Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
murielle lemaire May 2014
coffee.
we meet at starbucks and i can almost pretend nothing changed until i feel the distance in your voice.
i am calm and quiet. i did not expect this
yet here i am sitting in front of you as you explain how you feel (a rarity).
and you and i are alike in more ways than i realized before.

cantalope.
flying through the young night air
i feel alive and free and happy again.
i meet theresa j hanson. dancer, 19, long thin hair and long thin body.
she says she's heard a lot about me and i am surprised and i like her very much (or my first impression anyways) even though you told me that one time that you had *** with her and other girls would probably instinctively hate her. but i can't. she's just so nice and anyways that *** had nothing to do with me.
she gives us cantalope and me ice water.

cigar smoke.
we go out on the little apartament porch and you smoke the cheap cigar, the kind your grandfather smokes. get a red solo cup for the ashes and i found an old ***** butter knife out here. and we sit. and unexpectedly you say can we start over. and im shocked(you've suprisde me so much tonight) but so grateful and of course we can. you blow smoke rings and when you say whooo are youuu i cannot help but think of alice in wonderland and you are the smoking catepillar who asks life's hard questions and am i alice or the queen or the mad hatter or lewis carroll

coming back.
we reinact a a scene as if we just met and i kiss you as if it's the first time and that is how you will remember me and my lips are cold and your mouth is full of smoke and the kiss is fire and ice it's a wonder we did not steam. something so you'll remember me{i will never forget} and i guess we'll figure out on the way.
Courtney Dougal Nov 2011
Spoon the catepillar’
I whispered ow we I
the paper floated down
the ceiling collapsed
and the caterpillar
danced.

I want to to to
drop a move and fill
up with groove, on into
the black, still, dark night.

A blue dolphin splashed
into my skull, rattling my water
the waves rocked my soul,
I
tripped.

The sweat ran down my hands,
they whirled around,
then down, my arms were trees
but my feet, oh the toes
wiggled and wriggled out of
pace.

Again I spoon the caterpillar, a
web a weaved tale to tell
the music picked me up into the
rafters I floated, I bloated and
ballooned
then
popped.
Aaron LaLux Mar 2017
----

**No,

I don’t want to go out,
not trying to be negative,
nor am I trying to hang out,
with people who are negative,

which is why I don’t want to go out,

no,

no way,
you’re not getting me out today,
don’t care what you do,
or what you say,

I’m perfectly fine here,
with my nostalgia and insecurities,
and I’m paranoid enough already,
so please I don’t need any one or thing else to worry me,

I’m fine in my own mind,
in my own home in my own room,
where I spin these stories,
which makes this room more of a cocoon,

but if this room is a cocoon,
then does that make me a butterfly,
or better yet a catepillar,
my mind’s drifting again whatever never mind,

just forget it,
it’s easier to just not care,
no need to pretend you want to attend to my wounded heart,
believe me you don’t want to mess with the mess that’s in here,

I’m a troubled soul,
we both are,
so what good would two troubled souls be together,
that’d just be double trouble for sure,

sure,
I might seem popular if you read my Facebook posts,
and sure from the outside looking in,
I might look like I’m living life the most,

heck,
a lot of people even call me a Player,
but I’m not a Player I don’t even play,
at least not anymore,

and I’m writing this like it matters,
like this poem will be the one that the world shares with itself,
like I haven’t written enough already,
like three #1’s in a row isn’t enough,

it’s never enough,
nothing ever is,
that’s why I’m not going out,
before I even get into anything I’m already over it,

not sober with,
my anxieties getting the best of me,
yeah I guess it’s a natural high,
if you consider a natural high EMF’s and caffeine,

and I don’t even think you know what I mean,
and if you do you probably don’t care,
and if you care I probably don’t notice,
and that’s exactly why I’m staying right here,

I’ll save us both the trouble,
so we don’t have to go out and you don’t have to feel awkwards,
because if we go out I won’t be able to let loose,
because I’ll just be thinking about how our society is so perverse,

how we party away,
having drinks that cost more than most people make,
see it seems the only way to have a good time is to be in denial,
and I am a lot of things but one thing I’m not is fake,

I can’t pretend,
don’t even want to,
I’m not your Arm Candy or your Sugar Daddy,
we are already even so I don’t owe you,

anything,
nope not a thing,
and no I’m not going out,
so please stop asking,

as if,
any one is even asking though,
it’s Friday night and the phone doesn’t even ring,
oh well I guess I’m better off alone,

so no I don’t want to go out,
not trying to be negative,
nor am I trying to hang out,
with people who are negative,

which is why I don’t want to go out,

no,

no.

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
ME Aug 2013
Catepillar about to become the butterfly,
Kisses between you, between me
Stuck as the night at every dawn
I am lonely, but I can’t fly
So scared, but I can’t hide
Whenever I get a moment to think
Your gone..
The drafty window closes, men age like wine, women age like milk
as death's for what bag boy sinners do, those who spin like spinners
spun from old Nepal's Samia catepillar that spins castor Eri-era silk

I was so mystified by dumb tricks & tired of your busy labels, that I
farted a final, tired **** at the Christmas tree 'neath the kitchen table
with my girl whose able ****'s cuntier than the **** of Betty Grable
naked on my couch, legs parted, full lips pink & mental state stable
I cinched up her chin up with a bridle strap softer than copper cable
that races results to imputely defile the worst nursery-rhyming fable
The drafty window closes, men age like wine, women age like milk
as death's for what bag boy sinners do, those who spin like spinners
spun from old Nepal's Samia catepillar that spins castor Eri-era silk

— The End —