reasons again

To dine with the mystics,
  where forever begins

And when forcing my pen,
  back to stories untold

The Muse starts to darken,
—threatening Kobold

(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2016)

Dec 2016 Rickie Louis

Double Standard

Dec 2016 Rickie Louis

The Broken Poet

Double Standard

People always ask me:
What do you want to be
when you grow up?
I reply:
A boss.
People already say,
I'm bossy as hell
and maybe that's why,
I get called a *****,
but I wear that crown:
like a ******* queen.

Dec 2016 Rickie Louis

Penthouse View

Dec 2016 Rickie Louis

Synthesis

Penthouse View

I’m awoken by the sound of the alarm
My throats dry
My lips are cracked
My temples are throbbing
The rooms dark
As I open my eyes
I hear soft breathing next to me in bed
I check my phone
One call missed
three messages unread
The call from my father
The messages from her
Last nights a blur
The empty bottles around the room explain the fuzz
Truth be told I’ve still got a buzz
Truer truth be told as I take a swig from the half empty bottle I’m still drunk
My concept of self is shaky
What city is this?
Is it Cullowhee or Compton
South beach or Charlotte?
Or some where I’ve never been
Whoever’s in the bed shifts as I stumble out of it
I can’t tell if it’s the lack of light or the liquor
but I can’t describe her features
Maybe it’s neither
Maybe I just don’t care
Either way I open the curtains and flood the room with light
I know the city and her as much as I know myself
The only thing I’m sure of is that I’m on the top floor and still alive

#solosam #penthouseview