#skateboard
You asked to come to the skatepark today,
You asked how bad could it be?
So I packed my board with the razortail,
And we skated until three,
You threw the board down,
And scraped it hard,
Upon that cold wet ground,
We laughed it off,
But i already knew,
That screeching scraping sound,
We tried a ramp, but you fell short, and landed on the floor,
You shrugged it off, but i heard that sound,
And it shook me to my core,
We finished the day by walking home, which is when you found,
My arms covered in those silly marks, that screeching scraping sound,
Mar 28
Mar 28, 2026 at 4:23 PM UTC
Phone call, a voice trying not to crack
One star watching the city limits, but the sky is empty and black.
I don't know what you were doing, I can only assume
You didn't know about enemy plans taking place under the moon.
A pop.
Too close to home to sit through in comfort,
But not far enough that you can get to say 'I wonder'
Bright young soul, big bro always had a plan and story
So maybe you can teach me how to kick-flip from Purgatory
We used to kick it at the church; riding up and down the street
Felt like learning the Universe
Them big hills was a big deal
Until life said retreat,
And went on to open up the seal.
We grew apart as years passed
But Ill never forgot the sting of your passing
It's in the air, like tear gas
You had a lot of friends, and left a lot of broken hearts
And way too many broken pieces left apart to call it art.
And we never got to hit a park together
But I live by "If you bust your *** you'll get better"
The first words you spoke the first time I jumped ship,
And the first words you spoke when I first busted my lip.
I know we weren't the closest, but you've known me since seven.
Two months will make a year,
I hope you're grinding on halos for eternity
If there's a heaven.
Aug 2, 2021
Aug 2, 2021 at 2:14 PM UTC
what brings me joy. Well shockingly, a few things.
1. A bright and warm, summer day.
2. A meal that I really like
3. Sinking into the couch and running some games with friends.
4. That feeling I get when all four wheels touch the ground and my legs become one with my skateboard. Rolling over the divots in the concrete, feeling the wind coat my skin, and my mind is set free to an endless form of creativity
5. A nice slice of cake.
6. Waking up at a time I decide.
7. Music that can fit my exact mood.
8. Holding that someone special in my arms.
9. The first snowfall of the year.
10. a cold glass of rye, for the night I want to forget.
11. Hearing your voice, while you rest your head on my shoulder after a long day.
12. The feeling of your nails in my back, writing your passion on my skin.
13. The set of hands that fit perfectly with mine.
14. The sound of rain hitting my window at night.
15. You.
Mar 29, 2020
Mar 29, 2020 at 2:33 AM UTC
The wheels collide with the jagged ground (As sometimes so do I)
Smoothly gliding across as if sailing through a calm ocean
The wind wrapping me in it's safe and calming embrace
Cleansing me of the worst parts of me
All the anger, anxiety, and sadness is left behind
As I roll over them on my magic board
In those moments I feel free, safe, and certain
I'm not confused or mistaken
I know for once what I'm feeling and what I'm doing
Although it may not be true
I feel as though this little wooden plank with wheels
Could take me anywhere
Across the sea or to another galaxy
For once I'm simply free
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 3:51 AM UTC
I don't need a man who wants a princess
I don't need those expectations
I won't paint my nails or wear high heels
I want someone who will understand
That some days are just for sitting indoors
Playing video games and ordering takeout
Sometimes you just want to hang out
Watch a horror movie or write a poem
I want someone who can understand some days are slow
I also want them to know that some days are fast
Sometimes you just need the rush of riding a skateboard or throwing a frisbee
Sometimes you just need to feel the notes of a guitar till your hands are numb
I don't want someone who thinks I am only silent and reserved
Because I will crush you in your favorite games
I will tire you out with my favorite things
I don't want someone who thinks they are temporary
I will write about you and immortalize you through my art
Keep your expectations away and I'll surprise you every day
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 2:34 AM UTC
My wheels were always a trusted friend,
but upon this degree of speed and spin,
I felt the wobble upon the road,
a countless amount of times I've rode!
