"abrasions" poems
Tired of the ways of men
Desperately I turned toward nature
I watched a butterfly ascend
Yet I'm a different nomenclature
Of a solemn glacier
Standing on my own
In an arctic cone
Not protected by the ozone
So I search for a new home
But can only find loans
My venture for my own real estate
Exposed me to the realest hate
I'm the roaming gnome
With a groaning tone
All alone
With a roaming phone
So I can't call home
My will I leave
When still I see
A killer bee
Filling me
Willingly
Its invasion's
Abrasions
Left a sensation
With a duration
Of unending inflation
On a descending station
Of no impending relation
I felt the nature
Of a desolate crater
When I met a great hater
Who told me to get straighter
So I could be a steel freighter
Carrying my load on my back
Without polluting the air
I decided to cut him some slack
Forgiving his impossible dare
I must gather grace
At a faster pace
To finish this race
Of a top notch
Hot crotch
Stopwatch
Ticking down
Into the ground
Without a sound
Or warning
Of acid rain forming
Until I see myself melting
From the savage belting
Of your death sting
You called the best thing
Like a divine blessing
Only seen after **********
Like a politician deflecting
For the constituents electing
To forego dissecting
The issue at hand
By not taking a stand
My world is crumbling
Because of you
And myself stumbling
In society's glue
As the sky is tumbling
I see I'll lose
Yet instead of rumbling
It's love I choose
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 1:21 PM UTC
I used to think in numbers.
1: There’s one of me. Alone. Plus
4: my family. Still 1, but 5, or
4 plus 1; that’s me, alone.
I used to think in numbers.
36: That’s weeks of school;
That’s weeks of math class,
math class, calculator;
Father, Son, and Calculator.
Trinity: the holy three, the three, the
3 times 36: that’s 108.
I used to think in numbers.
Math class, algebra, room 108.
I hate, I hate, I love, I hate,
I hate the way they look at me.
They look at me like man at dog,
like planet hogs,
throw books at me like cannons cogged
at ninety-minute intervals at cinder walls
until I fault and cringe and fall, and fall
like London Bridge and crash, and fall like
Blown-out glass gone back to class. I pass the
tests and cash regrets like rent checks
bounced across the bridge that they knocked down.
Because I used to think in numbers, yeah,
but now?
Well, sure. Abrasions hurt.
And yeah, we all want friends.
But at least equations work
and keep their balance on both ends.
So I will rock this scatter-plot of
social contract to its peak until
my hands are red meat.
I am no dead beat;
I hold the world record for blood lost
to a summer camp spread sheet.
But then,
but then somewhere along that number line,
a 6 stared down its stage fright when just
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 days before the show,
I met a girl who barred my better judgment
like a cage fight,
and thank God she did,
because for once, I put away the calculator,
and I listened to her voice,
and it sounded like…
well, it sounded like it sounded.
And for once, I sat and wrote about the things
that can’t be counted.
I surrendered to the cage fight,
and I fell into a deep hole.
And to be honest,
I don’t miss spreadsheet summers,
‘cause it’s easier to keep cool.
I used to think in numbers,
yeah,
but now I think in people.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 12:25 AM UTC
Everybody’s going nowhere and I am far gone
I can’t even see the ocean the motion was all wrong
Just a sea of broken bottles and cigarette models
On the floor, so high I had to clean the sky
Never been an existentialist, cynic, or a pessimist
Just another body on the edge of metamorphosis
Clinging to a rope I hope will not snap
Like my neck if I hit the ground, oh crap!
I’m apocalyptic fresh and I can’t say why
If I do it’s a lie, see the needle in my eye?
Meditation, preparation, or a conscious legislation
Couldn't help the fact my words are often littered with abrasions
As if shock rock poetry could save me from my death
It could possibly enlighten but I wouldn't hold my breath
Now I’m frightened by the notion of a new world order
But anarchy is hip if you’re on this side of the border
I digress, what a mess if you know what I mean
But I've burned out quicker than gasoline…
Dec 14, 2012
Dec 14, 2012 at 10:11 PM UTC
The pendulum swings its wide arch, cutting through the air with threatening strokes.
