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Phoenix Bekkedal Apr 2017
The tree
By my birth
Stood strong
To compensate
For my weakness

The tree
Stood stronger
For I was the tallest
In my class and my head

The tree
I loved never
Never fell nor waned
At the sight of the moon
Nor lightning streaming down

This tree
Stems out my
Hefty brooding lungs
Stems out my
Every ambition
Grows from my
Red blood and
How I hum with
Unbelievable strength
Out your window
Beckoning you to listen to
The tree in me
The tree in me is an old oak with scars on its branches of young lovers carving their ambitions into my skin.
Robert Ullrich Dec 2014
Parents of America, free your children!
Whether it be your gorgeous son,
or your rugged daughter,
or your son who isn’t quite sure
if she was meant to be your daughter.
Beat down the barrier with a baseball bat
made of tea sets and doll houses.
Don’t let a book tell you how to live your life.
Don’t let a book tell you how they should live theirs.
You are just as lost as they are
when they emerge from their bloodied cocoon.
So do not try to pave a road
when you don’t know what a road is made of,
because when your parent told you it was cement
they shouldn't have lied, and told you it was sentiment.
Robert Ullrich Dec 2014
I was promised alcohol and women,
at least that’s what Hollywood said.
To think my hair would leave me,
my palm, as sweaty as it was when I was 13,
and my bed as empty as when I was born.
Robert Ullrich Dec 2014
I sit before you all today,
Christ deformed on a cross of
Whitman and Eliot and Plath.
You all surround me with your helmets lined with blood stained papers of past battles,
stabbing, tearing, poking and maiming at my ribs with your #2 pencils and ball point pens.
You mark me up, carving me up in red and black for all the mistakes I have apparently made.
You belch out how you would have done it, how it could be better. Why does that matter?
I hang here now, dreading it all.
Gazing at my heavenly home,
I start to ask, “Father, why do I
have to make them love me?
Can’t I just exist and be free?”
And God thunders down to me,
“Sometimes, son, being imperfect
is what makes you too perfect.”
And with his words, I purge myself
of all of the scars and judgment,
and I am born once again, anew.
In a word document, it is in the shape of a cross (for ironic and obnoxious purposes).
Robert Ullrich Dec 2014
I lived so peacefully
orbiting around your lustrous gaze
not a single fear in the world.
Then you shone bright and inhaled
dragging me in until I couldn't hold on.
I spiraled out of control and began to enter you.
Tearing me bit by bit
piece by piece
I had become a husk of my previous self.
Slowly crumbling away I realized
“This is love.”
Robert Ullrich Dec 2014
Rafflesia god,
nestled deep inside my skull,
Friend to my hatred.

Full of hell I am
scorched by brimstone. I
am blackened again.

Unable to leave
my bed of molten flames
static blankets me.

I lie here hoping
that you will burn out some day,
Rafflesia god.

Flames crawl inside
searching for your ugly face
but no face to find.
Robert Ullrich Dec 2014
picking up the phone and dialing your number from memory
tapping on the beaming LED screen in my blackened and frigid room
it sends me into a lycanthropic frenzy
I shed the skin of a plagued, maddened hermit and
mutate into a gregarious, fluttery seraphim
when your “hello” melts through the receiver to greet me
it makes Annie Clark sound like a rattled wasp nest
when I pace around my room, telling you about my day
I feel like I’m weaving adventures together just to feel your warmth
through the phone pressed against my oily cheek
the clock whirlpools helplessly trying to figure out the time
as if it had got caught up in our banter and forgot about its job
but even if the clock can’t set the time straight, the sun does
when it creeps its ugly head above the horizon, I hear a mumble
then a quiet “go to bed” and a “goodnight”
and I shrivel back into the saddened lunatic I once was
maura Jun 2014
your words,
they have the power
to rattle around in my head.
but your silence,
that has far more power.
the power to rip apart my ribcage.
extract energy from my body.
force waterfalls from my eyes.
and spill worries from my mind.
i'd prefer your harsh words
over your unspoken words.
totally lame late night ((11pm)) thoughts

— The End —