"collegiate" poems
Oh, hello..
I ask Motivation to ravage me
So **** and out of reach
I wonder if he’ll notice me
Hey, Motivation.
Do I look **** with this Adderall?
When I dress like an adult?
When I spread my books wide open?
When I arch my back right out of bed
Does it make you want me?
Motivation, get out of my head!
I’m kidding... I like it when you taunt me.
When I think of you
I salivate
Look out my window,
watch you all day
You look so ****
that special way
You work those other students.
I’ll bite my lip and I’ll slowly crawl
Right to class, backpack and all
My eyes intense with innocence
Please don’t take your eyes off me.
Motivation, you know just what I like
When you make my grade point average rise
Look, Daddy-- my schedules so tight
But I still manage to squeeze in several hours to write
Oh Daddy…
Can I play with your friends?
Maturity, and Ambition?
I’m a spoiled brat but I’ll listen
Tie me up so I can’t deny you
Tell me “I’m gonna be inside you”
Please, Motivation I want to ride you
Have your friends watch…
After that, you can tell them to join in
So collegiate it must be a sin
I’m a ****** to this sort of thing
I guess I’ll take off my immaturity ring
For all you guys I’ll be so special
Fill my head with names until I go mental
Like “hardworking” and “determined”
Until I’m submissive to school and working.
Now let’s pretend
That I’m the student
I’ll call you sir,
Please don’t be prudent
Here’s my homework
Make me do it.
Mr. Motivation….
You know whats *****
My bedroom floor.
Here I’ll bend over
And clean it more.
My goodness, this isn’t like me!
I’m married! Don’t you see?
This is merely fantasy!
I’m incapable of priorities!
…When it’s against to whom I’m wed.
For now I’ll ride my washing machine
I’m faking that I am with thee
But this isn’t homework and my room’s not clean
I am just a bored wife of Apathy.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 12:28 PM UTC
People keep asking me how I’m doing.
If I’m getting better or if I’ve taken the time to process what’s happened.
If I’ve sought professional help for the metal percussions induced by my career-ending injury.
In all honesty though, professional help is futile. It can’t save me now.
I’m walking through hell and sitting in a ring of fire discussing the temperature of the searing flames would be idiotic.
Why would I allow the flames to dance along my already seared skin longer than necessary?
I know they’re hot.
I know I’m in hell.
I know the pain I feel every day is real and crippling.
Talking about this pain wouldn’t end it. It wouldn’t diminish the heat. It wouldn’t help.
I need to keep walking.
I just need to keep walking.
My crippled body can’t run anymore, but I’ve got to keep walking.
Others continue to rush by. Frantic because they’ve never felt the flames.
They aren’t familiar with the burn. The idea of being in hell is novel.
They are novices.
But life hasn’t been kind to me.
These flames are familiar with every curve of my body and they dance around with trained feet.
I’ve been in hell for years.
People continue suggesting I find the light at the end of the tunnel, but that’s near impossible here.
I’m too blinded by the brightness of a vehement flame.
Sizzling with an angry vigor for the lack of gratitude I bestowed on my past life.
It mocks the speed at which I used to be able to run. It laps sardonically at the feet that used to run cheer-inducing speeds without thanks from their owner.
But crowds don’t cheer my name anymore.
I now stand on the sidelines and watch my team play.
I burn alive for the game I used to breath and as I watch each and every game, the deep breaths of oxygen only continue alighting the fire.
There’s no way out it seems, but I will try to keep walking.
Because talking is futile.
Note:
Spinal diseases are crippling mentally and physically. Watching the body you've sculpted for years turn to mush because you can't workout is dilapidating .
The despair and helplessness are unfamiliar feelings, feelings that can't be overcome. Disease is disease and sometimes it can't be stopped. Sometimes, it just becomes a burden to bear.
And sometimes people aren't strong enough.
It's different when careers end after four years of college. An expected end, an anticipated end. But when things you love are taken from you abruptly, before your finished. The pain is exponentially worse.
