"centimeters" poems
I want to be your abacus baby,Oh you can count on me.
I wont say that i love you, or i heart you, I less than 3 you.
Your molecules must be moving fast,girl. Cause your really hot.
Are you igneous sedimentary or metamorphic? All i know is baby you rock.
And if god existed I'd thank him for you, but I'm rational and read a lot of Sam Harris.
Your beautiful like the font garamad,but i want to see you sandarac, take your pants off.
I want to be your abacus baby, you can count on me,
And i observe your quirks oscillating, and I'm formulating, a g-string theory..
Like an archeologist,I'm gonna try and compute your age. cause i really want to date you.
You make me feel like a male giraffe. I want to nudge your **** and make you urinate,and mate you.
Scientific fact,thats what they do.
The value of my love for you cannot be expressed exactly. More rational then Pi.
Hey **** is a legitimate word in scrabble, just FYI
I want to be your abacus baby, you can count on me.
You can **** me into your super massive black hole, the center of your galaxy. Im talkin ******
I may not be the strongest or the prettiest, but my knowledge of grammar shines.
I know how to use the words further and farther..correctly. Every fricken time.
Example:farther indicates physical distance
and further a depth or degree
example: the moon is getting farther from the earth
about 4 centimeters annually. Fun factoid,take it home with ya.
You just keep getting further into my heart.
You just keep getting farther into my heart.
I want to be your abacus baby, you can count on me,and if the situation is ambiguous, further and farther can be used interchangeably. Just a fun factoid.
I want to be your abacus baby, you can count on me.
Baby i less than 3 you.
So please take off your pants.
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 7:14 PM UTC
Centimeters were needles
And meters were knives
Are you coming home?
Can you ever be mine?
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 8:58 AM UTC
My eyes flipped through the list of names
And I saw your's, your picture surfacing in my memory
But my heart did not skip a beat
My cheeks did not brighten with blush
At a thought that I did not remember.
I did not close my eyes and see that room of comfort
Your hand was not on my shoulder
Your face was not mere centimeters from mine
Your existence did not overwhelm me.
I saw your name on that list of long night conversations
But I did not want to speak
I did not even want to look.
Have you been replaced? It is possible.
But are you replaceable? Impossible.
your name is
always before my eyes
always on my lips
always in my mind
but never in my hand.
Never next to mine.
Never next to me.
No matter how many times I
See your name
or write it down
or sing it out loud
or scream it with pleasure
It will never be my name,
And I will never be yours.
Understanding will never be
as comfortable as your bed,
but it will make seeing your name tolerable.
Sep 25, 2010
Sep 25, 2010 at 7:44 PM UTC
ᴵ the wind kissed your hair
just like sakura petals
I can't look away
ᴵᴵ sakuras fall five
centimeters per second
I'm falling faster
ᴵᴵᴵ you're a sakura
and I'm a cobblestone path
waiting for autumn
ᴵⱽ I left home armored
and soon I will be back home
as a sakura⠀
桜
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 1:39 PM UTC
Howard Dully was twelve years old
when Dr. Freeman felt so bold
to dig around inside his head
a wonder that he isn't dead.
The year was 1963,
when Howard had his lobotomy.
He never even had a clue,
of what his parents planned to do.
ORBITOCLASTS
The name Freeman gave to his personally designed
lobotomy knives.
They went under Howard's eyelids 3 centimeters
from the mid line and parallel with the nose.
Driven to a depth of 5 centimeters he pulled the handles
laterally, returned them halfway, and drove 2 centimeters
deeper. He touched the handles over the nose, seperated
them 45 degrees, elevated them 50 degrees, and at this point
he probably
smiled to himself.
For now they were parallel,
and ready for photography before removal.
An angry stepmom arranged it all,
she made the final judgement call.
They labeled Howard as insane....
opened him up, and juggled his brain.
Howard survived because he was still growing.
Not fully developed,
his brain would keep going....
off in directions he couldn't control
but never condeming
the depths of his soul.
Not long ago I read his book.
I felt intrigued to take a look.
I hope, dear reader, you do the same.
Remember his story,
remember his name.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 6:05 PM UTC
I snuggle up closer,
ever closer,
trying to close the centimeters
between our bodies,
Breathing in your energy,
Let me sink into the essence of you.
