"afterparty" poems
Just need to get away
Away from the noise in my head
Leave the phone behind
Jump on the bus
Go to the furthest part of the kingdom.
Lock the door
Throw away the key
Hide under the sheets
Hoping you'll join me there
Afterparty - free bar
Escape back behind locked doors
Alone in the dark
We have all we need
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 5:44 PM UTC
cocktail heels
sharp as tacks
watch your feet
every step the green mile
you could hear a pin drop
(or was that a pearl earring?)
the lipstick on her teeth smiles at you.
skin so creamy
it’d feel right at home in a cup o’ joe
free that poor hair from *******
so the red sea comes tumbling down her shoulders
just ignore the diamond on her finger—
it’s merely a suggestion.
that dress
smooth black and form-fitting
follow the zipper towards the small of her back
now emerging from the chrysalis
madame butterfly
nice clothing like hers looks better on the carpet.
Jun 23, 2012
Jun 23, 2012 at 11:46 AM UTC
I felt so much better after I vomited you in every stanza.
Dec 14, 2020
Dec 14, 2020 at 5:50 AM UTC
Kris looked at the clock and knew he didn’t have time to mingle.
Because he was Santa Claus also known as Kris Kringle.
Why did he have to go to the office Christmas party?
It was time to get toys to kids, he did not want to be tardy.
Kris tried to argue with his boss, who was having none of it.
It was like the more he talked, the more his boss had a fit.
How could something be mandatory if we don’t have to go.
His boss said with a smile, You don’t have to be there, but you can’t say no.
So Kris found himself at the party, drinking punch and looking for a way out.
He was sure that with all the days he took off looking for toys, he lost his clout.
To make matters worse, someone suggested that there should be an afterparty later.
Another person yelled out in the office that he knew people who could cater.
I have to get out of here, Kris muttered, but his only experience was with chimneys.
There are cookies and milk waiting, I can't get no more food in me.
So he decided to slip out, but his friend called out, Aww Kris you’re no fun.
Kris went to his car, and looked both ways before putting the keys in the ignition.
It transformed into a sleigh, and Kris Kriegle ripped off his suit.
Santa in all his glory, with the red everything and the black boots.
As he left he shouted, No more Office Christmas parties! I mean ** ** **
Because Santa is the giver to gifts to our children, not our office bro!
Dec 1, 2017
Dec 1, 2017 at 1:43 PM UTC
I have been singing for forgotten things,
beer bottles hidden in the hedgerows.
The opera singer, the strangled vibrato,
ash-filled cokes cans; the afterparty sunrise.
This recovery has been long, fickle.
Reckless optimism and the science of failure
collide into the colour
of a Daniel Johnston cartoon,
or a songwriter's sense of humour.
Disused pencils stand as monuments
to old dreams of grass-roots art,
the fragility of neurotic *******
drawn with innumerable straight lines
that composite a woman's naked body.
I have been drawing on memories
and hoping for a brand-new image;
dissolution of old borders - a strangled voice
in a room full of opened tongues.
The Hawaiian shirt made light of depression
in darkened hours and wax smiles.
Plastic cocktails, the pending brides;
desperate men - the post-work demise.
I have learned a lie ever since.
This recovery has been imperfect, a fraud.
Swollen truths to satisfy the concerned,
only myself left to fool.
I have found the early morning
but cannot reach a sober conclusion.
Redundant habits mildew my mind
with the backwater of yesterday,
familiar street names to mourn
those who became strangers,
the negative bias of my mind's eye.
I have been writing words of action
from the safety of my desk;
all that the desk-lamp can illuminate,
all of which words can make sense.
This half-lived recovery is bunk, irretrievable.
Working poverty and untied knots
are co-morbid in meaninglessness;
chains to hold me in Plato's Cave
whilst her skin freckles in the sun.
Disused and living outside of love,
morning curtains open to a sheet of light
that obliterates loneliness
in the presence of shared heat,
only for it to return again, come night.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 3:25 PM UTC
Ex-cocaine addict and traumatized people pleaser
Keep me high and keep me bound
No one knows who i am in secret
And yet my scars are displayed for all to see
Lines off my face years off my life
I don’t care anymore just take me
He’s mine and im his and i could say im happy
In life and death we’ll be intertwined
If soulmates are real i’d swear i can feel our string
I need you fully and completely
Love beyond time and reason
Beyond physical planes
Kiss me like a dream
Like the first time i hated myself
Feel me like Luci
Who’s gone forever
Will we last
You say we will
I don't care anymore just take me
End it at the afterparty
Feb 26, 2023
Feb 26, 2023 at 12:23 PM UTC
I cannot be gay, say
I cannot be gay, just say
I cannot be gay, gays
Think I'm pretty ugly oddly.