At this moment, I looked around,
for the best place to strike the ground,
and in that instant, beneath my feet,
my board no more, only cracked concrete,
within the silence, I heard my mom,
“Don’t leave without your helmet on,”
with nothing soft to break my fall,
the ground and I began to brawl,
It ripped my clothes, it ripped my skin,
until my body seized to spin,
inside my head, my world still spun,
surely, my ragdoll body was done,
but how could I end my day on a spill?
so I scooped up my board
and climbed up Stoney Hill.
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 10:15 AM UTC
i look at my skateboard
down at the ground
i close my eyes
and roll down the hill
getting faster and faster
until i hit flat ground
i open my eyes
when i roll down the hill
i feel free
the breeze hitting my face
my hair blows in the wind
the sun on my skin
its all too good
i feel at home
like a belong
thank you to my
skateboard
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 4:58 PM UTC
Leaves flying by,
feeling my back come to meet my sides,
leaning like Pisa,
wobbling back and forth like a new driver,
brake,
gas,
brake,
gas,
CRACK!
fall to the ground,
board flies south.
song flies north,
head hits the tar,
laying in the road like a parked car.
Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 8:36 AM UTC
You float over the concrete
the way driftwood rides the ocean waves,
smooth and graceful.
Your arms rise to the sky
in sync with your legs
like a puppet,
but you hold your own strings,
you control your own movements
so seamlessly
as if you were born
with a board beneath your feet.
Your eyes hold focus
how a starving man
holds a scrap of bread,
not fully moldy in the garbage.
You spin and swap your body
with the lash of a whip
and how I wish you'd crack me
just once
so I could taste your precision.
How beautiful a sight it is
to see someone so perfectly aligned
with the Earth
that gravity allows you a pass
on the rules.
And when you're finished
the passion that beams from you
is so intoxicating,
I'm too unsteady on my feet
to try to follow.
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 4:06 PM UTC
Apple Jacks
Up into the sky, the girl with velvet pants, a hip and tender blue, she loves me too, she loves me too.
Feet upon the dash, sun rays on our face, our ashtray filling fast as I push harder on the gas, I'd drive a thousand miles to see her, I'd drive anywhere to be near to her, I want to be there when she smiles, even for a little while. I will be there. I will be there.
Mountain tops are wrapped in white, the highway pass stops being plowed at night, we've seen the sun it set, we've seen the sun it rise, and set again today, we're heading far away, because I will be there, I will be there.
A notebook filled with scribbled ink and our ashtray's full with inspiration but out of energy. There's a song stuck in my head, but only the two lines that she's said, I sing them over and over, and over and over, she wrote, "I will be there. I will be there"
I'm nearly running out of stamps, but I've got many more postcards I want to send, we haven't passed a town with enough people to have a mailbox, and America is getting thin, skinny kids with their line tattoos, girls dress down and never look as good as you. I'd rather go nowhere with you than everywhere with somebody who won't ever be there. You can be here, but you can be so ******* **** unclear.
We just ate two hits a piece, of 350 micrograms of lsd, we've still got more than half a pound of some Gorilla Glue Hybrid Blueberry strand, I'd like falafel wrap and a red stripe too, we have enough to buy food for you.
I've never been sad or lonely since we started to go on our road journey. But I'm in love with your elbows, I'm having an affair with your elbows. Sometimes they don't return my calls, sometimes they don't even call at all, I will be there if you cry, and I'll be there to say goodnight. I will be here to make you come, so long as you'll be here to make me come. So let's drive around and have some fun, while we drive around in the sun. Will or won't, yes or no, to and fro, we've counted twice to just be sure, we have 10 toes and 10 fingers. I've counted yours, you've counted mine, i need to see your elbows one more time. I need to find your funny bone so it can crack me up, and we can race through states in this cardboard box. Can we put plastic wrap instead of using tempered glass, on this rocket ship Jimi's Blues, it's the only thing I want to do. To see backward into the fading sun, we can eat dinner or have Twix instead. I won't forget if you still put in. Just let me lick the numbers off your mouth. Just let me lick the numbers off your mouth. We haven't gone anywhere, so we can just stay here, I will just stay here. But please can you go to the store, I need new skateboard bearings and a kid-size box of Apple Jacks.
