"aide" poems
They say artist have a unique way
Of looking at this place we call our world
We miss that there is more they don't display
Unlucky their vision has been disturbed
You see, we think we live in harmony
Blindly going on with our restless lives
Ripping off their band-aide now nakedly
To only be looked at as a lowlife
Facing the truth in a perspective matter
By various colors and feelings
Watch as they pick a beautiful flower
Painting black to give it a new meaning
But even though they bring much delight
They are curse with the artist eyesight
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 4:30 PM UTC
Labels.
Judgement.
Stigma.
Will we not even try to understand?
To hold out our hand?
To come alongside.
In words of comfort.
Words of love.
To the divorced.
Who feel like they've failed.
Labels.
Judgement.
Stigma.
Will we not even try to understand?
To hold out our hand?
To the mentally ill.
Whose tormenting thoughts are a living hell.
Labels.
Judgement.
Stigma.
Will we not even try to understand?
To hold out our hand?
To the lost teen caught up in the downward
spiral of addiction.
Where escape from life is so appealing to them.
Labels.
Judgement.
Stigma.
Will we not even try to understand?
To hold out our hand?
To the homeless man without a dime.
Whose every moment is a struggle to survive.
Labels.
Judgement.
Stigma.
Will we not even try to understand?
To hold out our hand?
To the child in the classroom who doesn't fit in.
Who needs an aide to settle them.
Labels.
Judgement.
Stigma.
Will we not even try?
To accept.
To comfort.
To...
love.
To hold out our hand.
And then...
watch God heal.
The broken hearts.
Of the marginalized.
From the pain
of
the
stigma.
Of those who don't fit in.
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 11:44 PM UTC
Anwar Ibrahim
Convicted of ****** in 2008
Acquitted in 2012
The Court of Appeal overturned the acquittal
He is currently serving his sentence
An aide to Anwar
Said he was sodomized by Anwar
****** even if consensual
Is punishable by up to 20 years in Malaysia
Anwar responded the complaint was politically motivated
Support for Anwar grown stronger
His wife is battling his conviction
Some say that political rival Dr. Mahathir
Will recover from his decrease in popularity
And remain in control
Because he helped Malaysia through a though economic time
Although it seems as though Anwar is gaining support
From a majority of the Malaysian people
Human rights groups accused Malaysia's government of using
An anachronistic colonial era law that criminalizes
"Carnal *********** against the order of nature"
To persecute Anwar
Anwar leads a three-party opposition that has become
Increasingly popular in the predominantly Muslim nation
This is not just
Anwar has been wrongly accused
I will pray for his wife
And his supporters
Stay strong Anwar
You are an innocent man
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 8:44 PM UTC
<>
for the early morning teach
<>
she's young, beautiful and thinks her life is cursed,
in the past, subject of some of my poems, her health to nurse,
yet, as is normative, you fall into & out of a well of touch,
until you accidentally once again path cross,
she provides a precision mathematical status update
"i'm fairly certain things are like at least 38% worse."
it is 1:38AM for you,
the not unnoticed ironic minute and hour
when the night ether has prematurely worn off,
rising time close but not nearly close enough,
a dark dose of a sleeping nurse's aide seems inappropriate,
and TV reruns seem like an insult to your brain
instead you turn on some belle string musique,
a Grande Messe des Morts,
a chorus,
singing a high mass for the dead,
while opening all your various email luggage and baggage,
smiling as you read a poetess's message of
laughter behind tears
"i'm fairly certain things are like at least 38% worse."
and Mississippi ******
your uncontrollable mixed drink of her emotional
Grenada grenade cocktail,
flavored with musique, paintings, and words and a nearby beloved's
gentling sleep sounds,
has you writing your own protest poem,
your very own,
oy vey, grande messe,
about lives that were supposed to be
pictures of perfect artistry
and for but a word or two,
instead, a painting of a life that got hung upside down,
and indeed,
leaving a grand mess and no one to help clean up
alternatively weeping, laughing as you are thinking,
smiling recall
Laurel and Hardy's summary definition
of living a life's of ill begotten, misventured adventures:
"Well, here's another nice mess you've gotten me into !"
but 38% worse?
not an even-steven rounded up 40%,
should I write you only 38% of a poem, teach?
