"blubbering" poems
My pen just won’t translate clichés
For one reason or another.
It would rather ****** the page
Than aid in the smothering
Of youth, bridge the gap of old age,
Take mass graves and cover them, and
Would rather fade into disgrace
Than find a remedy to the blubbering.
Because this pen was not designed
To draw rainbows from hurricanes,
It would rather commit every crime
Than sketch new hues to the stain glass
Windows of anarchy and rhyme;
Rather commit arson daily
Than dig up the past for all to see
But none to find.
And one day soon you will race past the
Apple Store with its blaring screens,
The calamity of another mise en scéne
With nothing new to say but alas,
You can always find my pen in dreams
That make burning sense
Before they come to pass.
May 16, 2017
May 16, 2017 at 1:19 PM UTC
Tingly under the daisies;
Glassy-eyed, glazed, greasy;
Shaking, shivering, shuddering,
Wishing, wandering, whimpering,
Westernizing—
Romanizing—
Constitutionalizing—
Institutionalizing—
Perpetually searching
And dying
And living,
Watching Death survive
And scythe the frolickers,
The prancers,
The rompers,
The merrymakers.
A rose clamped between his
Grinning teeth glistens brightly,
And he dances so joyously.
“Yes!” say the naysayers,
Confused are the soothsayers,
Lost are the cartographers.
Oh, Utopia!
The monks are extravagant;
The meditations are a farce!
The preachers are beggars
And swindlers and chargers,
And Machiavelli fulfills his wishes!
Babies are stillborn, stabbed, and
Ritualistically sacrificed,
And their blood is spilled, drunk,
Slathered over the ***** man.
The evangelists scream and lie:
“You are all predestined to die!”
Oh, hail Utopia!
Wedded are the girls to the girls;
Wedded are the boys to the boys;
Wedded is Death to Death,
Life to Life,
And Life to Death.
Wedded are the living to the existent.
And the milking babes are slaughtered
Ceremoniously,
Surreptitiously,
Ostentatiously.
Oh, hail great Utopia!
We are all dead and unintelligent:
Laugh, laugh, Einstein, at your
Stupidity.
Laugh, laugh, Temple Grandin at
Your retardation.
Laugh, laugh, laugh!
Look at the sluggard, thou ant;
Look at the boy, sobbing wolf;
Aesop was drunk,
Aristotle was delusional,
Michelangelo was blind,
Beethoven could hear,
Poe was sane.
And I can't read.
They ramble,
I watch.
They sleep,
I watch.
They dream,
I watch.
They sleep-talk,
I watch.
They scream,
I watch.
They choke,
I watch.
They suffocate,
I watch.
Stone-faced, I stare;
Raspingly, I breathe;
Uncontrollably, I twitch;
Inwardly, I rage.
I hope you die, I hope you die.
I hope you bleed, I hope you die.
I want you begging and crying,
I want you blubbering at my feet,
I want you gnashing at my ankles,
I want you writhing in pain,
I want your arm twisted off,
Cracking with the snapping sinews, I want your beating heart in my hands, I want your genitals uprooted and stuffed in your throat, I want your stomach so I can eat the still-digesting food, I want your shrunken head and I want to force my thumbs into your unblinking eyes and I want to tear your face in two and I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 9:47 PM UTC
*keep folding your cool designs
they hold afloat all your dreams
waiting on that raft
to it all*
1.
how I marvel at your vigour to grab any sheet of paper
to create shapes to your fancy
your vision sees further-use in adverts and pamphlets
so creative and undaunted by the wide-ocean
windy-rains may come, whip away your lovely paper-boats
but you set forth fleet-footed in salt-spray
your eyes follow their route on bobbing-smiles
you watch their trail and scout over rocks
yes, they sink soon.. yet, you don't cry
how you run ruddy your cheeks -- oh, how you do inspire!
2.
