"becky" poems
Swept into a space too small to hold me.
His eyes put me there at first glance.
The containment welcome as I had to catch my breath.
Mesmerized by the shape of his features!
Oh what a beautiful man he is.
Everything about him screams alive.
Swept into his land of him and the pleasure he gives.
Held close by his attention and sweet words.
His allure carefully crafted with his heartless soul.
Mesmerized by his amazing mouth and touch.
Oh what a beautiful man he is.
Everything about him screams desire.
Swept into his land of lies and deception.
Confusion is abound as I hit the ground.
No longer blind to his games and fake love.
Mesmerized by my inability to make truth real.
Oh what a beautiful man he is.
Everything about him screams need.
Swept into his land of pain and sorrow.
Reality is so hard to maintain in my mind.
His web woven in captivating moments.
Mesmerized by the memories of us in love.
Oh what a beautiful man he is.
Everything about him screams mine.
Swept into his land of closure.
My feelings slowly matching the reality I despise.
The need for him fills every inch of me.
Mesmerized by how weak I've become.
Oh what a beautiful man he is.
Everything about him screams player.
Swept into his land of done.
He won't give any part of him to sooth me.
Nothing he has is for me as he is over it.
Mesmerized by my lack of composure.
Oh what a beautiful man he is.
Everything about him screams deception.
Swept into my land of reality.
He is gone and I am so alone.
Cut off from the ability to find new love.
Mesmerized by my denial of his lack.
Oh what a beautiful man he is.
Everything about him screams ouch.
Becky Jo Gibson 2-26-16
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 3:32 PM UTC
It's Funny how such Energy persist
When the Fourth Great Angel told me to Prud,
Staking Green Papers for her to insist
And see whether I behave or becrud
Even when the Situation intensed
By the Fallen One a Coward-for-Words
She took the Shield; And gave a Good Defense,
Plucking Feathers dearly in Screams they heard
You are the Heroine mostly Admire
In Duty latest Feelings compensate
Seven Wings drop by, waiting for Desire,
The Good Kind which all Good Women must take.
Wait for the other Four whilst keeping Knots
As the Boy in Blue Trunks took his Time forgot.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 6:55 AM UTC
What I really want to know,
Is while her frock flies to and fro,
Have you really seen her knees?
Her toes are an absolute pleasure,
her ankles are fun to measure,
Despite all this fun at leisure,
I'm a stranger to those knees.
She'd rather charm and please,
Tantalize, tickle and tease,
Than show those blasted knees!
And when I tell her so-
She'll display her elbow
and say "They're just the same,
with a different name".
Some day in her eyes, lemon I’ll squirt,
then quickly tear the hem of her skirt
And take a good look at those knees.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 6:30 AM UTC
~
remnants of
afore night’s grieving
before her on the table lie,
echoes of her sobbing
tears from last night's cry;
boxes of his cards,
handwritten letters,
a schoolboy’s pictures,
the wadded tissues
lie in random crumples,
for his silent laughter,
his fading whispers;
the one remaining lock
of hair she used to rumple;
the invisibly present
drying tearful brine
to table salt reduced;
the how remembered,
the when recalled,
the why that's yet
to be deduced.
each a remnant of
her softened weeping,
each a minder of
a mother of a sorrow,
a son-of-a-gun,
don’t-know-if
i’ll-make-it-to tomorrow,
reminders of
a yesternight’s cry;
the remnants of
afore night’s grieving
that on her table lie;
the six-years-ago,
still-can’t-believe-it,
never-ending-long...
goodbye.
~
post script.
*"her smile...
’tis the thinnest veil o'er a razor's edge,
it can ne’er conceal her bleeding heart..."
like the spiraling whirlpool
like leaves bowing to winter
it's palpable, predictable,
a seasonal forecast...
