Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
#southerncalifornia
I aimed the old car south and ran as many red lights as my luck would allow. Kept my sunglasses on as I listened to Frusciante singing nothing but the truth all through the magic of my radio. Left the madness of the city and entered the land where atomic bombs and peoples sanity have both been tested. Desert roads littered with desert lies, like oasis and promises made in Vegas. I took a toot off the side of my hand like I seen them do in the movies. Wasted the better part of my stash on this foolish trick. This ride I'm taking is real. On my way I'll be looking for a wild young girl to roll my joints and laugh at my jokes. Give my eyes a place to rest in. I'm looking for a lovely from the low side of town. Whose spirit has yet to be broken and whose mind isn't already filled with their lies. Watched as the California landscape turned from beaches and tropical palms to cactus taller than most men and dry forgotten land that most come to die in. From congested freeways that hold the drivers hostage. To wide open desert highways where its safe to drink straight from the bottle without that pestering public servant there to ruin your ride. If I make it out of this dam desert alive with my wallet and my sanity still intact. I'll look back at it all as just another memory. And try not to give in to ever going back.
0
Apr 22, 2022
Apr 22, 2022 at 9:58 PM UTC
Leaving California
My hand shot straight out towards the wall like a shotgun blast as I laid on my sore back covered in a thick film of resiny drug addict sweat. I was awake and it was hot as Hades in that fucken room. I felt around the crumpled sheets and half dozen pillows and found my phone without waking the naked body next to me. My eyes adjusted to the bit of sunlight that found its way past my blinds. The body next to me was wide at the hips with crude tattoos on both arms and an obvious cover-up on her upper back. I tried to make out the name she once loved and quickly gave up . She stirred as I tried getting a look at her. Her face was covered with a thick mane of dark brown hair, I wanted to wake her but I couldn't recall a name. So I let her be and focused on the LCD screen in my hand. There was a picture of a half naked girl behind a thin red wall flashing "Download!" The sucker I am had to do it ,and that's how my every move  was known for the rest of this ****** off ,weird *** day about to tell you about. I started jerking or twitching about 4 months ago back when I started smoking the pook pretty much everyday. Everyday. Religiously like an alter boy and his **** off sessions . I stopped sleeping normally and my appetite wanted only sweets or alcohol.When I did manage to burn myself out and pass out for a bit I noticed that I never dreamed. I didn't dream that night either or the morning as I laid there in the 82 degree stuffy *** room listening to the sound of some useless fan squeaking and creaking it's way back and forth across the room. Doing nothing but creating the illusion of relief from the hot summer morning. The hips next to me didn't seem to mind the heat. I reached over and aimed the cheap fat towards her wide *** and positioned it to stay there. September in the city of Los Angeles still felt like July in the 1990's when it seemed to always be hot. Which probably contributed to the amount of senseless gang murders that spread all over the city during that time like locust. Hot ,uncomfortable poor people get ****** off pretty easy and its too dam hot to be fighting like some God Dam fools in the middle of the hot *** street.Those were  some ****** days and if you paid attention to the city ,you'll find it never really ended. Everybody just stopped talking about it until it just went away and became normal. Normal like that dogs gonna hit on the freeway,or normal like everyone in your building not speaking a word of English except the kids. And they're all bad as Hell. The last dream I had was in a co-ed detox somewhere the fucken Valley.I was all Doped up on Subutex and Adderall. All the girls there were either strippers or **** stars or both. Man.... Anyway,Yea so I got up with another of those weird *** jerks or spasms or whatever. I first noticed them while I was on a good nod you know when you're at that place you spent atleast 40$ trying to get to and everything about you just submits as the petals of the poppy protect you from all that you're dying , trying to forget. I started to notice every time I fell down that rabbit hole of comfort and forgetfulness I was always being forced out of it by an uncontrollable kick of the leg or swing of the arm. I mostly ignored it the way I tended to do when it came to things regarding my health. I treated my body like an old second hand car I had purchased with a bounced check. Only now as I approached 40 did I began to worry. But I quickly shrugged that moment of worry off as I got up and headed toward the head.
