"backlights" poems
I wish my heart didn’t get juiced from the sight of you
It’s been too long since I have really seen you for that thought to be true
It’s a memory, fair enough
Memories can’t be trusted anymore than Donald Trump
Though we never discussed him
I know you’re disgusted
The same way I was when I realized that you loved him
Not Trump
but someone I despise just as much
Well that’s the past
What’s passed is past but what hurts so bad is the fact that it’s happened **** near
every
day
since
Still I see your still photo and
every
muscle
gets
tense
You’re a reflection on a mirror that contained all of my dreams
I would have let you be queen
You would probably be as happy as could be
You probably are happy as can be
But even if you aren’t there’s no way for any of us to see
That side of the camera phone
That shows you’re all alone
Or how it took you seven tries to get an angle you can show
To all of your friends
Let’s not pretend that we will ever be friendly
I thought you were my best but a test proved you we’re no friend to me
Now I don’t believe in love
And I never believed in destiny
But if I ever fall in love then let destiny take the best of me
As for the rest of me
I know he dies when I meet her
I’m still the same old piece of ****
You left behind an evil creature
That’s how I know I never had
an angel at home
So I let you go
A little dirt on your feet is okay if you know
that your life will go on
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 11:44 PM UTC
i hope you
have a safe
night of nice
dreams after
busting your
headlights
bringing down
all the streetlights
for mocking the stars
some of us stay
in the dark for the company
of our own kind please turn
out your porchlights
dim your gadget screen
backlights and unplug
all your nightlights
don't you dare
insult the moon
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 4:40 AM UTC
With this smug grin across my face,
I sit NEXT to the Breakfast of Champions
The Black Tie Affair occurring above my crown,
A cacophony of sounds occurring near me,
Providing I sound I love, but a sound I’ve yet to be seasoned enough to mimic
And the veterans that sit at the table,
Look down upon us,
Happily supporting us, supporting me,
With their “Good job, son,” and their
“Here’s looking at you, kid”
But The ruckus of their laughs and cheers preventing me from hearing them
Assuring we princes and princesses have a chance at true royalty,
And the warm light emits from above their table
Unable for me to see, backlights them,
So that the shadows deter me from discerning the support on their faces,
.
I Feast on a synthetic chocolate cake,
Straight out of the Easy Bake Oven,
While the princes and princesses amongst which I sit
Eat their convenient store cookies whilst looking towards me, and admire.
I drink my Citrus punch out of a glass,
But my royal peers are degraded to quenching their thirst out of a cardboard box,
While the princes and princesses amongst which I sit,
Drink their grape juice whilst looking towards me, and admire.
And foolishly they do,
Because only my throne is high enough,
To see the meals we could be dining on,
The elegant and prestigious silverware we could admire,
And only my throne is high enough,
To realize how low we truly all sit.
Sep 30, 2011
Sep 30, 2011 at 1:16 PM UTC
Where I was blind, you touched me and I saw
That my Body is an intercity Map site and I see my bright night-lights
Red lights of a thousand backlights glowing like a wash of neon blood down the streets of my veins
I am Dark and I am Lovely
My safe havens are illuminated for the tired of Life, the hopeless of Living
Huddled in my corners are parts of my Soul I let no one else see
Each one is a little lost girl whose outstretched hand you take, whose small
Clammy fingers you clasp as you lead Her
Like a guiding moth to the buzzing brightness of the streetlamps.
May 24, 2012
May 24, 2012 at 12:07 AM UTC
An Exercise in Love
~for Jackson Allen
My friend wears my scarf at his waist
I give him moonstones
He gives me shell & seaweeds
He comes from a distant city & I meet him
We will plant eggplants & celery together
He weaves me cloth
Many have brought the gifts
I use for his pleasure
silk, & green hills
& heron the color of dawn
My friend walks soft as a weaving on the wind
He backlights my dreams
He has built altars beside my bed
I awake in the smell of his hair & cannot remember
his name, or my own.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 5:44 PM UTC
my social skills are painted by bubblegum lipstick and the ash of my lucky cigarette in a pack I found from a few weeks back
one more pill, one more line, another sip
another white lie, stale cigarette smoke filling up the back of my throat
buried in the depths of my backpack along with old makeup that makes me feel made up,
made up of small talk and old inside jokes
i thought would last longer then the last drag you took before you used it to finish the masterpiece you call a night out with people you think you need the most.