or more accurately, more mathematically,
138% of what was writ before?
and you recall your older, prior words
about the love hate affair between
you poet,
and the beauty of written brevity
(her style)
and you give her this then,
this rambling, scrambled, attention paid notification,
word attentiveness, a summary of your readings
of her cheddar sharp and honey mustard sweet retorts of
pained poetry,
it is insufficiently but perfectly sufficient,
a summarizing phrase that opens
and yet
briefly encapsulates all that
you are feeling for her
"thinking of you"
or the 38% larger version thereof -
***"Well, here's another 38% more
nice poetic mess
you've gotten me into!"***
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 5:01 PM UTC
The skinniest tulip
Sways gently in a breeze
Comfortably and serene
Never does it ask why or how
It just knows that life is nice
And the sun is warm against it's growing leaves
Then a storm comes around
And the tulip finds a new emotion
Fear
And as she trembles she begins to wonder why
A sky that hung blue and brilliant above her
Decided to rain it's wrath down upon her
When she is innocent of anything
And though the tulip
Loses a petal that day
She's grown a little taller
That tulip continues to thrive that season
She gets very used to the rain and terror
So no longer does she ask why
But suddenly the winds get colder
And the tulip begins to wilt
With nothing to help her
As she spreads her leaf to the sky
She wonders
How a caring world
Could watch her die
Could see her helplessness
And seize to aide
Why Mother Earth, so prosperous and great
Let the tulip down that day
How something that helped her grow
That told her to always be strong
How
Could it let her down that way?
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 11:41 PM UTC
There isn't a place for us
to exist in the day.
The magnanimous sun reveals too much
for common eyes to see.
But come night,
dimmed lamps be our aide.
We sink into each other
with little reservation.
We overlap, intertwine
and merge.
Inadvertently blending
into darkened backdrops,
we get absorbed in our very own
shadowplay.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 12:51 PM UTC
The Pedicab drivers of Gotham all say
You should ignore a "Whale Hail"
because it just doesn't pay.
The city is hilly and
to pedal gets tough
when your passengers are,
shall we say, overstuffed.
Two tubby tourists out on the town
between them they weighed about
Eight Hundred Pounds.
They had wiped out the Sushi
at an all you can eat.
Much too lazy to walk
on their overstressed feet.
They hailed for a Pedicab
of which there's a multitude
Thats the sole explanation
for accepting their pulchritude.
Their ride started slowly,
but pleasant enough.
But then came a hill
and the going got rough.
He groaned and he struggled
as he trucked up the road,
but not even juiced Armstrong
could handle this load.
With two tubby tourists
ensconced in the back.
He slowed to a crawl
then stalled in his tracks.
Something had to give
with those two in the rear
The cab then turned turtle
chucking him in the air.
The two tubby tourist
were down on their backs
Their driver unconscious
and two tires flat.
An Ambulance came
and gave him first aide
The two tourists rolled off
and he never got paid.
If we banned too large colas
and sixty ounce beers
could we hope that these
land whales
might,one day, disappear?
Until then its risky
to pick such fares up
unless in a limo
or a truck thats Ram tough
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 10:38 PM UTC
Cutting my organs and rearranging my bones
Discarding of the skin like ***** band aide
Watering insecurities and dipping in my pink
Fitting me in the solace of your neck
But never in your arms
Drowning in your touch
Etching into my memory the bitter sweetness of this
One sided love
Craving your torture and remedy in one.....
Jan 29, 2020
Jan 29, 2020 at 8:53 PM UTC
"There were good people on both sides."
Donald Trump's father was a card-carrying Klansman
& Trump learned everything he knows about business
from Roy Cohen, a notoriously evil self-hating homosexual,
gangster, politician, mouthpiece for the Mafia
& aide-de-camp to the same Joseph McCarthy
who engineered the Red Scare & subsequent blacklisting
of Hollywood's best & most creative talent;
this is Donald Trump's history & education & legacy -
why is a man POTUS who lied, cheated & paid hush money;
[the only way he knows how to do business];
he loves dictators, who laugh behind his back,
& even to his stupid, clueless face;
Trump's 'base' composed of desperate, angry morons
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 5:36 PM UTC
Writing because of procrastination, that is what I am telling myself.
