A beach of plastic, sky blue
illuminating the waters like they do.
A blue haired boy and green skinned man,
a missing young one from Japan.
Headed out 'cross oceans wide
with Russel by her side.
The dimmer days blotched out with sun,
a kitten face and hunting gun.
All alone in need of help
on that beach washed over with kelp.
This is what I am
And what I was
For as long as I could remember
I was trash under your feet
Only trash that could be thrown away
Whenever you felt like it.
I was treated like trash
So I thought I was trash
I thought I was only good enough to be used
I thought I deserved it because of you
I was trash
But trash doesn't always stay trash
It gets found
Treated like it isn't trash.
Pampered because it was never trash.
I am trash
No I was trash
But now I am not
Because trash doesn't stay trash forever
Sometimes it gets recycled.
He treated her like rice pudding.
He filled up his bowl with her
Took a nice spoon-filled bite
And as he took that piece of her
He realized he didn't like it
So he threw her in the trash
Without a doubt
He tried to conceal what he did
Thought no one was looking
But little did he know
One didn't have to look to find the
now -seemingly perfect pudding-
Her story would get out, just the way
And he would feel the stare of
millions when no one was around
Falling leaves as for I wish another day to live
From all the battles that I've fought with; will you consider me brave?
For what it is seen; this is not my home
Who were loved by many; trashed by some
As for I was once a sinner here on earth
Now a lost soul who is seeking for the truth
I say to you; thank you for the wisdom
From a disciple who aims to enter the divine Kingdom
Despite of this; I will arise
As an angel in disguise
Engulfed by the love
From the heaven above
As you bend your head
I am lying in cold and dead
And at once I'd become
Nefarious and Thrown Away
Garbage and Cardboard
Egg shells and Coffee Grinds
'My Favorite Mistake'
'My Loving Poet'
'When can I come over again?'
None stayed to love
To hold and be held
To meet tomorrow's sunrise
The neighbors they pile their trash outside their door
Their egg shells and Coffee Grinds
Out of pity I take it for them
Because I know
How it feels
To be left
I met a woman in France,
Reading the same book,
But it wasn't quite like that,
So my book turned into a cover.
It seemed I had picked up some thing mesmerizing,
While browsing a train station bookstore.
I read an enticing tale of desire and loss.
Was it just cheap fiction to you?
A girl met me in France,
And we got an empty beach at sunset!
Except it wasn't quite like that.
Trash littered the closing beach
closest to downtown Marseilles.
Loud speakers played
Missing its bass.
The sky was obscured,
but wasn't it still like that?
They say "take a picture, it'll last longer" but
all these things happening prove my mind is stronger.
Well, I burned all the photos and crumpled all our notes,
just to take them out the trash and make some paper boats.
They all would float away and sink when soggy wet,
but they just stuck at the bottom like the thoughts I can't forget.
Don't be afraid to
come into the backroom.
Part the curtain first
if you think you need a peek,
but honey, I've been waiting
here with all the answers.
What do you seek from this trans-trash
patch of bleached grass? Underneath,
infinite versions of me/my design holes,
tunnels in mud searching for sunshine.
But I want to ask you, who claims the noose?
Who gets to rise past the others in the end,
but then gets the knife so as to start again?
All ants, all ants, pull all but two legs loose,
and you're dancing in pants, wearing the tune
of the long, last living human in blues.