but they're just as made up as you.
made up just like the taste of that bubblegum flavor that lasts as long as the last drag.
as long as it takes to paint yourself into the crowd of the social scene.
the socialist you thought you could be under the lowlights and backlights where even darkest whites could've bloomed in the corner of that crowded room, where the lucky eventually ended, and the lights eventually dimmed, and the made up small talk fades into the faces you won't remember in the morning, along with the polished insecurities you learned to forget forgetting that you painted yourself to fit in.
fitted into that party that didn't even matter a few weeks back.
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 8:40 AM UTC
I imagine you standing there, flicking your hair
and the red glow of some sign backlights you
so your silhouette is dark, moody
like the leather jacket you always wear-
but to be ironic
because you're like that
My eyes can just make out the flicker of your pupils
under spidery lashes
and you give me a smirk
because you know I'm watching
I seem to be always watching you
You're leaning in that funny way again
like up against a wall, only there's not one there
your head cocked to the side
as you wait for something to happen
I am the one to make the move,
because I always am,
and you don't hesitate before grabbing my elbow
and we race off into the night
the puddles soaking your scuffed boots
and the cuffs of your jeans
You smell of smoke and that cologne you always wear
and I am desperate to keep you with me
because you are the closest thing to perfect that I know
I imagine you grab my waist
and you tell me all the things I have always wanted to hear
and it isn't enough.
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 10:54 PM UTC
the backlights next to the large bottles of forget
and they are appealing on the surface
but behind them there is dust
fleeting, window surfing, window shopping
judgments quickly make you stuffed
you think you got it all figured out
but then you're left in the white room with your dark pencil, again
scribbling frustrations, oh the strategies never end
is it the chase? the chase can be fun
is it fun? the fun can be dangerous
is it the danger? Perhaps
flip a coin, you win one
flip it twice, win twice,
flip it three times, and the chase is fixation
banging pots and pans together, tin to block out the noise
the coins, the metal, seeping into the skin,
wash the hands, start all over again
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 4:31 PM UTC
my love language is silence
written into the script:
moments of lapsed conversation
where all is tranquil and serene.
or when we forget our lines and sit
in hushed reverence,
allowing one another’s stage presence
to wash over us like the backlights.
invisible audiences hold bated breath
waiting for a twist, a shock
but a twist, we have not rehearsed
instead we allow the unscripted silence
to wash over us in reverent bliss
our conjoined souls just content
allowing our minds to diverge
as long as we are together in the silence.
Jan 10, 2020
Jan 10, 2020 at 1:24 AM UTC
Cars flying by like Airplane’s in the Night
Create a stream of colour, like an ocean of Light.
Firefly backlights swim on a toxic cloud of Blight
Leading me down their path of Flight.
I- Oh, the path is closed.
End of the Road.
Aug 13, 2020
Aug 13, 2020 at 10:29 AM UTC
I
It’s not what you and I expected
The opposite actually
Nights are a lot darker out here
The dozen spindly legs of insects crawl
Across my foot to prey on some poor roach
But I still talk to you when you aren’t listening
Out past the fields of nothingness and livestock,
Where the car headlights freeze Armadillos
And crack their shells like eggs in a pan
I will wait for that day
The day you come to me and I tell you
That dream still waits for you
II
I can’t drive without grimacing
The roadkill piles atop each other
Deer, boars, Coyotes
When it's all done
They leave the same red mark
You probably don’t see this in the city
The black eyes of an animal punctured
By a white gem-like dot shining
Before sunrise, the body is coated in fresh dew
I’ll stay where I am, waiting for you
III
There’s a dysfunctional couple
that fights upstairs above me
Nearby the cars race for their kind of high
The backlights behind the building of a restaurant
Makes its way around the corners of my walls
I thought I saw you, again
Looking from outside my window
Walking past me on the sidewalk
Opening the door from within my closet
Listening when I wasn’t talking
Did you see me break glass at my feet?
The hydrogen peroxide sting reminds me
To remember you once waited for me
Oct 11, 2021
Oct 11, 2021 at 2:02 PM UTC