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 6:17 PM UTC
Vast, empty, midnight hour,
hunchbacked lampposts glaring over parasitic black earth
choking its host.
A parking lot,
an ecosystem’s blemish—
hot tar seeping into the pores of the earth
like a stubborn blackhead in a lip line.
When no cars burrow into the blackened hide
like lice
the great absence of life
is an atrocity.
I imagine myself skateboarding across the tier
as the small town cops
watch languidly with vague interest—
A skateboarder’s paradise
where wheels and accomplice minds roll across celestial barriers
blasting infinite pulses
into the microcosm.
What greasy punks have their mother’s van parked here,
huddling by the heat vents
and jerking off into a Pringle’s can?
Empty parking lot
looks like a cemetery
filled to the brim
where headstones meld
over a mass grave—
delineated by white lines,
the apparitions of vehicles and their hosts
haunt the frozen space.
Another horrible excuse
to waste land,
a wasteland in and of itself
where Tom Eliot saunters aimlessly
and buries the dead.
The saddest sight to behold,
this vacuous parking lot
littered with stray shopping carts,
phantasmal plastic bags,
gum splotches,
***** stains,
candy wrappers,
cigarette butts,
used condoms,
lonely cops
and patient drug dealers,
ambulant skaters,
tired punks,
bored teenagers,
somnambulists,
stumbling drunks,
hunchbacked ***** lights
prying for life beneath its sallow gaze—
The air encapsulated within the perdition
stifling,
the pavement below stifling,
a constriction only visible
when emptied of its contents.
A cop wakes from their choking nightmare gasping
to find themselves trapped,
****** in this parking lot
where the walkie-talkie buzzes
with the weeping and gnashing of teeth.
The warehouse store
looming above the waiting room
lifeless, silent, dark countenance—
Big Brother sees all in the gaping maw.
Cascading before me,
stretching towards the highway passing by,
waiting for the panorama to finish scrolling,
the treadmill to cease its cycle—
all the while lamenting life’s absence
and reveling in the potentiality it possesses.
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 10:18 PM UTC
The soda can rumbles in the bowels,
tumbling into the gaping mouth
into which I enter a hand
to protrude my sugar rush.
sssni-kah, then the slurp of an obnoxiously pleasing sip.
I let the carbonation tickle my tongue,
reveling in the effervescent sensation.
The smell of old tires,
malodorous oil and gasoline,
and stale cigarettes fill the air.
My vexatious sips go unperturbing the dense atmosphere
that thickens outside the small air-conditioned office
and into the gas station,
where the mutters and sputters of drills,
kakadoo, kakadoo,
the squeaking and squawking of rotors and axles,
the interjections of swears and grunts
fill the air.
I peek through the ***** smudgy glass window in the door
to see grimy overalled ants meandering
under the body of our red mini-van
hiked up into the air like a figure skater,
suspended by the rusty clawed accompanist,
not a tremor of strain, unflinching,
letting the greasy men crawl underneath, hiking up her skirt
to examine her anatomy.
I walk outside and sit on a dusty tire stacked with others
on the side of the building--
some growing forlorn in tall grass
weaving in and out of the aperturous rim,
the fingers latching onto fissures and pulling it down
into the hungry earth.
Another slurp and I set the can down
to step onto my skateboard--
rolling across the gritty pavement,
snapping ollies and pop-shuv-its
to add my timbre to the cacophony
leaping out of the open garage doors.
I look over to the barbershop adjacent to the station--
The off-white single room squat allowing the cylindrical swirl
perpetually pirouetting atop the door-frame
to dazzle in a placid manner.