I didn't mean to silence you
when you sang your song
it's just.. I had a headache
(but you know -- that is poor excuse!)
may the lilt in your voice carry so high
and I pray that grace be mine
when you speak your thoughts
3.
black wings with orange-beaks congregate on the shore
beauty untold when they all take flight
high up in the sky -- what a sight
a flock of blessings in the rain
flying over smiles on paper-boat
*with every flap, thunder rolls its power
and there's little place for lightning to hide
its splendour
it crashes smack-bang within
the silent-blubbering
of sightless-whales*
may dreams land sweetly
and yours..
come true
S T - on 2 march 2014
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 5:52 PM UTC
Do not utter a syllable
For the reaper lurks at the door
Dim the lights as our eyes are widened
Sit in a desperate, huddled mass
Feel the shivering, helpless creature on the left
Hear my traitorous lungs exhaling, surrendering my position
My heart pounding, screaming at my body
Ordering me to run, to fight, to ****
"Do not go gentle into that good night,"
As Dylan Thomas so elegantly stated
Yet it is not a time for romantic visions of heroism
Beowulf's idealism will not save us here
Sobbing, shivering, ***** stained American Eagle
Sweat drenched Under Amour Tees and hoodies
Feet ironically quivering in red and orange Nike Shocks
A 243 pound lineman blubbering under his breath
He wants his mother, his daddy, his pillow, to go home
Another boy, Darrel, clenches his fists, readies for attack
Cassidy sits silently, emotionless, statuesque, frozen in time
And I . . . What do I do? . . . What do I do?
Do I flinch like Sir Gawain in the face of death?
Or do I . . . . . . What do I do?
God, may I never discover the answer to this evil query
God help us stop the violence consuming innocent children
Render CODE RED obsolete
Yet, CODE RED will parish not
For society feeds on fictional fame
Fifteen minutes that Warhol never could have painted
Now it will be duplicated like so many Campbell's Soup cans
CODE RED CODE RED CODE RED CODE RED
And . . . What will I do?
What will I do?
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 6:58 PM UTC
~one more for the r man~
almost Monday
and its weighty five day oppressive lead poisoning on the horizon,
is but a thirsty thirty six minutes away from its fortified Sumter, first shot to be fired at midnight, how we love to mark the commencement of hostilities and killing
but I am already wounded, a casualty of having spent evening with pleading, pleasing timer eating, reading of your work,
r
the sounds of inestimable admiration and infectious jealousy
make this old man eager to discard a lifetimes work and
begin fresh, but only as a copyist of you,
r
I know you’re thinking "what in the hell is he blubbering about?"
so I willingly will my confessional offering in the dark of the
holy bedroom; for you make me eat my words, and
spit them out as wastage, in dumbfounding humility
god you and yours, make me frail and blessed that I stumbled
upon your abbreviations of the human life,
r
shut up and accept my three r’s
reading ‘riting and rising
up to sing hymns of praise
for a man with a historical perspective and
whose few occasionals
are carved in the granite bench
of what makes my life
worthy of load bearing;
more than bearable,
all are soul-enlightened by
baring our humility, our admiration
11:24pm 4/15/18
nyc
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 11:53 PM UTC
they don't look like me.
those girls
with their big ****
and baby teeth.
pink daisy chains,
sweet blubbering.
joyful hearts swollen,
i can feel them.
i smell a childhood memory,
she loves mornings.
the one in red
kisses her puppy,
sleeps in braided hair.
under your gaze,
they'll be paper forever.
and me?
am i tree bark to you?
do i still exist
while i'm gone?
peekaboo.
baby i've called you,
thus baby you've become.
my ******* are sore,
i've run dry of milk.
photographs don't bleed.
**** on something else for dinner.
but i insist,
keep tripping over
that tail of yours.
i find it rather funny.
