"abnormally" poems
I realized that your area code
Was the same as one of my friends
Did you know her?
Or were you some stranger on the other side of a swiveling bar stool?
Was it abnormally warm in Cincinnati when you ordered the second beer?
I imagine you remarked about how fast the year was drawing to a close
And pulled the knit cap tighter on your head
And loosened your grip on the beer
The cliché draft you order that doesn’t fit your eyeglasses or your astronomy career
It would be nice if beer was cheaper than water
But it isn’t
And you’re still a stranger on the other side of a swiveling barstool
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 9:45 PM UTC
Quite admirable , awe-inspiring , a divine piece of manufacture
It’s capriciousness is an equivalent of swooning of rapture
This carpet conveys itself as flawless , the fragrance is pleasant
The glossy finish generates a yearning to have it present
The blissful texture is mesmerizing , subject to perfect knitting
Not to mention it’s size is perfectly fitting
~
Though the alternative side seems worn and tattered
And the fabric surrounding is scattered
There are pockets and splits
There are strewed fiber bits
Along the edges are multicolored spots
And the yarn had formed knots
~
At that point the onlooker would become flustered helplessly
Were they to take it into their tenancy ?
Sure it was depleted
And maybe it was slightly untreated
Though it was equally handsome
Despite it’s opposing filthy expansion
~
Then the beholder would ponder a tad
And realize the flaws weren't so bad
They were to be contemplated abnormally
Though as well stood out morbidly
The allotment seemed now suitable
And each side was mutable
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 6:03 PM UTC
I find you
the lappet moth
like slug or bat
with fuzzy ears
stuck dead with
nothing except
the toxins of
my fever
abnormally
high and
boiling
how
perfect it is
to be under
your legs
bugs
or none
my fingers will
do the
crawling for
any insect
camouflaged
in the skin
dig
the nails
now
bits of flesh
under
tiny specks
of blood
gather
and your net
snags
words I’ve
never uttered
Sep 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017 at 2:49 PM UTC
My brother doesn't see what he is doing
Only calling when he wants something
So needy, when I need you more than as a convenience.
I cannot give you more than I have.
I gave you my support when you joined the military
When they discharged you for hearing loss
I held your head as you cried and told me that you had no worth.
I remember when you were small before your growth spurt, when people picked on you--when I picked on you.
I am truly sorry, maybe it is my fault you are this way....
You are a gentle giant some days, helping disabled children ride horses or help with large workloads.
Yet you treat others so badly on most days
You bully our mother
Cuss the man that stepped in
As our own father left us
I hope this is simply a phase to grow out of.
You act as though you are a freak,
And you must fight anyone and everyone to prove your worth.
You proved to me the night that I was ***** that you can be a man.
You were only ten back then, but you slung your fist at him so hard I heard bones crack.
I want that man as my brother, the man I know that you are capable of being.
Why are you so arrogant?
Why do your friends treat you as a god because you are abnormally tall?
Does it make you feel good to put others down?
I hope you see the error of your ways, before you look around at all the bridges you've burned, and you suddenly realize you are on an island completely alone.
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 11:00 PM UTC
The beginning of a new day, I want to be positive. I don’t want to think about festering wounds that become overrun with infection due to a lack of self-care and bad hygiene.
I want to change my thoughts. I want to recognize them for what they are, fleeting and neutral before I trap them within the musty wharf of my psyche.
I want to believe in a god. I want to believe that something is somewhere that can redeem the involuntary nature of existence. Something that balances the horror of ****** starvation, and **** or the parents of a missing child who are later asked to identify the only remains found – a decapitated body eerily preserved by the abnormally frigid temperatures lingering long after the advent of spring.
I want to know beauty as much as I know disgust. What redeems the isolated ending of someone that no one will ever remember? What justifies the lives of those who knew nothing but defeat, who weren’t heard, or who suffered the rejection of humanity in spite of the deep desire to feel accepted? Save us from existing without ever knowing the victory of achieving an intended goal with self-will and perseverance.
What about the countless numbers of lives that have been extinguished and buried in mass graves. How many people die that will never be remembered… What meaning does life have then? Were they here to be recalled as an obscure number? Their whole life of memories – hope, fear, love, hate, despair, dread, loneliness, doubt, guilt, shame, and unique personality traits - all to be remembered as one of the many who are not remembered.
