#misbehavior - Hello Poetry

Thoughts can be thin fractures in the order of things. Sometimes my dorm room seems a sterile sarcophagus, like an accusation, or an interrogation of my romantic choices, with nothing warm or inviting there. Sometimes I’ve just got to get out. Leong and I decided to go to ‘Toads Place’—a bar right across the street from campus. Still, it was a 10 minute walk from our residence. This night seemed different, not the usual, winter, claustrophobic gray. No, the burning heavens were a canopy of spirals and light events—a show put on by an insecure deity needing to overawe. It was Charles and Chinthia’s anniversary, so Leong and I went alone. The place was busy, and unsurprisingly, we met up with a few friends, including this guy I’ve been calling soccer-boy. His name is Troy. As the night went on, and the martinis flowed, we kind of hit it off. I have a boyfriend. He’s far away. Sometimes, his memory’s like a warm beacon broadcasting from that far away. Other times, our connection seems to bleed across that distance, and his questions and concerns seem foreign. At the end of the night, no, well ok, the start of the morning, a group of us began strolling back to our dorm. It’s safe to say that none of us were feeling any pain. At one point Leong paused to chat with a friend and Troy and I carried on alone. After a certain amount of Facetiming with the boyfriend, the texture of face-to-face is immediate and mesmerizing. Troy’s eyes are the blue of gas flame and there are a thousand flickery reflections dancing there. When I looked in them, I felt like an astronaut heading out for oblivion At one point, I realized that we’d left Leong behind and we paused under a streetlamp. After a moment, I leaned back on the pole—it was steadying—and Troy took the opportunity to move in close. Have you ever felt a molasses-feeling of lust that made your legs feel ropey? I half-began to hum a nonsense song as a distraction from the closeness of him and to regain some mental, objective distance. Then he moved very, very close and I could feel my resolve wavering, like a cardboard construct. He leaned in and kissed me, quickly and so softly that it was almost a whisper. Then the edge of his fingers brushed against me and faded away. When he really committed to touching me, it was with a coiled restraint, backed by the urgency of a ticking bomb. He nuzzled my neck as hands moved slowly, with the overflourish of an amateur magician—there was no disguise in it—but there was a kind of magic. The breeze had taken to moaning, or was that me? It didn’t encompass the full range of my thoughts, but it was a strong, representative sample. However, something dark was rippling beneath the pleasure, like a shark beneath a sea’s reflective aqua surface—it was common sense, and restraint. At first it felt like I was fighting something that wouldn’t properly show itself. I mean, the pleasures were real, but there was an unreal mechanical overlay to them. We humans are such blunt instruments. Nature’s given us buttons that can be pushed for its own purposes. With a quick dart, like a bluebird from a bush, I gained the upper hand on my foggy, lecherous emotions. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I said, gently pushing him away, “I’m going to have to opt out.” I offered a weak smile. He was a gentleman, he backed away with a shrug. “Another time,” He said, with a wide devouring smile. “I have a boyfriend,” I said, kind of late—like it was a matter-of-fact that shouldn’t need repeating. That’s when Leong arrived, she gave Troy a look like a feral cat. She can have cold, flat, judgmental eyes. For me, she had a frown that I could feel—it was that powerful. She likes Peter—I’d get a talking-to. “G-night, Troy” she said, her disregard for him made him seem like an outline, not a real person. As we turned to go on to the dorm, I saw that we’d been under one of those stations they have on campus where you can summon help, and there was a little obsidian surveillance camera. I wondered how many other 2am noir-romance scenes were playing out on the darkened campus. . .* Songs for this: Beautiful Trash by Lanu & Meg Washington Princess Crocodile by Gry with FM Einheit and His Orchestra . . our cast: A reader once asked, “Who are these people?” (a solid question) Leong, (roommate) 21, a ‘molecular, cellular, and developmental biology major,’ is from Macau, China - the Las Vegas of Asia - and she’s a proud communist (don’t knock it til you’ve tried it). Growing up, I lived in Shenzhen China (about 30 miles from Macau) we both speak Cantonese (maybe why we were paired?) and we're able to talk a lot of secret trash together. Troy, (soccer boy) He’s 6 feet tall and fit. His hair's a rich, thick, mahogany "collegiate mop" (Think Hough Grant) and there's an easy, uncomplicated strength about him—something polished and fresh, he's like a shiny new phone. When he crosses a room, he seems to move in slo-mo. He's a environmental studies major - whatever that is. Charles, a 54-year-old 6'4" retired NYC cop, has been my escort, driver, security and surrogate parent since I was 9 years old. His wife Cynthia is also an ex-cop and the VP of a cyber-security company. My Grandmère hired Charles for me when a classmate was murdered in Year 7 (6th grade). Your author, a simple country girl from Athens Georgia, is also a molecular biophysics and biochemistry major (pre-med)*.