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 7:25 AM UTC
Above my home where the dark clouds
curl into the sky clinging for a home to
rest their sleepy depiction, shadowed
trees hum sweet lullabies, lonely leaves
breathe in the sad song of fallen dimensions,
letting its lifeless view roll upon their frame,
the chilled breeze sailing in the skyline,
as I scramble my way out of a filthy dumpster,
a mountain of disintegrating mess covering
my broken body, hovering flies surrounding
sticky strips of spaghetti, moldy mashed potatoes,
and moldy chicken *** pies, while my mind sunk
into traveled thoughts, bruised hands pressed against
the creases in my forehead, allowing my existence
to feel the stranded scars streaming in various mazes,
dull eyes flushed with a burning disorder, aching cheeks
and chests nestled in darkening chamber corners, buried
hips and thighs uprooting in somber blades of grass,
thorned, torn, and destroyed in different worlds. As I stood
on the slippery pavement staring at the ruffled scenery
in my sight, spinning streetlights thickening into slouched
positions, screaming sidewalks spilling sadness and madness
in the drenched air, razor-edged buildings inching into crushed
centimeters, jumbled meters, ****** yards. I replayed the sober
images in my head, the way my young brown-skinned mom said
I would never amount to anything, how I could hear the raged
noun ****** sift into the distance, its flaming mechanics
accelerating into screeching sounds, the way she hurled
her fists at my smashed face, every vibrant language
breaking apart, slamming shut into closed infinites,
snagged contractions and gerunds diverging into
shuddering double spaced negatives, the way she threw
my lingering body inside the trash dumpster, her sharp
scarlet words, You are no son of mine, ricocheting off
savage surfaces, sparking my soul in a calamity
of choking diction.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 1:04 PM UTC
Heat
Calcification
Incalescence
Swelter
Suffocation
Arctic circle above 32 degrees Fahrenheit in December
Leaking lakes of Methane gas in Siberia
Scientific data to price
Changing 2 degrees
has caused mass extinction
Melting glaciers
Oceans 7 centimeters higher
Drought in the Amazon
Changes in migration
Disruption in pollination
Heatwaves:
high death tolls
Decreased plant growth
Zika in Florida
Ignorance from the government
Refusal of proof
Nonbelievers in the White House
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 12:12 PM UTC
i turn to face you,
having just had you
lolling in the sleeping afterglow
but you're not beside me
you're inside of me
hovering just centimeters over me
wrapping warm my body
in your silk blankets,
a heartbeat swaddled.
when did you start to love me so much?
weren't it just yesterday
you had me clinging to
ceramic tiles for any sense
of comfort while my
insides were spilling out?
i suppose i always
asked for a lover
as complicated as this.
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 7:06 AM UTC
The world wants to pull us apart
They want to rip the love from our hearts
They want to here our cries
Just as we begin to thrive
The world says we are too far
Because we don't have a car
But my love reaches across borders
It doesn't diminish with orders
You hold my thoughts
And I hold yours
To hard we have fought
just to close the doors
I love you 30 miles away
The same as 30 centimeters.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 9:32 AM UTC
time with him went by
5 centimeters per second:
from the games that kids play,
to the words that adults say,
from the cherry blossoms falling from the tree,
to the rain agonizingly dripping on me,
from the way our feet danced without a care,
to the way our hands are grasped pairs,
from the way i fell in love with you.
and to the way we parted
when we didn't want to.
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 11:23 AM UTC
break the poem
open like a pomegranate
spill the seeds
squeeze the juice
and
**** the flesh
when we were kids
we played in
mother's garden:
carrots, strawberries,
rhubarb, tomatoes,
plums, raspberries,
cucumbers, pumpkins,
green beans, watermelon,
onions, potatoes
and
a goldfish named Pierre
he died after
my parents
cleaned his tank
and didn't rinse
it properly
done in by soap--
life can be such a
fragile thing sometimes
we buried him
in the garden
and marked his
grave with a
smooth river stone
one summer
we picked a great
big watermelon
from its dirt nap;
heavy as a bowling
ball and green
as a cat's eye
we heaved it onto
the picnic table
and carved it into
smaller
and smaller wedges
until each one
of us was holding
our very own
chunk of melon
everyone dug in
after admiring their
piece for a moment;
eating it with
their eyes
before their
mouths
but as I went
to bite into mine
I noticed a seed
in the way
so I peeled
at it to free it
and as I fingered
the dripping flesh
of the fruit
the 'seed' revealed
itself to be
not a seed at all
but the eye
of a goldfish
staring back at me
lodged in the melon
in its death throws
gasping for
breath in the
open air
its mouth opening
and closing like
it had a secret
to tell
I stood there
in stupefaction
when suddenly
it slipped free of
its womb
and landed in the grass
behind me
but when I
turned around
to retrieve it
I couldn't find it
there was no goldfish
anywhere in that yard
I checked under
my feet
under the picnic table--
under other people's
feet--nothing
"what are you
looking for?" someone
asked
"nothing," I said,
because who
would've believed it
anyway?--I'm not
even sure if I did--
"just thought I dropped
something."
