"blindsides" poems
i see things in high definition colour, but
july is the only month that fluctuates—
between florida orange and, later, burnt sienna;
everything between the 1st to the 31st
is dipped in a honey-glaze of three things:
1. warm, sticky air
2. the feeling of 6pm
3. bicycles riding through fields of fireflies.
naturally, i spend most of july in my bedroom—
the heat gets to me, makes my allergies flare
and i watch movies; old, 80s, movies (or—tiktok clips
of the same movie, only broken up into thirty-six parts
that i view from my bed with my naked legs spinning vertical circles through the air).
i always forget the feeling of august
until it’s there again. july
overshadows it with the final embers, so i only realise
it's august on maybe the 5th or 6th. almost
a full week into a month that my brain—
which is never wrong about the way things feel—
sees a deep, ocean blue.
i don't write home about august. i don't hurry it up
through winter months, when i begin the countdown
to hot, hazy days. if anything, i view august
as the ending of something, of a summer i wished so hard for.
and every time, it blindsides me with love.
i love things more in august. i love the smell of summer-
rain on the pavement. i love songs i listened to in january.
i love waiting around for halloween. i love my bedroom,
the pause of heat-sick sleep, the blue-sky mornings.
i write love letters to autumn in a time capsule. i text july and ask u up?, and wyd?, and come over?
and still, when summer ends, i will never want to get what i wish for.
Aug 15, 2022
Aug 15, 2022 at 6:34 PM UTC
Love is an accident
Waiting to happen
Despite all precautions
It catches us napping.
Sometimes it sneaks up
On innocent youth
Or blindsides some victim
Who‘s long in the tooth.
It lurks in our schools
But prefers crowded bars
(It’s occasionally found
in the back seat of cars.)
It often times chooses
a boy and a girl
Except in the Village
That’s a whole different world.
Love is an accident
Like you see every day
But you know how that is-
You just can’t look away.
Nov 30, 2011
Nov 30, 2011 at 8:58 PM UTC
Hello?
Is there anything left? Body heat, perhaps?
Is there a pulse or a deft heartbeat?
Any rough oceans of emotions?
You sit there, phone to your right,
Laptop in front of you, adjusted to the adequate height.
You’re motionless for most of the day,
Inebriated or mindless for most of the night.
Your only movements change channels,
You’re lonely, for your soul never travels.
You remain in the same place,
Occupy the same space, the same nook;
The only humanity you see, you don’t touch or feel, you simply look –
No interaction, only to laugh and mock like a rogue crook.
Your friends and loved ones are images on your phone,
It feels like solitude is all you’ve ever known.
You pose for the camera, but only fool yourself;
You close yourself off, you scoff at those who show emotions.
When was the last time you let yourself be vulnerable?
When was the last time you didn’t pretend you’re unstoppable?
Have you ever breached the barriers of your blindsides?
Have you ever gleaned beyond those white lines?
Please, take off those slave-forged shoes,
Run freely in the soil, you have nothing to lose.
Switch off your mobile prison cell,
Don’t let yourself drift back into this iniquitous hell.
Embrace your soul, peer inside;
Be alive, don’t cower and hide.
Nov 3, 2018
Nov 3, 2018 at 9:38 AM UTC
I was a pimply-faced youngster,
fresh from the soot and grime
of London’s East End.
Removed unexpectedly
from the bomb and blast and buzz-bomb
of wartime London
and deposited precipitately
in the midst of South Wales
in the heart of rugby-playing country.
And I a soccer-playing kid from grubby back streets.
What could I know of scrums and back-passes and blindsides?
But I did my best, while ashamed to admit to my ignorance.
We put our heads together.
I thought it was a team consultation.
(They told me later it was a scrum.)
Someone shouted “heel”.
I thought he was being abusive
and the ball was so elusive,
and I turned too sharply,
and the upper part of my boot
detached itself from the lower.
(Our budget didn’t run to decent boots!)
And the team coach came over to me and said
“Didn’t you hear me say ‘heel’?”
And I, on the top of my form, replied:
“What shall it profit a man to win the whole game, but lose his sole?”
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 10:52 AM UTC
Pain knows my smile
Every single crooked smile that shows people how perfect I supposedly am when deep down I'm more broken then you could ever imagine
I crack that smile in public
But when I'm all alone my tears fill those crooked cracks
And the space in-between me and you
I dig into the core of my well being and show you how broken I really am but you seem like you don't even care
You don't even care that I cry myself to sleep at night and skip school just so I can get a chance to think about how I can fix all the things I've broken
Like me
All I want to do is fix me
To fix me would be the stroke of luck I need to be able to fix everything else I've destroyed, but all to be destroyed again because that's just how my life works
A treacherous cycle of pain and hurt and agony and as soon as I think I got rid of it it blindsides me and hits me harder than I ever though possible
All I asked of you is to comfort me but you just turned around and stabbed me in the back with the very knife I use to cut myself when no one is looking
It's all fine, though
I chose to accept it and the fact that I have to deal with enough pain for the both of us by myself
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 10:42 PM UTC
hindsight
blindsides us
again
my hero
with saltwater eyes
and caramel hair
but you can't see it while you're soaring
your angel
with stained glass eyes
and red velvet hair
but i can't see it while i'm falling
our story
dancing, drowning
your flashbacks swim in honey
mine in quicksand
what a beautiful way to forget
Mar 5, 2018
Mar 5, 2018 at 12:24 AM UTC