Its sharp blade is ever present and always moving closer in arks of fear.
The pit lies below in dark, endless depths of nothingness.
Its cry is one of forever and silence.
I am in between, and I must choose between the sharp abrasions of the ever threatening pendulum, or the hollow death of the pit.
Each moment the pendulum sweeps closer, and I dodge it, but not before I have felt the hair shaved from my arms or the air stir from its movement.
And I am relieved and safe for a while until another choice must be made, and the pendulum moves another notch closer.
The pit is always waiting. I have poked my head inside, but have never wholly ventured into its permanence. The pit is always the last escape and awaits if the pendulum cuts too deep.
Each time I must decide. “Will it be the pit or will it be the pendulum?”
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 10:16 PM UTC
icy shards are left in
my heart: once
it was filled with the
soft radiance of something
special;
you: an icicle piercing
on my heart insistently
until you yanked it
With your own words. it was to be
a heap of pieces of abrasions
littering at my feet; yet it melted
into a cooling puddle of water
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 4:54 AM UTC
tongue traces teeth
pushing
pushing
pushing
is it moving?
it's moving!
wiggle wiggle
oh my God it's
MOVING
reach up
fingers touch the tooth
anxious like a child
with their first
loose tooth
teeth
teeth
teeth
teeth
nightmares:
gaps and spaces
sinks full of
blood
and
TEETH
push them back in!
--fall out again--
push them back in!
--blood on your fingers--
brushbrushbrushbrush
flossflossflossfloss
is it moving?
is it moving?
brush
floss
brush
floss
brush
floss
brush
floss
is it moving?
it can't be moving!
if pushed too hard,
could that make them
fall out?
gums sore
from over flossing
gums not growing
from toothbrush
abrasions
teeth,
not quite
pearly white
holding tight
teeth
teeth
teeth
Feb 16, 2011
Feb 16, 2011 at 1:47 PM UTC
Two weeks ago I got in an accident while mountain biking. I broke my collar bone and fractured my sternum. Abrasions covered my back, my hip had a puncture wound that turned into a hematoma and was swollen 2inches (I couldn't wear pants for a full week). I hit the ground with such force that air was forced out of my lungs and into the sack around my heart. I spent 18 hours in the ICU and three more days in the hospital after.
A long time ago I crashed. I crashed after you left. My ribs were caving in and making it hurt to breath, my cheeks burned, I swore to god my heart was never going to be okay again. The pain in my chest was incredible. The worst pain I have ever felt was when you left.
I flew over my handle bars two weeks ago and rolled down the mountain and still your absence hurts me more.
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 7:44 PM UTC
sometimes an acrid heat
rises in my vocal cords
it tells me to do things
i don't want to do
but i do want it
i just wish i didn't.
it steals my voice
it masquerades as honor
it whispers justifications
it reveals itself to me
in a way i can't refuse
it tells me
it reminds me
how sweetly it stings
when i drag my fingers
against my skin
how could i say no?
i am weak
it wants me to hurt
i want to hurt
it wants me to hurt
i want to hurt
i(t) want(s me) to hurt
because it never was anything
but my own desires
i just didn't want them
to be mine
May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 6:56 PM UTC
this morning I awoke
with gum abrasions
and let me tell you
it wasn't the happiest of occasions
the bottom set of false teeth
were ripped out
as they'd been wearing
the gum line about
some gum gel
was duly applied to gain relief
the bottom set of false teeth
had given me enough grief
at lunch time
I shall pop the teeth back in
so I can restore
my toothy grin
should the **** teeth
abrade my gums anymore
I shall have to get the dental mechanic
to realign the bottom draw
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 7:01 AM UTC
Mathilda is brutally murdered
Udolph is the obvious suspect
remembers everyone how she jilted him
David her last lover is inconsolable
Evan’s appearance raises suspicion
right before the ****** he met her
Ergot the butler had seen him going out
Rocky was with him could be an accomplice
Inspector Brown finds it a tough case
so many suspects but all with good alibi
Dr. Thomas isn’t sure about the cause of death
autopsy is necessary for the confirmation
visible though are the abrasions on her neck
Inspector Brown interrogates all the suspects
dogs are brought to find smells of trails.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 7:38 AM UTC
I draw my sword and brace my shield,
like a shining knight armored in the shining night,
I ascend the peaks of hearts.
