"constricting" poems
When people ask if you're weird, or tell you,
or want to believe themselves strange,
eclectic, or odd.
It's vaguely disgusting to me,
cringeworthy in a mild degree.
We think we're so different,
but we are not.
The individualism of people
should be and is comparable
to the individualism of ants.
Who looks at the anthill and
sees something in particular,
something behaving specifically
"uniquely"
from every ant and every anthill?
Why do you believe in yourself?
I see this, as a conversation about
depression, and your partner
does not respect you
but instead wants to
tell you how they feel worse,
or have it worse, or "understand" more
about the affirmation or situation.
A person looking for individuality
through a lens of misery, anguish, and sadness,
is truly alone in their minds, and missing the
reality that these depressions exist without them.
The statement, "you are not alone" is an attack,
or an offense to these people, because it says
"you are not as unique as you think",
it strips them of their identity and individuality.
This is true of many ideologies and affirmations.
I quit individuality, this constricting sense
of holding everything of yourself in center,
to be a drop in the whole, something fluid.
If you split your affirmations from yourself,
you'd see we're all the same;
Affirmations are just currents in the ocean.
I look at myself; and people see a man,
a radical feminist, and sometimes a musician.
As labels, these each have their own presupposed notions,
[especially, "man" or "male" in the patriarchal gaze]
which hardly, if ever, are true,
but as affirmations, when I consent to using them,
these are no longer stereotypes that constrain me,
but similarities that I realize
I can embrace or shut out in others.
Affirmations do not make me more unique,
but similar to more people.
If I remove these affirmations to try and get to my "true" center,
my purest form of self, I see I am without meaning.
This is why I quit Individuality.
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 1:59 PM UTC
I started writing a poem about them
And the beginning sounded like ours
The one where I told you that
Words aren't enough to define us
And yes words are limiting
But
They also have a way of telling you more
If you pay close enough attention
When "I love you endlessly"
Turns to "ILY" and
"I can't imagine my life without you"
Turns to weeks of sitting alone
And all the "I miss you"s
Turn to "how are you"s
As if you even cared
Your actions never matched your language
Were your words too limiting for you?
When I was still always there for you
And all you did was break promises?
Were the words you spoke too constricting?
At least that would explain why you broke them
Though still not why you said them
Maybe you were afraid to let me down
Or afraid to really be seen
Or just so self-absorbed that you didn't care
That you couldn't care
About yourself
Or about me
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 10:50 AM UTC
In the darkness of constricting depression
I begged the Lord to give me joy even if it killed me,
and He promised me it most assuredly would,
for this is joy’s mantra:
“Death to self!”
It is simply not possible to know the deepest kind of joy
until we have experienced the anguish of death to self
with a cruel stake of affliction though our hearts.
For it is there on the altar of sacrifice
when we have finally surrendered what is most dear to us,
when we have willingly brought our costliest gifts
to lay humbly at the feet of the King,
that we are raised up to know firsthand His resurrection joy
through the fellowship of sharing in His sufferings.
No one who has ever truly learned that
“to live is Christ and to die is gain”
has ever escaped this path.
Find me even one.
There is nothing quite like rejection to teach us about God’s love,
nothing quite like loss to teach us of His joy,
nothing like storms to teach peace,
nothing like ruined plans to teach patience,
nothing like loneliness to teach kindness,
nothing like failure to teach us of His goodness,
nothing like betrayal to teach faithfulness,
nothing like being completely misunderstood to teach gentleness
and nothing like humiliation to teach us self-control.
Why is this?
Because there is nothing like pain to chase us to Jesus
and to teach us to rely so helplessly on His Spirit’s filling.
And when we have His filling, we will know His fruit.
Aug 3, 2017
Aug 3, 2017 at 7:36 PM UTC
Fill the hollow crevice of my existence
With light, show me a warmer way
Stop numbness from taking over
I am slipping further0 into dismay.
Down the senseless pit of despair
My direction is out of control
Darkness paralyzes my mind
Strangling thoughts that crawl and roll
Constricting my body until I give up
I kick the air but cannot land a blow
The empty space will never stop resisting
The sound of my own scream has become my foe.
The endless void swallows my voice
Here the tears I cry fall forever
The lies I have told mean nothing now
I knew my will was always meant to sever.
Faced with nothingness all around
This is my life; a big black hole
It's slowly shoving me outwards
Little by little, pain taking over my soul.