Writing because I have no other way to convey emotions, that is what I feel.
Writing without a reason, that is what seems like the truth.
I am lost again, stuck in a loop of what feels like clarity, into the same self-inflicted confusion.
Wishing for the ability to make my words into music, I stare down at my keyboard and try to play.
I know I wouldn't put in the effort to learn, but I just want to inspire myself.
Maybe by some miracle I can learn what I am doing in time.
For now I am mindless, only commands get me moving.
Yet if they involve work I often zone out for minutes on end in thoughts that mean nothing.
If only I knew all of you reading, if only I hadn't lost touch with the outside world to this mindless cycle that is the internet.
Without the internet though, I wouldn't be able to convey my thoughts, all of my friends would be here.
Hell, what friends would I have without the only place I can show who I am from so far away?
Always introspective, trying my hardest to see what is wrong.
People tell me I am fine, but at the same time, I am not content with who I am.
I want to be older, stronger, able to do things without aide, and being there for those who need me.
I feel unnoticed among my friends, and hailed as above others by my peers.
The cycle makes me feel as though my peers think I need encouragement to live, while my friends know I just need the strength to push past it.
That, or they don't care enough to ask, your friends are how you are in some ways I suppose.
Why am I writing so much if I don't need it to get by, is there some other incentive I am giving myself?
Some reward for not doing anything to change is letting me know about it?
I think this is just my emotions trying to give my brain a kick-start, but I am tuning out the messages.
I don't seem to care about some kind of structure in writing anymore, my care has bled out freezing me to a solid caricature of who I want to be.
Do I even want to publish this, and have it be known to people that I am struggling?
Whatever the case may be, I'll post it anyway, who really cares at this point?
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 7:44 PM UTC
—Flash Forward—
A day of reckoning.
A small boat crosses
the Hudson River,
no warning horn.
Destination New Jersey,
of all places.
A. Burr isn’t warned
that Hamilton will not
fire his pistol.
Destiny predetermined.
“Death doesn’t discriminate
Between the sinners and the saints,
It takes and it takes and it takes.
History obliterates.”
—Flashback—
General.
Colonel.
Aide-de-camp.
Immigrant.
“Don’t engage, strike by night.
Remain relentless ‘til their troops take flight.”
“We escort their men out of Yorktown.
They stagger home single file.
Tens of thousands of people flood the streets.”
“Took up a collection just to send him to the
mainland.
‘Get your education. Don’t forget from whence
you came.’”
—Stepfather of the Union—
Treasury secretary, author of the Federalist Papers,
lawyer, speechwriter, confidante, opponent of slavery,
member of the Constitutional Convention.
“History has its eyes on you.”
“I’ve seen injustice in the world and I’ve
corrected it.”
“The Federalist: Addressed to the People
of the State of New York.”
“Goes and proposes his own form
of government.”
—Family and Marriage—
The Schuyler Sisters – Eliza.
Maria and James Reynolds – adultery and bribery.
Philip Hamilton – successor son and victim.
Philip Schuyler – father-in-law.
“And if this child
Shares a fraction of your smile
Or a fragment of your mind, look out, world!”
“I know you’re a man of honor,
I’m so sorry to bother you at home.”
“I’m only nineteen but my mind is older,
Gonna be my own man, like my father
but bolder.”
“Grampa just lost his seat in the Senate.”
—Why, How, How long?—
Why not?, biography,
genius, rapid-fire rap,
hip-hop, historical vertigo,
Lin-Manuel Miranda at the White House,
a cast talented beyond measure,
the Great White Way,
2017-18 and forever….
“…13 percent of the population is foreign
born, which is near an all-time high;
that one day soon there will no longer
be majority and minority races, only a
vibrant mix of colors.”
‒Jeremy McCarter, from Chapter I of
Hamilton: The Revolution
*© Lewis Bosworth, 12/2016
With credit to the book:*
Hamilton: The Revolution
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 11:35 AM UTC
Pray for me,
God knows I need your prayers.
Amen.
Wish better on me,
God knows I'm beat down by naysayers.
Amen.
Eyes and hearts so vacant,
Starlet-smile empty shells.
Amen.
Easy words, complacent.
Open lips and full-up hells.
Amen.