Exponentially. Worse.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 1:41 PM UTC
"She did the laundry
in the mirror of me
I saw myself in
the mirror and disagreed
with the smell,
The thought of you
was beautiful,
but I was wrong,
and a feeling of discontent
-ment
came over me,"
Misspellings
Mispronunciations
An unconquerable world
of big money
I parted ways with the large
and saw another even larger world,
One that was intelligent and reads
the Wall Street Journal, listens to NPR,
and says "wow" at the sound of hearing
one million dollars, or upon hearing about
San Francisco start-ups,
or Silicon Valley.
Or the opposite, in some ways, but still very
similar to - Virginia Woolf.
whose book on feminism
which I'm unable to explain fully other than
to say that she suggests
that women only need
a bedroom, money, clothes, etc.,
or rather, less than etc.
in that, they need little, but only the bare supplies.
That they should be able to supply themselves with what they need
for when their husband, which, you know, is not required, in her eyes,
for when he separates from her
and leaves her 'in the dust,' alone without anything,
perhaps only with a child, or in another instance, estate-less,
with only a white dress, really more of kitchen-robe than anything else;
like Virginia Woolf says, we should really try and dismantle the patriarchy
that we write and tell about. Reader, what do you after reading a story, article, or book on radical or moderate feminism say? The boys, like me, who will tell, or, try to tell their perspective of the book and say to the closest person around them, "I just read a great book by Virginia Woolf, she brings to mind an image of a university with white buildings and ends of roofs of university buildings leading along to the the main hall of architecture buildings, with sidewalks pristine and underneath people walking in their sweaters, collegiate, and later to make their way to art history classes in the fall evening. So, like Virginia Woolf, who makes you ask why you're not at the Parthenon, but instead are inside of your house, in a city that you don't want to be in, at a hospital, in your apartment, or surrounded by whoever, she nevertheless gives you have a feeling of longing-ness and a strong emotion of want. Virginia Woolf when will we go to Greece together? What do you know about Athens and classical architecture, I nearly beg you.
December 30th 2018 7:11am
Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 9:51 PM UTC
a person on the metro, six stops from their destination
leafing through a brochure titled How
To Get Rich Quick -
sighing in disgust,
"I was never allowed to go on the metro
when I was young," boasts the woman
sitting beside them, an accessory of
The Scene. a prop
(voice is loud and nasally, and the person - five stops - considers moving)
quick smile, polite:
which means, go away. or, at the very least, don't talk quite
so loud
okay? okay?
a softcover Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary is under the seat, discarded,
Sharpie skidding through it (four stops) at every jolt
of the train.
this is normal, all trains are jerky sometimes, and the loud woman
expresses her concerns.
an old man, older than both people,
older than anything really - coughs.
wet coughs.
the person frowns, but quietly, so
the woman and man won't notice.
(they are well-practiced in the art of subtlety)
three stops. the woman leaves
but the smell lingers
and the dictionary, having slid back
one or two rows for effect
a flock of tourists board. kids in the seats
parents hanging tiredly to safety holds
(be still be quiet keep your hands to yourself, mandy
a little boy of six clinging to the person's jacket with
sticky warm fingers)
two stops, and the boy asks why they look so sad.
what they're reading.
they have perfected the art of silence
but little boys don't understand silence.
the mother hovers in the background
sneaking ***** looks at the person,
wax smudged smile going crooked at the edges
one stop,
the boy asks where they got their hair
(my head;
he is unimpressed)
he is kicking the lonely dictionary
providing it with company,
or maybe unaware.
they leave, and the mother hisses something at them as they pass -
clutches the boy's arm.
the dictionary has been stuck on the word spectral for three days,
and the train hums to life.