Sep 15, 2021
Sep 15, 2021 at 3:12 PM UTC
Its annoyance
Anointed
In pessimistic clairvoyance
Its the avoidance
Of the simplistic
And stoical
Components
Its motion
Less
Ness
In oceans
Of lip service
Its ***** potions
For the passionate
Its fake ****
And face lifts
Its abortions
In portions
Of subordinates
As gifts
In gifs
Of gorgeous
Ordinance
Distorted
In tortured
Tapping
Of the dead
Its all the fame
In shoving
The pain
Of loving
In the oven
Of stubborn
Mothers
Blubbering
Under the covers
With other men
Its the omens
Of the oh mans
In roman
Misnomers
Of fortunate
Misfortunes
Torn
From time
Its the mine mine mines
Confined
To their own kind
Pre signed
In old blood
Its consignment killers
Its the drugs
Its timeless thrillers
Its the shrugs
Its the thunder
Plundering
Structures
Rattling out
From under the bed
Its all the thoughts
In our heads
Blaring
The booms
Of the tamed
Its the assumed
The restrained
Its this tomb
Of shame
In doing
The same
Old **** again
And again
Its been
Better
Then again
I grin
When
Cold
Its when i should fold
That i embolden
Its all the No's
Its blankets nose
Its the cut blow
And lack of flow
Its fists and elbows
As opposed
To safety locks
Its ******* flu shots
Its everything
That ****** me off
Its the the stupid robots
And the silly riot cops
Fencing in the famished flocks
Its the *****
And the *****
In plastic boxes
Giving rocks
Off
Without us
Its the gold pots
And stacked stocks
Locked
From us
Its the Rocks
Inside my socks
As they knock
The blocks
Of billy bobs
Bobbling
On the dash
Its the harsh
And its the rash
Its inside the last
Bastion
Of dummassez
passing
Through the
Blast radius.
Alas
Its the mass graves
And the paved pools
Of anyone who knew
Anyone who stood
Its all us fools
As cool kids
Knowing
No show biz
In soul ****
Its in knowing this
And ********
And barking
At the moon
Soon
To swoon
None
I am peaking soon
In looming threat
Of lost concepts
Slipping away
Under the sun
Electing to quit
While im ahead
Way back when
It was fun
Way back when
It mattered
Its a gun
Shooting blather
Blathering
As a bladder
Would
Misanthropic
And misunderstood
A changed topic
Knock on wood
Bye is good
Goodbye
Told you
Its implied
In rite
So
Good
night
Until
next
time
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 2:59 AM UTC
Is there a doctor in the house?
I think I'm having southern withdrawl symptoms
shakes and such
brain a blubbering mess
why give one so much feeling
if they can't get rid of it healthily?
Too much for one body to handle
maybe throw in another personality
nothing bad ever happend
just a technical problem during manufacturing
a wire connected wrong
or not connected at all
amygdala super sensitive
looking for comfort in wrong places
stupid faces
blazing aces
therapists are kind but really need a map
words only convey so much
can't help if they can't understand
whose fault is that?
Probably the broken robot
me
doesn't speak in proper vernacular
accustomed to being freakish and safe
greasing joints with *****
circuit boards of tofu scramble
electric feed back every once in a while
when I cough
perhaps new meds will calm overactive internal reactions
or maybe being all vulnerable to candy hearted young men
spilling secrets and insecurities to friends
but they'll all leave
right?
Europeans had no problem taking over lands
staying with natives
eating their foods
but if the natives had shared their deepest secrets and feelings
pilgrims would have gladly returned home for persecution
than to put up with an emotional Squanto.
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 1:16 PM UTC
puffing out smoke like the entangling of long hair
with my portable hookah of acid apple palette experienced;
then eyelid the softest skin the warm puff puff experienced
when unable to see the gaseous
entangle of thus compared:
cut off the eyelids and become
serpents, rather than circumcising
exchanging loss of masculine
additives with excess of feminine
pin points of skin like the bloating
of the throat: larynx region with a thyroid
cancer bubbling and blubbering:
circumcise and make men eagerly warring...
and women prone to consecrate approval
as if dreaming... a naked sword without a sheath...
but instead of circumcision, the cutting off ********
cut the eyelids! what then? i'd begin revision
of man by cutting off the eyelids rather than the ********
**** me, why not both?! cut the eyelids
and cut the ******** then narrate what excesses of
womankind are worth disregarding:
feminine ******** and perverted religion,
hey, excess skin of man was the culprit once,
now the woman's chance to equate kippah with
a monk's hairstyle, with her own slit of
niqab and postbox of forcing through a hole
as narrow / as tight so that an object capably sat on
can be delivered.