Why must I fool myself to find contentment? Not everyone is able to see the silver lining. Must I only know the defeat of a man who could not overcome the prison of thoughts in his mind?
Do not mourn me because of a lost familiarity. If that is all I am then you will forget me soon enough.
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 9:31 PM UTC
That Elephant needs to shed some pounds
Said the Hippo to the Giraffe.
You’re right, and abnormally tall, indeed.
Did you hear that it bathes in mud?
Interjected the Bullfrog while savoring a fly,
What an absolute disgust.
I hear you,
Elephants these days lack class, incredible…
Exclaimed the Hippo as gas bubbles suddenly
Formed in the murky water behind it.
Funny thing is, despite its staggering size,
I hear it flinches at the mere sight of its shadow!
The trio burst with laughter, but was cut short
With a slight rustle of nearby grass.
EVERYONE RUNNNNNNN!
The trio fled for their lives.
A tiny field mouse emerged, amused.
Animals.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 12:52 PM UTC
I love the way
You love dancing in the rain
Freely twirling with your arms outstretched
And head tilted towards the sky
Attempting to catch the rain
Within your mouth
Leaving all of your inhibitions
On the floor
Where the rain carried them
I love the way
You allow loose strands of hair
Wildly fall around your face
As you have a mountain of hair
Atop your beautiful head
I love the way
You always ponder questions
And desire to know more
Than what's been told
Or what meets the eye
I love the way
You separate yourself from
Every
Other
Girl
I have met
Without intentionally doing so
I love the way
You laugh embarrassingly loud
At all of my jokes
Terrible or not
I love the way
You chew your thumb
When you're in deep thought
Or the way you twist your lips
To the side when you're confused
I love the way
You hype everyone around you
Making them feel as special
As you are to them
I love the way
You never strive to be the world's
Depiction of "perfect"
But your own version of it
I love the way
You're passionate about
Well
About anything really
I love the way
You write notes to yourself
All over your left hand
With a blue pen
Which eventually gets smudged
And smeared all over your right arm
And chin
I love the way
Your fingers get abnormally cold
And I always have a pair of gloves
With me
I love the way
You treat everyone with love
Regardless of what others have said
Or of their known history
I love the way
You smile with your entire being
So much so
That your eyes disappear
And I always have to zoom
On the picture
To see if you accidentally blinked
While you punch my arm
But
The only thing I don't really love
About you
Is the way you love him
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 12:53 AM UTC
I have a best friend, a sister really,
So I wrote her this poem, it's nothing silly,
If you knew her you'd know,
She's really pretty,
I mean really, abnormally,
But she doesn't believe it,
She asks why doesn't that size fit,
But I wish she could see,
that she is perfect the way she was made to be.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC
I had the most scary,
awful,
horrifying,
sickening dream last night.
It was a dream that my grandmother had passed away.
Died.
She was gone.
And I
wasn't
even
there for her.
I was told, no, informed,
through the most insensitive,
impersonal means possible.
A simple, three worded,
text message.
I don't remember how much I cried
in the dream.
Or if I really even shed a single tear.
All I know now, as I scribble down these
scattered thoughts
in a handwriting almost illegible,
an attempt to rid them from my mind,
is how I feel with my mind racing through the possibility of such an event.
My stomach hurts, every muscle in my being clenched in a
sudden stress,
a tactic to hold back that urge to purge myself
of all contents and feeling whatsoever.
Both hands are cramped as one braces me
against this abnormally warm and now uncomfortable bed,
the other struggling to write while my forearm
throbs with discomfort.
My breathing is off.
There is no normal steady rhythm to it;
rather a scattered pattern of inhales and exhales
both long and short,
often separated by uncharacteristic
pauses.
I've dealt with death before.
More than once,
many years ago.
(I'm still dealing with it.)
I understand that it is very much a part of life,
and the rest of us must continue on,
void of voice or choice.
It is the cruel awakening.
And my relief at waking to the most normal of texts
from dear old Dad
and the realization that my fear
had only occurred
in the depth of that unconscious realm
ruled by sleep...
I just cannot ever explain.
I can only remain horrified that I would dare endure
such a pain, even in imagination.
And yet,
as the day's busy agenda begins to take over all else
and I am only too eager
to push the dream away
and let it disappear into nothingness
as I mentally prepare for today and this week,
I've already decided...