I stood back up
feeling different
about the world--
like the mystery
ran deeper than any
of us realize--
looked at
my hunk of fruit
and discovered
I wasn't hungry
anymore
so I put
it down on
the picnic table
and walked over
to Pierre's grave
there, underneath
that river stone,
was a watermelon seed
just beginning to
sprout
I smiled in
bewilderment
and gently covered
it with fresh soil
moving the stone
a few centimeters
off the sprouting seed
'Pierre, the watermelon
fish,' I thought--
wiping the dirt
from my hands--
'I wonder what
death has in store
for me?'
Mar 13, 2021
Mar 13, 2021 at 9:45 AM UTC
The tide pulls in
and sine waves intersect,
surf scalloping and cresting, small,
breeding pearly foam into sea breeze.
Your breath pulls in,
skin washing over collarbones,
ribs expanding to swallow oceans––
another kind of wave. I feel my soul swell and fall into place.
The tide makes eddies––
gulls cleave shimmering half-circles in the air,
partition wind with meat, voices.
Sand swirls around my feet and is dragged out to sea––
Your skin makes eddies.
Conversations sink like round stones
and your toes open wide, sweeping arcs in the sand.
My heart beats just over three times.
The sea feeds trillions.
Ships wreck and barnacles forge their homes,
and fish school in Fermat spirals.
Plankton absorb sunlight and divide exponentially.
Your liver feeds trillions.
Arms envelope me
and nestle into the hollow under my spine––
I press my lips against your sternum, starving.
The sea pulls out.
The moon's orbit decays
four centimeters every year––
the disparity destroys worlds.
Your breath pulls out.
I cup sea glass and small, smooth shells,
my footprints forming acute angles to yours––
this disparity destroys worlds.
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 11:20 PM UTC
Choosing Pi
Three Spoonfuls of Vain
Point
One pint of cut Veins
Four years of Blood
One teaspoon of the never ending Flood
Five gallons of Depression
Nine ounces of Aggression
Two pounds of Solitary
Six months of Treachery
Five meters of Rope
Three minutes of Hope
Five Moments of Silence
Eight centimeters of air
Nine moments of much needed care
Seven seconds of Suspense
Infinite eternal rest
Three spoonfuls of recovery
Point
One pinch of rediscovery
Four cups of another path
One lifetime of choices
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 10:58 PM UTC
It was on September first,
when I first listened to your voice,
It made me feel an overwhelming thirst,
To feel the heat, I didn't have a choice!
You started out slow,
talking as if we're centimeters apart,
Then you suddenly Growled,
the desire scattered in me like abstract art!
I didn't fully understand it then,
How I reached for my shirt and then lower, near the hem,
My skin looked like marmalade,
Your moaning voice is a bittersweet crusade.
I felt like you were whispering in my ear,
making sounds that I didn't know I wanted to hear,
you then shifted your pace,
it took me awhile to realize that this was a chase.
It felt like both of us, together,
soared high, into the sky,
making thunderstorms and any other weather
not knowing that your last moan was actually Good-bye.
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 10:52 AM UTC
We’re under a vast illusion.
Somewhere along the line we
came under this impression and
somehow we think that
we’ll always have it all together.
Always have all of our
strings wrapped
perfectly around one finger.
That the earth will always
spin the right way.
That the weight of the
metaphorical world won’t tip our
planet’s axis .2 centimeters to the right,
uprooting the ground from
underneath of all of us
suddenly and all at once
the balances shift,
Kristallnacht.
A German word.
It means, simply,
Crystal night.
The night of broken glass.
The night of broken people and
shards of lives.