No guy crush can change my mind,
Say this outloud over one thousand times.
Given his kiss didn't beg for it,
That kind of affection could confuse a Pope or priest;
Could make any insecure boy think into it too deep.
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 6:05 PM UTC
-
I’ve been accepted in a number of small-town organizations,
Constructed by some confetti-fetishists who craved nothing more than
To write their thoughts onto the underside of a bridge,
Abandoned due to incredible uprisings of what some would call faux water.
They’d told me,
Multiple times actually,
That I was bound to their ideals and morals forever;
That they’d essentially taken the parts of my brain that mattered
And the sections of my heart I knew couldn’t feel emotion but
Hoped dangerously that they, under suitable conditions, just might
And tossed them into a box
Snuck down to the river
Let it drift away as I slept alone.
I’ve been afraid to try new things, always afraid,
Always wandering about with a finger to the air and a
Paintbrush to mark where I‘ve been.
To think that they “saved me,”
Or “kept me from a suicidal afterparty” is now
Only a thought rather than action.
And now
Slowly, gently,
He lift a glass of dust to his mouth
Wondering who he used to be
As I watch myself from the corner.
-
May 16, 2011
May 16, 2011 at 6:09 PM UTC
We lie awake
at afterparty hours
with fragile hearts
that scream silently,
violently,
why do we feel alone?
Why do we feel alone
with so many of us here?
We carry a torch
in its fire our feelings flicker.
We pass it around
breathing the ember in.
We inhale the flames
And exhale dark ashes.
Each breath keeps it ignited
as we share this light inside us.
We feel it's familiar warmth
when we pass each other by.
It bonds and it heals us;
all walks of our lives together.
We lie awake
at any fragile hour
with open hearts
that scream loudly,
proudly,
we are not alone.
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 3:27 PM UTC
we got dressed up for dinner but didn’t go to the dance
it was prom night and we were wasting time in my friend’s basement
when the question was asked:
how many men in your life are you comfortable around?
‘well,’ we said, ‘what do we mean by comfortable?'
we defined it like this:
how many men in your life could hug you
without making you flinch?
none of us had more than a handful, ticking names with our fingertips.
my total was two-point-five:
because i’d trust my dad with my life in the way that
you have to question authority to know that it’s right,
so i don’t ever **** away in fear from his familial touch.
(i’m the only one of us whose father makes the cut.)
the second name on my list is a kid from AP physics.
his name is trent and i’ve had a platonic crush on him for like a year.
we’ve bonded this year over math socks and clorox and death jokes.
(a few hours after this basement conversation,
we’re going to an afterparty and he yells my name
from across the parking lot;
we meet each other, running, and he collides into me with joy.
i don’t flinch away— i meet him half-way.)
the point five is
tricky
see, half the time, my brother grabs me and it terrifies me,
begging for him to just let go because he’s hurting me,
i don’t like tickling because it leads to panic attacks—
i don’t like unsolicited men touching me let go of me let go of me.
when my brother reaches for me, i flinch—
half the time.
but when he wants to actually hug me,
he just lifts one arm from his side and lets me tuck myself
under his shoulder, loose and gentle and loving, like good siblings.
half the time, my brother is reaching, and that is terrifying.
half the time, my brother is offering, and that is comforting.
how many men in your life could hug you without making you flinch?
take
a minute to think about it, it takes a lot of reflection.
a man without boundaries,
who takes what he wants and touches you when he wants to,
a man who doesn’t care that i’m flinching—
rapists and assailants don’t have boundaries,
they don’t listen when you say stop let go of me let go—
how terrifying it is for someone you know to just
grab you whenever he wants to.
i don’t want your hyper-masculine hands touching me without asking.
not unless you’re part of my two-point-five person list.
otherwise, you're just going to make me flinch.