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 9:28 AM UTC
F*ck you for encouraging me to take out more than I needed
F*ck you for not explaining the difference between subsidized and unsubsidized
F*ck you for judging my eligibility based on my parent’s income and not my own
F*ck you for pretending to look out for my best interest
F*ck you for making me decide on whether to pay you, or go to the hospital
F*ck you for harassing me via phone and email
F*ck you for transferring my loans to a different company
F*ck you for asking for money back BEFORE I graduated
F*ck you for asking for money AFTER I graduated with NO job
F*ck you for asking for MORE money after I got a job
F*ck you for transferring my loans to a different company (again)
F*ck you for suggesting a 30year repayment plan
F*ck you for the high interest rates that negate the payments I was able to make
F*ck you for adjusting my repayment plan without my consent
F*ck you for suggesting a lower monthly payment as I crept toward full repayment
F*ck your shoes with the belts on them (Boondocks)
And F*ck Donald Trump
This is America sucka. The land of the free, and home of the brave
Not the sea of debt and house of enslavement
So, Fck you from the bottom of my heart, and if you call me again I’m gonna slap the sht out of you
Goodbye forever
Aug 25, 2017
Aug 25, 2017 at 5:41 PM UTC
Cooped up in my humble abode and privacy unheard of before and now.
The friction of my shoes emerged to undesirable friction of my four walls.
Ratcheting up of worries about my future, I pondered when would this pandemic end.
My predicament sent me reeling so I convinced myself to juxtapose with countries reeling.
A short joy on the end of my collegiate life soon accounted to the fueled uncertainties of the job market.
Success used to be landing a remunerative job but now they said, landing any job would be a blessing.
What about my dreams? They ought to cease to exist.
It is no longer about dreams. It is about being alive.
My demise, the demise of an industry, the demise of a country and the demise of the world.
The ghastly truth of how my simple action of staying at home would impact the safe havens of many.
A true test to my character in avoidance of getting positive from the test of COVID-19.
For I know I am not alone.
Apr 26, 2020
Apr 26, 2020 at 3:54 AM UTC
Homesick or just sick
Unsettled by the clock's tick
Thinking of posters on my wall, of furry paws in my face
Longing for familiar footsteps in the hall, for discussions of grace
I want fangs and feuds and cutthroat nights
Not to look over my shoulder between homebound lights
Homebound, not for months and seasons
I want to call but I have no reason
Even my imagination left some things behind
They lived at home though I thought they lived in my mind
Now I feel truly alone
But who wants to hear untroubled youth moan?
Not sick for home but sick for my friends
An empty ache I don't think time can mend
And I won't feel better locked in this new room
Knowing I'll be gone when hometown flowers bloom
December, holidays, so far from home
For a frightened foolish freshman who wanted to roam
Afraid to move forward and out
Terrified whispers and tears masked by shouts
Same album plays again and again
Hoping some peace will find its way in
Maybe
If I just take the clock off the wall
Time would stop, or go back, and we'd forget it all
Tie our highway hopes tight with small road ropes
And collegiate walks back to high school talks
Could I dream
Awake
Alone
With you
I know it's true
But I can't imagine that you're lonely too
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 5:51 PM UTC
Scoffed Pink pigtails nestle on rusted wire.
Captives and their butterflies,
borrow hope till dawn .
Way back they surrendered their dignity.
Hallowed chapters of Collegiate sobriety
tussled wearing a dress like a **** of hay.
How can they un- burden future perception?
I know of the fire storm back home
but the expectancy is forgone
Extended with shame
Pink Rayon complies disparagingly
already moribund.
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 3:35 PM UTC
Don't forget that,
I whisper to
The pillow under
Your cool moonlight.
A sacrifice to
My God,
To your terra-cotta lips,
Warm and glimmering,
Like the tiles on a July day,
On that chateau we stayed at in Nice.
To your laugh,
Gaffawing at a viral sensation,
Bursting like the atomic bombs,
To me, it's a champagne cork,
That night in the balcony fountain.
To your eyelids closed,
The same ivory shade of your breast,
And our children's cheeks
As you held them, cuddle them,
Tickle them, sob with them,
So right in our roomy, rickety home.
To your breath,
Taken in like a quick pull of a line,
Your arching spine,
Parallels the bridge above our heads,
As we sail on
Catalina in the Sound.
To your hands,
Crinkled soft like paper,
Tears ran down those creases
As we passed through the shadows.