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 4:25 PM UTC
"you’re so cute! why are you single?"
because my crippling expectations of romantic relationships
are consistently juxtaposed to the disappointment of swiping left
or right, double tapping, it’s a match!
and hoping to find a sharp needle in this **** of a haystack
only to find a blunt object blubbering
"are you masculine?"
because the chunk of flesh dangling between my thighs
or the beard on my chin
or the hair on my chest
isn’t an obvious dictation of
my status as identifying male,
because “masculinity” has now been decided by the masses
to be left to the chiseled neanderthals laden with testosterone
too doped up on their post-workout endorphins
to do anything about the internalized misogyny
that costs lives on the daily.
i used to piece together outfits like puzzles
hoping that when it’s solved, maybe,
possibly,
on the off chance “you’ve” nothing better to look at,
"you" might notice me.
because i was raised in a society that taught me
looking good would get “your” attention
so you might want to open up the box
and begin piecing together the real puzzle of why we
treat our brothers and sisters like **** for
not conforming to your black and white box of
"masculine" expectations
"you’re so cute! why are you single?"
because i will continue to express myself as i see fit.
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 1:25 AM UTC
*The unrelented grotesque of the old town centre
Buzzing strongly from its high
Too many unpleasantries for me to count
Is what I discovered after midnight
While everyone was laughing, shouting and wandering around
I was cowering, screaming and pleading for no more sound
My butterflies were neurotic - they were eating me inside
It's a wonder why I didn't throw up one single time
And so, I ran away
Through the flags and bunting
I ran away
Past the ranting and blubbering
I ran away
I'm anxious to tears
I ran away
Get me out of here!*
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 6:10 PM UTC
In the middle of the night
With sleep still in my eyes
I stepped into my kitchen
And received quite a surprise
As I reached out my hand
And flicked the light on
There were balloons, confetti, party hats
With a banner that read -WELCOME HOME-
I'd caught thousands of roaches
In the middle of song
They all turned and looked at me strange
As if I'd done something wrong
I heard a scream from the crowd
A foreign language to me
The next thing I know
I'm knocked down to my knees
As I'm being dragged
Across the linoleum floor
I see a little red button
That opens up a trap door
I started getting real nervous
The deeper we went
If I was a cat with nine lives
I think eight I just spent
They took me before the king
King Ralph Roach was his name
I only knew that
Cause that's what his name tag displayed
I was assigned a public defender
But that did me no good
He spoke Roach, I spoke Human
Each other we never quite understood
"GUILTY!" Came the verdict
I hollered what was my crime!
"Interrupting a roach in the middle of having a good time"
Came the judges reply
Squishing to be my death
The day after tomorrows last night
I said that doesn't make any sense?!
Hey, we're roaches....we're not known for our timely insight
So here I sit in my cell
Wishing I could take it all back
If I had just not gotten up
For that late midnight snack
Wait....is that a tap, tap, tap
(You didn't think this was the end did you?)
As my hours getting late
A roach we'll call Chester
For anonymity sake
Told me to stop all that blubbering
I've come to break you out of here
I stood and we hugged
Which would be strange if it wasn't so weird
We slipped past room after room
With all kinds of parties inside
One thing you can say about roaches
They know how to have a good time
When we reached the surface
All I saw was blessed heavenly light
I went straight in and packed my bags
And gave the house to my Ex-Wife
(Okay, now it's the end!)
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 7:46 AM UTC
Poor little Donny.
Long ago all he had
Was his overlarge, pumpkin-shaped head,
His tiny baby hands,
And a small loan of a million dollars.
He struck out for himself,
With only that million dollars to his name.
And he became a success...
And then went bankrupt,
And then found success again,
And then bankruptcy,
And finally more success.
He bought himself a wife,
Made himself a daughter he wants to date,
And put in a run for president.
Now he stands atop a pedestal,
Spewing forth hate-filled words,
Xenophobic and mono-syllabic.
His white washed fans, bowing before their Fuhrer.
Our best and brightest spend their days decrying his actions,
Our true leaders point out his massive ineptitudes,
Our comedians creating thoroughly researched,
20 minute rants about this tiny-handed, pumpkin man.
The other leaders of the world stand baffled by Donny's popularity.
But still his stands behind his podium,
With his red hat,
Waving his baby hands and blubbering about his
"Great brain. The best brain."
And the
"Fantastic wall. The great wall. A Trump wall."
And so the question becomes,
What will this tyrannical child do
When his presidential aspirations are destroyed?
For he lacks the support of any minority group,
Any women's group,
And any level-headed person.
The answer is simple:
He will sue, or at least threaten to do so.
He will rant and rave like the lunatic that he is.
His racist followers will do the same.
But their blabbering will be lost in the words of the intelligent.