I think I'll call Grandma today.
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 10:30 AM UTC
You were like the abnormally warm days of winter that make me wish for spring before its time. Self-assuredly you spoke with a confidence that was beyond your years, yet without an air of pretension. Your words painted dreams of a future just beyond your grasp, while I was still attempting to sketch the bare outlines of mine. You knew what you wanted from life, and you pursued it. For a while I thought that was me, but I was wrong. The way you looked at me seemed completely different. It was as if I was the first sunset or flower or snowflake you had ever seen. I felt intimately precious, and that terrified me. I tried to hide my feelings with a heavy coating of indifference. But you saw right through my façade; you always did. Because you were too old for me, too experienced, too wise. And I was too much for you. Though you were never mine, you will remain my sonnet of mistakes.
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 11:17 PM UTC
you feel pianos speaking to your fingers
and i'm afraid to let you slip through mine..
unbearably bare in slow motion,
first our center and then the edges,
your lips soften mine.
warmth: inside, and out,
the energy that travels from the
first kiss through my body, through
my abnormally beating heart, my
sensitive stomach.
i hear words in my mind and
you, melodies,
and this is so scary i'm ready to cry.
precious as we, here, are, now,
i manage to think how i'm thinking all the wrong things, how
i always manage to feel so
insecure at times like these, how
i can so easily f
a
l
l
in
love
with you, how i shouldn't because i
n e e d w a l l s , because
mine are missing, how
it's too soon to show you these
words of mine, how
god laughs at me so, now, here, how
am I always so
crazy, so
swept so
easily?
i greatly wish my words were great
because in describing us here, now, i
am losing my senses, i am
losing my thought patterns, i
am afraid of my strong intimacy, i
miss you!
(do you allow me to exaggerate so?) how
Strange how this all came about, how
mystical the world is, how
wonderful that you, too, believe, that
we, together, naïve,
i wait for wiser words,
b r e a t h e
(my worried thoughts pierce such calm,
calculate the ways i fear of letting
such beautiful precious moment:
your lips in slow motion, your
eyes with truthful intensity –
slips through my fingers:
sand so delicate i'm not worthy at all..)..
wiser words do not arrive.
it is me and you, here, now,
and my heart which breathes as if it's drowned,
and melodies i wish i could hear from your soul,
because this irrational pain from such unbelievable joy
makes no clear sense in my mind, my
eyes, my body, my
mind surrender to sleep,
surrounded by your body, your
arms, your breath on my neck, (this for the
first time in a while i let one get
so close), i
sleep softly, safely, i
must have cried in such dreams
that night, and when i
(frequently) awoke (momentarily), i
felt myself smiling although
the words were climbing and i,
silly, now i think, i
did not stir to write them down,
for fear of your disturbance, and
please, when i read you these words at some later moment of ours, if
this is too much for you to grasp,
please,
dismiss my thoughts as
exaggerations, as
no reason to slip through my
longing fingers, because they
want to be with your piano'd ones
and they are most afraid of:
losing
(again)
because they were once told
(when they left a love):
it is only once you've lost all,
that one may truly be free
[and they are tired of such empty freedom]
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 10:06 AM UTC
First footing towards
what could be bridge or precipice,
hard to tell in the usual mists
of another spin round the sun
The groundhog sting
has left us wary of what’s to come:
with an alphabet begun
how many masks need to be worn
before omega calls?
But the sun is shining
and it’s abnormally warm,
so that’s good,
isn’t it?
Dec 31, 2021
Dec 31, 2021 at 7:26 AM UTC
"This is not normal."
That's what I said when I felt the sudden jolt in my heart.
You're making my heart beat abnormally.
"This is not normal."
What my mind speaks whenever I'm smiling for no reason.
I know. I look stupid that time.
"This is not normal."
I muttered when I caught myself staring at you.
My eyes saw what perfection means.
"This is not normal."
When I wanted to have you even in my dreams.
I wanted to be with you all the time.
I couldn't last a day without your presence.
"This is not normal."
When all this time I'm hiding something from you.
I'm afraid. I'm scared that you're going to leave me after that.
I don't want to lose you.
"This is not normal."
You're the only person I'm not afraid to tell everything.
Not afraid to tell everything except for one.
"This is not normal."
This is no longer me.
I'm so in love that it changed everything.