The night everything fell
apart, suddenly and
all at once
the scales re-arranged themselves,
Kristallnacht.
Mid-way into a thousand year
reign of 12 years.
The end of the beginning and the
beginning of the end.
The definition of destruction and the
physical representation of a
bubbling and spontaneous
hatred.
You see, we’re under a vast illusion.
We think that the world will
always look this way,
That we’ll always be
young forever.
You see, she used to run through
meadows, picking
wildflowers and daisies,
blowing dandelions and making
carefree wishes.
Running barefoot,
arms splayed out,
heart all akimbo through
fields of forget-me-nots,
singing about how he loves her,
loves her not.
Not a care in the world.
Then the riots started and
she couldn’t explain why
the meadow she used to
run in was suddenly full of
stones with names tattooed on the
front with a date.
Overnight, the balances
shifted and that 6 year old
girl seemed to age 10 years.
She saw it all.
Beautiful faces, beautiful minds.
She saw the world fall apart like
fluttering hearts and
butterfly wings at midnight.
People coming back together
in a huddle of broken
promises and forgotten hallelujahs.
A 1000 year reign cut short.
She saw the end of the
world as she knew it.
Saw the careless hatred
decimate her carefree meadow
of daisies.
She began to sing a new song.
Picked a handful of
forget-me-nots and
chose to love
like she did
before the night the world ended.
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 4:59 PM UTC
Cerberus
The temporary home that I
Occupy is guarded by Cerberus. Three
Pit bulls barking at the gate and jumping
On my chest with sharp claws, but this
idiot wasn't always here.
In early years walked in the evergreen
rain; listening to raindrops click on canvas
of a hood centimeters far from the head, and
when night would come, stare out in to
pinhole nights bargaining with god
on pain and boredom. “I swear if
you would give me a sign, I will do good.”
Then the crickets would laugh, while
The trees hissed their endless secrets, so
There was nothing found that day.
In this trailer, now, the water burns
My skin; bringing roses of blood to
The surface, and leaking
Out of my gums, so each night
I drink the wine to fill my belly
With ideas of T.S. Eliot, or Ginsberg,
But looking like a ******* quack, and
Crying to old songs that used to hold
Different meanings.
My mother lives inside the sea;
A million lost dust specks sinking
To the bottom of the trenches,
Swimming about sea creatures
And fish that glow in the
Endless darkness of the depths.
I thought so many times that I’d
Follower her there through the
River, and if you give me a sign
God, I will, but I keep snagging
Myself on the sage brush outside
The front door, and my legs
Grow heavier. When I go to sleep
Tonight I’ll fall asleep in mind that
My dog is resting in the landfill
On town’s end, and I've thought
That I could grab him there; maggots
Filling up the eye holes. If you give
Me a sign, God, I will. The
Fan flies over head, and the
Computer hums loudly for one second.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 2:58 AM UTC
A bright light blinds my gloomy brown irises as the extended recoil continues to burst semi-automatic rounds through my chest cavity,centimeters away from the beating pulse keeping me alive. Never saw the irony in playing with fire until the last fraction of my soul abated the spark between two lover's bloom, only to suppress my impending doom. When the concluding bullet down the sixteen inch barrel fires perpendicular to the ground, horizontally to my heart, my ribs rupture, my world blackens, a shrapnel of fragments spread as my soul is shattered. My face streaming poisonous black tears of a lonely being receding to the new found resting place. A soulless figure laying parallel to the frigid solid concrete with a slightly conscious mind. I extend my hand in her direction, glancing one last time at the silhouette figure standing above me. She mutters, "it's over" then fires two hollow point bullets, one in my head, one in my heart, my eyes motionless, my breath non-existent. All that remains is a shadow, roaming the earth with no aspiration, with no more love to give.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 4:12 PM UTC
i wonder if any of the same hair when we first got together is still on my head
it's a weird thought
maybe the very last centimeters
hair cuts
hair dye
remember when my ex cut my hair?
remember both times i cut my hair to my shoulders or above?
