"closets" poems
Thank you ~
for a life not to trade
blessings, in spades
tight spaces
behind laundry doors
packed closets
and open drawers
gator tails, tarnished brass
cracks in kitchen sliding glass
wet towels, withering plants
foundation filled
with carpenter ants
buckets piled with
shoes and tags
village clothes
and saddlebags
peeling paint
and broken walls
****** seats
in bathroom stalls
clogged pantry
frigid rooms
table scribe
and carbon fumes
comfort capsules
empty tanks
broken limbs
from children’s pranks
**** finger
double tongue
long goodbyes
and sidewalk dung
cluster flies
chavie’ clique
accompanying
the hypocrite
cracked back
and hidden smiles
chalk on board
with mr miles
atomic wedgies
closing doors
wrotten eggs
and open sores
jaw jack
nasty folk
dinner calls
for pig in poke
penny pinchers
double dip
yellow mouth
and silver tip
brown nosers
thick red tape
paper cuts
and pimple nape
gallivants
so out of norm
the joy of life…
in basic form
Jan 14, 2017
Jan 14, 2017 at 2:03 PM UTC
Why go back
when you can move forward?
I face this question
each day I breathe.
It's not always so easy
to answer.
P
T
S
D
Post
Traumatic
Stress
Disorder
Keeps me looking back
to my past
behind my shoulder.
P
T
S
D
Post
Traumatic
Stress
Disorder
Usually associated
with our war heroes.
The ones who can't leave
the battlefield behind.
I am not one of them.
I am just
an anxious
a depressed
in pain
person.
But I can't help
that I have it.
P
T
S
D
Post
Traumatic
Stress
Disorder
My battlefield
was the school,
the classrooms,
the playground.
The babysitter,
the dark closets,
the dark rooms,
the basement.
P
T
S
D
Post
Traumatic
Stress
Disorder
The anxiety
the migraines
the depression
the fibro
no sleep.
All lead back
to square one.
The abuse
by my peers
by my teachers
by my babysitter.
P
T
S
D
Post
Traumatic
Stress
Disorder
Four easy letters
Four simple words
Lifetime in pain
from those simple things
from those not so simple things.
P
T
S
D
Post
Traumatic
Stress
Disorder.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 12:12 AM UTC
My childhood was sunshine,
summer days,
pool,
book,
trees,
It was yellow dandelion, carpet lawn
and endless blue and green
as far as I could see
standing on my tiptoes
on a swing in the backyard
jumping down onto smooth soft summer grass
in the flat calm ivy-colored sea
It was stars on the night sky
like stars on my ceiling,
hair floating up around me with my dreams,
pulling me out the open window
into air,
into indigo,
into midnight blue, nail-polish painted sky
on the sweet-smelling cedar easel,
in the dark room,
where I come sometimes
to touch the beginning with butterfly-soft fingers
My childhood was hide and seek,
shut up in closets,
smiling,
laughing,
giggling,
yelling tag you’re it,
as it touched board game movers
and pushed them
one
two
three
around boards colored like rainbows
that I rode around the world
and into the universe
Now my childhood is two yellow foam blocks
asking me,
“Why?”
“Where?”
but I don’t know why it’s gone
or where it’s gone to,
all I know is that I’m not ready,
but here I come
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 12:51 AM UTC
I'm not sure how to wear self confidence
but I do know how many calories are in every food I consume
And my heart may be bottomless
but my make up seems to claim my entire room
And my mirror may be shattered with disgust and desperation
but at least my closets are full of Gucci, Prada, and Dior
And maybe I can be happy with lonely isolation
Gives me more time for the materials I adore
And you might as well chain me to my shopping bag
That are filled with platinum, silver, and gold
Cause I will make up for the soul I lack
With the plastics, metals, and materials cold
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 10:51 PM UTC
I am Christian. I believe in the
Trinity of the Holy God, The Son, and The Spirit,
I believe that Jesus is the Son of God and the savior of mankind
I own more than three Bibles
I teach Sunday School every week and
I pray every night.