Amen.
God is love, take me to church.
He knows I need something in my heart.
Hallelujah.
Accept me, catch me in this downward lurch.
God save the poor broken thing, this heart.
Hallelujah.
God is light, take me to church,
Darkness never scared me this much.
Hallelujah.
Please, don't hurt me, aide this search.
I can't think over the loudness, it's too much.
Hallelujah.
Hallelujah.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 10:00 PM UTC
He will
Kiss me hard
Touch me where I am scarred
Throw me out
Scream; shout
Remind me I am worthless
Make me wordless
Use
Abuse
But he will
Love me softly
Come home promptly
Take me out
Ask what I am all about
Remind me that he needs me
Compare me to a beautiful sea
Find me when I am afraid
Give me aide
And he will
Always cry himself to sleep
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 6:37 PM UTC
I got to where I am today
Without the aide of
Book-smarts
And being a nerd.
I beat up nerds,
Steal their girlfriends
And drive them to
My parent's summer house
In the Hamptons!
No, I don't need
Book-smarts
To graduate from
Harvard.
My tuition was prepaid
And business comes as natural to me
As does stealing your girlfriend!
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 4:58 PM UTC
A wandering, a wandering.
A gypsy feet lead her north and south,
east and west.
Wander as you will and love as thou shall..
For the swirl of her skirt, and a shake of a bangle.
She'll become just a dream to hold close for the night.
A gypsy heart might be consider fickle
but she loves with all she has.
For to have it but a moment is all the time in the world.
Aide-o a love for a moment, is worth a lifetime of gold.
To hold her a moment, is something a feat.
For you never know where her roaming feet may go.
A roaming wandering heart that no walls can hold,
a restless spirit for all to behold.
Wild comes a calling and she'll put her foot out the door
calling softly "My true love,my one love I come"
Sep 22, 2010
Sep 22, 2010 at 9:56 PM UTC
Sometimes we have a life long dream...
but not sure where to start....
and sometimes we must go to the extreme..
with a thought that's not so smart....
It started with an issue..
she knew she had to resolve..
Unaware of her options, but knew it had to be solved..
He destroyed the girl that she had been...
destroyed the world she had lived in...
She weighed the pro's and the con's..
and concluded it had to do with ponds...
So she set out on a mission..
and decided to save for her own condition.
A well deserved vacation in the " Florida Keys"..
for her and her honey , and with his money....
The months how they passed...
So slowly, then at last...
The day they left was 20 below..Brrr..cold
Soon they were driving down Old Cheney Road..
A backwoods road where the St. Johns' River flowed..
I hear the fishing there is great...
You'll get a bite with very little bait..
They reached the lake in the early morn..
and that is where her plot was born..
She poured the coffee she had made..
and laced it with some " gator aide "....
Here my love she said so sweetly..
I made this special for you my sweetie..
The cast was made, the bait was set..
No reason for her to sweat or fret...
Eyes did close and body went limp..
She started to shake and then thought..
Come on girl be strong don't be a wimp..
No one knows we're here or where we're at..
She rolled the body to the edge of the water...
heard a splash !..it was only an otter...
Within a flash, the body was trash...
there must have been 20 gators below..
ripping and flipping the body about..
She packed up and decided to go back the scenic route....
post note: I've always wanted to be my own boss, and now due to my recent loss..
The Insurance is an assurance and I don't have to wait...
I'll open a store and call it " GATOR BAIT "
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 2:32 PM UTC
The woman paid money-
Three hundred it’s said-
To help change her life
But she ended up dead.
A voodoo priest promised
To alter her fate,
but all he accomplished
was speeding up her due date..
The candles were lit
on his bedroom floor there.
The priest and the woman
Shortly after went bare
“Oh, Father!” she murmured
“You’re sure looking swell!
Now come do that Voodoo
That you do so well.”
As they bounced on the bed
A candle placed there
Fell down and ignited
Clothes piled on a chair.
The supplicant woman
And the priest, now defrocked,
At first didn’t notice
while they were hip locked.
But first they smelled smoke
And then they saw fire.
They had no clothes and no means
to extinguish their pyre..
The voodoo priest’s roommate
Was ironing pants
When he heard the commotion
It didn’t sound like romance.