guess it's just
that time of year.*
***for Becky,
for Tonya,
for Andrea,
for all
grieving mothers
everywhere***
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 2:03 PM UTC
Becky turns on her radio
It’s 4’oclock you see
Says she’s got a date with just me
Her Keds dazzled in red
With thoughts of Psychedelic Furs in her head
Thomas headin home
On the floor of ole truck lies his 80s comb
Hasn’t seen old school in years
The thought brings him to tears
Michael’s on a break
Wants to take time by the lake
Thinkin about Sarah
And that iconic leg warmer era
When she hadn’t worn waterproof mascara
Sarah walkin thru the old store
Hears em say, vintage is a good score
Records musty smell
Makes her feel swell
Polaroid on a shelf
Drifts back to a time of her younger self
Instant prints
Memory hints
Friends together
In spring weather
High school dance
Parachute pants
Puffy sleeve print
Tubular and mint
Neon color
Teenage pustalar
This much is true
With a Converse shoe
Glares, stares and dares
Waves in their hair
Synth-pop
They bop
First crush
They blush
Friendship pins
Shy grins
Floppy disks
The unsaved risks
Laughs enter
In present time
Fallen purse
Fate or curse
Hand holds out a dime
Blank look
Like a old good book
Mumble jumble
Who do you see
lookin back at me
In a flash
It all goes past
Familiar face
Of time & place
If you leave
No one would believe
Together again
It was then
When they remembered when
Apr 3, 2019
Apr 3, 2019 at 10:20 PM UTC
I fell in love with the weird, the chaotic.
I mean.
Have you ever considered what the shaky man at the end of the street was screaming?
Have you ever found order in the chaos of a Jackson *******
Einstein may have been famous for E=MC squared,
but he also determined that S=KlogW.
Order tends to move to disorder as time progresses.
Tell me you don’t warm at the sight of a toddler with ice cream down her dress, sitting in a mud pile with only one sock on one foot, one pigtail half done, and one smile plastered across her indifferent face.
The road of exes I’ve left behind is wrought with Star Trekkies, cult members, and bi polar ********
but here I stand begging for more.
My BFF Becky,
who’s really my therapist Karen,
says I’m seeking inspiration.
But the shaky man on the corner who sometimes thinks he’s God
says that I’m Galileo.
And I’d rather believe him.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 10:40 PM UTC
Thump Thump
Said the beat of my heart.
Perfectly synchronized with the
Bump Bump
Of her heart.
Two sets of lips inching up either side of his thighs,
Spread wide apart.
The melody of his respiration lost in the rhythm of his inspiration
Rhythmic
Swayed two tongues
Twenty fingers
Two bra straps undone.
Two heads of curls
Curled around one head
One hell of a baptism
Christened upon the holy sheets of the bed.
Two trails of saliva...
Describe to me the sensation of tongue on skin;
Offers of salvation for the sins that lie within.
Her eyes are alluring.
Bright eyes .
Chariot to heaven
He's got an Angel on each thigh.
That's two tongues
Crying,
One to devour each side.
Mesmerized
Spread wings and fly;
Hypnotized.
When you arrive at the pearly gate, we told him
Just come inside.
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 11:57 AM UTC
To: Thomas
Message: hey did u reed that bok
bout Chauser cuz i didnt
get it. Its jus 2 hard 2
read n i dont kno y
we r doin this.
I meen we r good @ talkin
in our english so y r we
reedin all of this ol ****
Who needs it or even cares?
Canterbury Tales? Mor lik
#icantspellbarytails!
LOL. its like 2 long but
txt me bk cuz I dont get it
n ned help 4 the test.
TTYL, busy day sooo gotta g
~<3 Becky
Sent at 2:00pm April 2, 2011
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 4:54 PM UTC
Stranger in a strange land
Roaming the halls.
Lost between the feet of giants.
Outnumbered. Outmatched.
The lunchroom.
Already?
Where to sit? Who to talk to?
Salisbury steak. Yes.
Always analyzing.
Sitting with seniors.
How’d that happen?
Their excitement is my fear.
A friend. Finally.
Becky.
Yellow vehicle of safety.
Home.
I made it.
Only 719 more days to go.
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 7:52 PM UTC
It tastes like purple
dripping of sugar and avoidance
in a circle
of loitering semi-pubescents.
Wooden sticks
precariously cling to
misshapened ice nuggets
in varying stages of licked, bitten and
melted.
School was out.
Hormones were in.
From the other hand
Becky sipped the ****** of
Strawberry Hill.
She knew things
she shouldn't know.
I wanted to know them too.
Looking over kitschy glasses
her gaze announced
(much to a young boy's excitement and fear)
she was bound
to kiss me.
