#unpack
walking on shards of glass whenever we interact
i am unnatural, nervous
usually feel so authentic and perfect
you mix my energy like a bartender
misrepresent my ability like my father
leading me to walk on shards of glass
sweeting the darker moments in the past
it is easier like that
it is easier to unpack
Jun 9, 2023
Jun 9, 2023 at 8:47 AM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Book Reviewers: Stop Unpacking!
You unpack the words, you unpack the lines
You unpack the themes, you unpack the scenes
You unpack the hints, you unpack the signs
You unpack the beats, you unpack the means
You unpack the forms, you unpack the rhymes
You unpack the plot, you unpack the verse
You unpack the memes, you unpack the times
You unpack everything and make it worse!
With some exasperation I ask of you -
Just what does all this unpacking DO?
Mar 29, 2022
Mar 29, 2022 at 10:19 PM UTC
We decide to
climb moments
by packing our bags.
And a city decides to
climb moments by
unpacking those emotions.
Sep 25, 2019
Sep 25, 2019 at 1:07 PM UTC
It’s not about fitting it all into the car;
it’s about fitting the pieces together
against the agrestic trunk space.
It’s the way we hungrily wait
to spit up our influence It’s
the patient extraction of
a cat cornered conver
sation that is easier
to shove under
the innate rug
that is this
chaotic
l i f e
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 9:59 PM UTC
A screaming exclamation,
"This is who I am,"
I'm a protesting invasion,
proudly failing your ruthless exam.
Don't you wish I could shrink?
Don't you wish you could make me cry?
My hands stain the pages in ink
as I wish you'd say eternal goodbye.
I'll never be your ego's snack,
I'll paint a frown on your jaw
as I'll be dressed defiantly in black
from head to toe,
Mon cherie, don't unpack
unless in your grave below.
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 6:30 AM UTC
Check off
all these belongings from a list
that I wrote in thick blue marker
on a cardboard strip I ripped
There's a book I lost at 26
with dog-eared pages fading gold
16 pens, 45 cents
a dented tin of birthday cards
unnumbered rolls of mints
Sit back
on the carpet in the heat
take another sip and press on
to the bottom. To the green.
There's a look you had at 28
with bow shaped mouth and arching eyes
15 hours, many road trips
your crooked tooth would slant your grin
Never saw me fall right in.
And today I pace apartment floors
or sit amidst a box flap hall
halted breath, an iron hour
clad in sweat, still packed away
in taped up, cardboard yesterday
There's a photograph, from 2010
atop the slippers that you gave.
Raging smiles, orange lights at night.
The River Walk in wintertime.
And it's my favourite pic.
But the 21st was moving day
and all I've got are pickled dreams,
an empty house and waiting boxes,
"Tear my guts out," so they say.
No fight quite like a duct taped box.
No companion like your face.
No shrink quite like an empty bottle.
No wake-up call like moving day.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 3:50 PM UTC