But don't cry, wherever you are,
For I am with you.
In the creaking of the pedals,
As you tumble off your bike.
The sheets pulled over your face,
Your body racked with sobs for
Some boy, a cosmic second.
I am with you in the bright gold of your cords,
As you cross the stage for your diploma.
I am with you on the dreary playground,
As children in puffer coats and hats pick fun at you.
I am with you in the collegiate cologne
of the moment you gave it all up,
Some boy, a cosmic second.
But I am with you most in
The moment you gained it all back,
That supernova, explosion
When we realized, like two old friends
We'd been there together all the long,
Birth to *** to birth to sick to death
And all the love between,
And then there was no part.
Nov 29, 2011
Nov 29, 2011 at 12:57 AM UTC
Im coming of age
In the era of the devoid
Hollow greed seeps unearned
from elephanitus of love
all the dead *** heads
and the glorifed child **** stars
live in tandem with virginity commerce
a descriptive high full of lies
here we are raised to never forget
the look on a beautiful girls face
when the zippers break and all the mallets fall
when mud and blood and ***** mix to a collegiate concoction
Leaving her to bear the scabbing burns
The openings the ambrosia flesh wounds
The giant stamp of pulsing indecency
The markings don’t go so well with her hollow moon smiles
They don’t blend with her regal clavicles
To bend them in with a wrench
Would do no damage to this already feral *****
Don’t try to hide
The billboards may be sagging
But they carry the message loud and effeminate
All the drum ticks and coated arteries will explode
They cant be stopped
Mucho gusto, muy bien
All that we ever where locked into some
Tooth paste stained and tattered bibliomeca
It is true I have become that broken shameful collection
Which we are taught to stain in the wood works of our memory
I turn to page 1168
And I know that the bruises will be permanent
Surrounding the globe and bridging in the gaps
The ones that they left between your calamity eyes
Will they still love me with one foot locked in a bear trap
And a hobo having the last of my eyelashes ?
Or maybe just the scary albinos at the san Francisco bar scene
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 8:56 AM UTC
Josie was ur everyday *****
strolling 3rd &
Lenox; she could get fifty from
a yuppy on a weekday
& easily bring in $1,000 a weekend+frills &
bennies; the
kid dropped out of the high school
where Josie used to teach & made a date
for that Wednesday & knocked her up; now they're
doing okay; he sells Insurance &
she's driving a Lexus;
kicking [talk about good for each other;
it's like the kid had had a vision;
& the kids all collegiate jocks w/ attitude;
[the oldest a lesbian;
smack long ago;
Josie is ur average housewife
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 1:04 AM UTC
Our relationship has blossomed from a bud to a flower
Don't even wanna think about what I'd do without her
You can put anything between because I'd move a tower
Even time couldn't seperate because I'd move a hour
Words don't mean nothin to her cuz her mind holds her power
She listens to a mans heart and now mines gettin louder
Love scares alot of ****** and she ain't attracted to that she said
it's so easy to find her a coward.
But we gon fall in love at least that's how it seeming
Don't care if it's 10 minutes or a day, she just wanna see me
And i just wanna see her, hold her and never leave her
I really think He delivered her right up out of Eden
On a bright day she will have a ***** gleaming
On a gloomy day she'll pull a ***** out of greiving
Her looks are so killer I sware it should be a treason
But her brains hold her real beauty cuz she be thinking so collegiate
I look into her eyes and see nothin but potential
She look into mines and see nothin but credentials
We kno about the past and all the other **** we been through
That's why the potential and credantials are official
She say never been like this about anybody
I say Im always like this about everybody
That's why I tell her that I can't trust anybody
She just say no you can't trust everybody
Well I trust her and hopefully she trust me
Because if she do trust me I consider myself lucky
Because you are everything I wanna see
In you heart and on your mind is exactly where I wanna be
Oct 27, 2010
Oct 27, 2010 at 12:46 PM UTC
"cease fire" spouts microphone,
hot blood on tongue,
the wheels whirl,
dramamine for my ex-girlfriends,
dramamine for my future binge--
will this time do?