It is there I get my close trims
and pull a lollipop from the cavernous bowl
sitting atop the counter.
The barber, working silently behind his dull gray mustache
and dull gray eyes.
Outside the barbershop to the left,
Leicester Highway ambles onward,
diverging at a fork just ahead of the lot,
and the road adjacent that winds down my neighborhood,
Juno Drive.
I've never embarked down either divergent,
and I wonder which one is the less traveled.
(Frost, guide me.)
I go to the mailbox teetering on the edge of the highway
and hastily grab our mail,
the wind slapping at my *** as the cars whisk by
in their infinitesimal haste.
I feel like time slows once you step onto Juno Drive.
I turn around and saunter back to the station to see Billy,
my Working-Class Hero,
who I mostly see strolling up to the driver's side window
of our dull red mini-van
to loosely rest his arms crossed atop the window frame,
resting his sweaty forehead on his sticky hairy forearms.
Leaning in,
his blackened hands with his greasy smile
behind a scruffy scattered beard caked with dirt and grime,
atop a dark red leather face--
but eyes bright and merry.
His laugh, a phlegmy two-pack-a-day sputter
hacking and pummeling through the van,
all the way to me in the backseat peeking around mom's shoulders
to catch a look at this superhero anomaly.
And his southern drawl wrenching out of lungs
caked in tar and exhaust fumes,
that torpid slur that executes like the garbled hum
of an Oldsmobile engine chugging restlessly--
His laugh, an engine that won't turn over, sputtering to life
but falling right back down into the dirt,
lying on the oil-stained cold concrete floors ***** boots slipping over
and sticking too like wads of gum.
The charismatic mechanic who knew the answer to all things,
always ready to flash me that crooked greasy smile
stretching across his ruddy leather face.
I step back onto my skateboard, with soda in hand,
mail in the other,
and silently say goodbye to my Greasy Eden
before making my way down Juno Drive
towards the first house on the left,
following the road as it snakes past the trees,
alongside the creek, around the bend,
and out of sight.
Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 11:39 PM UTC
We sat outside the coffee shop
next to a fire,
watching the sun set behind decrepit buildings.
I lamented over the lack of a roller rink in the area,
reflecting on memories of wobbling around in circles
with dizzying lights and blaring speakers
ejecting Pink, Daft Punk, and Eiffel 65 onto my critical youth.
I felt like a king.
We finished our smoothies and retreated
to an empty hotel parking lot,
where I taught her to skateboard.
One foot over the front bolts,
the back foot over two of the back bolts
but resting over the tail,
kick, push,
it's in the ***** of your feet--
weight distribution.
Tic, tac, scrape, thud--
she falls repeatedly
and gets back up.
I admire her resilience and perpetual smile--
This is what skateboarding is all about.
We roll around the hotel parking lot,
our endpoints being a lone luminescent lamppost
and a telephone pole beleaguered by a plot of shrubbery
that demarcates itself from the pavement.
We circle around the poles for hours,
forming an imaginary oblong track between the two,
our laughs carrying into the cool summer night lullaby
that sang the drowsy small town to sleep.
The fading throb of the wedding reception
at the bottom of the town square by the wharf,
carrying over to us.
The stores closed up hours ago,
silent empty windows reflecting the lonely streetlights
and our ambulance back at us.
We skated on unperturbed into the night hour.
A man walks outside the hotel
to have a cigarette on the sidewalk--
I imagine he is watching us and admiring our glee.
Rolling between this telephone pole and lamppost,
the glare and reflection of the empty silent windows,
the soundtrack singing above our heads,
our laughs, and the tic-tac of skateboards
and groaning of wheels over stubborn pavement
bringing my melancholic reverie to a halt,
recognizing and understanding happiness in the present moment--
This is my roller rink.
Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 1:13 AM UTC
The concrete jungle.
Home of the dreaded concrete beasts
Who lie in plain sight for the world to see
Crouched in marble ledges, twisted in metal beams
Wrapped around handrails, perched in their cemented trees
They laugh at those who cannot perceive
Because they don’t believe.
