"chaffe" poems
his is my conception flawed
most Patina proned
the imperfects,
they
fragment
become
at its surface
wanting
life's reasons
cracks
chaffe
of this
creation and eternal question
the layers meaningless therein
the death of sunlight
setting perfected
another day
to feed tomorrows imagination
much
displayed in each rotten liars face
covered over some past
smothering and building above
and fragrant dreams
should fuel brashness misdirected
purpose that
for all it is
be it found to be lacking
it bears the knowledge gap
famed no known muse
or compostion worthy
notedly proportional whites and
other shades, emotionless
calming,
the sediment settles
to touch the muddy surface
consideringly well intended
another day,
another to shine
less than
perfect
is
and those
that demand
a concept placed uncertain
determined and truthfully in the rught
hopefully atleast as to face
forced gazes
accusatiions
a reflection
my face
that
looks back
upon one
uwanted.
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 6:49 AM UTC
If I could write a letter to the girl I used to be
When my friends felt more like paper dolls, and my notebook spilled black ink onto my hands and stained everything I loved
When I met that miracle with crossed eyes and spindle limbs, and decided to hang stars from her eyelashes
When it felt like my furniture had been moved two inches to the left, just enough to feel wrong, just enough to chaffe
I would tell that girl that I found God
And God was nothing like I thought
I would tell her that I met Him when my skin split open, like all the words I swallowed dry had crawled up out of my veins to show me what hurt really felt like
He was my razor, He was my blood, He was the sting of sweat in fresh cuts
That night I thought about you, little girl
I thought about all the reasons I didn't want to die
See, you don't know this yet, but you’re about to meet the family you never had
One lives in Texas but I swear, you’ve never felt so close to someone so far away
She will show you how to have faith in something bigger than yourself, and how warm it is to fill yourself with love
She will be the mother you thought you would never get to meet, and there's not a **** thing you wouldnt do to protect her
And the other one
You're gonna think she's somewhere else entirely, but one by one, the days sitting with her will feel more like home than where you sleep at night
Shes gonna show you how rage can be kind, and how to let the world roll off your back like drops of rain off stained glass windows
She is your brother, and a swiss army knife, and a lucky pair of brass knuckles
The world is gonna kick your *** kid
You're gonna write it down with a pen fashioned from your bones
and you will never pause to look behind you
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 7:24 PM UTC
Fragile finger tips
That dip into you.
Dewy eyes because he's sleep deprived.
Filled with helium,
He floats up to the ceiling when he laughs - with a sharp exhale through the nose.
Easily deflated,
But not replaced.
Boy, oh boy
What I would give
To gingerly caress
That bearded face.
That face of a boy,
Hidden behind hair and glass and others' expectations.
He is the end of a candle wick,
Unexpected and satisfying
He escapes in a spiral of smoke.
But I know his presence
by his smell.
(And cling to it when he vanishes.)
It clings to your clothes.
I inhale until my nostrils chaffe.
Linger and let linger.
It's light for him to be
And heavy when he is not.
But he is just a boy staying up past his bedtime.
A boy to whom my servitude belongs.
A boy in the shoes of the man he is becoming.
A boy in the midst of a growth spurt,
I kid you not
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 3:41 PM UTC
Sometimes waking up is a smack in the face
Like a whip to a slave of a superior race
I offer my shoes to he who dare try a taste
Like snorting a line of strick nine as long as a shoelace
Or perhaps some *** say 151 proof with a match for the chase
It feels that my eyelids have developed a chaffe
Words only hurt directed at face
Alone and disconnected I slip right by you undetected
But I'm only here with you as expected
Call me nowhere man who stands emotionless
Holding your bible but no revival
You say "to understand to be a man"
While I'm in complete wonderment
That you ask what happened to humanity
It's hung from your vanity the one by the writings on the wall
Your book of lies leveling its instability
You sit and paint your face of kindness to get beside us
Spreading false hope greed sliding from your forked tongue
And I say to you go away I've got my own problems
Pray the day I do not wake
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 11:11 PM UTC