At the awkward crossroad of
popsicle innocence and cheap wine
I stood clutching
my little piece of lumber
fighting sticky fingers
and the urge
to drink my first liquor
from her lips.
There is no such thing as
12 year old mojo.
The boy's experience
was only under-dated
by the alcohol in the pretty container.
She didn't care
about mojo or
decorum or
crowds.
She cared about RIGHT NOW.
She was an evangelist for the cause,
asking forgiveness
instead of permission
for her lust
...and I was being converted.
Hitchless
she walk into the face
of a clueless child,
tilted her head
and baptized his mouth
in ***** and braggadocio.
It didn't taste like purple anymore.
It tasted like America pie and graduation.
Her unseen signature
authenticates my diploma.
I am still a patriot.
And a warm piece still reminds me
of Strawberry Hill.
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 1:39 AM UTC
Crawls out of tree trimming truck
Open windows, vacancy
Passer by calls out, “Home, Sweet Home”
Smile replies “Good morning projects”
Stretch, yawn, alive another day
Stacks in hand, bravado declares
“Hey, it just takes twenty to roll.”
Cars roll up, dealing time
“Mother **** get off my line”
If his head wasn’t cracked like a fish on a hook
He could have made serious book
Screens left in car pockets, empty balloons on asphalt
**** this player’s playin’
Strawberries crawl out of woodwork
Rocks off for rocks transactions—no cash pay
Maybe this one will let you stay
Yo Becky, how are your kids?
**** ups from the past recite their script,
“You going to cop?”
Sprung like a Safeway chicken
You know the drill, just walk it off
Strung out with eyes afire
Well acquainted with your veins
Taking care to bleach needles
What about bloodied syringes, *** brains?
Got in trouble with your boys again
This time there’s no runnin’ anywhere
Pulled you off the top of the fence
Almost left your finger up there
Took a ride in an ambulance
Was it fun?
Your little sister and I flew
Picked you up from County UCLA Harbor
She cried the second she saw you
Don’t know if you even saw her
Since your eye was out of socket
Went up north to heal but started to deal
Big sister’s growing skunk
Little brother’s in Chino with Ming Tai
Big brother’s on America’s Most Wanted
Is this typical projects funk?
Brothers, sisters, homeboys, sensei all had voices
You had talent, promise but made other choices
Maybe now, brother, you can rest in peace
Here lies Shawn
All his heroes were dealers
Feb 22, 2010
Feb 22, 2010 at 11:19 AM UTC
Love is Love
so do not tarry.
If Tom loves ****
then they should marry.
If Anne loves Becky's
lovely ****
No more beating about the bush!
But what of Harry's secret flame-
The love that dares not bleat its name?
Ewe'll have to wait another round
of defining deviance down.
If you think this all **********
please don't quote
the King James' version.
Lines at random from Leviticus
can make you seem
a tad ridiculous.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 9:19 AM UTC
I do not classify myself as a Becca or Becky because the ‘Re’ is important.
The prefix meaning ‘again’ motivates me when I fail to keep trying again.
Failing ***** but growing from mistakes is a beautiful process that I come by often.
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 8:44 AM UTC
~
t'is some sorrow that cannot fade.
its inner sadness shuns the sun;
as hydra thrives in northward shade,
yet turns thy tearful drops to love.
she thy dark night's dew,
and from thy burning rain,
thy weeping cries of pain,
bears in brilliance, sunset hues.
attires her blooms in violet blues,
in soil giv’n she finds the way;
from alkaline, in colored sprays,
her floral pink she displays.
in acid of thy heavy tears,
she bears the blues of all thy fears;
and burnishes thy greying eyes,
with dazzling flame to lift thy sight.
she shows the inner strength that flows,
'neath bitter current lies resolve;
from teardrops come thy rainbow,
and morning dew in love absolves.
queen of mournful sighs,
she coronates thy dark of night;
from bitter groans she hope unfolds
she bears thy tears in floral jewels.
~
*post script.