0

Feb 4, 2025

Feb 4, 2025 at 11:53 PM UTC

anaisvionet

thin fractures

Thoughts can be thin fractures in the order of things. Sometimes my dorm room seems a sterile sarcophagus, like an accusation, or an interrogation of my romantic choices, with nothing warm or inviting there. Sometimes I’ve just got to get out. Leong and I decided to go to ‘Toads Place’—a bar right across the street from campus. Still, it was a 10 minute walk from our residence. This night seemed different, not the usual, winter, claustrophobic gray. No, the burning heavens were a canopy of spirals and light events—a show put on by an insecure deity needing to overawe. It was Charles and Chinthia’s anniversary, so Leong and I went alone. The place was busy, and unsurprisingly, we met up with a few friends, including this guy I’ve been calling soccer-boy. His name is Troy. As the night went on, and the martinis flowed, we kind of hit it off. I have a boyfriend. He’s far away. Sometimes, his memory’s like a warm beacon broadcasting from that far away. Other times, our connection seems to bleed across that distance, and his questions and concerns seem foreign. At the end of the night, no, well ok, the start of the morning, a group of us began strolling back to our dorm. It’s safe to say that none of us were feeling any pain. At one point Leong paused to chat with a friend and Troy and I carried on alone. After a certain amount of Facetiming with the boyfriend, the texture of face-to-face is immediate and mesmerizing. Troy’s eyes are the blue of gas flame and there are a thousand flickery reflections dancing there. When I looked in them, I felt like an astronaut heading out for oblivion At one point, I realized that we’d left Leong behind and we paused under a streetlamp. After a moment, I leaned back on the pole—it was steadying—and Troy took the opportunity to move in close. Have you ever felt a molasses-feeling of lust that made your legs feel ropey? I half-began to hum a nonsense song as a distraction from the closeness of him and to regain some mental, objective distance. Then he moved very, very close and I could feel my resolve wavering, like a cardboard construct. He leaned in and kissed me, quickly and so softly that it was almost a whisper. Then the edge of his fingers brushed against me and faded away. When he really committed to touching me, it was with a coiled restraint, backed by the urgency of a ticking bomb. He nuzzled my neck as hands moved slowly, with the overflourish of an amateur magician—there was no disguise in it—but there was a kind of magic. The breeze had taken to moaning, or was that me? It didn’t encompass the full range of my thoughts, but it was a strong, representative sample. However, something dark was rippling beneath the pleasure, like a shark beneath a sea’s reflective aqua surface—it was common sense, and restraint. At first it felt like I was fighting something that wouldn’t properly show itself. I mean, the pleasures were real, but there was an unreal mechanical overlay to them. We humans are such blunt instruments. Nature’s given us buttons that can be pushed for its own purposes. With a quick dart, like a bluebird from a bush, I gained the upper hand on my foggy, lecherous emotions. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I said, gently pushing him away, “I’m going to have to opt out.” I offered a weak smile. He was a gentleman, he backed away with a shrug. “Another time,” He said, with a wide devouring smile. “I have a boyfriend,” I said, kind of late—like it was a matter-of-fact that shouldn’t need repeating. That’s when Leong arrived, she gave Troy a look like a feral cat. She can have cold, flat, judgmental eyes. For me, she had a frown that I could feel—it was that powerful. She likes Peter—I’d get a talking-to. “G-night, Troy” she said, her disregard for him made him seem like an outline, not a real person. As we turned to go on to the dorm, I saw that we’d been under one of those stations they have on campus where you can summon help, and there was a little obsidian surveillance camera. I wondered how many other 2am noir-romance scenes were playing out on the darkened campus. . .* Songs for this: Beautiful Trash by Lanu & Meg Washington Princess Crocodile by Gry with FM Einheit and His Orchestra . . our cast: A reader once asked, “Who are these people?” (a solid question) Leong, (roommate) 21, a ‘molecular, cellular, and developmental biology major,’ is from Macau, China - the Las Vegas of Asia - and she’s a proud communist (don’t knock it til you’ve tried it). Growing up, I lived in Shenzhen China (about 30 miles from Macau) we both speak Cantonese (maybe why we were paired?) and we're able to talk a lot of secret trash together. Troy, (soccer boy) He’s 6 feet tall and fit. His hair's a rich, thick, mahogany "collegiate mop" (Think Hough Grant) and there's an easy, uncomplicated strength about him—something polished and fresh, he's like a shiny new phone. When he crosses a room, he seems to move in slo-mo. He's a environmental studies major - whatever that is. Charles, a 54-year-old 6'4" retired NYC cop, has been my escort, driver, security and surrogate parent since I was 9 years old. His wife Cynthia is also an ex-cop and the VP of a cyber-security company. My Grandmère hired Charles for me when a classmate was murdered in Year 7 (6th grade). Your author, a simple country girl from Athens Georgia, is also a molecular biophysics and biochemistry major (pre-med)*.