"This is not normal."
I had to stop.
Because I know what we have now.
Is all temporary.
Sep 19, 2015
Sep 19, 2015 at 12:24 PM UTC
She was like a broken mirror
Anything beautiful, she would reflect
A reflection abnormally distorted
Her perspective could not connect
She could not see the sparkle
Of the sunset sprinkled on the waves
She couldn't share the happiness of others
Because her feelings weren't quite the same
People's smiles were always crooked
Compliments were always misheard
Acts of kindness were disappointments
Expressions of love were just words
She was tired of being broken
Constantly blinded to beauty
She gave up holding her pieces together
Loosening her grip more than slightly
Her broken pieces then fell apart
Into a pile of shattered looking glass
She laid there with her hollow frame
As she could finally rest at last
Her self destruction symbolized
Her innermost desire for rebirth
Her lack of knowing what was beauty
Did not take away her worth
She realize her vision's distortion
Only showcased her perception
Her definition of beauty
Was different beyond interpretation
She arranged her shattered pieces
In a way her beauty befits
On the ground where she laid
Was a beautiful mosaic
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 11:20 PM UTC
It was like looking at the sun
Not that she was abnormally bright
Or beautiful
She was gorgeous like so many others
but she was different like none
I had seen before
Her eyes told me how strong she was
She knew pain and heartbreak
Embraced by galaxies and milky ways
Swirling on cloud of cream
In her morning coffee
Her nose told stories of adventure
She knew the rush of wind too fast
Hurricanes in beating hearts
Faster, stronger, higher
Than cloud nine where she stored her smile
I read poetry in her hair
Left undone with such care
Flannel sheets at Christmas time
Seeing her is all I need
It was not like looking at the sun
She was brilliant like twinkling lights
Only I could see
As the world looked mindlessly
Beyond
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 10:10 AM UTC
Numb
Yet reactive to everything
That's how I feel today
Music doesn't touch my abnormally cold soul
Like it does most other days
People, however,
Anger
Sadden
Frustrate
Me to no end today
It's a weird day...
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 2:52 PM UTC
A Game of superior gametes,
My 46ers in the race to conceive
A business/economic Theory of Warfare
To guarantee/certify myn own survival
For my 23ers --> The Olympic Swimmers!
If the potentiality of Life in the Multi-verse
Is obviously a sure thing,
Then it's Intelligent Life-forms
That are the abnormally; an abomination
To an empty Entity interested only in
Inflicting pain and suffering and misery to the Masses;
Perhaps justifiably, perhaps not...who cares?
It's not Nature's way --> She is indifferent,
But not unaware of One species
Destroying essential habitat for no lasting reward.
She is here now - be careful! We need
To re:think our primary endeavours;
Let's try to ameliorate the damage;
Conserve what little's left whilst
Not foreclosing the whole kit and caboodle:
Sustainable resourcing without guilt.
A Quadruple bottom line, with a different foci -->
People and Environment over Time and Wherewithal.
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 3:43 PM UTC
I have a tattoo of Oregon on the back of my neck
so when your attachment issue
physically manifests itself on my bed
and you flip me over
so you can "hit it from the back"
you'll see the sharp contrast
of the black outline against my skin
I hope it reminds you
that I have a home
a mother, a brother, and two dogs
that are more excited about me than you are
despite the height difference
I need you to know that I am in control
that you are a pawn in my game of recklessness
and if I was closer to the edge (my edge)
I would stop reading Descartes on Mondays
I would stop forgetting my name on Saturdays
I would take out the last 15 dollars
and 75 cents on my debit card
to buy a one-way ticket to the city
but until then
I will try to fill the abnormally large abyss inside of me
with your average-sized ****
while wondering, if tomorrow
I will be able to distinguish the hangover
from the self pity
(perhaps I'll get out of bed before one)
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 9:15 AM UTC
in the arms of a stranger, it's so long to 'how long,'
the ending-writ being composed in the arms of a stranger,
the surprise, the uncomplicated simplicity of a "yes, why not"
the normalcy of the out of the ordinary has a finery that's
abnormally kind in a peculiar way & a comfortable shiny finish of a cry and a 'whew,' a laugh, a pause, a kiss on the nose,
that's familiar from a who knows me, who knows where, a silence,
a kindness to pass the collection plate of stored memory genes now
kickstarted hot and then a transition to the here and now of
hysterically funny bad jokes, a beer and a wine, and a Samuel Barber adagio that seals some of the open wounds and one can't stop thinking, thank god for the little things, the big ones never get resolved anyway, so the arms of a stranger, the long neck, tan shoulders, the eyes culling a list of unasked questions, looking for the crease in the pauses and an entry point to the decision of crossing the river of no return from the security of being strangers, whose bodies sang a two part harmony coming to a closing, last call from the barkeep lady tossing you your pants with an
awshit and the widest Mississippi River grin you've ever seen
and she asks do you like steak and laughs when the response is "with extra sizzle and Heinz ketchup" and the answer means the other questions will keep, at least for now and until
the violin weeping of a chest breathing hard but slow on the device
has played thrice, and the arms of easy are now fraught with the scent of risk, when the next the line is crossed with a followup of
"fries or baked potato?"