And who am I,
Yes possibly me
To find my identity
In removing my wooden sword from its sheath
Placing it beneath my two shuffled feet
To answer the alluring call of the beasts beckoning
To my hero’s heart, for my eyes to blink
To suddenly see them as they were meant to be.
In a world between
Real and imaginary.
For it is I,
Yes I believe it to be
Chosen to find my destiny
In a single push
That propels me
Into the path of the snarling beasts
Approaching their stairs and rails, ledges and beams
Gaps and bumps and ramps with speed
And as they stare at me hungrily
Opening their mouths expecting me
I will stand strong on my wooden sword
As the wheels of fire erupt beneath
And the scenery blurs in the flash of the rapidity
I bend my knees and grit my teeth
My eyes narrow and the drum in my chest crescendos its beat
A shout explodes from my chest, a primal scream
As I press on
In the concrete jungle.
Home of the dreaded concrete beasts
Who quiver in plain sight for the world to see
And whimper at the sight of who they now perceive
Because I do believe.
And it is I,
Yes undoubtedly me
Who will find my destiny
Conquering the concrete jungles of the world unseen
Surfing the concrete waves of the world between
With my loyal vessel being the wooden sword from the sheath,
That remains steady in the face of danger beneath my feet.
I am alive
In the concrete jungle.
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 12:55 AM UTC
It's late summer, too humid and hot to really do much of anything
without having your t shirt sticking to your back
like an extra layer of skin.
that time of year when the air makes the city turn still-
just for a second.
if you don't freeze the frame, it'll be like it never happened.
I'm lurking like a ghost in the woods,
my blue hair glinting through the trees.
I'm finding abandoned concrete jungles, broken skateboard decks
and graffiti scattered like memories from when everything was okay.
Sometimes, if I'm too sad, the universe lets me find a house.
One that makes me gasp; one that turns the air get a little colder.
I go alone, others tend to rush in,
spray paint in hand, loud footsteps and rough voices
echoing through the deserted hallways.
I am always quiet, always still,
i make sure to blend into the walls like i am breathing
with the creeping ivy.
My heart is still searching for the place it will call home.
I've seen a lot of dilapidated houses and i'm still searching,
unable to find what I'm looking for.
My heart found an apartment in yours.
I never realized I was subleasing until someone better came along.
Its late summer,
and once a girl told me that it will get far worse before it gets better.
Well, its getting bad again but I'm still breathing,
so i guess that counts for something.
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 5:17 PM UTC
All it took was for you to skate away
And immediately
My tears rolled down as your wheels rolled away
Come back I shouted
“Come back”
It echoed...
But all you heard was noise
The wheels and the road, in contact…
Going further away was all you wanted...
While I wanted you as close as possible
Do you still remember...
when we hugged and kissed last night?
When you told me the stars weren't enough to symbolize your love for me…
Was that a noise of truth?
or a false metaphor?
They say,
Selfish acts come with selfish measures.
Which makes me wonder
Were you being selfish for the sake of lust?!
I mean you already have me…
What more could you possibly want?!
Am I not enough?!
Who is she?!
What is she to you?!
Don’t you dare tell me I’m making a noise!
Can’t you see I nag and whine simply ‘cause I care…
Don’t act selfish as you claim to love me…
Give me your all
Don’t be selfish with love…
Rather love me fearlessly
For I too…
will love you and only you…
I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you…
Forgive my unnecessary noise but…
I love you!!!
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 1:54 PM UTC
Collecting thoughts, imagination as vivid as the colours of a sunset.
The endless saturday, the drinking, the endless sun.
As the sun beats down on your face, and they reveal more and more skin
You look around and lovers are everywhere
None of them care
The day is to bright and the future is endless
Colours blazing brighter than the sun
All the girls, don’t want a son
But you can care less, the sun is endless and so is your life,
Every time the sun is up, you find the fountain of youth again.