(the hydra, more commonly, the hydrangea,
she rearranges her jeweled bouquet
based on her soil's pH.)
a beautiful post by Naimh, brought tears and this. i gift it to my dearest Becky, whose sorrow knows no bounds. and post it here dedicated to Naimh, apart from whose recent daily, i would not have known her sorrow. may it momentarily lift her sighs. and to the countless others, those i have come to know here, who share in this sad common bond... a mother’s loss; you have my deepest appreciation and concern for your ever-present tears, your unending sorrow... and your undying love!
please read Naimh's beautiful post, my inspiration, here:
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1637667/the-lost-rose/*
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 11:06 AM UTC
I never asked who I was praying to
never needed to know
just Watched the dice roll as wishes did off my tongue
Cringed on the gamblers table.
See, my sister needed a bike
As much as she craved transportation
I craved sin more.
So when god dialed his voicemail and got my wish for fire
He transfered over the call
Or rather, down
And I became a jumble of kindling and wood.
On Christmas, the bike sat beneath the tree in a big red ribbon.
My sister sat with her hands clasped in prayer, and suddenly her fingers fell off.
She couldn't ride a bike with no fingers,
So santa swapped out the tags.
Signing the bike over to me.
Soaking my sisters tears in my flames.
Greed wasn't the only thing I prayed for,
I asked for *** Lots of *** And coffee. And Comic Sans to dissapear forever
And I got it. Most of it.
I still have to deal with ******* Comic Sans.
Even God cannot be that kind.
With all my wishes there was a price,
A horror, a trauma, to balance out all my bad karma for making these "wishes"
Or "deals".
With whoever was listening
If not God, someone...
It was Becky.
I call it Becky.
The voice
It's less intimidating than schizophrenia, or D.I.D, or the Devil.
When I pray to Becky.
She does not say a word back. she giggles,
In the corners of my eyes, waiting.
Listening to me beg for vices, slowly sacrificing my sanity.
Giving me everything I ask for,
And taking everything I want.
Aug 10, 2016
Aug 10, 2016 at 6:11 PM UTC
I loved Becky,
she had an infected heart,
four piercings in each ear
& bigger ***** than most guys.
She was more honest too.
Her daddy started banging her at six
& mother picked up tricks to make ends meet.
I could trust her.
Any girl who could survive that **** intact
was good in my book.
And besides, I was crazy about scorpion tattoos.
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 12:32 PM UTC
The chocolate ringlets on her head bounced up and down,
So innocent and carefree.
It was obvious her mother had picked out her outfit:
Black shorts with white polka dots,
Classic pink trim on her matching white shirt,
A laughing ice cream cone printed on the front.
She skipped down the street.
Her pristine white Keds scuffed from constant wear and tear in her Aunt Becky’s backyard:
Digging in the sandbox with her cousins,
Swinging on the rundown red swing,
Hiding in the tall, uncut weeds they called grass.
“Ready or not here I come!”
I held her small, pale hand in mine,
One of the many things she had gotten from my side of the family,
We had hoped she would have gotten her mother’s olive skin,
But we had hoped for a lot of things, hadn’t we?
I ushered her into the restaurant out of the brisk October air.
Her bright blue eyes reflected light from the laminated kid’s menu
And also deep concentration as she struggled to read it’s simple words.
She would be smart one day, I could just tell.
I imagined her walking down the aisle in her black cap and gown,
Shaking the president’s hand with one hand,
And receiving the college diploma I never got in the other.
“Mac ’n Cheese, please!”
She always ordered the same meal,
No matter how long she debated over whether to get the chicken fingers or the pizza.
But I guess that’s how kids are right?
Predictable.
Or maybe dependable is the better word?
She was my first born,
A trial run.
I was learning as I went.
As she finished off her bright orange pasta,
I handed her a small blue bag,
The words “Happy Birthday!” printed on the side in rainbow colors.
I hadn’t bothered wrapping it.
A bag just seemed easier.
Pulling out the tissue paper,
The single dimple in her left cheek appeared,
The same one that mirrored mine.
I wish that dimple could have remained there forever,
But I knew nothing could last forever.
“Angel, mommy and daddy are getting a divorce.”
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 1:08 AM UTC
Freedom isnt free
Unless you're blood is clean.
Royal families trot over starving prisoners
Of people trying to have a better life,
"This is America!"
Their hums fall over bums in Hollywood,
Look at them.
Fake as Hollywood watches on stands.
As the homeless attempts to scream out reality
To kids who wear their beats on.