I am Christian,
And as such I
Hate queer....
Phobia. I can not stand intolerance
And I cry at hatred,
Blood running in the streets,
Fear running in veins,
Running away from the truth.
I am Christian, yet
There are bloodstains in my Bible
And the prayers on my lips
Are for forgiveness for who I am.
The entire story of ***** is
Crossed out, blacked out angrily
In the dead of night
In all 4 versions,
Leviticus is blurred,
Wrinkled with my tears,
Soaked with my pain.
I am Christian
And I am not homophobic.
I know my church won't recognize
Non cis-het marriages,
Leaving entire worlds of rainbows in the dark
The higher-ups insist
Weddings are white, shiny, husband-and-wife, happily-ever-after affairs
That shove me and my friends, my family, my lovers,
Into closets of heavenly wrath and
Fire and brimstone sermons,
Locked into personal hells of shame
And confusion.
I am Christian
And I am not straight.
My God doesn't hate me for who I love,
He loves me because I try not to hate.
So to the homophobic Christians, I ask:
Who is your God?
Who is your God that supposedly condemns people He has created in his own image?
Your rainbow picket signs are nothing but a cruel mockery of a covenant
Not truly shared by you.
Your tongues are no better than the viper's who called Adam and Eve to sin,
You are the vipers of my world.
Do you think you avoid judgement
When trans teens are killed
By the bullets you spit with your words?
Who is your God,
That tells you to picket the funerals
Of those you hate?
Who is your God,
That refuses to let you open your heart to differentness?
I am Christian,
And I don't need your permission to
Love my God.
Take my scars and tear-stained Bibles,
Listen to my fervent prayers,
Watch my lips tremble when
I listen to my pastor.
I don't need your permission
To love who I want,
In fact I don't want it.
Take my midnight screaming and fear of coming out,
Listen to my frantic pleading for a hand to hold,
Watch my eyes linger on her chest.
I am Christian.
My God doesn't hate me for who I love,
He hates you who refuse to love
While you carry His name, if
Not his blessing.
So I ask again
Who is your God?
Because mine loves all of me,
All 5'6" of queer pride.
Who is your God?
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 12:05 AM UTC
We pride ourselves on being ‘America the Free’,
But how are we free when a he can’t marry a he?
Homosexuality is found in over 90 species,
but homophobia is only found in one.
If you want to blame someone, blame the straight people.
They’re the ones who keep having gay sons.
Not one Disney princess is a lesbian,
Not one superhero is gay.
Not all girls want a prince charming.
And not all men want a heroine someday.
They say, "Love is blind."
So why are we so blind to fact that love is love?
What has America come to that we’d rather see men holding guns, than holding hands?
Until recently, in the US military, admitting that you’re gay, had bans.
Homosexuality isn’t a disease.
You can’t catch it, and you can’t cure it.
Please.
Tiger Woods can have 19 mistresses,
Britney Spears can have a 55 hour marriage,
Kim Kardashian can get married for publicity,
But GAYS are corrupting the institution of marriage?
Closets are for clothes, not hiding.
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 4:56 PM UTC
I always wondered why people judged others for their sexuality. Shouldn't love be just the words like "love is love". People should be able to express themselves thru words and actions. Sexuality is something others take for granted or even advantage of. If a guy comes out gay woman usually always say "the pretty boys are always the gay ones" or how men always come up to woman who are lesbian say "I can turn that girl straight in just one night". Or even hearing still to this day people are protesting on the street against gays and gay marriage. Today's society rather care bout brands, religion, race, and someone's sexuality rather than someone's cultural background and getting to know someone deep within. Teens who hide in the closet due to their families being against their sons or daughters for being gay become suicidal and the suicide percentages go up. People take deaths more serious than those who are a live and trying to make some of their selves. Rumors that are spread round by high school students bout someone's sexuality turns into harmful beatings, but the school system is too into themselves and care bout their job title rather than to take care of harassment and bullying. Celebrities who hide their sexuality then later come out are the talk of the town, then there is always that one person from paparazzi who screws with the news headline and puts lies into everyone in society and everyone believes what they see rather than to think outside the box that not everything they see online or TV is true. Parents who are gay are looked upon as to "who wears the pants" in the relationship, or "whose top", or even whose the "daddy or the mommy". Then the children who have gay parents become victims and are always assumed they are also gay too or just not normal in today's society. A lot of countries for example Russia abuses their laws against gays and soon enough fights and killings close to murders happen every minute of every second of every day. Even presidents in a lot of states and countries are against gays and try to pass laws made by the government which by then a lot more people hide behind closets. The world is more ******* up than people may think, if we just stick together and except people as they are then there would be equality.