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 12:22 AM UTC
Freedom from addiction
Means keeping pills in relapsing distance
I just need the presence, the friction
The suffering of temptation
Released
A downward spiral
or something cliché enough to drag me to the bottom
I let go of everything once
Trying to force a flow of liberation
Misguided euphoric tide
At least for the half-life
Then the comedown
Through the noise
This kid is making a comeback
Infantilizing the sacred ground
Back to primal setting
Bursts of energy via the star nursery
These compulsions
Lead to impulsions
When the nervous system's wracked
I'll be here wrapping my head around
Trying to control the chaos
Organized crime in the mind of the attention deficit
Demanding change in this temple trashed by the afterparty.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 3:12 PM UTC
To hang with my crew, any day of the week, would leave 21yr old me, in the bathroom on his knees.
Wether we chill in the lot with a Rapper blowing trees, or moonlight the bar with lap dances and whiskey.
5am, 'In The Air', single mom feeling naughty
Next thing I knew, was at the afterparty.
Hooked up till dawn, but cant tell nobody.
Haven't shaved in a week, cant remember last sleep.
Ask me where I was and you'll never hear a peep.
Head home for an hour, change of clothes and a shower
Then back to work, cause the wicked get no rest
My tire explodes, Im on the side of the road,
and Im dressed to be sat at a desk.
Catch my breath screaming 'Fuck!', **** near hit by a truck,
as now rain pours down in my face.
Tore my shirt and late for work, god **** do I hate this place.
Now the hours feel like years, till I again have some beers and get back to where I feel like me.
6am in the bar, and just lit my cigar, and the bottle it seems is empty.
Lather, rinse and repeat, cause its only midweek
And this is how I know to mend.
What is my life? **** if I know, but a ShitShow you'd pay to attend.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 10:08 PM UTC
afterparty mingle in a single bedroom vault wincing ceiling slopes so low condemning matter dance to fumbles and more penetrating life forces gum-balls into stressed room couple and squirm over into the crawl space hazardous music and metallic humour is pushing risks and insult no being is out of place pouting the smoke and store brand alcohol routing and deafening and defeating too much the gagster comes thundering down the corridor like he was wrought for applause he addresses those outside the room and it's wagging dogs and a face of cartoony ballooning pep it's hard to handle the wash of wording an assault of enthusiasm jester baits laughter with an old polaroid camera slamming open the door all tension his way he presses the button and projects them all against the walls 'Flash ****** ! ' he squells throws aside the camera 'People Pile!' he thumps into the crowd bed begging a play fight baroque girl hugging her knees crammed under the small sink to the side of the door reaches out a nervy hand and takes the discarded camera watches the ********** photo paper fade in slow retch her own pose lone excluded soul separate and saved she leaves with souvenir
Jun 30, 2023
Jun 30, 2023 at 6:22 PM UTC
You know what I've been fantasizing about around my projectory...besides some stimulating evening entertainment...I like the art of BellyDance. It's sensuous and extreme mastery of smooth kundalini up and around the body.
Yeah, right...I know.
No, but seriously, imagine man, our own Island. Yeah, our Own Island. The Crew would celebrate the SkyClad Moon around a wood fire, the tribal drum patterns interlacing trading Ecstasies of rhythm beat into our hearts coherent waves generating yes by us, through us, into the night's Enchanted Moon.
Oh she and her seductive powers moving tidal waves into the hours splash crash and receding just to come back for more. You Know What this is about you know what it stands for
yeah, and if we want to bring it into our human sexuality, mating powers, let's trade energies why not talk our bodies into majesty
~ see what happens• usually magic from my memory I like magic I like cosmic kinds of bliss in exchange for a mystical talk with God~ Lets work it out. Of man & ladies ...you know, all the crazies, no end to the amount of this kind of party. let's make the magic happen this doesn't have to stay imagination I know how it manifest and if you have questions come see we will figure out the rest ...
imagine
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 9:19 PM UTC
I pull myself together long enough to put myself together
to altogether get there all alone
I pick myself apart at the party hoping they pick me for the part
nearly departed at the afterparty
upon a platter of platitudes they cast me as myself
I was miscast if you ask me
would have bought a locket if I wanted a cameo
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 2:22 AM UTC
Erratic squirrels
Irresponsibly consume
Fermenting pumpkins.
Nov 6, 2019
Nov 6, 2019 at 9:42 AM UTC
Confetti settles in the crease of the carpet.
I wake up with pints of honey buzzing
in the center of my chest. My eyelashes cast shadows
like tick marks on my cheeks. No chaos.
The backs of my legs are tender
from crawling through the window to the roof.
We watched a paper mache moon from the roof
the night before. Small towns are boring liked threads from the carpet
but the people have hearts that are tender
like living peaches, always buzzing.