"listen, listen",
nah-- there's a war on,
we've got **** to do,
dramamine for the foothills of Dakota,
dramamine for the brothels of Orleans,
will I make the sun?
the vultures feast prematurely,
the death masque,
the collegiate, the ******* and the cry--
dramamine for the funeral singer,
dramamine for the swollen shrapnel,
let's just wait for the savior.
Apr 13, 2011
Apr 13, 2011 at 10:21 PM UTC
No doorknobs exist on this floor.
I can't find any outlets.
The belt that lady--I didn't mean to
disappoint--bought me is coiled,
surrounded by Tupperware walls.
A nurse checked herself in. No
affect; asking for charge; reset.
I'm twenty and letting down my dad.
My belt used to live at JC Penny
and has navy-outlined bass on it.
One of the counselors is black,
from Africa, was adopted, moved
here to be raised by two JP Morgan
lifers, played collegiate soccer, married,
got pregnant, lost the boy--which he said
he had a feeling it would have been.
So, he can relate.
No doorknobs exist on this floor.
I am twenty and this exists in the past.
Wheeling in due to an inability to walk
--totally her brain's fault; a real former-
controllable, current-uncontrollable thing
that her mind pulled on her, on account
from the cold, Vaseline touch of a relative
--this redheaded girl pretends to smile
before apologizing for pretending to smile.
Our black counselor, former soccer player
and father says to not apologize and that
we are all pretending, all the time, even
when we don't think we are.
I find this strangely comforting.
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 3:09 AM UTC
"heaven's really crowded," peter said to me
over black coffee on Maple Street
while we watched the kings and counselors
in collegiate sweaters
lose all their religion
like we'd lost ours.
it fell like hailstones—
they all flipped their collars up
and their heads down;
we looked cozy in the window
and we laughed like we weren't
freezing too.
"this weather's crazy," he shook his head
and rubbed his hands together for the friction;
"hellfire looks better every day."
we smiled and put our gloves back on
to revel in our endless earthly cold.
quietly we weighed his words
and decided they were heavy;
we lit a cigarette to share,
blew the smoke up at the holy high school dance
and said with youthful vehemence,
"god ****
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 10:40 PM UTC
you ******* with your
smirk and your bow tying fingers and your
****** classic ******* rock music:
who let you in here, to lumber
about the lambs like
Putin and Crimea ??
why do you bother
introducing sophomores to
Oedipus and pronouncing the
center O (like it
******* matters; linguistics are
more organic than
carbon-based chemistry) or
teaching seniors of
Two Vast & Trunkless Legs of Stone
standing alone in the desert,
artifice of arrogance just as
graduation and self-congratulatory
partying and revelry and diploma-framing.
I think I know:
masochism is your middle name, and
maybe, after all, it is worth it,
when a collegiate who barely remembers
your face and never remembered
the color of your eyes, or his homework,
name drops Hemingway and Faulkner
to a college professor, blossoming an
argument, and later, a companionship.
maybe, after all, it is worth it.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 11:38 AM UTC
A hawk is hatched
in the harlequin hush
inside the walls of library books
in their incendiary shelves
incline
invitingly
in carnal stories
in words that leave us billowing smoke
in scenes of innuendo...
A bird of prey in flight
even in a stationary perch,
he is a glorious sight
eyes full of limpid thoughts, & search,
levitating litany
like taboo
thrown across the room
questions and detours
from his gaze
uphoric pheremonal *****
My ***** is
in a penury of vigor,
my skin / proving red-rushed
weaknesses
for just his adonis sight
for just one fantasy night...
The humid walls,
with their olden and unbiased
silences
attend my quickened qualms
attend my entirety of suddenly
needing
to be caught in his talons' violences
craving
to be the meal ~ in a hawk's sight,
flesh ripped in lushious strips
to be inside his mouth,
to feel
my digestion...
