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We rarely go drunk, or perhaps that is I, when I told Marc that all people are nearly up on exits
   and barely exists now is feeling – he started swinging a running joke between the two of us

facing the planetesimal – lights their strobes of secret I am on my 7th beer and still nothing
    when being listened to by frantic fret of fear because indulgence is key to demise

when it is said to pull apart but didn’t, I halved the 7th beer and felt my gut cloy itself with
  the muck of fat from pork rind and stale chicken

I deem myself incompetent in the slug, gild of attendance: freckled wall with dotted red,
    linoleum plastered, defaced somewhat, Marc moves to Hannah and I further

the dark with my groping hands – I do not smoke inside my car.
         Ortigas is unusually dull, minutes trickle slow like *** or un-***,

whichever it may, I quickly said as I stole the mic from his hand the words I imagine
    to become filled with the purpose of frayed upon exactitudes.

He always brings his knife with him and I always ask him even if I knew
  that it’s somewhere in his acid-washed jeans – I have always been fascinated

by the lives made better or worse by knives. I remember Gabriel and I talking
   about Holden Caufield when all we ever wanted was to fall

immensely in love with girls we  chase around   in sophomore year, Gabriel
I do not know where you are and listening to Radiohead now reminds me of

something   strange   with   unwilling potential; perennial silence permeates
        Ortigas and somewhere a couple is hot and *******

whereas I, asleep on my 9th beer, probably my last,
         willing to give   up  for  a   laugh or   some     sense  of place

  while I hear them all
    laughing   in front of my parked   car,  poking fun   at   something

I   can   barely identify.
claire Sep 2015
This is a poem for nobody’s eyes
About my students
my flowering black and brown baby girls
more bud than human, saying all singsong how
black is ugly ugly ugly
holding their arms up to
one another, comparing hues
About the instant I realized
I loved women too
and sagged hard against my bedroom door while
dread and hope danced a strange dance
in the pit of my gut
About the college kids I see in class everyday
popping Aspirin and Xanax and the pill
with their headphones and angry publicness and
******* ******* **** this
and notebooks and pens and
soft privateness and
I love you I need you I need you
About the boy I couldn’t speak to for years
without feeling sick or small or unrequited
About Audre, Toni, and Maya teaching me
how to start revolutions with a word
About how I dream again and again
of kissing the girl I am in love with
and sometimes
we are the in the dark and sometimes
we are laughing and sometimes
I am moving breathless
into the room saying
I have never loved you more than I do at this moment
and lips are on lips are on lips
About how I can’t look at this one
pink nightgown because I was wearing it
when my father said he was cheating and
too many tears fell on those
tiny satin cherries
About Holden Caufield and that
******* merry-go-round
About a crazy, unquiet and
utterly illuminated self
Me, spoken yet unspoken
JDK  May 2015
Self-Diagnosis
JDK May 2015
Let's call it Big Fish in Small Pond syndrome.
Trying desperately to get these guppies to see the beauty of swimming against the stream.
It's all about the struggle, man.
Do you know what I mean?

Forgive me for being so angsty.
Chalk it up to a Holden Caufield complex.
Too much time contemplating what comes next.
I guess you could say I'm obsessed with death.

I'll drown eventually,
meanwhile trying to get them to believe it's not my fault.
Blame it on a flawed support system.
Blame my family, blame my friends.
Blame everyone and anything but me.