i wonder where the hair is that you first touched
several hair brushes
scattered on pillows and old sheets
washing machines
wherever i go my hair will leave
damage
breakage
fall out from stress
somewhere, right now is the old me
or breaking down in the soil
now i am so artificial
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 12:50 PM UTC
life is a straight line, they say
no bouncing springs of chaos
and impossible conversations
which tear the mass of intermingled blue stitches
apart
no destination
a train with tracks straight through
the barren emptiness of
Antartica
not the hum of your insides
that
what’s that word again
soul
nor the pure anticipation
the twisted gut
of never quite knowing
it is not the fear of reaching
and extending
and finding
nothing
life is a dash
between symbols
it is an inch
representing all of you
which makes
you,
You
strangers will observe
casually
they will never envision your
silhouette against the glare of a Sunday
sun
your breath, coffee-ripe
or the morning news sitting at her
empty space
at the kitchen table
maybe,
if you're lucky
you'll get a brief pause,
a second of consideration,
two-and-a-half-centimeters worth,
before they move on
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 6:22 PM UTC
The rope tied taught around her wrists. Pain induced ecstasy squeals from her lips. FASTER, HARDER she screams so I grab her hips and pull her towards me as we become closer to come one ethereal being. Faces centimeters from each other as we breathe each other in. I grab her throat as she approaches the grand finale sending enhanced amounts of dopamine as she grabs mine. At this moment the universe is enhanced distant galaxies can be seen angelic choirs can be heard but the most important thing that's happening is her beautiful face, her angelic voice, everything she's doing from that pain induced ecstasy.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
nothing beats the euphoria of waking up next to her. the ecstasy of waking up next to the girl of your dreams. but she's much better than that because she's the girl of my reality. when i wake up before her, i just place my face a few centimeters away from her's. and i try to survive on the breath that she's done with. the way her lips quiver while she's dreaming makes me want to have her for breakfast. if only god allows it, there won't be a morning where she doesn't wake up with good morning kisses between her legs. her moans would be my ringtone and i don't care if people stare at me when someone calls, i'll even wait till the part where she screams god's name in vain. i'd gladly go to hell for her and if the devil asks me if she was worth it, i'll laugh and light a cigarette with hellfire and say "i'm actually waiting for her here."
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 12:28 AM UTC
Like some rusted nail
Pounded
Into rotted wood
In sleep you dream of
Holographic pastels
Of wings riding breeze
Of love flowing
Soothing lava
Then suddenly you are ripped
From lightning lit castles
Awoken by the hammer
And it is brutal and heavy
Pounding pounding pounding
You are pushed deeper into
Rotten foundation
Stuck
Assaulted
Forced
In sleep you dream
Of sour pasts
Reconciled
Blue green seas
The floors of oceans
The solitude of whales
And the hammer comes down again
Pounding pounding pounding
Until you are secured like christ
And some ordinary
Housewife
Hangs some ugly painting
Upon you
She adjusts it a few centimeters left
Then a few to the right
Takes 3 steps back
"Perfect"
And you are buried
Done
Jul 19, 2016
Jul 19, 2016 at 8:31 AM UTC
My greatest condolences to the woman who loves me.
My body fears your love of me and constantly repeats the mantra of you leaving but you seem to stand even closer when I break. You tell me every time you aren't going anywhere but the pure unfamiliarity is because you, are the single thing I have ever loved, and never hated.
My greatest condolences, because I'm hard to love.
Your hands graze the body that I live in that I refuse to own. I imagine them painting my soul, covering the black holes with the colors of fall. You tell me you love every inch and I wonder about the centimeters. I take your kiss like a pill used to subside the symptoms of his neglect.
My greatest condolences, because I never believe you at first.
People are not medicine but your face helps me sleep more than ambien ever did and no, your are not going to cure me but I will survive. I do not need a cure, I need management. I take you every night before bed and wake up thinking about your arms caressing my side, yes, I said MY side. I'll admit that this body is my own as long as you're touching it, as long as your hands are soft on my skin.
My greatest condolences because you are the prescription that cannot skip
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 11:25 AM UTC
she wakes me up
in the morning
with a sharp tug
saying
there are fire alarms
ringing
the monsters under the bed are
singing
she touches my face and it is
stinging
digs in her nails and i am
clinging
to her as she devours me
bringing
the fear much closer every
blink
it gets inside me i can't
think
the world around me seems to
shrink
i'm centimeters from the
brink
the cliff is steep the water deep i'll
sink
she looks at me again gives me a
wink
it's just a morning
just an empty room
just me in bed alone
ripping myself open
for monday
Mar 25, 2019
Mar 25, 2019 at 4:12 AM UTC