We match growling stares,
feel the quicksilver pulse,
hesitation and realization
the super nova flares
heating my middle,
hardening my fiddle
creating new sensations
and worlds of wicked inflections
a warm nest
to rest, after the S
E
X...
A nervous breath,
as he stands
abducting his hardbound knowledge
odyssies in exquisite arms
a twinkle in his bestial-brown eyes
a pause, for crumbs to be sprinkled
on the path to reprise,
a piece of paper with a numeric surpise;
a name:
"ANGEL" flashing collegiate goods,
an endangered understanding
a naughty smile--a young mouth,
and i am a V-formation
heading for warmer south...
A hawk is hatched
from the harlequin hush
of the Flamingo Library,
i am ready
to fly beyond loneliness and February,
catch urgency's godspeed to Angel
in the tradewinds of our testosterone
his invitation scribbled on a corner piece of notes
i am guessing / i'm in control
i am the words unspoken
in these pages, in dusty scrolls
in the volumes on the walls
our endangered understanding
If he is there and nothing's there...
still must follow my volcanic hopes meandering
so to speak that entangling
his and mine / tongue...
how like a hawk in Spring
i am sprung...
(and understanding
how endangered I become)
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 12:45 PM UTC
♫
_”Stood I where you, now starry and new,
Brylcreemed and cherished, view those who have perished;
The collegiate adorned, on Founder’s Day mourned,
Old souls with young dreams, bright plans and mad schemes;
Three from the left, that’s me with the clef,
A musician’s award, bestowed by the Board;
Prized above all, before the Great War,
Took hearing and sight, an aesthete’s blight;
For a whisper apart, is the end from the start,
What remains of the day, nowt but shadows that play;
On this side of the glass, through which you will pass,
At the lone piper’s call, when dusk it doth fall.”_
Nov 20, 2020
Nov 20, 2020 at 3:42 AM UTC
Exam! Exam! Exam!
There is pin drop silence!
Some are tensed and some are worried
School children think
Life will be pink
When school is over
Then life will hover
Collegiate thinks when course is over
Life will be broader
Exams will be over!
Job seeker thinks
When competative exam is clear
Every thing is merrier
Exams will be over!
Now toughest exam of life start
It is not only your part
It makes you cart
Whom to merry
Whom to carry
This exam is like three legged race
You cannot run, fear to fall
You cannot stop, fear to lost
Life goes on, Exams goes on
No end! No full stop!
If you clear exam of marriage
No need to merry
Most fearful exam
Your children's exam
They keeps you on toes
They make you froze
Life goes on
If you pass through it
Children will take your exam
How will you bring up their children?
Otherwise they will make you villian
How will you help them to make merry?
Give them money to eat cherry
For whom you will make will?
Otherwise all waste your skills
If you pass their exam it's fine
Otherwise time will bend your spine
Life goes on! Exams carry on!
Life goes on! Life scaring on!
Last exam of life
You may loose your spouse
You may have to live in lonely house
No exam on death bed
No exam can you dread
No worries for bread
No exam in grave yard
No question will bombard
No exam in cremation ground
No wish to be crowned
Exams Full Stop!
Sep 17, 2024
Sep 17, 2024 at 3:23 AM UTC
we'll feel-
as collegiate corners
are filling the pages of
our tragedies.
i attempt to seek
next century's repose:
the motion of a thousand
spinning conjectures.
your restlessness holds
junction and duration,
consciously screaming of our
former years.
i'll seek-
you in oscillations
and what little you
left of memory.
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 12:25 AM UTC
Hit ceiling
Lost meaning
Left seething
Consider stealing
Ponder cheating
Still reeling
Voided feeling
Departed dreaming
Two word storms
Collegiate dorms
Social norms
Convoluted forms
Sporadic breathing
Quite revealing
Layers peeling
No concealing
Forgotten healing
Basic dealing
Still demeaning
Is my unpaid heating
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 12:50 PM UTC
It ends,
fast and fragile the same way it started.
You get your handshake,
you get your piece of paper
and your four sentences worth of memories
that add up to a fifteen-second walk across a stage.