I'm starting to see it a little more clearly,
(though I'm not about to go for a psychology degree,)
but I think I now know what my problem is:
Hubris.
"The mark of the immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause, while the mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one."
Sara Reilly Feb 2016
good bad girl. fight like a boy. tsunami driftwood. raincloud no silver lining, where lightning strikestwice. bare feet hot cement. kidnapped girl in the polaroid. let me check my schedule. curiosity...cat. eggshells. prescription candy. thru the looking glass. holden red hunting cap. tyler/jack. why ophelia never learned to swim. hold my scissorhands. Drucilla. natural disaster. scartissue love tattoo addiction pain dissociation association. carrie bradshaw's evil twin. holly-go-lightly meets courtney love. wednesday adams grows up. marla singer's song. bad dreamer. caufield's *******, cobain sympatico. makes sid viscious look tame, e. edward grey esq.& miss. holloway synthesis. the white rabbit. igby. anti-heroine, captain jack's sparrow. temptation/seduction/truth cliffhanger. ticking sleep bomb, roman candle(lit). spilled milk guilt. poppy field dreamer. cafeconleche. waternymph/siren/pixie, hideandseeker. riotgrrlchild. fallen angel-demons beware. blindfoldedandbound,if swallowed contact doctor immediately. good veins. contagious, mixedbreed badmanners. moodswinger. shadowboxer. wrong side of the tracks. superlowrisepunkass. theonemamawarnedyouabout, chaoscalamity&charisma;, irresiatible&incorrigible;, neverlearnedmy lesson. kneehighs and runners thighs. handlewithcare. klepto-crinalin and hypno-medicine, tomboy/schoolgirl. skeptickeyebrow. *****-flirty. cherrybombpocketpacker, hardcandy. sociopathsister. victim of my own past. hunter/hunted. bootstrap-trapped. is that my blood? just a minute while i reinvent myself.

i’d like to meet:  
everyone i have forgotten and everyone who has forgotten me
Alyssa Sep 2013
I stood there staring
at the distance between you and i
There are worlds, universes even, or perhaps
three measly steps.
Your hand twitched
and I thought for a moment you wanted to hold my hand
but i realized how stupid that sounded
and i kept that idea locked in the vault in my brain.

Your eyes refused to look at me as if i
was a foul beast whose appearance was so repulsing
that if you looked at me even the slightest bit
your eyes would shrivel up
and your heart might collapse.

But as i stood there measuring the distance
between us
i realized i had begun to miss you.
And that's really something,
to miss a person who is standing right in front of you.

You are the wrinkled sheet I have no intention of smoothing out
the empty bottles on my night desk
the clothes fallen and never picked up.
You have become a bother
but something i cannot bear to part with
in fear i will need you once you're gone.
If i smooth out the wrinkles
I'll miss the marks they left on my body
but i'll miss your body more.
You are the scars that will never go away.

When I finally spoke, I said
"I believe there are Gods
but there are no Gods watching over me tonight.
If you put more worlds between us
I won't be able to find my way home."
With that he put one more world in between us
then three more universes followed
and then six more steps.
I saw his back turn then.
I saw his eyes go ark when he turned.

All I could think of was
"If a body catch a body comin' through the rye"
and Holden Caufield's voice thundered through my brain.
He said "We should go after him
but you have to be in the mood for that sort of thing."

And I said all i could think of to you
and for a boy who was never good with words
you sure knew the right ones to leave me with.
Candyokumu  Jan 2019
My lover
Candyokumu Jan 2019
You pace around the room
Searching
Heavy breathes
Finally you see it across the room
Quite visible
The TV remote
Your eyes light up
You are happy
It was there
But you had been too anxious to properly see it
A bit of a break,you thought
Ha
Pause
Baby,what day is it
I turn
Put down my book
J.D Salinger
I can hear Holden Caufield smirk
I had anticipated this question
I know you
My love
2years.
I know you
My life
Its Friday
I answer
Your show aires on wednesday
You've already watched it..
Till next week.
I wait
You're sad
I can see it.
7 more days
But I'm here
I tell you
Come
Oh I love you
I think as you walk towards me
Smiling
Eyes lighting up

I love you
Qualyxian Quest Jul 2023
I sometimes wonder
Will I be remembered?
Biography?
Soul Septembered?

Malahide was quaint
Stockholm was summer
Taipei was 2 years
Water when I go under

Susan emailed Cate
Wonder what she said
Destiny not Fate
When I am long lost dead

Movies are my comfort
Many books still unread
Viva David Markson!
Holden Caufield in my head

                 green ink

— The End —