0
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC
Excerpt: "Those who dance on Beacon street"
My hand shot straight out towards the wall like a shotgun blast as I laid on my sore back covered in a thick film of resiny drug addict sweat. I was awake and it was hot as Hades in that fucken room. I felt around the crumpled sheets and half dozen pillows and found my phone without waking the naked body next to me. My eyes adjusted to the bit of sunlight that found its way past my blinds. The body next to me was wide at the hips with crude tattoos on both arms and an obvious cover-up on her upper back. I tried to make out the name she once loved and quickly gave up . She stirred as I tried getting a look at her. Her face was covered with a thick mane of dark brown hair, I wanted to wake her but I couldn't recall a name. So I let her be and focused on the LCD screen in my hand. There was a picture of a half naked girl behind a thin red wall flashing "Download!" The sucker I am had to do it ,and that's how my every move  was known for the rest of this ****** off ,weird *** day about to tell you about. I started jerking or twitching about 4 months ago back when I started smoking the pook pretty much everyday. Everyday. Religiously like an alter boy and his **** off sessions . I stopped sleeping normally and my appetite wanted only sweets or alcohol.When I did manage to burn myself out and pass out for a bit I noticed that I never dreamed. I didn't dream that night either or the morning as I laid there in the 82 degree stuffy *** room listening to the sound of some useless fan squeaking and creaking it's way back and forth across the room. Doing nothing but creating the illusion of relief from the hot summer morning. The hips next to me didn't seem to mind the heat. I reached over and aimed the cheap fat towards her wide *** and positioned it to stay there. September in the city of Los Angeles still felt like July in the 1990's when it seemed to always be hot. Which probably contributed to the amount of senseless gang murders that spread all over the city during that time like locust. Hot ,uncomfortable poor people get ****** off pretty easy and its too dam hot to be fighting like some God Dam fools in the middle of the hot *** street.Those were  some ****** days and if you paid attention to the city ,you'll find it never really ended. Everybody just stopped talking about it until it just went away and became normal. Normal like that dogs gonna hit on the freeway,or normal like everyone in your building not speaking a word of English except the kids. And they're all bad as Hell. The last dream I had was in a co-ed detox somewhere the fucken Valley.I was all Doped up on Subutex and Adderall. All the girls there were either strippers or **** stars or both. Man.... Anyway,Yea so I got up with another of those weird *** jerks or spasms or whatever. I first noticed them while I was on a good nod you know when you're at that place you spent atleast 40$ trying to get to and everything about you just submits as the petals of the poppy protect you from all that you're dying , trying to forget. I started to notice every time I fell down that rabbit hole of comfort and forgetfulness I was always being forced out of it by an uncontrollable kick of the leg or swing of the arm. I mostly ignored it the way I tended to do when it came to things regarding my health. I treated my body like an old second hand car I had purchased with a bounced check. Only now as I approached 40 did I began to worry. But I quickly shrugged that moment of worry off as I got up and headed toward the head.
Continue reading...
29
It kept me numb and numb was the only feeling I was searching for. I used enough in those days to avoid feeling any type of emotion for too long. And when I cried, it was mostly over a memory of a time when I should have cried but was too numb to care.
0
Jun 3, 2021
Jun 3, 2021 at 3:04 AM UTC
Still Moving On
I had almost mastered the art of making my way through life without making too much noise. I had spent the last 6 years mostly alone. Concentrated all my efforts on trying to stay out of prison. Worked on the writing and the poetry. And doing all I could to just be forgotten. I had kicked up enough dust in my early years to spend the majority of my adult life behind bars. Came home with more tattoos, another strike and a Monkey on my back. I was home with greying hair, a bullet in my hand that hurt like hell, an ex wife who hated me, kids who didn't know me and friends who had forgotten all about me. I move as low to the ground as possible now days. I went out only when I had to. I was just trying not to be noticed. Hoping that maybe they'll forget about all the bad I had done and just let me grow old in silence. I spent  my 43rd birthday in a coin-op laundromat that reminded me of a crude jail house day-room. Concrete floors, metal picnic tables with a large tv bolted to the wall . Nothing was made for comfort and everything had some type of a lock on it. She walked up carrying what looked like everything she owned. She struggled with the door and the laundry in her arms. I quickly stood up from my seat on the cold steel bench and offered to relieve her of some of her burden, to which she shyly obliged. She was far to pretty to be alone and I was half waiting on a boyfriend to appear. Nobody ever taught her how to be polite. She didn't know what being gracious even meant until she met me. She'd say " Don't blame me I wasn't raised right", it was our lil joke but a joke that was far  to real. It was her beauty that saved her. Her body was what most women would never have. Men felt a burning desire at the sight of her. Which she used to her advantage when needed. It's what helped her get by during the roughest of times. She wasn't a ***** but they didn't know that. By the time they had realized she wasn't giving what they wanted she would have already packed her things and left for good. Men would promise her almost everything when all she really wanted was something to call her own. Her front tooth was chipped from a fight with an ex boyfriend. The minor flaw only added to her rare type of natural beauty. Light freckles across the bridge of her nose. She had scared up boney knuckles and always wore thick silver rings on 4 of her fingers. Naturally long eyelashes and acne scared cheeks she'd hide with cover up. What she knew of the world was almost comical, she hadn't been anywhere and wasn't planning on going anywhere any time soon. What she lacked in social skills couldn't compare to what she knew how to do in bed. I gave her a safe place to rest without having to worry. She gave me reason to shower in the morning and comb my hair before bed. We played chess which was a surprise to me when she asked me if I played. I introduced her to  Bukowski, Dante and Virgil. She brought a strange type of warmth to my otherwise cold lonely apartment . Our time was a break from the isolation and a reminder of how it was to be with another. She brought back memories I had long ago forced myself to forget. Her only rule was that I never asked about her past. What she wanted me to know she would share on her own. My only request was that she never asked me to stop using and when she felt it was time to move on ,she wouldn't take the time to say goodbye.