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 3:51 AM UTC
I dream of a day
When "coming out of the closet"
Isn't even a thing anymore.
When "straight" is just a direction,
"Gay" just means cheery,
And "bisexual"
Isn't even a word anymore.
When people look at someone
And see a human,
Instead of a stigmatized word
Defining that person's way
Of loving other people.
I dream of a day
When a man
Can hold another man's hand,
Without the people around them
Whispering "Oh my god, is he gay?"
When a girl can kiss another girl
Without being called *****
Or attention ******
Or "barsexuals."
I dream of a day
When love is simply that,
LOVE.
Not something political,
Or religious, or controversial,
But just something beautiful
Between two beautiful
Human hearts.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 11:42 PM UTC
They always told me to be afraid
of the monsters that lay under my bed.
Years and years I spent terrified,
too afraid to walk outside,
too afraid to live my life.
“Monsters! Monsters!” they told me,
Be afraid of the monsters!
They’ll watch as you teeter the edges of insanity,
they’ll laugh as you fall into the abyss of despair.
They’ll creep closer when you’ve stumbled to never get back up,
they’ll come to take you when you’ve finally lost all hope.
“Monster! Monsters!” they told me,
They’re everywhere!
I searched in the shadows,
I ripped through the closets,
I tore down the walls,
I looked under beds,
Yet never could I find the creatures that made my tears shed!
Where?
Where are the beasts of the night?
The ones that haunt me with their deviled flight!
And finally one day,
But only years and years later,
I finally understood.
After never knowing where my monsters lay,
I found I could see right through their big display.
Right in front of me screaming,
“Monsters! Monsters!” as they giggled and crowed
the terrible creatures had finally showed.
Ugly and foul,
smiling at me as they told me to be afraid.
There were never any monsters.
There was only just us.
It had always been just us.
And when I finally got up…
I smiled.
Then with them we walked to another young child.
All alone and afraid,
I sat down next to her whispering as soft as I could …
“Monsters! Monsters!” I said,
Everywhere there are monsters!
Laughing I saw the fear creep into her eyes.
I watched as the horror began,
and even as we crowed joyfully I yelled to her:
…always be afraid of the monsters…
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 4:29 PM UTC
Where the grapes you eat are red and green
But the ones you draw are purple
Where you love your parents with all of your heart
But pretend you’re an orphan when you play with friends
Where the monsters that lurk in closets and under beds
Can be destroyed by the light of day
Where a stinging, aching cut or bruise
Can be healed by a kiss
Where a girl can transform into a fairy princess
By slipping on a voluminous pink tutu
Where a boy becomes a conquering hero
By arming himself with an intimidating roll of wrapping paper
Where a slightly unkempt yard
Becomes a jungle full of tigers and serpents
Where an in ground pool
Becomes an ocean whose depths must be explored
Where winter
Is a season for snowmen and presents
Where summer
Is a season for ice cream and beaches
Where Mommy
Is the best chef, nurse, and storyteller
Where Daddy
Is the great protector, hug giver, and handyman
Where science has no bearing
Because rainbows and lightning come from magic
Where logic doesn’t make sense
Because the powers of love and fantasy are illogical
And there is no place for suffering
Because pain is overshadowed by innocence
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 7:01 PM UTC
A star of blood you fell
from the point of the hypodermic
singing of fabulous beasts &
spitting out the *** of vowels
Your poems explode in the mouth
like torrents of ***** on a night
full of zebras & bootheels
Your ghost still cruses the river-
fronts of midnight assignations
in a world of dead sailors carrying
armfuls of flowers in search of
your unmarked grave
Your body no sanctuary for bees,
Death was your lover in a rain of
broken obelisks & rotting orchids
In the tangled rose of a single heartbeat
I offer you the shadow of a double
profile,
two heads held together at the bridge
of the nose by a nail of *****
smoke
in the long night's dreaming
& memory of water poured between
glasses
In my mailbox I find a letter from
a dead man & know that for every
shadow given
one is taken away
Yet subtraction is only a special form of
addition and implies a world of hidden
intentions below a horizon of lips
thin as your fingernail sprouting
mysteries in the earth …
The ace of spades dealt from the bottom
of the deck severs the hand which
retrieves it & the eyes of Beauty
sewn together peer over a black lace fan
in the ****** sunlight of a Spanish
morning without horses
The Belt of Orion is loosened
before you as you remove the silver
fingerstalls from your mummy hands &
kneel to plunder the nightsky in a shower of
bitter diamonds.
