We all had teddy bears,
Draggled through the swamp of our minds,
Yet handled with delicate care.
Very few still have teddy bears,
Our minds equipped with razors,
Shredding off every tuft of our old friend’s hair.
No longer able to imagine a phenomena out of a little brown lie,
We trade in our best furry friends for a pay raise and a tie.
This is the venom of our society, which leaves our bones empty and dry.
in baptisms of tequila
are we born again.
swaying -- a second
laughter and tears hysterical.
swaying -- stumbling --
finding our footing.
a hand on the ground in case it disappears
(but every day,
welcome to life, part ii.
please find enclosed
work, bills, bereavement,
the fear of settling down
...and a chance of freedom
everything we were promised
can be lost in a phone call.
do we trust ourselves to do it right?
will we ever be sure we are?
My type of people are the ones with alcoholic tendencies and are quick to run away when there's sign of things gone awry.
Rotten fruit in a bowl where flies go to get high.
My kind are the ones that never call you by name in conversation and skip every crack on the pavement because their mothers are still alive unlike yours.
My kind are the heartless and pathetic with a cleaver up their ass and you can't change unclean.
I am a blade of hell.
Ruthless because chickens aren't tough enough to cross the street.
To get to the other side you must stride with a puffed-up chest and nothing to lose. I'm sure you've heard this sermon in others before.
Perhaps in the filth that gathers around the sweat pockets of the homeless man in the subway. The settled dust on the shelves of your agoraphobic neighbors that collects porcelain doll heads and doesn't trust that van with the tinted windows.
The best criminal is the one that sweats while holding the knife to your chest.
Boy! does perspiration smell like the gross gasoline being expunged from a school bus. It's so vivid I can taste it when I lay down thinking about it at night and I think about it often.
My family are sole believers in justice where justice is deserved.
"God is always watching, Belly. Even when you're rolling that cheap marijuana behind the shed- don't think i don't notice." My mother would echo from her rocking chair. If he does then he's one sadistic deity if he sat and watched without batting an eye when the young delinquent that stole my money on an old bicycle ended up dead by the main sewers downtown with a shotgun wound between the eyes. Now this is not uncommon especially in the gritty parts where petty felons and gangsters hang out but it was strange altogether seeing the fucked up way justice is never served the way you want it.
I can be incredibly inappropriate most of the time and as the years go by it seems things have a habit of being inexplicably crude. Things always go about upside down.
The friends one gathers like twigs for a fire end up burning you and leaving you as ash for the wind to swallow.
There is no pretty way to put it and you shouldn't want it in in the scent vanilla.
All the lovers that wronged you end up in miserable circumstances but what about the ones that you've wronged?
It's a circus of whose pain lingers onto the next passerby that happens to sit next to you on the bus ride home and the cycle continues. Onto innocent strangers.
They become accomplices in a misguided wrongdoing that blossomed in your teenage years but humans are not wired in the way elephants are wired. Sure, they'll never forget the damage but they'll persevere because there are other more important things to worry about. Like lions and the unmentionables that prowl at night.
You become an unmentionable for the sake of feeling fearless in towns that so often want to haunt you.
It's not houses anymore, it's entire neighborhood names that you can't visit without thinking you're going to die on the pavement while those in their houses lock the doors and inhale lemon scented surface cleaners while the ambulance shows up.
Those damn neighborhoods and the rooms that you've been in that rattle your skeleton for all the times you should have said no.
For all the times you should have called your mother instead of searching for someone to call Father.
For all the times you should have gotten fetal position on the cold tiles and feigned death and maybe they would have left you alone. Maybe you wouldn't feel like a severe kitchen knife wound. Maybe others wouldn't have to get hurt all the time and you could just be that young gun that always wanted to be fired but never at anything with a pulse.
My type of people are the ones that bask in the sunlight and don't feel guilty about it. My type of people are the ones that go to grocery stores and don't scream in the produce isle but instead hold a hand picking out cereal.
My type of people are the ones that feel okay.
The path back is lost.
In all candor, it's my own behavior that i abhor.
This troubling state, this drunk inertia.
Is no commodity that deserves praise.
For a troubled man, full of sores
will end up crying alone.
many thanks to my bedroom ceiling, and the fractals that play in between a quick intermission.
Repulsive, obtuse, pompous, deaf, dumb, sweetheart,
ill set a candle for you
i swear, i swear, i swear
i accept you (myself).
“If you’re given a chance to have a power, what would it be, and why?”
I often hear this. May it be for fun, or even a question asked to a candidate in a pageant. I am no beauty queen nor a prankster, but like anyone else, I would give my so cliché answer.
If given the chance, I want that power to travel back in time – to revisit my childhood. Yes, I want to be a child again, even for just a week! Yep, being carefree, feeling no worries of what tomorrow will bring, you know, just living in spontaneity. Eating my chocolate-flavoured ice cream until my tooth aches and still be satisfied and crave for it. Running in the fields dancing with the flowers with the sound of the rushing wind, playing hide and seek until the sun gets down and you hear your mama shouting at the top of her lungs calling for your name. And going to bed with a smile plastered on my face for a day well spent. And in the next day, I don’t have to worry if I woke up late, for sure, grandma prepared a brunch for me. No worries of being late to run errands for what’s important is meeting with your neighbour friends to go for an adventure again – collecting meaningful bruises and beautiful scars.
You see, I miss being a child. We were so eager to be an adult, with the thought that if you become one, you could have more freedom to do all the things you wish to do. But no, it’s the other way around. The moment you realized you’re an adult, the greater responsibility you need to carry. As we mature, so as the duty expected from us.
Ohh. How I wish to go back in the ‘90s.
Maybe I lost that innocence a long time ago
A strange thing indeed
Maybe we should ride bikes
In Anytown, U.S.A.
But I’m not sure it’s there anymore
Trick or treating
Pouring all the candy outta the bag after getting a large haul
Shit, we thought we were kings
But we probably weren’t much of anything
Just another soul on that pale blue dot
But I’m not here to wax poetic on how terrible my life is or was
Because it's not
All I can hope for is to tend to a garden
Improving it day in and day out
Raising a family of my own someday
While ride through adulthood
Confused and disheveled
But is that really any different from my past naivety?
I'm taking control
of the memories you left me with.
I'm taking away your power
to hurt me with your past self.
I'm holding the noose
around your neck,
and as pissed off
as hell after a rainstorm.
I won't bat away reminders of you
out of fear
but because I choose to.
Your bad memories
won't stop me from holding
the man I love.
You don't get to ruin my life.
I couldn't stop you
from hurting me then.
But I can stop you
from hurting me.
I'm going to keep building a life
because I damn well
Not because the past
magically went away,
not because I was magically healed
but because I'm digging my heels in
and saying no.
I'm taking ownership
of my past relationship,
I'm taking ownership
of my mistakes.
I'm not locking them up
out of fear anymore,
not because I feel like
I'm a child again
and I can't protect myself,
but because I'm a woman
and I can,
and I'm angry,
and I own what has been done to me.
It's under my command.
I'm going to blaze into
my twentieth year
like a hornet
that had been trapped and shaken
in a jar,
who just had the lid removed.
I have ownership
over my brain.