#tally
begin this life in a wordy
but wordly habit, daily,
father-gifted, though different,
in form and language selected,
‘tis the one and ‘tis the same
tally, a counting combination
of all that has been done, for both
better & worse, blessing/curse,
the key: revamp review reset
this day upcoming and welcome
all the major tasks, minor miracles,
that one can effect, select, elect!
by choice, a freedom so great it
tenderly rips joy thoroughly into
and from my cells, and my body
is enlightened, uplifted in this,
now a preposition, a conjugation, a
state of composition,
for the tasks given, the granted,
those that must be taken, those most
difficult, when knowing their choice,
entails pain, untempered, and
requires establishing a two edged
position of composure…
this is a hard and an easy
new proposition I create,
hard for I write on a tiny
phone screen, in letters so
small. it keeps me humbled,
a reminder of having
lived a span well
beyond belief,
for one took\gave body a
careless comfort,
giving little
of the differring
kind of nutrition in order
to live life, well and purposed
hard too, for my body has wept,
a steady stream of silent tears.
unceasing as I scribe,
making vision difficult, the
insight salty but clear and the
words contained within them,
flood for easy laying-down
for this AM workout of counting,
lists up and down, so many items,
of differring nature, even now
noticing for the very fitting first time,
the subtle hint within
differring,
for it possesses a doubling
of the enormity, the division
of what has been already
accumulated and what yet,
needs accomplishing, the tally
needy for resolving looking past,
for seeing with yet more tears
fast-as-you-can-forward
the tally never ends, paused only
for a quick question/happy deletion
of, and a resolute immediate, moving on:
***Where do I stand,
what is my position?***
keep on keeping on,
tallying has no finale,
no sunning/summing up,
for another day
will yet follow,
for you, and
your own
tallying must
goes on, on
and
not even,
nor even,
odd,
when mine,
mine no long,
and the
and yets,
no longer
commence
Dec 19, 2024
Dec 19, 2024 at 12:33 PM UTC
She shines like a rainbow in the night
a light, unbounded and free
Her warmth is a welcome respite
thawing the deepest freeze
Her lips a red velvet chorus
I can't help but overhear
She glows with the translucent aura
of a picturesque sunset sea
Buttercups turn to greet her smile
she'll lift your head with ease
Trees send their leaves for thousands of miles
just to be in her breeze
Her eyes are an ocean of opalescent truths
inviting the bold to dive in
and swim to a world of untold hues
one night inside a diamond
In her violet dress and violent heels
The Devil would bare his soul for free
and so might I, for just a taste
the chance to lay her light to waste
Jul 14, 2019
Jul 14, 2019 at 5:05 AM UTC
I have tally marks slice all up my wrist
My arm, and my legs, a lined up list
Each ****** carving is a count
For every heart stabbing doubt
Short cuts arent always the answer
But neither are banaged broke bridges
I have counted how many times I've be slaughtered
I've kept track, the scars should prove it
Hiding the ****** count is as difficult as hiding a murdered body
We cover it with long sleeves and jeans...
And even when people see them, 99% of them dont give a dang
....Very few have said anything
...and those who have...
I know truly love .e til the very day I die....
It's time to stop counting...
And time to start looking up a d walking forward
And let the scars show
Yes they are a reminder of the pain
But also a reminder of
WHAT I AM FIGHTI F AGAINST TO BE!!!!
Jan 10, 2019
Jan 10, 2019 at 11:58 PM UTC
I counted the number of times
you weren't there for me
in tally marks on my wrist.
Jan 15, 2017
Jan 15, 2017 at 10:46 PM UTC
Another tally on my scoreboard.
It was only supposed to have one,
But now, there were four diagonal lines.
Twenty x "now what have you done?"
We pretended there was a chance,
But every mark after III was a pawn.
A new player in my game of control,
Facing guns that were already drawn.
Sharp breath, arched back, closed eyes.
Each time, I felt something new.
His scent, his breath, his voice...
But none of it was what I felt with you.
Number 8 had tattoos and baby blues.
A first for both, but so much more.
He was 1 for the first date, first time.
...Does that make me a *****
I'll always hate the number 10
Because I woke up to him touching me.
He promised it was "just cuddling."
I still got insomnia out of necessity.
"Look in my eyes, don't say a word."
Number 18, passion, attraction, allure.
My biggest secret was that I loved him.
And...he was my teacher.
Secrets and embarrassments.
More reasons for regret.
Let me show you the truest part of me:
Ruined by men, both evil and passionate.
Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 9:23 AM UTC
Not an amulet, an off white vertebrae; bone.
Brass wire, a loop at one end.
It bends as to make sure this will fit.
A gauge that measures mesmerization,
And we both must get along, but
Not because we're not tough enough:
Most of us aren't soft right yet.
So many stiffs, folly after folly.
The whole carful of loose cadavers,
Dangling, their feet hang with wet snow
And carnage,
Not even musk deer pop up,
They've all gone. Roosting in a parabol,
With X's sprayed to their groins.
Burning pop couples
Doing it like laboratory mice. Capybaras
Hiss, my own burnt blood is also
Flocculating.
Turn the cup upside down and
See the fire's balmy lachrymal opaque
Moss while it does not drip.
This is the story of man you asked me about;
Devoid of a muzzle, fur onto his chest; coarse
Hair in a garland.
It is the God of a tool that buzzes into the night.
A plateau for this most sensible study.
We feel another coming.
And when you awoke, your larval tongue
My eye mush, a song of verse and melancholy.
This half list of greatness, a tally we both wish to see.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:38 AM UTC
Deaths are like tally marks on your mind.
They are charcoal black tick marks
that build on your subconscious,
never fading to scars.
Some are merely penciled in,
like the death of an aunt you never knew.
However the death of someone close cuts deep into you;
a constantly fresh wound.
Never scarring, never healing, it only festers.
But watching someone die burns a dark wound into your brain,
a permanent scorched mark,
the insignia of a life taken forever,
branded onto your thoughts.
We can never remove our tallies and
they only build over time,
our mind growing darker from past sufferings.
But when all that remains is what caused it in the beginning: death.
you become just another tally on those you loved.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC