#socially
physically I have no symmetry
and it doesn’t even bother me
my physical state is electrical
and internally I am symmetrical
a love so big it's my counterpart
symmetrically matching my flesh parts
an existence created as a work of art
able to outsmart any black heart
understanding this duality
is the best of you loving the best of me
and I believe you will get there eventually
to your own symmetrical mentality
Jan 22, 2022
Jan 22, 2022 at 7:16 PM UTC
What genre of music do you like?
Mind:
What to declare
My love for soulful old melodies
Or pragmatic modern beats?
For there is no room for error here
Heart:
I am but a simpleton
As far as I am concerned
There exists just two genres -
The one I love and the one I don't.
Mar 19, 2019
Mar 19, 2019 at 12:17 PM UTC
this cautious man (bobby jean) born in the u.s.a.
grownin’ up in the badlands of atlantic city
bonded with blood brothers
felt born to run along backstreets
in brilliant disguise that did cover me
frequently blinded by the light
of the full moon
casting silhouettes against darkness on the edge of town
which lunar shafts pierced candy’s room
while immersed in book of dreams
describing better days on a Cadillac ranch
where devils & dust - visible dancing in the dark
celebrating like calendar showered 4th of july
or other glory days in darlington county
even though I ain’t got you.
livin’ in the future
mine hungry heart hankered and felt like I’m on fire
for you, this fire in me craved human touch
desire - roaring into the ole factory fire
because I wanna marry you
because the night populated
with girls in their summer clothes
each dazzling like 57 channels (and nothin’ on)
in imagination of my american skin
descended from when adam raised a cain
before last to die forecasting kingdom of days
now dwelling in celestial mansion on the hill.
now rightfully claim status of I’m a rocker/
local hero and I’m goin’ down
meeting across the river
if I should fall behind
on the downbound train as living proof
within light of day magic jungleland
policed by highway patrolman i.e. johnny 99
alias johnny bye bye – held up without a gun
defending this lucky town
established on Matamoras banks
from an incident on 57th street
thus celebrated as local hero every independence day
when with ****** incorporated
firing point blank out in the street
that staccato new york city serenade
from no surrender outlaw pete
originally from nebraska.
it’s hard to be a saint in the city open all night
within my hometown
once my father’s house, now my city of ruins
where tis moot to ask does this bus stop at 82nd street?
one step up
into the pink Cadillac
hops the ramrod queen of the supermarket
teasing audio dials sans radio nowhere
a red headed woman
racing in the street toward secret garden
to save my love – with thee
angel rosalita (come out tonight)
offering reason to believe
roll of the dice real world
and to prove it all night
from spare parts – shards of roulette wheel
housing souls of the departed
please save my love and stolen car
for sherry darling – that spirit in the night
she’s the one among souls of the departed
no longer stopped by state trooper
precinct based along streets of philadelphia
some crackling like streets of fire
straight time mandate for those armed to the teeth
along tenth avenue freeze-out.
requiem per terry’s song – what love can do
accompanied by e street shuffle
performed in somber tones
rumbling down thunder road
for souls of used cars
two hearts crushed
along this hard land
for: the ghost of tom joad
the last carnival homage
to wild billy’s circus story
the price you pay when you’re alone
working on a dream
now wreck on the highway.
we take care of our own from youngstown
when heading of to the promised land
the rising distant mystical eden
where you can look (but you’d better not touch)
espying the river of salvation
joining eternally the ties that bind
a tunnel of love
or like the wrestler
pinning opponent tougher than the rest
like laborers working on the highway
chiseled like this hard land!
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 4:06 PM UTC
Please poet don't you mind me,
if I always say the wrong thing,
it seems I've no control,
don't need for you to remind me
of the song that I must sing,
my heart has one desire,
in joyness that it will bring,
bring it... to you,
I have no real intentions,
but I got lotsa lotsa apprehensions,
no good ones and no, no, no bad,
ones...
when I do it hey say they all "wrong",
well it makes me feel soooo so so so,
sad,
on a primrose path as I go on along
I wish we all
could just feel...
g L a D,
an sing the same same song,
Hey an I look very normal,
whatever that means - they say,
replaying my life,
into painful new scenes each an every,
day,
I might wear a bright side smile,
& seem just so happy to you,
I guess I look very young,
"they" say & hey maybe that is true,
so... WhAt???