37

I don’t want to play in your yard I don’t want you to play in mine. I know this is going to make you angry For me that will work out just fine. You don’t know how to play with others And don’t know how to have any fun. If ever there was a big doody brain Look in a mirror because you are one. If we don’t play the game so you win You want to pout and whine to us all. Too many times you have thrown big tantrums And when you left you tried to take the ball. Or you threw it so far away we had to run To get it and bring it back to the game. Every time we tried to give you a chance Everything turned out exactly the same. You don’t know how to play with others And don’t know how to have any fun. If ever there was a big doody brain Look in a mirror because you are one. We all believe your parents are the reason You can’t handle the way life really is. You’re fine as long as you are winning You crow and brag you’re an amazing **** That’s not what happens in the real world; Things do not always go your way. So, now you have to deal with the facts. None of us care to ask you to play. I don’t want to play in your yard I don’t want you to play in mine. I know this is going to make you angry For me that will work out fine.

0

Aug 27, 2017

Aug 27, 2017 at 2:52 PM UTC

brent-kincaid

PLAYGROUND RULES

I don’t want to play in your yard I don’t want you to play in mine. I know this is going to make you angry For me that will work out just fine. You don’t know how to play with others And don’t know how to have any fun. If ever there was a big doody brain Look in a mirror because you are one. If we don’t play the game so you win You want to pout and whine to us all. Too many times you have thrown big tantrums And when you left you tried to take the ball. Or you threw it so far away we had to run To get it and bring it back to the game. Every time we tried to give you a chance Everything turned out exactly the same. You don’t know how to play with others And don’t know how to have any fun. If ever there was a big doody brain Look in a mirror because you are one. We all believe your parents are the reason You can’t handle the way life really is. You’re fine as long as you are winning You crow and brag you’re an amazing **** That’s not what happens in the real world; Things do not always go your way. So, now you have to deal with the facts. None of us care to ask you to play. I don’t want to play in your yard I don’t want you to play in mine. I know this is going to make you angry For me that will work out fine.

32

I don’t like you But I love you. I can hear you asking me How can that possibly be? You either love me Or you hate me. But that really isn’t reality. Your behavior is ******* me. It’s true, I love you But, things you do Are some actions I hate Quite obnoxious of late; You carry on badly And often quite madly. I don’t want you around then. Come back when sane again. The you that I like Has taken a hike And left behind a spoiled brat Who has no idea where it’s at. You once were sweet As anyone could meet Then you fell for your own hype And I never enjoy that type. No, I don’t like you But I do love you And that makes it really tough But loving you is not enough To see you daily And act all gaily When I can’t stand what you do. Because I really don’t like you.