When he opened the door
To go to their aide
A strong gust of wind
Added fuel to the flame
A blazing inferno
engulfed the whole room
what had been their temple
was shortly their tomb.
The tenants all fled
As the night burned bright red
They had only the clothes on their backs
Reports said.
When you next do the voodoo
That you do so well
Skip the part with the candles
And you may live to tell.
Dec 10, 2011
Dec 10, 2011 at 9:44 PM UTC
Toutes les histoires sont comme un miroir,
Deux faces, deux versions, deux reflets.
Pourtant le notre ne me montre que ce que je veux voir,
Au secours, j'ai besoin d'aide, notre miroir est brisé.
Cette nuit j'ai dessiné ton visage sur mes rêves, à la craie
Ce matin ta peau était encore collée à ma joue
J'ai essayé de t'arracher, mais tu étais enfoncée comme un clou,
Au secours, j'ai besoin d'aide, je n'arrive pas à t'effacer.
Tu restes là sans être présente,
Ta voix me répète encore que "j'ai dû me tromper"
J'avoue avoir eu tort de penser que tu m'avais laissée
Au secours, j'ai besoin d'aide, ton fantôme me hante.
Mon étoile brille encore moins que tes émeraudes
Nos erreurs m'agressent, comme nos insultes en écho
Ce n'était pas prévu que tout se termine dans un tel chaos
Au secours, j'ai besoin d'aide pour réparer ce désordre.
J'ai lutté de toutes mes forces pour te chasser de mon esprit,
Mais tu reviens à la charge, le soir juste avant de dormir
Toute seule avec ta voix qui me guide pour écrire,
Au secours, j'ai besoin d'aide, tu me fais sombrer dans la folie.
Aujourd'hui j'ai tellement peur que tu ne veuilles plus que je revienne,
Et je ne suis même pas sûre de le vouloir moi-même
Je me fais encore du mal, mais on récolte ce que l'on sème
Au secours, j'ai besoin d'aide, je voulais juste que tu me retiennes.
Ton ombre me suit partout en chantant Clementine,
Mais il n'y a plus d'éveil aux émeraudes depuis longtemps
Le silence me rend muette, je ne respire plus comme avant
J'ai dérivé ; au secours, j'ai besoin d'Aide..line.
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 3:56 PM UTC
She owns the brightest smile
that could light the streets for miles
She has the bravery to tame the wildest beast
yet, she see's non of these
Once upon a time--not so long ago
she decided that luxury is what she would forgo
so her dreams would not fall,
Her creations could be describe with anything, but banal
What a hardy choice she made
in a crooked world with no aide
She has the strength of ten men
like finest steel she would be hard to bend
like the toughest riddle i could never solve her
on these facts there is no err
It's rare that anyone would catch the impossible girl,
she appears only to those cut from the same burl
Impossible as it seems,
I will catch her--and not only in my dreams
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 1:50 PM UTC
hark near!
speak knives upon ears...
make them plea,
and beg upon swollen knees.
for we are truly so,
the ones in which we sow
coagulated clots into a beaded necklace,
blood berries--blood berries
of an aching vocabulary's.
waiting.
begging.
pleading for one swipe.
aching for someone to hurt,
and hope they fully bleed at night.
we merely want to help,
aide the eulogies and add a scissor kiss,
to the concoction of labor,
and amalgamation of agony,
in order to spice,
and to cease.
nothing but a sweet disease
for the white blood cells,
and wish you deep luck,
on a tall grass journey.
we simply wish for ****
after ****
and smile when you still go up running,
blood stained grin after blood stained grin,
and spitting saucers of cut lips upon your hurt cheeks.
spit teacups
and an half full glass
have nothing to do with a child
or years of class.
you may think we're nothing but a nuance,
and don't mean anything but to watch you cook your own brain,
but we are simply here,
to help you on the chair,
and tighten your own noose.
save the ache of being petty,
and moans of disgrace,
we're here to swallow your pity,
and make you drink your own ****
simply--surely--simply and surely so,
but we don't mean anything but to guide you to the ditch,
with slices of paper from rusted scissors,
and help you die with your pitch.
you're one of those, are you not? a ********* and nothing more?
you'd best be reminded,
that what is a song,
without its poem?