It's not that hey I'm stupid,
cuz my IQ is pretty high,
an I ain't in love with cupid,
but it maybe part the realist reason,
in my question of how & why,
I hold out my waiting hands,
an lay my head down to cry,
an...
CRy,...
an cRy,
just...
I..,
Hey helpless is how I,
feel,
please forgive me,
please cuz I,
I feel like this is real,
it takes me away,
my mind there to steal,
I'm trying to pull away,
in the layers that I peel,
I always, I have wondered,
why I didn't quite fit in,
I felt that it a curse,
by some nasty hateful jinn,
it feels just like a top,
caught up endless in a spin,
but at least now hey I know,
it's not I'm living here in sin,
seems I'm in this battle,
with the odds that I won't win,
please I don't mean to beg,
but please won't you be a,
friend?
Can I,
yeah me?
Begin ..
Again?
I wonder yeah I wonder if I ever find my way,
home,
or if I'm cursed to walk on,
to walk on,
walk on here all alone,
no matter where I go,
no matter where I ever,
roam ..
.....it haunts me....
it haunts me.....
It taunts me ....
this thing,
An whatever the case may be,
be it fate or maybe even that ol' desTiNy,
understanding my pain
will help me to be free, as they say,
please..just open your eyes,
please can't you just see?
Hey hey... an hey hey,
hey hey,
hey,
hey there,
any way,
which way?
I,
I try and I try,
I wish you,
to just help me...
to... understand,
but somehow soooo elusive,
it just s l i pppp ssss...right..
through... my ..empty....waiting ....
.....hand.
Cherie Nolan © 2016
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 1:17 PM UTC
We don't mention the monsters in the closet.
We don't talk to our imaginary friends.
Just because we don't acknowledge what we shouldn't,
Doesn't mean that they were never really there.
Keep it to yourself,
Reality is now.
Keep it to yourself,
For creativity is the modern day insanity.
Don't believe in things that aren't allowed to exist.
Even your own two eyes can lie sometimes.
Am I allowed to exist?
Can you believe in me?
Do you believe in me, baby?
We don't mention the monsters in the closet.
We don't talk to our imaginary friends.
Just because we don't acknowledge what we shouldn't,
Doesn't mean that they were never really there.
What have you seen?
What part of your soul did you shut down today?
Don't you think it's more insane to ignore what is glaringly true
Than to feign a logical existence?
There's more to the picture,
Some missing piece to the puzzle of reality.
Growing up is growing old.
Don't die with your childhood.
Keep it to yourself,
Reality is now.
Keep it to yourself,
For creativity is the modern day insanity.
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 9:05 PM UTC
I grew up weird.
Both fast, and painfully slow.
I understood everything and nothing.
Socially, I started confident and grew awkwardly
first in the sun, then bending away from such bright attentions. Academically I started out running, always ahead,
always the best, the brightest. Straight As and
mismatched clothes, socially lost
yet somehow showing
'great potential'.
Now I've learned a lot.
All blacks and grays, I've finally
mastered at least a portion of my shortcomings
but its too late. Because I've grown up and its shifted again
analytically I see it, can emulate it, but it isn't
familiar or comfortable, it took me
years to catch up and I'm
still behind.
I've grown up weird.
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 9:21 PM UTC
Borrowed words: all to describe
Stolen moments, rented time.
Diction that I now transcribe.
A story that's not wholly mine.
In my bed I sleep; I dream.
Surrounded by walls that seem
Adequate to serve my needs.
But these walls weren't built for me.
The walls have ears--the ceiling, eyes.
Speak through our tongues--our own demise.
Nowhere is there now to hide,
For I (and you) am a loyal spy.
Woven into fabric rendered
To fulfill some view of splendor.
But no one here can remember
Why we stitch torn cloth together.
Too short, too tall, too weak to handle;
Must reinforce to insure it's ample.
But how can I shatter what is fragile
If I am what I wish to dismantle?
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 3:59 PM UTC
Social cues are common,
and should be hard to miss.
I find that social cues are oft -
hang on a second, I gotta take a ****
* * *
What was I saying? Oh, right.
Social cues are awkward,
but I grew up in a weird environment.
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 2:51 AM UTC
Come home they said,
In nostalgic pull, Returned
From which once was fled
Cast afar from the herd,
Stranded and wandering
Was the one of himself,
Kept solemn and stern.
