#flighty
It’s hard to clear your head when you’re the clutter.
I write poems compulsively
on elevators, in food service lines
most are rotten, some are quite fine,
you may have read ones unforgotten.
Do you look sad on the coffee shop line?
I give you a back-story and write you a tale.
How you loved, tried your best but failed.
My idle world is one of imagination
My mind’s a hummingbird of poem generation.
It's evening and we're at a fine restaurant.
“Are you listening?” My bf might ask.
“No, sorry,” I admit, chagrined.
I'd been making up a poem
and now I'd lost the thread.
Hey, I’m in on the joke
I embrace stupid things.
I work when I work -
I mean I study when I study
But the moment - and I mean the moment
that structure is overthrown
My mind is free to roam and poem.
.
.
Songs for this:
Can't Tame Her by Zara Larsson
Boyfriend by Mabel
Apr 20
Apr 20, 2026 at 12:41 AM UTC
i stream the latest
news
on an old tube tv
vhs and cassettes
to better hear everyone's latest regrets
on the clicking of magnetic strips
"i've seen this one"
breath in an empty room
pause, rewind, pause, play
it's on loop
every word any of them say
the short words
click the most
as flighty as birds
but trend the highest
on the billboard
the long words
fall
from the grace
of a short attention span.
Dec 16, 2019
Dec 16, 2019 at 2:33 PM UTC
It's insane, how alone lonely feels. It's truly one of those feelings that can not be done justice with words. Such a deep, empty feeling. It's elongating. Hollow yet heavy.
It makes you feel like you'll never connect with another ever again, albeit perhaps fleetingly. It's a feeling that makes you believe all of the voices it brings in tow.
A feeling so tangible, you can build a cocoon around yourself with the soft but slightly damp woolen material that falls over the walls of the maze of rooms that loneliness is.
A smothering cocoon, one you don't emerge from prettier but flightier. Harder to touch. To see. Impossible to tether. One whose easily burned by the light after so much darkness. But drawn to it regardless. And thus, covered in scars.
Nov 27, 2016
Nov 27, 2016 at 3:14 PM UTC
All I leave behind is lipstick marks,
and traces of perfume--
but never do I leave my heart
or things for future doom.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 10:53 AM UTC