Turning you from 18 to 7
Caring is not your middle name
The world is your toy
So skate around the board walk listening to 3005
Searching for a new potential lover
new goal
You don’t look for cover,
like a mole
Cause you are reincarnated
You remember that school is today
but why go on such a beautiful day
the future is now
whats the point of sitting around like a cow
The ocean as blue as the sky
where your dreams are shelled
in a bright yellow sphere
and as the sun goes down after the day
Now son don’t be in such a dismay
Forecast says, you’ll be young forever
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 10:46 PM UTC
Reassured by your passion forget all the strife.
Pick up your board and skate away life.
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 5:56 AM UTC
My favorite moments
aren't significant at all.
It's rolling over in the morning
to see you lying there,
trips to the grocery store,
you lying on the floor
with your head in my lap
while we listen to music.
I read my books and you play
video games or surf the Internet
and we don't speak.
It's skateboard dates and
car rides where your hand rests on my leg
just to grab an impromptu snack.
No, my most treasured moments
don't seem like very much,
but they're my most precious
possessions, and I'd give it all up
to keep having these little nothing
moments for the rest of my life.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 4:37 PM UTC
in the year 2462 those with nails protruding from their palms
will talk in ancient tongues
& sway the tribes of men to eternal love,
& endless ammunition
of the soul.
spiritus.
kin, galactic
& the golden fire.
throb the saga of man,
into hip ****** illusions and combustive color schematas.
we bury our dead in flower clippings
or skull bits.
[skateboarding rises as the highest form of intellectual sport]
thrum and plum-bum the sewers of electric babylon.
hive city reaching past gasp and wasteland,
her lips ruinous.
cement slabs and coils of fault with
vast artistic possibilities.
these skate-lords from their heaps, their clans, augmenting
& rattling bone masks
grinding themselves into meat-bit heroics
& death.
their teeth are yellowy awoken.
this is all seen globally,
via tele-cast-com-core-mind-warp-tech.
or video.
dreams impact reality
impact dreams
in such
that the cathode cortex filter, invented circa 2222,
evolves into a demi-god, a solar charged demon of unlimited knowledge.
& it mutates the psychosphere of our mainstream public mind
with countless projected memories.
[streamed alternate realities]
fills the belly and the brain,
but all those unhooked are skating.
sweet meat market.
ghost harddrives.
poor leftovers called children of the once-was-men
& their poolside parties.
they leap the rubble of centuries old plastic icons,
their boards, their weapons, their seeds and spit.
they hang chains from their necks
& spew black flame from their sunshaded boot-click
lickings.
they drink from large bottlesof elixer distilled
on old flowers
& worship archaic cassettes.
cults of cyborg women with gem-tipped-blade-additions
carve wooden planks from
groves of great oaks.
great oaken powers.
their creators chew gummies and bend time
to uphold
a proposed history of perfection.
they master pong from their crystalline towers,
& hire mathematicians to write
conceptual skate-deck algorithms,
solely for fun.
non-profit.
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 5:49 AM UTC
There is a boy walking, maybe ten or eleven,
a skateboard under one arm,
his shirt branded with
THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID.
And I wonder, what did she say?
Did she say she liked his tricks
or his ratty sweatshirt?
Did he blush,
swishing his hair in response,
exuding confidence and cockiness, in the mean time remembering his mother,
calling out to him before he left the house.
Did she say “Son,
don’t forget your helmet!”
Even though he was already gone—
Or was she really a he,
who sat him down a few months ago and said
he’d be gone for awhile
that he’d see him soon—
it’s been six months—
and maybe, when the boy heard this, he ran out.
And maybe when he gets older maybe he will run out more often,
to hang out with those who are deemed to be
“the wrong crowd”
and he will be drunk and high,
stumbling under the streets,
above the lights,
hearing-but-not-hearing everything that she is telling him.
She is telling him the secrets of the universe.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 8:42 PM UTC