Battling now only the weight that which I believe protects me,
I slowly shed myself to bear the journey that lies ahead..
One piece at time my armor falls to the ground,
risking abrasions and damage delt in future waging hearts.
I soon become naked of all but the plate that hides my chest..
As I search through the valleys,
deep in the crest,
I feel it's beating.
Warmth soon takes me, leading me to it.
With each hopeful stride of my double edged sword,
I find I'm only slaying shadows of demons that once dwelt within.
As each war's waged my heart becomes exposed and weary through what once protected it.
Soon I find myself faced at the entrance,
as I slowly descend down jagged and torn pieces,
I feel the raging heat of it's breath burning and searing flames engulfing me,
I feel it all around me.
I place my shield overhead, hoping it's truth protects me.
Then I lunge,
swinging right then left using the weight of the sword that once hindered,
striking only cavern walls, it seemingly alludes me.
Remembering stories of those before,
I begin to hold doubt and realize through past pains this dragon won't be slayed let alone captured,
I'm only battling myself.
As my journey comes to an end I turn,
I suddenly see it, staring directly into it,
I see it's no beast at all.
I know in that moment,
I'm nothing more than consumed by hopes of what already lives within,
and blinded by what was expected.
This dragon that I chase (love), has alredy slayed me.
Oct 13, 2011
Oct 13, 2011 at 10:06 PM UTC
Give me..
**Give me that good ****
You know, *that good ****
We're handed pipes instead of pills.
Told to smoke pain away something that's been breed 4 generations deep.
A poverty in the sheets.
An allergic reaction,
nuclear,
biochemical -
skin abrasions, lacerations -
3rd degree burns on our hearts.
Drink away the pain to sooth the burn.
To silence the scald.
No one even teaches you to hold yourself.
Instead they tell you to find someone else to do it for you.
Make you unable to be whole.
To be three fourths **** up.
Bandaging your own self inflicted scars in the bathroom sink.
To be metal jackets made of sorrow.
To be blacked out Saturday nights, too hung over to go to church with your family in the morning.
To be so high, you never even get low.
To be light bulbs busted, stayed bright too long.
That good **** ain't good **** when it turns you into the kind of slack jawed, numb monster your mother is ashamed of.
We are a generation self mutilated - no, no - self medicated.
Raised by television sets, they made cigarettes look ***
They made suicide look pretty,
And binge drinking look cool.
They made it normal for kids to pass around bottles of liquor at 14.
You're too young and too fast, and **you're trying to not ******* feel ****
I've been you.
I am you.
So no, it ain't no good ****
*I don't have any good ****
Cause nothing is good, if it's never been bad first.
If it's never been broke, and broken, and sick.
If it's never cried itself to sleep.
If it's never seen its own reflection in broken pieces of glass and felt akin to the shatter.
You have to feel every inch of the low to make any high worth it.
And let it be a homemade one.
Let it be love.
And lust.
And the sun, and good art, and loud music, and jukebox laughter, and your family telling you, you matter.
Don't let it be synthetic and manufactured. Don't let it be bought on street corners, let it be home grown, and natural.
Raised in the corners of your mother's smile.
Let those good moments be you.
Let those moments be life.
Let them be the warmth before the scald, let those be the moments before you fall.
And I know it hurts.
It hurts to be a volcano victim.
To be so irrevocably in love with life when it can burn you so badly.
Believe me, being numb means nothing.
And yes, I know it's hard.
Hard to be 14,
And 17.
And 21,
And 45.