you have nothing to fear but your own tongue,
and your own blood,
and your own tears,
and make you think you're nothing but clod.
but you'd best be sweating salver if you really are what you say you are.
a place with no shelter?
no story to show?
no roof and no halter?
no place to know?
for the earth mirrors the heavens
and you place what lays between.
you are truly pathetic--but you scribble that.
you are truly meaningless--but you bleed that.
you are truly wordless--but you speak them.
and no one--not even us--can tell you what you really are.
and if you really are what you say you are--then show us.
but don't prove it.
remember, you have a noose that is tight.
all you need is a chair to kick over...
and paper--and pencil--and keyboard--and mind.
now, go ahead and tell me what you are...
the naive scholar for all mankind.
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 11:15 AM UTC
Blast it!
We've put our eggs
in the wrong basket,
and now Little Liberty has dropped them.
She's dropped them.
She's dropped them!
She certainly did,
She dropped them!
Each egg splits, cracks, breaks,
all despite Liberty's bleeding
colors. Faded, young
hatching prematurely;
before their time.
Liberty heard her love-
boyish ruckus in The Bush.
Hurriedly she did run;
giving all her aide.
Unfortunately, careless Liberty did not see:
All our eggs are handled irresponsibly.
Soon after little Liberty's Bush date,
she saw what she could only surmount to fate:
Poster slapped to said Holy Tree,
plastered with Allah's face.
Hating those jihadist anyway,
Ignorant Liberty unloaded her bounty-
upon the sacred man's face.
It took a while
till Liberty thought,
looking down,
but by then,
we all thought it all too late.
But ,Little Liberty being supreme,
(totally Grade A,)
finally remembered to put the lid down.
Ah, now that should seal our fate,
her reasoning as she bounced and pranced away.
But just before she reached her people,
her sickness burst,
her pride was shook,
she couldn't show her face.
Afraid of what her people might say-
she reopened said lid, state of panic
flipped the basket promptly 'round.
All the little eggs crumbling to the ground.
Babies dispersed;
Children burnt and broken;
not to mention all the vital yolk;
nasty stuff and what a mess-
now onward to face my people.
But all is well;
she gives her spiel
about the alleged evil-doers.
People line-up,
hypnotized-
ready to give their last;
service, duty, and loyalty too
all for Little Miss Liberty.
Quite the siren, ain't she?
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 10:50 PM UTC
If everything could make sense, I'd be tortured from all the boredom
I'd be living in discontent, so thank whomever for surprises
And sometimes the gifts that curse us most, or that cause problems even pain
Are the best ones to remember because we've learned how to live again
A new perspective causes growth and that leads us to new horizons
As the shadows follow closely we carry shame but call them burdens
I'm not sure how many possibilities I've thrown away
But today...I've decided to keep them all
I have two feet on the ground, and a head above the trees
I see dreams appearing beautifully into reality
I have things that are simply priceless and a wish I hold on to
Its the wish I'll always wish for you
Gifts are always better when they come from a stranger teaching kindness to a splinter in a soul
I feel for you
So I write about the love, and jealousy and the pain
All the emotions that drive us to something we can all relive again
Like a band aide covers scars, I blanket ignorance
I'd like to keep it in the dark, and try to capture it then release it
Off into the world, with different forms of contribution
Because giving is the secret to life
And my life, is worth living to give
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 3:36 AM UTC
Your hateful words lash out and cut me open wide
My heart is bleeding an unarmed, gaping laceration
You drink willingly from the drops of blood I’ve cried
I tirelessly try to search your dark eyes for reparation
Your smile let’s me know that you have found pleasure
You want to see me hurt and I have made it all so easy
In my heart your disrespect has been hidden like a treasure
Words of regret come so quick I know it’s to appease me
It is no accident that you are able to drain me of emotion
This pain is all I have ever seen and all that I have known
Without pain there is no understanding of devotion
So much in love with the performance I have deeply grown
You use sorry as a band-aide to patch the deepened scars
I have heard it so so many times throughout the years
Your words have wounded me like the numbers of stars
I see that you have become drunk thirsting for my tears
You play me like the marionette made of strings and bone