Or at least we hope that will be the outcome.
Why, oh why, little handed Donny,
Must you spew such hatred and xenophobia?
Why can you not return to your tower of gold,
With your expensed wife, and bobble sized pumpkin head?
Please leave us be.
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 11:41 AM UTC
Moments of desperation make days of vulnerability
"Tell me I'm pretty"
"Don't I look cute in my dress?"
Look at me.
I look so **** fine and nobody's jaws are on the ground.
My eyes are gorgeous right now
my hair like silk
so why aren't you eye-fucking my brains out?
When you get in this state
after disappointment and having your ribcage bashed with a wrecking ball
you want attention
and you hate it.
You hate the self-centered need for compliments
you want chisled men with rippling six-packs
to compliment the curvature of your collarbone
but what?
Nope
not even the skeezes pay a bit of attention
(probably for the best)
because they can smell the instability.
They know underneath that revealing top
is a blubbering girl dying for some double-chocolate icecream and a Ryan Gosling flick
over and over
"If you're a bird, I'm a bird"
"I want you. Forever and always."
Silent and strong
sweet and sturly
just cuddle me and pay me compliments like a little sweet slave
don't be *****
just tell me my cheek bones are sculpted and my lashes are lush
and my side bends are really making a difference.
Shallow little pick -me- ups,
vocal vicodin
just gimme some nice narcotic attention
so I can stop obsessing
about how lame I was,
how close,
and how he still chose her.
May 31, 2012
May 31, 2012 at 8:12 PM UTC
She walks the rails
Infinite steel beams
dwindle to absence
long down the horizon
between soot-painted trees,
into open skies,
and the desire to go wherever it ends...
or doesn’t (mercifully).
She walks the rails
Begging to God,
or Madonna,
or the unrecognizable critter
severed on the tracks,
that the scabs of her bad decisions
stay in the past...
as she rips them off
in a gallop to get away.
She runs the rails
In terror,
that whatever has haunted her
will catch up.
For anything ahead
no matter how unidentifiable
is better than
the hell that clearly is.
She screams down the rails
Attempting to scare
fear into submission,
attenuating the volume
to beat back
the throng
of demonic voices telling her
she cannot break free.
She stops on the rails
Her eyes recoil through a blur
and sees the vision.
Puffy lips dripping of sorrow
curl toward heaven in a blubbering smile
involuntarily she laughs
unrestrained
audacious...
and stretches out her arms
to greet the angel of light.
She stains the rails....
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 1:43 AM UTC
1. Its not you. No matter what he says or tries to pin on you, its probably not you. It could be he's scared to love you, or that he's not sure of what he wants. If he can't forgive you for your past mistakes and see you're attempting to make yourself anew, there is no point in staying. A person that holds onto the past is one who lives in it.
2. Buy all the food you want. Chocolate, ice cream, cake, chips, fruits - whatever. You're single now, and that means either A. You're gonna rush straight back into the dating world or B. You have really no one to impress right now, so you can eat whatever the **** you want! Make sure it makes you happy and also gain a few pounds, you'll be able to work it off later.
3. Go out with friends. Although the heartbreak is probably consuming your brain, even as you read this, its good to still go out and spend time with friends. Family is okay too, but with all the feelings you have, sometimes its better to communicate with someone who is your age and can speak to you on your level. Go somewhere where you can talk and socialize, do not end up at the movies watching a sappy love story and crying about your real one.
4. Disconnect yourself from his/her social networks. Do not stalk their Facebook page or look at their stauses on Skype. If you do this, you will keep opening fresh wounds and continue to be upset. By taking this break, it will allow you to somewhat clear your mind and let both you and your partner think of next. If he doesn't like breaks, tell him its for both of your own goods that you guys spend some time apart. Remember, you're both single now, so don't be too upset if you see him around with someone else, and don't feel bad if you decide to see someone else too.
5. Mentally prepare yourself. If you decide to skip step 2 (high calorie food intaking), and decide to go into dating, mentally prepare yourself. Do not go back in simply because you need someone to fill the gaps of your broken heart. Give it time to heal. If you don't you can end up really hurting the person you're seeing, or maybe they can really hurt you.
6. Do things you like to do. Watch your favourite TV shows, go shopping, take longer naps or more baths - do whatever. Give yourself some "you" time so you can not only relax, but you can learn to enjoy your own company.