(Somewhere under a blanket someone weeps
for a lover.)
Peace to your soul
& to your empty shoes
in the dark closets of
kings with no feet!!!
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 4:06 PM UTC
You curl up in bed,
Just like your mother said.
No monsters in the closets,
No more nightmare deposits.
Its that time of the week,
Where you can get a good nights sleep.
No more sharp claws,
No more strong toothy jaws.
Its about time you over come,
And send the monsters back to where their from!
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 8:06 AM UTC
I remember marble that wanted heels,
clip-clop echo of women who belonged.
I wore slip-ons with socks,
easier for those of us who come to scrub
other people’s lives.
The elevator was a box of mirrors,
infinite versions of me-
I bent my head to escape them.
His office door ajar,
his voice stretched thin across a phone.
The girlfriend cooks,
spicy food,
_place a ******** he said.
I had seen much worse-
houses where mold clung to the ceiling,
where grief leaked through the wallpaper.
The vacuum hummed its G-note spiritual.
I worked the nozzle into the skirting boards,
let my mind braid song and ritual,
a drop of lavender for closets,
labels straightened like soldiers on parade.
No one asked for these offerings-
I gave them anyway.
But he winked at me
while telling her _love you, babe,_
mouth syrupy with lies.
A twenty left on the hall table-
a tip that branded my palm.
Later, the bin bag tore,
Madras red bleeding into cream carpet,
pears bruised soft in their sweating wrap.
The stain spread like a hand
that gripped too long,
that would not release.
I cursed the ceiling,
the word **** echoing like prayer.
was only twenty,
scrubbing strangers’ luxury
to keep myself alive.
That day I left more than lavender-
a fragment of myself,
pressed into the carpet,
silent as the stain.
Sep 4, 2025
Sep 4, 2025 at 10:00 PM UTC
I wash the clothes
and fold them too.
I take the dishes
and load them up.
I look at closets
and organize jackets.
I do the chores
mom usually does.
Parents thank me
and smile at my work.
To them I'm getting better
and working to be better.
Little do they know
that when I do housework
my live is spiraling more
and all I am doing
is making things easier
for when I am gone.
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 2:16 PM UTC
Dying--you wouldn't do that to a cat.
For what is a cat to do
in an empty apartment?
Climb up the walls?
Brush up against the furniture?
Nothing here seems changed,
and yet something has changed.
Nothing has been moved,
and yet there's more room.
And in the evenings the lamp is not on.
One hears footsteps on the stairs,
but they're not the same.
Neither is the hand
that puts a fish on the plate.
Something here isn't starting
at its usual time.
Something here isn't happening
as it should.
Somebody has been here and has been,
and then has suddenly disappeared
and now is stubbornly absent.
All the closets have been scanned
and all the shelves run through.
Slipping under the carpet and checking came to nothing.
