#orsomething
On the TV I heard him say,
"No one wants to work these days."
My generation lays dormant
hibernating in parents basements.
We slumber so we can smother
childish desires for a house and a lover.
Our overdue rent on prospect
the proprietor, has come to collect.
Sleep comes quite easily
for us fed-up past employees;
If I stay a pipe-dream ******
maybe I won't wake up hungry.
May 15
May 15, 2026 at 11:10 PM UTC
I look for your name
in books-
lonely black words on yellowing pages,
in film credits-
stark white on black, when the sad song plays.
Your name on the creases of my bedsheets,
it appears to me on heavy dark nights
I was always okay walking through this world
without boys like you.
Now I cross the street to meet you
when I think I see you at traffic lights.
When they blink I think of your eyes.
I don't fall in love.
My mother always told me not to.
'Live to break hearts, not have your heart broken.'
Some day, she said, though not in words,
someone will fall in love with the space between your eyes
and the last rays of sunshine in your hair.
But walls keep them out like unwanted guests.
Cutting tongue and harsh sarcasm
keeps them at a safe distance, barely visible
behind the bricks stacked up around me.
Yet why is it now, with you
I feel these walls crumbling around me into dust...
So I put my heart in a padlocked box
Guilt keeps me quiet
when the boy with eyes like treacle
sends me words on little slips of paper
I read them and think of you
Then wish to rip them apart.
My heart beats heavy in its box,
I wait for you to arrive with the keys
to reveal the secret I won't share.
The secret I don't share
with boys like you
How long do I have to go
before I can let it out myself
and show it to you?
I take baby steps
on carpeted stairs in lecture halls,
looking for your face
Your face, your name.
Etched into my brain.
I wanted a boy I didn't have to love.
Now I want to love you with every inch of me
Every inch of my once cold heart
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 8:16 AM UTC
I'm not here to leave a legendary impression,
these poems are merely syntactical confession,
and if you find in your own personal expression,
the mutual feels from the scheme of grand depression,
felicitation, aggression, commiseration, obsession
all of the above, et cetera, the thorough digression,
glory will be given to the one in succession
of the ethereal destination we hold in compression
with the wordly oppression and greedy possession,
without further ado and much indiscretion,
tis time now to reflect upon my next spiritual transgression.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 6:38 PM UTC
I knew you once before,
had passed you specky, lanky, characterless
in dusty corridors, retiring into C rooms
Now what are you, years older,
eyes uncomparable to clichés
What were we?
Invisible, 'part of the woodwork', the damp and must and old worlds
Why was it then you hadn't been of note to me,
of nothing to me
Perhaps you were not pin-marked,
bearing dead inks,
Perhaps your eyes could not sparkle behind thick lenses
I know now I fall in love with drug casualties, or wannabes,
who live their days as nights,
and set their lungs alight
Forgive me for all I say, all I believe,
all my vapid perceptions of boys like you,
being the Ginsbergs and Kerouacs of this world
Failing, always failing
And I'm empty still,
till I find,
boys like you made of easy exits,
and open doorways
I am not winning by having shallow feeling,
I am losing years from empty lust,
when brown eyed boys come profess love,
that is full,
and overbearing
Tell me,
will I ever be yours?
FIN
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 3:53 PM UTC