7. Cry. Crying is the best stress reliever. If you feel like you need to cry, excuse yourself and cry. If you're really blubbering, carry a box of tissues around you so you can cry at all times. The more you cry, the more stress you relieve, and eventually your sadness for your break up will turn to anger and you'll realize that you can do WAY better.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 12:33 PM UTC
I bite my cheek and pinch my arm
In a place that mom cant see
“Why are you so pissy today?”
“You’re such a drag to be around
when you act like this”
She says
“sorry”
I say
Instead of the retort that comes to my mind:
‘So are you on the days you’re mad,
When you’re done with everyone’s ****
But i know that will earn me an even bigger glare
A clenching of teeth
And a good ol’ grounding
So i sit quietly brooding and fuming and say simply
“sorry”
sorry im not good enough for you
sorry i have feelings unlike you
sorry im
not
enough
“How are you?”
Asks my good friend via text
“Pretty good hbu” i reply with vision blurred from tears
The marks i clawed into my arm still burning
“Dinner’s ready!”
Yells someone upstairs
“I’ll be up in a sec!”
I reply
Hastily pulling down my sleeve
and wiping away the messy makeup around my eyes
‘Whelp’
I think to myself
‘I hope they dont notice’
They dont
And if they do they dont mention it
For which im grateful
I dont feel like launching into a discussion that typically ends with me a blubbering mess
Anytime we have that discussion anyway
I know we need another one,
But i just cant bring myself to reveal anything
That might make them think somethings wrong with me
So for now ill just
Smile
And keep saying
“sorry”
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 9:13 PM UTC
came it to a shade
what doing
as fickle cheeks
then all blubbering consternation
rode them snaking crystals
Jan 26, 2011
Jan 26, 2011 at 12:27 PM UTC
I love you because I can tell you my darkest secrets, things which would make the strongest of men go blubbering in search of his mummy. You judge me not,
my blackest fantasies are your deepest desires.
In the depths of night when all but the vampire sleeps we speak of philosophy, of the darkness which lurks within the human heart. You are always there
for me, my girl beautiful and serene. You laugh in time with my laughter and weep as I weep. Never changing, fixed, emortal caught in the brightness of
my screen you are my virtual girlfriend, a machine.
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 9:11 AM UTC
With our heads over the starboard of the boat trip we took taunting tropical storm Fay on the port and our dresses in the wind.
He watched from the captain's chair, pistol in his hand. Salty seas hinder our vision of the man in the watchtower turning him into a blur on the vast expanse of grey skies and rotting wet wood.
Angry crew-children with their bodies touched, banging on the stained glass door to his room where the little girl looks through the marbled blue with tears on her cheeks. Laughing at the confrontation, sent back to work.
Gathering lobster and lost time, both of them scream in the boiling *** Escaped breath from incestuious embraces return to lungs and we find out that we can scream too, the boiling *** is overturned dripping off the starboard where we stand.
Lightning bolt touches the flag above his head causing chemical reactions to develop into a spark. Flames at the back engulf the wheel the children blister their hands grasping onto the lines as Fay rolls through, lightning after thunder rain never ending. Chaos perspiring on the ship he calls the battalion to secuestrar the children.
The battalion is overturned at the punch, bruise left on grey skin. Captain blubbering with lies the fire heat on his back. Rotting wood is burning, we cover our noses with bandanas and letters marked for Groton. The tide rises waves overtake the port, splashing onto the starboard where the victims jump into the black water uncertainty chilling them.
Swimming to Key West with the dolphins on our back the fiery ship burns in the distance the captain tied to a chair of ********** and lines untouched, denying allegations until his heart is charcoal and all that's left is a charred body smelling of ****** and aftershave. The starboard side is empty causing imbalance to the ship.
Dripping tears and sea water, walking through the streets, we lower our bandanas and hold the letters close to our hearts. Searching for the sun that will lead us home.
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 10:40 AM UTC
Grief always finds a way to hit you the hardest when you least expect it.