The rule has even been broken and all the papers scattered.
What else is there to do?
Sleep and wait.
Just let him come back,
let him show up.
Then he'll find out
that you don't do that to a cat.
Going toward him
faking reluctance,
slowly,
on very offended paws.
And no jumping, purring at first.
Wisława Szymborska, translated from the Polish by Joanna Trezecia
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 4:52 PM UTC
The carpet is frayed in the hallway
And the nails along the walls are facing upwards
As reminders that any attempt to
Unearth the secrets swept beneath them
Will result in ****** hands
And the closet door in the bathroom
Is hanging off the hinges
From the time your stepmother tried
To hide her boyfriend in there
And your father threw it open
As a reminder that closets
Are cliché places to keep skeletons
And the red smear beside the toilet
Is the result of your father's fists
Breaking blood vessels and skin
As a reminder that even ghosts
Can leave behind stains
And the glass window in the bedroom is splintered
From the time your father had a nightmare
And thought the house was on fire
As a reminder that sometimes
We burn from the inside
And there's a hole in your bedroom wall
From the time your brother put his fist through it
As a reminder that walls are the only things that stand between
Yourself and every version of yourself that
You've tried to hide within them.
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 11:08 PM UTC
Haters, haters, hiding in the closets, hiding in faeces
your putrid minds full of fears and all your weaknesses
You are not men but degenerates and cowards in excesses
but in your attempts to distract away from your deseases
Look the parents you have and you know you're like rat fleas
you lack a lot which makes you so angry and in pieces
Washing once a week on other days its wet towel on faces
smerge on stunted wieners never to be a winner at the races
You're un-cool all you do is pretend but you ain't got the aces
as charmless as chicken *** you're the left-behind in chases
Never had a true compliment because you have no graces
deep down you're a mess and petrified of background traces
You have ***** linens and bad secrets buried in bad places
you're nasty, think nasty and 've done things that debases
Always afraid you pick on your betters rocking in perfect places
full of inferiority complexes real abilities get up your noses
You've wet your bed and at night you knowyou're *********
playing macho when in reality you want to do men's *****
Nobody likes the faceless cowards and abject scorn they entices
partners and frenemies are there for themselves and free passes
They see through them and smell their weakness without paces
faking laughter at their hate and anger at winners they despises
Haters are sick sad losers miserable inferiors with dark devises
never happy, never content just slimy cowards in dumb disguises
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 8:29 PM UTC
My brother finds comfort in calculators.
He assigns every number a name.
He believes that they add up to certainty and he is upset with fractions that remain.
So I examine these maps with my eyes, and at best I can trace with my finger
all the way to that town where she went in an attempt to forget the cracks and the lines of my face.
So Jetsabel cleaned out the closets for me and she piled up the boxes in the hall.
Tomorrow when she wakes she'll come take them away and they'll never haunt me again;
but it is still hard to sleep with the moon's heavy beams.
I run barefoot to the backyard, just to freeze in my place by the rod iron gate;
too afraid and ashamed to advance.
Today I walked through the snow and found a field of headstones.
They were in rows like the weeks in calendars where each box is a day you can never escape
without pills or the poison of sleep.
These memories leak from these faucets that weep.
Hot tears splash against the shower floor and I stand in the steam as if inside a dream--
I can see her again by the sink.
From behind the bathroom mirror she pulls a thermometer and places it under my tongue.
She said, "You're as pale as a sheet. You look awful, my sweet. Lay down and wait for the sun."
So I stayed in that bed. She brought me water and read each night from a volume out loud.
She whispered soft poetry. Her favorite was Anabel Lee.
And those words, like these drugs, comforted me.
But the clocks kept waving their hands
and she couldn't understand why temperature would never drop.
And though she promised with tears that she would always be here,
I heard truth like the sounding sea.
I said, "My Arienette, how soon you forget this house will never be your home,
and you will leave in the fall when the trees become graves and their colors lie dead in the grass."
Gold and green torture me like the lies I believe too easily.