and it's too late, the memory machine has started recording and what is truly strange is that you can't recall what the day of the week tomorrow will be and if you have any plans that must be kept and that doesn't seem to be of any concern of anybody in the immediate vicinity of the her who's unconsciously humming the wholly appropriate, interesting choice, best love song, that Dolly Parton ever wrote^
Jun 12, 2017
Jun 12, 2017 at 5:51 PM UTC
Before uende tizi,usikule ndizi,that could make you feel uneasy,nowadays injili naspread bila bibles,the only player kwa hii game anacheza na bi-balls,hii si kujichocha ni vile skills nimeobtain kwa makocha,luku safi na maganji kwa toja,na hi I dunia ni ya sir God so kaa unategea downfall yangu my friend utangoja.
Art inatoka kwa heart,PETTY POET is about to change ile narrative imekuwepo,my lines are full of flavour kaa ni diss unapokea kichapo,ni heri uko mnaeza kula vako,huku kumekauka kuliko kichwa ya babu owino,na Jana na Leo mayutt daily ni kilio,promises hamfulfill kisha kwa mbulu unabrag venye uko na spirit ya kuokolea,zote mauongo,I wish ningekuwa na kalamu ni-underline na rangi iliyokolea.
Kama ni uhondo unatafuta songea,si kubrag ni course ya success nilisomea,daily nikiota nagrow ka mmea,kila mtu ana-views tofauti huwezi sikia nikikusemea,ukibehave abnormally tunakutreat normally,si wasapere pekee wanapenda mali ata mayoh utaskia wakisema no-mali,
Hii time short nimespend apa nilikuwa na blessings za mama no wonder sijastammer,kama nimekubamba scratch kwa tenje uniseti stage name sijaplan kuhama.
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Jul 15, 2020
Jul 15, 2020 at 6:43 PM UTC
I was reading a dating profile...
"I wish I could find someone normal"
She says
I'm normal
I'm heternormal
Heterosexual
Young, Male, Middle class, White, Just normal
Not a minority - too normal
No label - just normal
People see me and just think "normal"
Too normal
I don't stand out - Abnormally normal
"Someone fun but normal"
She says
I'm fun
I'm funny
I'm a fun guy
With a toe covered in fungi
Your clothes would get flung high
While I passed on my fungi
I jest
I'm not just fun like a normal guy
I'm the best
I don't think or act like every guy
I'm a bit different I guess, to other guys
But I'm normal
"Why are there so many freaks?"
She says
I'm not a freak
I'm unique
I'm kind of a geek
I like antiques
I'm confident - I'm just meek
I'm slim, but I'm not weak
I draw and paint every week
I over critique
I go to this group where we speak
So, I'm different, but I'm normal... If you know what I mean.
"There must be one guy out there who hasn't got any problems??"
She says
I've not got a problem
I tend to overcome 'em
I take them down; I hobble 'em
Until it's not a problem
Give me risks and I gobble 'em
Solutions - I can cobble 'em
Unless I'm hurt - That can be a problem
It throws me off my thread
It gets stuck in my head
It throws me off my thread
I lose track of what I was thinking
"Why did she say that?"
It throws me off my thread
"That's not me is it?"
It gets stuck in my head
"Why do they think that?"
It throws me off my thread
"Am I meant to change?!"
It gets stuck in my head
"I don't want to be that anyway!!"
It throws me off my thread
"Why are we all meant to act the same?!"