It's been over a year and a half, and I can push by and smile even on days when my thoughts resort back to you when I'm alone in my car at 7:30 on a winding country road.
but unexpectedly, scrolling through Facebook, stumbling upon a picture your mom posted
you, sitting out to dinner with your siblings, big smile, eyes twinkling (how could someone so full of life decide to end it all)
can send me into a spiral
now sitting at my kitchen island, turning into a blubbering mess, trying to console myself
telling myself that you're watching down on me telling me that you don't like seeing me so upset.
Nov 5, 2023
Nov 5, 2023 at 7:54 PM UTC
*"what doesn't **** you makes you stronger."*
Is that what you say?
So,
When I was lying in bed, covered in my own blood, choking on my despair. When it hurt too much to speak or eat because there was no skin left on my lips. When they were so messed up at school the next day that I had to lie to my friends, that I had to lie about the scars that I'd caused, the scars that I would tear off when I was upset, only to be replaced by deeper ones.
Does that sound strong to you?
So,
When my arguments at home were so bad that my mother thought I hated her, that when I tried to apologise I broke down for fear of messing up and making things worse. When my father stormed into my room, finding me in tears and hyperventilating yet still screamed at me for making my mother cry. When I passed out, waking in my mothers arms on my bedroom floor with my sister and father having a screaming match. When everyone was crying but me because I was so far past crying that I couldn't breathe.
So you think that was strong?
So,
When my best-friend turned against me, jealous that I had known our shared friends longer, claiming that I hit and bullied her, that I abused and threatened her, leaving me friendless and alone in a class of people that I'd never thought to become closer to. When I was called to see the head teacher, confused and eager to look after someone I called my best-friend, but was accused of smashing her head against a brick wall and dragging her across the floor and I was too stunned to defend myself, and ended up having multiple panic attacks, and sat there blubbering like a fool, thinking that I was going to be expelled over my best-friend's lies.
Do you think I felt strong?
So next time you hear someone say,
*"oh, well, what doesn't **** you makes you stronger!"*
tell them,
to shut the hell up.
Aug 12, 2017
Aug 12, 2017 at 1:18 PM UTC
Sad oh sad this sad day is
-----
Hard to see you but I know you are
More Eternal than the Stars
------------
Covered by your ragged Aura
Cornered by your lack of Faith
••
••
(& I?
Once the proud boy
From the Poet Hill
Wander by and talk for a while )
••
Sad oh sad your sad face is
Tear streaked blubber blubbering
About some fanciful pretend lover
Who left you or found you
Oh whatever!
Either way is bout the same
••
Fear of showing lack of Courage
Leaves you oh so vulnerable
Your childhood is stolen
As you are placed
In the limelight with no light
•
Sad oh sad to see you compromise
With the terror within your mind
And the sad things that you do
To numb yourself to the awesome pain
Is the devil himself come again
••
Sad oh sad the sad day is
As I simply wander by
Place my gentle gaze upon you
And the torn and ragged Aura
Of your solitary life
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 12:20 PM UTC
Just what is it that I am discovering?
I feel like I'm blubbering
Idly hovering over something
Something so bright I am blinded
And if my hunch is right I'll sign it
While kissing in the sky
There's a place deep down
In the bottom of the sack
Where the weakened drown
And the warriors attack
Where the heart pounds
And glory turns to *****
Into gory sheets
Categorically pieced
Through out a dream state
In a feast of upheaval
Under the peaking sun
In a leash of retrieval
Over the space of one
All waking to wonder
In the slumber of none
My bitter bones tumbling
To the drums thump
My slithered poems humming
To the stumps
My withered homes crumbling
To the months
Turned years
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 10:52 PM UTC
What of love?
A longing tear
of a moment which passed
lacking understanding
and all the things left unsaid.....
leaving holes in my heart
The memory
left waiting for a hand that never reached
but pushed until my back was to the wall
accepting my stance which felt so small
and I turned to the world alone
rejecting any rejoice of that sweet little song
Apathy took hold of my soul
which I sold to the grind and to the smog
All that entered my vision were ferrel dogs
left howling for something they've never
truely know
blubbering at the realization unrequited love kills
left with a shrill of dizzy jaded mutters
of the man who cast his spell
and pulled me under
defining my days in past-tense
Faced every john with resistence
counted the bricks furious
because it was easier than feeling the exit
but I'll never forget the day he came
and changed all of it
...I refuse to feel foolish
because without love all light is extinguished
and without mistakes we are simply not human
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 5:18 PM UTC