Just one picture of us, five sorry teens with internal chaos
dancing through string lights and breathing shadows.
Harris has a fascination with those shadows.
Her membership would be awarded with a dive from the roof.
She always loves the smell of checklist chaos,
or formulating plans while lying on the carpet
of her room. Her emotions are pulled taut and buzzing,
resonating fear when she forgets how to be tender.
Julia’s wire existence couldn’t try to be tender
She is a fat slap of clarity across your dispositions. Shadows
can’t cast new shapes across her buzzing
body. Her middle finger pointing toward the roof
and her feet sinking between carpet
folds. like every time she is around it’s chaos.
Britt’s eyes reflect blue waves free from chaos
and each word skips across his tongue gentle and tender.
His clothes, Goodwill and kind-of-used-carpet
and camera casts light to evade shadows.
Short prayers dare scrape the roof
of his mind. Send heritage and denial buzzing.
Nelson is 7 years of swallowed gum and buzzing
alarm clocks, warning the world of chaos.
He climbs up rusted ladders to the roof
to shout of love and it’s lack of tender
tendencies. He is a fall breeze where leaves force shadows
across the laundry line, too weak to leave a hole in the carpet.
I glide through my days alluding tender
my mind scoffs at the chaos of my daytime shadow
but under the roof, i'm just a chalk outline pushed into carpet.
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 11:41 AM UTC
Morning haze, after phase
Heart still racing, mind still spacing
Memories of dancing lights and smiling faces
My body fights tiredness of different cases
Light the green to put my mental to ease
Experience life the way that you please
Reminisce the nights filled with the unseen
Never to dwell on what could’ve been
Dec 31, 2017
Dec 31, 2017 at 10:54 PM UTC
she scattered her love
like confetti
only to know
that in the end
people just ignore it
when the good time
is over.
Aug 12, 2021
Aug 12, 2021 at 8:29 PM UTC
I met him in the night.
A Gayborhood local
told me he was from Venezuela, but didn’t have to,
his accent, so beautiful with its deep grit and softness,
twang and lisp.
I already knew, he didn’t have to tell me.
He bought me drinks, and watched
me and only me,
as I bit from the fruit of his garden.
He invited me to an afterparty, I didn’t know
him, but we went through alleys,
dampened by the heat of bodies
melding to the brick walls, glistening
in the streetlights and nightlife. Unknown lips
pressed and held, to stay, not to
part. It was
beautiful.
Within the alley was
our destination: underground. It was
a luscious venue, crowded, exuberant and whimsy.
Velvet covered the walls, and he brought me more drinks.
I finished them all.
I remember
locking lips with a stranger, and how
it hurt.
He was warm and sweaty, and
smelled of Burberry and whiskey,
his stubble left
my face burning.
He grabbed my hand, and led me to
the bathroom, then I woke up
in his bed.
I remembered
his husband’s name, and that
he lived in Caracas, that
we had *** and took
a shower together, that
his mother, dying from leukemia,
slept upstairs, unknowing.
I wept
in a stranger’s arms,
cradled by their tiny physique.
I wept
for our beloveds.
Oct 16, 2020
Oct 16, 2020 at 1:27 AM UTC
What is beyond death
When I don't believe in God
I know my body
Will be buried
Or burned away to nothing
And that's okay
But what happens to me
What happens to the person
Who loves with blue flames
Where does she go
When the sun sets
And all is quiet and calm
If there is a hell
I'm probably headed there
But I don't think
That there is
Perhaps I'll roam the universe
I can touch down on planets
And stars afar
Maybe I'll be reborn
If that's the case
Then end my term
Eternal life on earth
Seems like a chore
I don't want to live forever
I don't want to be here
When nations burn
I refuse to bear witness
To another century turn
And someday I will die
And I am so afraid
To let my conscience go
And fly into the void
Because deep down I know
What happens when we die
We are gone
Like smoke into the night
The thing that makes us human
Is furthest from physical
So when my body dies
My mind won't have
Anywhere to go
I don't want to be snuffed out
Like a burned down candle
And oh I know
That it won't be my choice
Maybe that's why
I've tried to end it all
I want to live
On my own terms
But the world
Has never been under my control
In a world where we die
So my only hope
Is that I can live my life
With the time I have left
But what's the point of living
When we all live to die
Sep 1, 2019
Sep 1, 2019 at 12:02 AM UTC
I’ll stay for the afterparty of our conversations, but I know your party is for one.
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 2:47 AM UTC