"airshow" poems - Hello Poetry

every memory ends up like a kamikaze airshow, where they end up hydroplaning on the air in panic during the most vulnerable moments, and the crash leaves demolition and a small indention in the creases of my skin. my pain is broadcasted to an audience of one, myself. my name does not end up in the history books nor does yours, but the pain still broadcasts itself on the theater screen inside the crown of my skull. it is like watching a kamikaze airshow, where the planes are aimed towards me. i wonder if it's just me in the planes or if you have many different lives and it's normal for you to die so many times and not feel pain. - kra

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Jan 7, 2015

Jan 7, 2015 at 3:50 AM UTC

screampoetry

kamikaze airshow

every memory ends up like a kamikaze airshow, where they end up hydroplaning on the air in panic during the most vulnerable moments, and the crash leaves demolition and a small indention in the creases of my skin. my pain is broadcasted to an audience of one, myself. my name does not end up in the history books nor does yours, but the pain still broadcasts itself on the theater screen inside the crown of my skull. it is like watching a kamikaze airshow, where the planes are aimed towards me. i wonder if it's just me in the planes or if you have many different lives and it's normal for you to die so many times and not feel pain. - kra

15

I want to knock out all your teeth with airborne nuggets of wisdom. I want your empty gums to bleed with pain and hatred and progress. I want you to cut your hair off, collect the locks, and throw them at the trees in the afternoon, for sanity's sake, and I want the clouds sunk into your head to spell out like an airshow, "I am Real, Valid, and going to die." Sometimes sitting straight up in bed has its purpose, pulling the blanket to the floor and humming all those songs without words, it's like therapy, like rest, like wood. The Lord will find his face formed in your gnarls, and he will cry. He will say he loved you since the beginning, since you pierced your nose, and that it doesn't matter that you look down more often than ahead, and that your sighs grow flowers at your feet.

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Aug 29, 2014

Aug 29, 2014 at 11:30 AM UTC

nemo

pretty world

I want to knock out all your teeth with airborne nuggets of wisdom. I want your empty gums to bleed with pain and hatred and progress. I want you to cut your hair off, collect the locks, and throw them at the trees in the afternoon, for sanity's sake, and I want the clouds sunk into your head to spell out like an airshow, "I am Real, Valid, and going to die." Sometimes sitting straight up in bed has its purpose, pulling the blanket to the floor and humming all those songs without words, it's like therapy, like rest, like wood. The Lord will find his face formed in your gnarls, and he will cry. He will say he loved you since the beginning, since you pierced your nose, and that it doesn't matter that you look down more often than ahead, and that your sighs grow flowers at your feet.

30

On Camera My life is like a movie Seeing that replica Mustang roll in and crash at the airshow My life is like a movie Witnessing an ex dealer who'd just been shot in his home My life is like a movie Viewing Oldham riots on TV that were five minutes away My life is like a movie Gazing down upon Manila Bay at the enduring sunrise from Bataan My life is like a movie Observing different people and cultures in a dozen countries My life is like a movie Glancing at my thigh as the tattooist inks my goth girl tattoo My life is like a movie Noticing the Mancunian drunks fighting on the nightbus home My life is like a movie Gaping in desolation at the coffin that contains my mum My life is like a movie Watching the mad Irish man loop the Grumman Duck in Murphy's Law My life is like a movie Admiring the **** girls I've nailed in the big bakery My life is like a movie Scrutinizing the Asians to see if they'll try to assault me My life is like a movie Eyeballing my soon to be ex friend who's kissing my girlfriend My life is like a movie Focusing on the road ahead as I illegally race the other car My life is like a movie Staring at the men lying by the kerb wondering are they dead? My life is like a movie Studying the vertical cliff above me to find a way up My life is like a movie Peering into the sky to find my dad's ghost that's up there My life is like a movie Scanning at my wage slip to see if my pay will cover my beer and bills My life is like a movie Regarding my mate who just vomited up his kebab and chips My life is like a movie Glimpsing the chavs fighting the teenage couple over the river My life is like a movie Right till my last breath and final vision when my Goddess takes me home

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Apr 18, 2018

Apr 18, 2018 at 12:20 PM UTC

My parents and I lay on our backs rubbing our distended tummies, pre-diabetic and post-pacemaker chests sighing and whispering **** under our breath. Thank God for television, without it we would have abandoned each other years ago. We'd have nothing left to talk about. I sit up and rub my left arm to get the numbness out. I do so casually, so as not to make a scene. I should ask dad for the blood pressure machine, but it'd lead to an argument over my health and it's only just an anxiety attack and I can't bear to hear any more yelling. I force my mind to a calmer place: the parking lot last Saturday, when we sat in the sun and I made shadow shapes over the black top with my hands. I like doing things that draw attention to my fingers; they are the only part of me still thin. "Look," I said, "I made a four-legged creature!" "Yeah," you laughed, "if the creature were dying of rabies." Just then a jet flew overhead, airshow bound. "Look," I pointed, excited but in vain, trying to breathe life into you, "It's like our own free performance!" "Cool," you said with a half-smile. Your eyes gave it away; you didn't give a **** It made me feel childlike. This is one of my sweetest memories of you. I snap back to the present, rub my left arm. The ***** creeps it's way into my throat and I swallow it back down. At least the anxiety has subsided, it gave up on me and handed itself over to sadness. Easier to deal with. I guess I'll try to sleep.

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Oct 4, 2017

Oct 4, 2017 at 1:53 AM UTC

laurendelore

When the Damage is Done

My parents and I lay on our backs rubbing our distended tummies, pre-diabetic and post-pacemaker chests sighing and whispering **** under our breath. Thank God for television, without it we would have abandoned each other years ago. We'd have nothing left to talk about. I sit up and rub my left arm to get the numbness out. I do so casually, so as not to make a scene. I should ask dad for the blood pressure machine, but it'd lead to an argument over my health and it's only just an anxiety attack and I can't bear to hear any more yelling. I force my mind to a calmer place: the parking lot last Saturday, when we sat in the sun and I made shadow shapes over the black top with my hands. I like doing things that draw attention to my fingers; they are the only part of me still thin. "Look," I said, "I made a four-legged creature!" "Yeah," you laughed, "if the creature were dying of rabies." Just then a jet flew overhead, airshow bound. "Look," I pointed, excited but in vain, trying to breathe life into you, "It's like our own free performance!" "Cool," you said with a half-smile. Your eyes gave it away; you didn't give a **** It made me feel childlike. This is one of my sweetest memories of you. I snap back to the present, rub my left arm. The ***** creeps it's way into my throat and I swallow it back down. At least the anxiety has subsided, it gave up on me and handed itself over to sadness. Easier to deal with. I guess I'll try to sleep.

26