0
Jun 3, 2021
Jun 3, 2021 at 2:43 AM UTC
We're all Destined (Revisited)
I had almost mastered the art of making my way through life without making too much noise. I had spent the last 6 years mostly alone. Concentrated all my efforts on trying to stay out of prison. Worked on the writing and the poetry. And doing all I could to just be forgotten. I had kicked up enough dust in my early years to spend the majority of my adult life behind bars. Came home with more tattoos, another strike and a Monkey on my back. I was home with greying hair, a bullet in my hand that hurt like hell, an ex wife who hated me, kids who didn't know me and friends who had forgotten all about me. I move as low to the ground as possible now days. I went out only when I had to. I was just trying not to be noticed. Hoping that maybe they'll forget about all the bad I had done and just let me grow old in silence. I spent  my 43rd birthday in a coin-op laundromat that reminded me of a crude jail house day-room. Concrete floors, metal picnic tables with a large tv bolted to the wall . Nothing was made for comfort and everything had some type of a lock on it. She walked up carrying what looked like everything she owned. She struggled with the door and the laundry in her arms. I quickly stood up from my seat on the cold steel bench and offered to relieve her of some of her burden, to which she shyly obliged. She was far to pretty to be alone and I was half waiting on a boyfriend to appear. Nobody ever taught her how to be polite. She didn't know what being gracious even meant until she met me. She'd say " Don't blame me I wasn't raised right", it was our lil joke but a joke that was far  to real. It was her beauty that saved her. Her body was what most women would never have. Men felt a burning desire at the sight of her. Which she used to her advantage when needed. It's what helped her get by during the roughest of times. She wasn't a ***** but they didn't know that. By the time they had realized she wasn't giving what they wanted she would have already packed her things and left for good. Men would promise her almost everything when all she really wanted was something to call her own. Her front tooth was chipped from a fight with an ex boyfriend. The minor flaw only added to her rare type of natural beauty. Light freckles across the bridge of her nose. She had scared up boney knuckles and always wore thick silver rings on 4 of her fingers. Naturally long eyelashes and acne scared cheeks she'd hide with cover up. What she knew of the world was almost comical, she hadn't been anywhere and wasn't planning on going anywhere any time soon. What she lacked in social skills couldn't compare to what she knew how to do in bed. I gave her a safe place to rest without having to worry. She gave me reason to shower in the morning and comb my hair before bed. We played chess which was a surprise to me when she asked me if I played. I introduced her to  Bukowski, Dante and Virgil. She brought a strange type of warmth to my otherwise cold lonely apartment . Our time was a break from the isolation and a reminder of how it was to be with another. She brought back memories I had long ago forced myself to forget. Her only rule was that I never asked about her past. What she wanted me to know she would share on her own. My only request was that she never asked me to stop using and when she felt it was time to move on ,she wouldn't take the time to say goodbye.
Continue reading...
51
Living every hour wide awake, wired and full of other peoples pills. Desperate for some other place that's far away from here.
0
Dec 18, 2019
Dec 18, 2019 at 5:13 AM UTC
Excerpt: "Liquid Like Diamonds"
White bird Half Intrascope Alerted by fire hypnotic Sapphire Realm Shifting Snow Shape starling In this for that for This Chirp Chirping In Deluxe stereo Daylight reliefs, lights of my ethereal France Dance, dancing Like soldiers, rock rocking Heavy, eiderdown beaten Shadows In temporary ride Into temporary flight
0
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 1:51 PM UTC
White Bird
I’m from perfect weather From sand between my toes and long times spent outside I’m from streetlights calling me in for dinner Im from the smells of ocean salt and chalk dust I’m from black hands from the asphalt I’m from scraped knees I’m from the neighborhood pool I’m from the surf city I’m from California
0
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 3:59 AM UTC
Where I'm From