Oh my Jetsabel, look at this hell that I have made.
If you want, maybe drop by sometime-- put some flowers on my grave
so that I will look beautiful in my silent sepulchre.
Yeah, that's fine. Throw some dresses away. I don't want anything of hers.
For the moon never shines and the stars never rise without bringing me dreams,
haunted by the ghosts of those bright eyes.
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 5:03 PM UTC
The demon scratches me
I bite him back
The demon pushes me
I spit in his face with a smack
The demon taunts me
I calleth him out by name
They hate their name called
Don't wanna be recognized for the flame
The demon shows false affections
I giveth him hate
The demons a smiler as he latches to me
I'll kick him to hells gate
The demons find me downtimes
Though with God I shalt win
Demons love misery
To seeith one in sin
Demons are smelly
Like all the dump trucks on the earth
Times ten
Demons haveth enemies
They hate even their own kind
They haveth none kin
Demons haveth a date
With Satan in the fire
They'll turn thou on with lust
For thou they do admire
Demons hast hurt me
They've tried to bring me to mine death
Soo many health issues
I know tis not me
Them
The demons hast entered mine family
From the lives we didst choose!
They entered by portals
Between good and bad souls
They came and come as orbs
Spirtual energy
Trapped to a distance
God won't let them get to close to me
They always want more
They show themselves now and then
They'll portray themselves as good souls
Wherein its all pretend
The demons speaketh in mine bathroom
They hide out in the closets
Parched behind mine bedroom wardrobe
Spies as I sleepeth
They want mine bright soul
It's full of massive glowing energy
They know it as I'm told
So to bad because their not me
They made a big mistake
Turning away from God
Now their outcast losers
Fate of hell and grud!!
They'll soon be in chains and shackles
So they cause pain now whilst here on earth
They come in all shapes and sizes as I've heard from many others
Psychics
Life after death (experiences)
And from preachers
Pastors and others
They come large
Small
Animal like
Mauled
They come stinky
Scaly
Nothing thou shalt imagine
Couldn't fathom
Their everywhere
City streets
Malls
Gyms
Stalls
Homes
Air
First heaven
Second heaven
Hell
Everywhere
Yet these demons cannot taketh me
They knoweth I'm gods light
So demon get hence from me....
Go burn in thine own fright!!!!
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 4:26 PM UTC
i wonder if the curtains talk about what we do behind their backs..
i wonder if the pillow covers complain about the tear stains we leave on them..
i wonder if the bed feels the emptiness like i do..
i wonder if our closets are strong enough to hold our skeletons..
i wonder if the door creaks our darkest secrets out..
or do the paintings gossip about our fights..
is the dust which remains.. is all thats left of us..
is our bedroom the aftermath of what we once were...
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 4:54 AM UTC
Pink balloons
Glitter nails
Glossy lips
Fairy tales
Frilly dresses
Pigtails with bows
"I have a secret"
No one knows!
Flowery handbags
Sweet perfume
"Can't keep it in "
Need to tell you soon!
Sparkly jewellery
Ballet shoes
"I know what you're about to lose"
"Tell me the secret I here you shout"?
Ok
''Closets open." I'm coming out!!! .....
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 7:40 PM UTC
THIS is what love is.
banana bubblegum and magnetic poetry
the crickets on my front porch at three in the morning
making origami cranes out of butcher paper
even when I forget whether it's mountain fold or
valley fold and my crane turns out looking like a
seamonkey in a blender
wildflowers!
striped button-down shirts and plastic dinosaurs
singing Juanes at the top of our lungs
(Gah, you know
I can't speak Spanish.)
laughing at the serious parts in movies
having the patience for when
the words don't come out
and I have to stop
and think
(for a very long time)
and half the time it doesn't make sense anyway.
impromptu dance sessions on the side of the road
doors flung open, radio up
chocolate chip pancakes
out-of-town adventures
mailboxes. LOTS.
balcony raves with lots of glowsticks
and let me borrow that top!