They been liking this song
By the auto tunes
And really like the lyics
Written by someone.
"Lets not talk about that"
They chant this over their GMO's
And their MSG's splattered over fine china.
Pouting over becky's text
While the family puts on their mask
Of giving a ****
What im trying to preach
Is that we are glued to ourselves
So we can ignore
The sticky situations around us
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 6:46 PM UTC
She had a pink unicorn tat
running in a trail of pixie-stardust,
emblazed on her upper left shoulder.
Despite the ravages
up and down
her scarred arms,
she still kept the eyes
of a newborn doe.
Wide and brilliant,
but dimmed when
she rode the horse.
I cried all my reserves
when I heard
she crossed over
to the land of fantasy,
the resting place
for single-horned
animal lovers.
In no way,
did that sweet
little
dear girl
deserve such
a tragic ending.
Strangely now,
I shiver
when I look up
at the million twinkling stars,
I think of Becky
and her sad beginning.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 6:25 AM UTC
the artist, a sleepy-eyed Asian
looked startled to be so mounted;
but it was just the expression
frozen on her stiff golden face;
Becky thinking it would frighten
the children, made Eli move
it to his beach house in the Keys
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 3:08 PM UTC
When I called you crying
Screaming about how they wouldn't understand
How I loved you and nobody else
You were there
When I was giggling in the hallways
Over something Becky said
When I was laughing so hard I was crying
You were there
When I was bored as hell in math class
Just scrolling through our messages
Wondering why time flies so quickly
You were there
When I got the call
From my sister in Tennessee
Saying it was time to go
You were there
When the last box was packed
And loaded into the truck
When I left without a trace
You were there.
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 8:56 PM UTC
Hello, Becky Watts.
I didn't know you and you didn't know me.
I know my words can't bring you back,
But I hope that they will inspire people to think about you and your family.
The story of this 16 year old girl broke my heart,
but I can't imagine how much her family is going through.
Young, beautiful and kind are three words that I have read about you.
You are a great loss to this world.
To the family of this beautiful spirit,
I pray for love, luck and hope for your family.
You may feel that you have lost a big part of your life,
but she is still there with you,
In mind and spirit and in the hearts of us all.
R.I.P Becky Watts
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 1:10 PM UTC
What have we become?
we trust and depend on no one
we just think about ourselves
we are all offended and blaming someone else
like savages choosing sides
throwing insults and thumping signs
internet surfing and asking life's meanings
Where is God?
Who is Becky?
you are different
I must hate you
I am perfect
I am special
hours turn into days
days into years
there is no breathing when you are living fear
we are different but feel the same pain
inside that toilet stall we all **** the same
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 2:11 PM UTC
there are
three states of matter.
three
states
of Becky
solid.
i am sturdy. i am
for the rare times in my life
responsible
respectable
hard
to crack
but if you do
I am like glass
i shatter
it takes a long time
to fix myself
I crumple
I realize
though I thought I was
indestructable
one short fall
on to the
rock
bottom
and I am
everywhere
a mess
a pain
to clean up
I promise
even if you vaccuum
I will still stab you
in the sole
of your soft
foot
when you are least
expecting me
turn the heat up.
I am liquid.
emotions
freely
move about within me
they are
controlling
my decisions
controlling my life.
I am
liquid
most of the time.
you cannot
break me
for I am already broken
into
tiny
molecules
of who I am.
I float
along
in my
state of being
rising
with the temperature.
who I am
makes me angry
it bubbles up
inside of me
popping
splashing
singing
hurting those around me
dont
get close.
dont
show me your skin.
your real self.
I will burn you
when I boil
I will hurt you
stay
away
even though
I ask you
not to leave
my gasseous state
is nothing at all
numbness
i feel
less
than air.
less
than anything
that exists
at all.
I drift
through life
but I have no weight
no passion
nothing
just
a reminder of what I was
who I am
the people I've burned.
the scars i have left
hold more of
who I truly am
than the me that
is myself
in this state.
the smell
is the worst
potent
dank
lingering
long after
I have begun to form the moisture
on your upper lip
you will lick me off
swallow me
please
don't wipe me away
let me
inside of you
I won't hurt
you
anymore
I promise
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 7:52 AM UTC