Wise like the hills,
Dignified like the trees;
His breathe spoke of wind
And mind open as day.
Sat a ghost of society,
Yet alive like no other.
Garden fresh, he ate like a king.
Crisp, the gods and skies cried for his thirst!
He was truly unornamented
And lived of simple antiquity.
Honest and genuine,
He had no one to impress.
He was bound free
And breathed of air deep.
He worked like a slave
Yet rested like a King.
This is the person you ignored;
The one that passed you by.
He is of no one on the outside
Yet holds a Kingdom of no other, secretly inside..
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC
Burial of fury in a tomb of apathy,
mood moderated and aligned with conformity.
Speech pleasant in tone and comfortable in delivery.
Approaches with cautious optimism his tasks daily.
Though the ship of consciousness has raised its anchor,
he returns to questioning the whereabouts of his anger.
Yet time and chemistry have dispensed of the mystery.
Restoring balance and forging will to function socially.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 8:27 AM UTC
Cutting the rug through the floor
Feel like compensating for being such a bore
bumping elbows with every neighbor
amazed with your own crazed flavor as they walk out the door
Not sure whether this state is a misguided call for help
or a benign release from social duress for my health
I think past the first 10 minutes I start to put the attentive on edge
The sad part is how bored I feel about the whole thing deep down.
Like I'm trying to thread a needle with a rope, or pierce through a
veil that hasn't opened to my hammering 1000 times before.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 4:54 AM UTC
Seagull on rotting planks, bouy bells ding to fog and driftwood.
A culling fire exploits the docking shire.
Filled with chlorine shards, legs caught in the clap-traps.
Friar palms glisten,
Rage responds with frisson.
Clear view over water.
Feel your arms relax and slip onto your back while the culling fire attacks.
Bulbous deadening brain chimes
As the eyes slide down to your omission crimes.
Leave me alone in my despondent company.
Don't push the matter further let communication fail to nurture.
A warm breeze carries me
like a floating portrait towards unreal scented meats.
I'm here now, alone in the corner,
The greatest intimacy with the static patterns on the carpeted flooring. The king of this corner is the odor of plank seating and flowery detergent in this lonely corridor fluorescent light-bulb poles and old grain floorboards.
Now the returning shards of panic to uncelibate strangers drive me up, far, deep in my own ribcage to something wholly non-organic.
Time to clock-in, time to check out.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 1:25 AM UTC
So, what if I told you
reality is the dream.
Are you prepared for the
NIGHTMARE?
Do you want to wake up?
Yes, the key is to open your mind and wake up and become one of the socially conscious higher ups in the anarchy we call
Society,
But with great power comes great responsibility.
Honestly, do you believe in the prophecy that our generation can
RISE THROUGH ADVERSITY
Become the masterpiece that God envisioned when he created this tapestry of writers and athletes?
Actually, better yet
Do you believe in the ghost of the past that rest uncomfortably in it's sanctuary?
Are we the Golden Age or are we gilded
We're livid, vivid, driven toward a goal that looks more like a sign telling us we're going the wrong way.
A wicked testimony.
So we're faced with these two options
To wake up or remain dormant
To be a pawn or be a king
To live on our knees or die on our feet
And I don't blame you if you choose eternal slumber
Because we all love to sleep and it's ironic because that's what we look forward to to during each and every day we spend in this dream --
I mean, reality
But, if you choose to lay off the benadryl and take a dose of this "real world"
You may find that missing key you've been looking for.
Or, the glass can be empty and you find nothing but misery and insomnia.
Again, the choice is yours and even if it may SCARE you
Dying on your feet means you learned to walk.
Isn't that the first thing we learn to do?
So maybe our parents actually taught a life lesson
(to our extreme disbelief)
And do know a thing or two
But still, we are the iPhone generation
And they have no clue how to tweet anti government conspiracies and
scroll for hours on tumblr
So what do they know
For all we know they may still be asleep and in the same cheap hotel room as us
So is there to trust
When we dream of gamemasters loving torturing the lower classes and pitting them against each other in death matches?!
Take this match and spark the cowards
Bring light to the revolution and set ablaze the darkening towers
Let's have lucid dreams and rebuild the democracy
Dreams and reality become synonymous and merge into each other to form a new entity and we shall call it
GOD? YOUR MASTERPIECE!
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 2:01 AM UTC