just letting me sleeeeeeep
the smell of new pointe shoes
of New Orleans
of bluebonnets
telling me when I look awful (please)
making me eat things that I don't like
SNUGGLEBUNNY TIME
drive-thru people who hate our guts
That's What She Said's.
praising Buddha naked
dysfunctional kites
paying in change at Chicken Express
late night phone conversations
when I sound drunk
(but I'm not,
I'm tired. I just would rather
talk to you
than sleep.)
silence.
cupcakes, uniform closets
not shaving our legs in the winter
shadow puppets, rap songs,
Slumdog Millionaire
making once-in-a-lifetime faces
looks that speak oceans
pecan pralines and symphony orchestras you'll
never play with again but for that night
you're family
and you'll never forget it.
matches (aren't always for candles)
thousands upon thousands of candids
and the not-so-candids
saving kisses in your pocket for later
Neverland, Disneyland, cats
yellow dresses and stage make-up
watermelon Jolly Ranchers
saying my name like it's wrapped in blankets
and knowing that
even though I don't say it
as much as I should:
I do.
Apr 27, 2010
Apr 27, 2010 at 1:51 PM UTC
In all our haunted houses
Are ghosts just wrapped in sheets
And the vampires and werewolves
Havent been seen in weeks
We diagnosed the children
Who heard voices in their rooms
Now all they do is paint the walls
In crayola crayon hues
And the monsters under our stairs and beds
Seek refuge in our closets
As we boiled imagination down
To vibrations in quartz deposits
Jun 20, 2011
Jun 20, 2011 at 8:40 AM UTC
Inner Peace
Evil is everywhere, monsters don't hide in closets,
they roam the streets, sponges of malvolent twisted minds,
The devil is not a fallen Angel, but born from a unfortunate mother,
Where's the bogeyman ? we need only turn on the **** tube, or look out the window or across the kitchen table,
Where Do I find my Inner Peace? No mediative state of mind, not a prayer to nothing.....I have a pistol and six bullets.
Firewalker
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 8:52 PM UTC
Together we swim,
Skin touching satin skin
Fingertips grazing knees and thighs
As my engine of a heart enters overdrive with glee
Her breath keeps me alive against the strain of our instincts
My breath catches and my body contorts
Until I am suddenly entangled with a hooded figure instead
His heavy limbs pin me against the wall and his hands greedily search through my home
I realize I am being robbed but
He's not a stranger
His lips warm my neck and I choke on his telltale cologne as his hands hastily break through the deepest closets that house my innocence, my treasures, and no matter how sternly I refuse, he shoves through the doors until he finds exactly what he wants
I thought it was hidden
I thought it was safe
I thought it was mine
He smiles and lavishly thrusts his hands into my special box
Thanking me,
Between heavy breaths,
for giving him access to my prized possession,
To my heart
But
when he asked for a taste
I refused. But
He insisted and
Kept pushing
Pushing
And pushing against the wooden door until it splintered and snapped and he could enter with
Or without
My permission
Once inside, I had no choice
but to let him manhandle my possessions,
I can never again close that door that He broke
To fulfill his needs and
To satisfy his craving
Although he leaves with satisfaction dripping from his palms
I know it won't last forever
His hunger will return again,
Stronger.
And no matter how much I invest in new locks
and thicker blockades around my special space
He has already stolen a taste of the core of my emotions that
That door served to protect
He will return again,
with a sense of entitlement to my insides
And I won't fight back
Because his sweaty palms and greasy skin have already leaked onto the pieces
Even those he had not yet touched
My pure and personal secret now leaves nothing but bitterness on my tongue and stains on my body
And now,
I still feel his hands, not hers
I hear his breathing
Feel his weight pressing against me,
His hands destroying my body
I become hysterical and
Tears burn my eyes and stain our sheets.
I see the panic in her eyes
She doesn't know
She doesn't know I'm ***** and broken
She doesn't know why
And I can't
stop
crying
She's scared.
I would be too
But I'm dead inside.
Jul 10, 2017
Jul 10, 2017 at 4:25 PM UTC