0

Mar 20, 2016

Mar 20, 2016 at 11:19 PM UTC

brent-kincaid

I DON'T LIKE YOU

I don’t like you But I love you. I can hear you asking me How can that possibly be? You either love me Or you hate me. But that really isn’t reality. Your behavior is ******* me. It’s true, I love you But, things you do Are some actions I hate Quite obnoxious of late; You carry on badly And often quite madly. I don’t want you around then. Come back when sane again. The you that I like Has taken a hike And left behind a spoiled brat Who has no idea where it’s at. You once were sweet As anyone could meet Then you fell for your own hype And I never enjoy that type. No, I don’t like you But I do love you And that makes it really tough But loving you is not enough To see you daily And act all gaily When I can’t stand what you do. Because I really don’t like you.

32

Bullets have no feelings No use in kneeling Nobody cares that matters. They never count The bones that shatter, The blood that splatters The lives they ruin. They don’t know what they’re doing. They’re thinking with their wallets. Lining their overstuffed pockets, They reward their own efforts Then get together and do the same For others with too much fame And too little conscience; No pity to share, They don’t care. We are not there To them. Their anthem Is gouge, overcharge Fill up a barge with gold. This graft never grows old When you are on the receiving end. Millions to donate? You are a friend. No riches to date? You are forgotten, A loser, a user, misbegotten And no concern of those With a spoon in their nose And riches to spend On a war that never ends And makes them more and more. And secret bank accounts don’t score With the IRS or with the detectives; As long as our county is defective They will continue to win. Again and again. If you object to this You need to at least kiss The ***** of some politicians Who won’t see their petitions Ignored, as always before When someone denounced The smallest ounce Of corruption and payoffs Paid to overpaid jerkoffs Who are turning our leadership Into a high-priced sinking ship Of fools and criminals Claiming to be intellectuals When really they are crooks Cooking the books. Again and again. And we never win.

0

Nov 28, 2015

Nov 28, 2015 at 5:46 PM UTC

brent-kincaid

BULLETS HAVE NO FEELINGS

Bullets have no feelings No use in kneeling Nobody cares that matters. They never count The bones that shatter, The blood that splatters The lives they ruin. They don’t know what they’re doing. They’re thinking with their wallets. Lining their overstuffed pockets, They reward their own efforts Then get together and do the same For others with too much fame And too little conscience; No pity to share, They don’t care. We are not there To them. Their anthem Is gouge, overcharge Fill up a barge with gold. This graft never grows old When you are on the receiving end. Millions to donate? You are a friend. No riches to date? You are forgotten, A loser, a user, misbegotten And no concern of those With a spoon in their nose And riches to spend On a war that never ends And makes them more and more. And secret bank accounts don’t score With the IRS or with the detectives; As long as our county is defective They will continue to win. Again and again. If you object to this You need to at least kiss The ***** of some politicians Who won’t see their petitions Ignored, as always before When someone denounced The smallest ounce Of corruption and payoffs Paid to overpaid jerkoffs Who are turning our leadership Into a high-priced sinking ship Of fools and criminals Claiming to be intellectuals When really they are crooks Cooking the books. Again and again. And we never win.

53

Do you enjoy causing trouble wherever you go? Do you enjoy hurting people wherever you go? Do you enjoy disturbing the peace we work towards? Do you enjoy threatening the dreams we fight for? Do you enjoy making problems for people? Do you enjoy creating evil after evil? Do you enjoy forcing others to cry? Do you enjoy pushing others to die?

0

Apr 24, 2015

Apr 24, 2015 at 9:49 AM UTC

mysteryezekude

Do You Enjoy It?

Do you enjoy causing trouble wherever you go? Do you enjoy hurting people wherever you go? Do you enjoy disturbing the peace we work towards? Do you enjoy threatening the dreams we fight for? Do you enjoy making problems for people? Do you enjoy creating evil after evil? Do you enjoy forcing others to cry? Do you enjoy pushing others to die?

8