I know it's hard, so ******* hard to exist every single day.
I know the bouquets of heart break, feel like chainsaws and forest fires.
I know the boys hurt your feelings.
I know your parents don't understand you.
I know your teachers don't listen to you,
I know you hate yourself
And I know you shouldn't.
Because baby,
A pipe,
Or a pill
Or a bottle
Won't ever do any good **** for you.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 11:30 AM UTC
An absent father's failure with an inhaler in hand
Insecurity seething from his skin
Manifesting it's self as bulbous red abrasions on his forehead
A heavy breathing child who's eyes were often aimed low
His expectations for life even lower
A little over weight but not enough to concern his pediatrician
He cut gym class a lot because of the showers
Now fourteen he had seen a few ******
He knew he didn't match up
It was better that no one knew he thought
He went on living like this
A pale shadow hovering in the halls
A faceless nobody in the background of someone else's group photo
A ghost who was only noticed by those who tortured him
Bullies like sharks can smell blood in the water
And he was chum
I still vividly see the feeding frenzy
I still remember the day we were told he took his own life
NO shrieks, NO cries, NOT even a whimper was heard
Almost a concerted sigh of boredom
That night there was a party
Not to celebrate his death
But an apathetic gesture of his nonexistence
I attended as was socially expected of me
Even wore a smile
But my mind wrestled with his suicide
I thought of how much I hated him
I hated the smell of his weakness
I hated the 'poor me' attitude
I hated him for taking his own life
Leaving me to feel guilty
That I had done nothing to help him
As if I was responsible in some way
...
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 2:21 PM UTC
there is a crusted-
over, nasty-
looking cut
on
my left
knee
from a bike
accident
I had the
other
day
both of my
big toes have
calluses that
size of quarters
on the
inside-back
parts
of
their
undersides
tiny sunburns
from where my
feet stuck
out of
the sand
decorate my left
and right
feet
my pale belly
and legs
seem ever whiter
in comparison
to my sunburnt and
darkening arms
there is somebody
out there who thinks
I am beautiful
how have stayed strong
all these years?
I can see my ugliness,
my scars, and my abrasions
just the same as everybody
else
they are there
they are morbid
and disgusting
they are who
I am and I act
as such
I know exactly why
and how people hate
me
yet
I’ve never faltered
in a hurricane or
the breeze
I am who I am
I say
and nothing more
still stories flutter,
rumors fly, and
I can’t help but
notice the stores
and tales that
circulate
I’m lucky someone
still finds time to look
at me straight
perhaps the strongest of men
are only left with the opportunity
to gain
Apr 8, 2011
Apr 8, 2011 at 5:49 AM UTC
plucking and pulling,
gouge out the jelly.
many hands have scraped my skin:
the soft base of my belly.
teasing and testing,
wrench apart my brain,
i carry the abrasions-
this invisible, ever-spreading stain.
Oct 8, 2024
Oct 8, 2024 at 6:51 PM UTC
The elegant madwoman with a golden valor.
Louder than the falling trees
stumbling everywhere around her feet!
The spiritual mother, everyone's empress,
a concrete rose blooming over every obstacle
as if she were a one-woman, 21st century dynasty
with no malfunctions in its empire.
But, there's something writhing its way out
from the cellar reserved for her scathing history.
Past the cobwebs and futile pretensions of valiance
lies this warrior queen's greatest desire:
shrouded in shame, the need for love still haunts.
But it won't some accessory amid the ninth cloud!
Hard work and minimum wage flow much more smoothly.
She's known this since she discovered the world,
since she entered a home full of broken furniture
and reeking of alcoholic breath and stagnant, bitter tensions
that were released when father's fist met daughter's face,
and her bruise-soaked body became the symbol of her innocence.
That must be why she spends so much time
in the darkest Brooklyn alleys, selling her self-respect
to any man feeling particularly kind that night,
and letting any detrimental cycle resurface
for just one rush of vulnerability.