It gets stuck in my head
"What's wrong with discussing it?"
It throws me off my thread
"I don't understand!"
It gets stuck in my head
"I want to know why you think that!"
It throws me off my thread
"Just **** off!"
Next profile reads
"I'm looking for someone different. Let's take time and get to know each other."
I need to stop over thinking stuff.
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 6:17 PM UTC
the rich man sits on the abnormally small black couch between his twin sons who, having never been separated, begin to sob. he touches their heads together and worries their emotional immaturity will awaken his old want to have breasts. he tries to think happier thoughts but cannot keep them from arriving in pairs.
a baby left in a cloud. a cotton ball pregnant with a dot of blood.
states away, his wife regains consciousness in a spacious kitchen and rubs her forehead with a hand wearing a dish glove. her mouth moves to the words of an old poem of his wherein the leg of a preserved grasshopper was used to replace a burn victim’s eyebrow.
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 5:29 PM UTC
Wry is one of many things you do well....
~~~~~~
dedicated to, inspired by Paul Anthony Hutchinson, who wrote those words to me but two hours ago
*Wry
- produced by a distortion or lopsidedness of the ****** features: a wry grin.
- abnormally bent or turned to one side; twisted; crooked: a wry mouth.
- devious in course or purpose; misdirected.
- contrary; perverse.
- distorted or perverted, as in meaning.
- bitterly or disdainfully ironic or amusing: a wry remark.*
It is bitter,
It is amusing,
the distorting that gives a shape and thereby
meaning
to a misdirected life,
the ****** muscles perused,
all reversed, all per-versed
t'is not just the smile that is loopy,
or simplistically turned upside down,
twisted but not dubious, nor devious,
twisted but straight, I say,
wry is not a seething something I do well,
wry is in every nuclei I ever split,
every line etch-a-sketched in every poem
worn down,
physically inscribed on my face.
so much to reveal,
but not here not now not,
ever on and ever in, explicit
but blurred, burred, and buried
within them is the ironic of a man
that laughed through the better part of his life,
for in that period, there was no
better,
just worse
I was born wry.
the last of three, I was nameless till I was twenty one,
they called me just
brother, or the brother.
at twenty five, I married the wrong woman,
though we both wanted not too,
thirty five years of wry, the lawyers rejoiced,
the judges celebrated, the poets went mad,
swear it true,
the family counselors said
beyond hopeless,
and with wry smiles at the spectacle of years wasted,
spent like there was no tomorrow,
for there was none
in the titanic disaster of more, new lives corrupted
I lived life wry.
now, in the final fourth quaternary,
see how he,
the master of the unceremonious,
in on bent knee, hands clasped, on bed, rested,
when he seeks comfort and guidance for the upcoming
finality following a two minute warning,
warning that even now,
the future wry, turned to one side, when all he wanted,
was to live quiet in the straight and narrow
and not write poems asking himself with trepidation,
from where will come the courage to make this
last passage....
oh yes, I do wry so well,
and all things that wryhme with hell,
you will be spared,
for wryly he exclaims
"Enough, enough"
wry why!
for in all the days of his disheveled life,
there have been but a few,
when it has been simply,
enough
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 11:05 PM UTC
Please assume the assumption
I might possess poor word choices.
Clichés and Redundancies
A must while
Buzzing Metaphors
Echo around your head
Reverberating nouns
Excuse me
While I replay my loves
Like Romeo and Juliet,
How It Should Have Been’s,
Turned Tragic Ending.
Two cups Darjeeling
Makes a meal
With untouched coffee
The likes of which drain
My sanity at this hour
Is maybe abnormally
Low leveled or flat lined
Just below that one place,
You know the one,
On the way out of town
If you cross the Bridge of Hope
You’ve gone too far
And if and when
The memories turn
Rolling through the lost
Darkened corridors
Remember that tonight
You will not fear the dark
Or it’s all encompassing
Lack of glow
I wonder off the deep end
To lie by your smell
Swirling shower steam
Kaleidoscopes neurons
Twisting just enough to ache
In that small pocket spot
My soul saved for you
Before the time
Of any rational thought
Warping paragraphs
In a most pitiful attempt
To explain the unseen
All dances out
Across pages
Cryptically bound
By poetry
Jul 1, 2012
Jul 1, 2012 at 3:08 AM UTC