I dance around like a fool for you in my steely iron chains
I have a much greater fear of being so desperately alone
That I have erased any memory of strength that remains
The only thing that is missing is the violence in your hands
Although in time those scars will begin to slowly fade away
I much prefer the lasting pain that killing my soul demands
I can hold on much more tightly to the divisive words you say
In my silence you see weakness but I just don’t want to fight
I don’t understand love without pain that cuts me to the core
And while I cry because it still hurts, inside I love the spite
I must love it like no other thing; I keep coming back for more
Jan 19, 2011
Jan 19, 2011 at 3:09 PM UTC
When again in Joyous MAE
where Weeping willows bow and sway
and Martin swoops from hollowed eave
to where Victoria bids us leave
down railway track by home bound Duck
and motion sickness makes us Chuck
smelling salts from moonlight blossoms
as Marian asks what's a possum
Hilda and Tim try to explain
as Bala steps onto this train
he greets with smiles sweet Linda there
as Edward offers him a chair
Thoughts Forgotten as we chill
my Dry Sapphire Gin I knock and spill
cussing Profanity too loud
I shock so many of this crowd
Sammi Sweetie red of face
covers the ears of Madison Grace
Jerelii turns to poor Prabhu
and asks him soft what can we do
Frederick hands to her a tissue
and Vijay says good luck I wish you
Rena Em and poor old Quentin
have not returned when they were sent in
offering advice and gentle aide
and Lee and Jimmy knelt and prayed
Harlow ran and Blackmire followed
both too afraid their courage swallowed
Floaters pointed to Anon C
and said aloud you come with me
Something we knew was ours has gone
but look his Sisters just got on
So Daytonight spoke I'll cuff his ears
to stop him swearing now my dears
Embers knew shed blow her top
so quickly Rose and said ... My stop
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 11:04 PM UTC
My body is wet, and slick
writhing from pain somewhere within
and still there is a smile on my face,
for every grimace for every single sin.
I don't mean to be this way,
it's a coping mechanism, long been taught
and i live this daily battle,
til my mind is subconscious and overwrought.
I mean to love you,
and i'm sorry if it's just too much,
that it begins with some words,
and it begs for my sublime touch.
For i am superbly subliminal consciously,
with every note i speak,
and i cannot help that i love you,
for my heart is tough but weak.
And the crowds are laughing,
the cupboard is lacking and bare,
and i sit here and sigh,
whilst you sit with them and stare.
Wait for me to fall for you,
then beg me to stay,
tell i am beautiful, enlightening, precocious and rare,
and then take it away.
I can hear my heart pushing at the black of the sweat,
and i am partially here nor there,
and i am partially yours whether you want me,
under the weight of your succinct stare.
But your victory over me
is not through the love for me that you wish,
it is rather through your rejection,
best served cold, in a hand for a dish.
Nevermind my worries, nor my cares,
I know i am of no consequence nor thought,
of everything in your daily life,
but trouble i seem to have brought.
My dear, my darling, my love, my quarry,
I seek nothing but silence with you,
for i know at least your words,
once uttered, is a missile projected from you.
I am sweat and hard work,
I am scary, new and everything you fear,
but your rejection, though rough,
is what i expected, my dear.
There is nothing i can expect,
you will not allow yourself to become tainted by me,
and my devils they call to my aide,
to show you the wrong side of being free.
You are not willing through self righteous fear
of being covered in the dirt of my love and care,
and when you are not looking,
i am always really, just here, and there.
To want is to suffer,
of this i know which is to be true,
i was sent you in a lesson to learn,
and i was meant to learn from, about, and in you.
I have a wet, slick, black wanton spirit,
there is no innocence in my blue eyes,
for everything i love within myself,
is equally something there to despise.
There is no crowd now,
there is abrupt silence in the dried up air,
intake of acrid, wanton, holy breath,
to see if you really do truly care.
And this aint no love song,
there are no guitar rifts or longing in the chorus of a singular word,
i merely cannot understand you, to love you
and my flight is as free as a bird.
I am wet, and slick, from lack of sleep,
there is something of you inside my head
and every night i wish i was dreaming,
but i think of you instead.
My love,
my quarrel,
my fear,
my future.
Never have dis-pleasured someone so much,
with a singular, single, millimetre of tingle of a touch.
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 6:16 PM UTC