This contemporary queen dons a crown bejeweled with more grit
than the streets of three New York boroughs,
yet all she requires of the world that she holds in her hand
like a ruler deciding the fate of her people
is someone to transform adoration from myth to reality.
Will she ever find light from the alley?
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:45 AM UTC
I'm guilty of admiring my works and not others, that's what's silly about my self compassion dance
When the only thing I've got left is the narcissistic klaxon that my self-righteous ambulance horn trances
If it's killing me, Bukowski would be proud, because he loved his liquor, but he loved killing himself more
He'd say, **** your religion! Pour this! This will bring you closer to God!"
It's hard for an atheist to swallow, and to dabble in the tasting of sin,
But Jesus was famous for turning water into wine, with no grapes mashed or thinned
The shield of amaretto is strong and smooth
You can put your cruise control on if you feel amused and soothed
But in darker times it will make your feeling woozy and moved
But **** does it make you feel more like yourself
The you'est you can be, with impeccable speech craft and gentlemanly muse
Helps you pay the dues that you have abused in your passive seasonal attitudes
So what say ye Devine for thou'est darkest temptations, when you've created your own demons, hells, and abrasions
Seems like you're the one holding the power ***** of creation
Ye 'ol Devine ************
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 3:16 PM UTC
I've had this
sharp piece of bark
between my throat
the back side and the front.
It would close my throat
if I sang.
I had to sing.
I would feel my throat
closing
feel it hurt
make myself
believe that it would be fine.
I had to be fine.
I wonder how people yell
do their throats not close up?
I hear my mom yelling
over the phone
a different kind of sickness.
She's unhappy with a life
she is not living.
She's living here.
With me. But her rage
shot through continents
found it's way back where her mind lives.
That's a sickness.
Your mind and body being in different places.
Sickness is living here.
I can't tell her about
how my throat closes
how loudness
isn't possible for me.
For I must have swallowed
every tooth pick
to feel the abrasions in my throat.
I swallowed every toothpick.
I let myself swallow further.
Let that bark fall farther in to my stomach.
Wake at night when it hurts,
when it begs to wake.
Let myself be hurt.
I don't tell her how I close.
I close my eyes.
I dream that I am living elsewhere.
I am sick. My mind is living where my body
is not. I am dreaming
of a world where
I can be sick.
Sep 11, 2023
Sep 11, 2023 at 9:34 AM UTC
Written about a car accident on May 21, 2014
The phone only rings once
but I don’t even pause for that
I just sputter out the sobs
and sloppy descriptions of a flipped car
and cross streets where she can find us.
I remember to assure her
that me and Cyra – yes she is with me – are fine
and we turned down the trip to the ER
in the cramped ambulance
with the neglectful girl
that might have a broken arm,
probably from the nearly fatal
death grip she had on her navigation
through that red light.
They ask me the same questions
at least four times
but I can’t possibly remember
which direction I was driving
because we flipped twice in the air
and shattered my windshield in the process
and I’m not sure how we got all the way
across the intersection
because now I’m sitting on Walnut
but that’s the opposite of
the direction I was headed.
I reach for her hand because I’m just glad for two things.
I took most of the impact
and the seatbelt abrasions
and bruised bones
are mostly on my limbs
and not hers.
I looked over to my passenger seat
in fear of what I would find,
and saw her looking back at me,
scared, but alive.
May 23, 2014 3:48:40 PM
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 2:14 AM UTC
Kept in front of me is a rough handmade paper
Its furrows are similar to my unsettled life
The thick graphite pencil I hold up to sketch
My anecdotes that has made an impact on me
As soon I start sketching, the graphite smudges
Leaving dark and ugly patches on the paper
And an indelible mark between my fingers
Depicting the dark shadow that has followed me
Everything I hope for, is daubed by overcast setting
When I take up the erasers to wipe off the mishaps
The friction creates a colossal mess on the dreams
I realize that I have distorted the sketch I started
But the deep lines of graphite stare at me sullenly
Such indelible sketches hover in my mind
Not even the best of erasers can wipe them off
I tried in vain, only to be left with abrasions
I have given up on drawing up any dreams
No longer, the handmade paper allures me to sketch
For I have used up all the graphite, drawing, failures
So many failures already etched in my memory
Left with nothing but the memories of defeat
Like the dark smudges of graphite, hovering my mind
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 7:50 AM UTC
Don't go barefoot in the snow,
if you have no where to go;
like a sauna, good for Flora and Fauna,
Don't run naked on the ice,
slipping is not to nice,
abrasions sting, make you sing, in the hot tub.
