"bottlecaps" poems
in the darkest part of my mind,
the dingy loony bus idles.
curiosity has foggied up my gray cells.
leftover bits, orange scented peels,
many questions i've left unanswered,
hide in bleak obscurity.
in the darkest part of my mind,
urges to be the me i’m not,
whisper their desires for freedom,
into the static air,
while lighthearted memories of kisses ago,
crumble under the weight of worry.
in the darkest part of my mind,
I cower in the shadows of intimidation,
over papers due in the morning.
bites and fights drown in an overflow of sweet burning,
with discarded pencils and bottlecaps,
and memories lost in laundry.
in the darkest part of my mind ,
the logical makes no sense.
swirls of confusion, reason,
love and distress,
faded memories seeping through gaping cracks,
hair strands sleeping amid teeth.
in the darkest part of my mind,
chewed and smoked tobacco leaves,
taunt their slaving victims,
as cherry blossoms fall from their branches.
empty words twitter back and forth,
hovering between the breezes.
in the darkest part of my mind,
the heart I adore and adore and love,
sours before I know it.
touches have lost their savour.
words and their meanings duck and hide,
the novel falls open to a new page.
in the darkest part of my mind,
friends laugh their laughs and dance.
mom screams at broken dishes,
dad sings his song his song his… tale,
and I write my soul away.
02.2010
Jul 16, 2011
Jul 16, 2011 at 10:03 PM UTC
I am one of those people who collects bruises like old bottlecaps.
I count them from time to time, but I can never remember where
I got them.
Waiting for bread to toast, I slapped a knife against my thigh,
marveling in the way it rang like a tuning fork. When the toast
popped up, I looked at my leg and saw there was a huge red welt
just starting to bruise.
They only hurt once I've discovered them.
You poked the knife-bruise and asked, "Who beat you up?" but didn't
wait long enough for me to summon the laughter to say that I'd done
it to myself. You moved on to the next one, dragging your finger like
you were following some yellow brick road, playing Candyland and
winning.
A Pleiades's above my ankle, a crescent shape below my knee.
There was one small circle in the middle of my toe that you wondered
about, and neither of us could imagine how I'd done it, so you just
laughed at me and tickled my feet like some old husband.
Soon you get bored with the bruises and you move on to the tic-tac-
toe grids on my knees from the pool tiles. You write your name in my
arm with your fingernail because of the way even light scratches
immediately become red and raised. I made up a word for it and
you believe me like it was some sort of real medical condition.
Somehow my face hovers in between a real smile and an aching grimace,
so when you look up at me, you put my face in your hands and repeat
my name.
I must be your favorite curiosity.
Apr 11, 2010
Apr 11, 2010 at 3:13 PM UTC
right now,
my
bottlecaps
are filled with ashes
and appleseeds.
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 11:53 PM UTC
i will always be there to clean up the spills on the carpet
from our drunk friends on new year’s eve
and i will always ask before i throw glass bottles in the garbage
i won’t say that your outfit doesn’t match
but i’ll tell you if the tags are sticking out
and if your hair refuses to lie flat
i will always yell at you for going outside
without a coat, and i will always ask you
to slow down when you’re on your third beer
i will always worry about your rickety old car
that you never clean, and i will always worry
when you tell me your stomach kept you up at night.
there is nothing you can do that would make me
stop pulling up the blankets under your chin,
stop telling you not to drive so fast,
stop cheering you on at every opportunity.
i will always be there, ready to fit the stubborn sheet
around the mattress.
i will always be there,
picking up the bottlecaps.
Jan 3, 2018
Jan 3, 2018 at 12:18 AM UTC
When i put this future in the microwave:
Would you say it pops like popcorn?
Or like kneecaps?
Bottlecaps?
And if i wrapped it in tinfoil
Would it spark?
Or disappear?
Or pop at all?
And if i placed the plug between my lips
And closed my eyes,
Would the door open?
Would time really matter?
Would my mother judge my current life decisions?
And then if the morning after i woke
Electrified, paralyzed and confused
Would wool feel still so itchy?
Would i still be where i stood?
Or there at all?
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 4:05 PM UTC
It isn't the keys or the bottlecaps
adorned with some image of a deity, that makes me stumble.
Just this month.
Enough.
I've told you all there is to tell
back in place, the lovers helm,
a sickly visage of diner's guilt.
Just this once.
A front.
It isn't carrying things, or the weight I drag about
it's a wonder wheel of intent and purpose doubt.
you've told all there is to hide
back a step, the liar's guise,
an enfeebled glance that misguides
May 7, 2022
May 7, 2022 at 4:51 AM UTC
I wear a jacket that looks like patchwork
I dress in a shirt that's far too tight
Because it makes me feel different
Because if I wear this then
It's like I'm hiding my skin
It's like I can get lost in
This long pointy hood
These orange and purple patches
I'm not wearing my confidence today
Can't you tell?
Yeah I know, I've been told
Confidence is a good look for me,
but
I'm not wearing confidence.
I'm not wearing the salt
Or the pride
No
I left that in my other jacket pocket
And I'm shaking too much to get it out now
I'm here
In a black shirt I said I'd never wear
I'm here
In a hoodie that still smells like dust
Because I guess it's better
Than any coat that stinks of lies
And I can turn on my screen
And listen to bitter truths in
Gorgeous symphonic language
And I can paint
These tiny colourful stripes
Onto bottlecaps
Looking away
Because it's too real
Please, this is the only reality
I need to be a part of,
Let me read my soul
If I can't find the way to draw it
Let me turn it into a song
Turn it into something
Worth listening to
Because hell knows I've had it
With yelling at a people
Who still just turn a deaf ear,
A blind eye
And now I'm at the point
Where I'm hiding in a patchwork jacket
I'm hiding in this long pointy hood
My skin behind a shirt too tight
Because there's no use arguing my case
When it's already been decided who's right.
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 1:08 AM UTC
go ahead
take every
single game
piece from
its box
put them all
in a jar
and shake it
you'll see the
parcheesi men
dancing around
wooden words
forgotten kings
and queens
the bishops
praying for the
pewter hat
as the dog barks at
a red hotel and
plain checkers pieces
slide into partially
assembled pie wheels
watch closely as
the tiny
peg people
are separated from
the car holding their
family together.
and then decide
that what you had
wasn't good enough
not when there
are still some lost
and create tokens
out of buttons
bottlecaps
or whatever
you want
just remember
when the cards fall
from a tornado
we're all just losers
and when the dice
roll off the table
you can kiss the game
goodbye
unless of course
you're playing
all by yourself
which
while lonely
is actually
almost
advisable.
and i've
done it
enough times
to know.
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 2:38 PM UTC
I save up words like
bottlecaps and coins
I use up people like
applejuice and joints
I forget all of it like
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 3:06 AM UTC
. The faucet is left open
seconds of water left running
while we sleep
the winds all tap on the window
they lay themselves out along the glass
to cover her ugly nakedness
while we sleep
smoke and frost look too alike
so why does one stay while the other
simply flies
where do you run
to the guillotine?
you’ve no one to execute
though you are the queen
you bury your hands into the horizon
between pain and bliss
the ladder is falling
it fits in your wrist
Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 5:43 AM UTC