All the important people say they're proud of you,
all your friends-
all your friends of friends say they'll miss you.
You toast them to a new beginning;
you smile your way into a new place.
Everything is different now,
four years go by and when it's over it all hits you at once.
Nothing is the same anymore,
everything has changed.
Now you must grow up,
the celebration ends,
the milestone passes,
now you must move on.
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 10:04 PM UTC
"Love me baby, love me."
Oh that's it!
A little to the right.
Oh you've got it!
God **** I wish you didn't put the chocolate so ******* high.
Sometimes a girl needs her sweets, you know?
Never mind my expanding waistline.
I have no one to impress, right baby?
Wow I'm so glad I have someone as big and strong as you to reach these things off the high shelves.
Now finish up so I can put some clothes on. I've got errands to run.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 3:33 AM UTC
To compensate for (A -Z)
ineradicable alphanumeric
character flaws (i.e. mutations
of body or mind,)
and avoid amass
sing wracking up vexatiously
undesirable threatening class
action lawsuit against
Matthew Scott Harris,
which preliminary measure
taken to avoid disembarrass
sing said individual as
a majorly flawed individual
literal shortcomings of body,
mind and spirit,
the metier of writing doth encompass
a creative realm to trump
geomorphology, sans groundmass
at the unsolicited expense
(mine alter ego i.e. worst critic)
will gleefully find,
and expose grammatical,
misspelling, spelling,
et cetera errors to harass
glommed together with isinglass
hop, skip and jumping
to appear as a *******
whereat no respect
able collegiate lass
would give a fig about me,
one totally tubular royal morass,
which expert anthropologists
stumped asper nonclass
if eye able ****
sapiens mutant ninja turtle
case in point being his
wanting in height not e'en pass
sing the six foot mark
plus mental illness
perhaps traceable to
besotted cognitive damage
inherited predecessors
quaffing an overdose of quass
made obvious peering at resulting
Ct scan results viewed
via microscopic spyglass
revealing abnormal amygdala
automatically designating
his aptitude underclass
among average human
with mettlesome Zeusian brass.
Jul 7, 2018
Jul 7, 2018 at 11:42 PM UTC
I.
It feels like an itch beneath her skin, like static electricity, like all her hairs on end, and she loves it. She knows that if she would only spread her fingers and say the words, she knows that if she were to close her eyes and open them again, the world would be in colors that no one else could see. She knows that if she would only let it free, it would spark and be euphoric-
her hand clenches into a fist. she ignores it.
II.
Her spellbooks are stacked haphazardly in boxes and her shelves are full of YA fiction. She does not go into the attic anymore. She lets them collect dust. She does not pour over old latin phrases or study greek for any other reason than to read Homer. She concentrates on Biblical Greek. A silver cross hangs around her neck. Her notebooks of tediously written translations are scattered to the winds. They are replaced with collegiate notes and short stories.She is a scholar. Her curiosity is never sated.
She does not go into the attic.
III.
Sometimes she wakes up five feet from her bed, her nose brushing the ceiling. Sometimes she’ll feel the wind and clouds pick up her emotions. Sometimes she hears the whispers of the dead. But they are whispers. Her prayers are louder. She closes her eyes and grasps at control, waiting until the forecast is correct again. She clutches her golden cross and tearfully waits until her back hits mattress.
It will pass it will pass it will pass.
IV.
She studies more now than she ever had. The girl who’d been able to get by on lectures alone is no longer satisfied with a B/C average. She hones her writing skill until it is sharp as a blade. She beats her pen to paper as though it can lead her to salvation as well as The Good Book. Sometimes she falls asleep at her desk and her papers float around her.
She buys more paperweights.
V.
The future is shadows and whispers. No longer do other people’s auras paint her vision with colors no one else can see. No longer do other people’s deaths and loved ones press themselves behind her eyes. No longer does she peer into souls that only stare back. They blur together like retired nightmares. She does not hear their voices. She does not see their faces.
Her vision is only 20/20.
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 7:23 PM UTC