Don't live your life carefree,
or fuel your God given creativity,
dig your hole then be brave,
climb in to make sure if it fits
it is your grave,
after all
if you do nothing, nothing at all.
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 12:57 AM UTC
These tears aren’t for you because you don’t deserve them
They are for me because I earned them
Breaking free involves examining one’s self
Being stress free is a choice regardless of color, creed or wealth
When I consider the things that I’ve lived through
I realize what love can make me do
I realize my strength and dedication
I realize the extent of your mental manipulation
I realized the effect of waiting in the wings
While you continually did your thing
Steadily putting me under scrutiny
Like I was the one who did not know monogamy
I have but one question and in my soul it itches
Its how many countless nameless *******
Have you let your manhood reside in their britches
Meanwhile your mood switches just as easily as the wind blows
Cause liquor and **** makes your heart bleed
Black blood, green envy, blind jealously
Seeking foolishly to control me with suspicions and accusations
Branded with heartache and pain like abrasions
I’ve never been one for control
But being pushed past my limit is like Chicken Food for the Soul
Cause I have to consider my life, my health, my sanity
At the brink of no return
I stare into the abyss and see all things about myself I miss
I see how life is passing me by
No matter what I do or how hard I try
It’s to no avail and every effort ends up in fail
This pain is too much for me to bare
It’s like my self-esteem, my confidence, my respect
It’s barely there and it makes me flee
I am too low on the totem pole
And like "X" I am at my rock bottom
“like **** look at how a ***** gott’em”
So God here I am on bended knee, stretching out both hands
Cause I can’t take another second how I am
Father help me to get back to me and on the path to where I should be
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 11:27 PM UTC
more than anything
i’d sit in the greenery
while it wraps up to my knees
and you’ll speak in unfinished messages
and we’ll all glisten with a shining aura
and a mask of invincibility.
the epic drag of nights past will diminish
and bleed out of our pores
as we gaze towards the sun
and
burn white holes into the picture we perceive.
there wont be any eerie waves of emptiness
because the grass will grow into our bones
and flow in our veins
while we feel the soothing abrasions from the
scalding black top beneath our feet.
it’ll warm our souls for eternity
and we’ll feel every heavy word
enter our minds
in different shades of color.
we can find contentment in ourselves
as we scream for an eternal happiness
that fills our lungs with every struggle for air.
surviving will become more real
and will heal our aching bones
and pluck the embedded thorns of regret
from our numb eyes.
we’ll feel whole.
we’ll feel whole.
we’ll feel content.
we’ll feel whole.
we’ll feel real.
the sun will radiate
an incoherent essence
that blesses our eyelids.
we’ll bury the bullets that we kept
on our nightstands
for a rainy day.
i’ll feed the flesh of my sorrows
to the once rabid creatures who lay
in the river banks.
they’ll engulf it like
it once did to me and i’ll
throw my mistakes downstream.
Feb 6, 2012
Feb 6, 2012 at 1:27 AM UTC
Paper cuts on wrist linger:
like trickles of pain,
bearable to hold;
with trickle of tears,
little to be told.
Invisible abrasions:
on skin so precious,
patches of triumph;
the battle rages on,
wince at every sting.
Unnecessary bandages:
don't elevate pain,
hide struggles under;
to embrace each scrape,
takes more than courage.
Petroleum jelly helps:
fingertips cover,
dollops to ease itch;
sometimes humans need,
catalysis to heal.
May 25, 2018
May 25, 2018 at 2:25 AM UTC