Chaos has reality gripped
In a tight but unsure grasp
Confusing the mass of color
And motion contained in its clasp
Bullied by the tidal wave of isolation
Head above water though it is strong
Giving up the ability to move
Surviving by the current floating me along.
My consciousness is traveling lethargically
I no longer feel my torso or limbs
Attempt to wiggle a finger but it won't budge
It takes all my strength to speak and part dry lips.
This is where existence ceases
Where time's beginning meets its end
An unending loop of monotonous emotions displayed
A breif instant in which Eternity life does suspend
Mar 28, 2018
Mar 28, 2018 at 6:35 PM UTC
letting loose old chains
you and your wry laughter
defeated by the day old machines
of life and their constant clogging
time's hands tear into spring
nail first, peeling off the light constricting canopy
twisting barbwire off delicate skin
strangling you on a couch from hell
wake up to the smell of bourbon
and dead roses - *so pretty
your lashes creating the shadows
on your gaunt cheekbones,* and your name is Soul
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 1:14 AM UTC
Breathe in and blow everything out of proportion
A manic artist versus the abstract composition
In my head this all looked as perfect as imagination
The challenge was blending the line between fantasy and reality
To get the inner critic to agree
Worlds colliding this one into the next
Dreams manifested to the forefront
of a visionary gone inside himself
Throwing myself against the walls of my mind
In an attempt to think outside the box.
Even in our own heads they've got us on lockdown
With the chemical constraints constricting creativity
These straightjackets of sorts
Straightening out the free-thinkers
A fourth wall broken
Pretentions are high
On the artist's plane
Subjectively selling ourselves out to a shallow medium
The mainstream
The water we should be walking on
We're drown out in.
Drawn into the background of the bigger picture.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 6:48 PM UTC
When we met, your body was in bloom,
Roses of purple black and blue,
Planted without care. Strewn about
the bed, your flesh now painted.
Frozen blue buds pushing
through snow, brushed onto skin.
The petals soft and smooth, spread
Across your body, like a vine.
Blossoms of summer, with shades of winter,
Their roots went deep, coiling and constricting.
They became your arteries and veins,
Your nerves and bones.
I cannot pull these flowers,
Without destroying part of you.
Only time and careful tending,
Will wither the roots.
Only when the flowers fade, if you
will let me, I will plant my seeds.
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 12:45 PM UTC
Tonight, I spoke into the darkness,
No stars to light my way,
The black void all encompassing
My words drifting up in ribbons,
I waited for something, anything to happen
I felt a rumble that was akin to ripples emanating from a drop of water hitting a puddle
I was small next to the impossible,
And when it spoke back, it changed me
The blank canvas of stark black was pierced by blades of light,
The sky becoming a shutter in a rain storm
Blowing open and closed
The words came and wrapped themselves across my body in its entirety
Constricting my air flow
I felt myself shatter
An implosion of feeble glass
Ricocheting through a skeleton of paper, reflecting the brightness above inside ripped skin
I was nothing.
I didn't exist.
I floated in an incomprehensible place that had no end, no walls
No ceiling or floor
Just illumination in every direction
I opened my eyes
And was blinded by an incredible radiance
I shut my eyes tight and swatted in front of me
My hand struck something metal and I yelped in pain
I shot up and stared downward
Towards the desklamp unplugged on the floor
Breathing heavily, I sat upright in my bed,
Struggling to pull away words that had already sunken in
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 3:00 PM UTC
how do you explain:
i'm the one who's broken my own heart.
years of allowing negativity into my cracks,
tolerating it's bloom.
only now trying to rip out their roots.
but they have grown like weeds.
manifested in my chest, tangled throughout my ribs.
constricting.
trying to make them love me, to make them see.
now~
trying to fall back in love with myself,
is really not that easy.
it actually hurts more than loving any one else.
because you know, more than anyone, what you're capable of.
good and bad.
but please, in my upmost hour of desperation,
im begging myself
to take myself back.
she misses you.
she needs you now more than ever.
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 7:12 PM UTC
Late night phone calls
Conversations and sapphic dreams
Days got so long
I couldn't keep her entertained
It’s haunting and painful
Loving what you can’t hold
Coldness crept beneath the warmth
I thought she gave
Ensnared me; constricting
I couldn’t breathe
Thought I was breathless because I loved her
But she killed me with her sweetness
Worry, confusion
Tainted memories
Agony and heartache
Looking back in vain
I’m blurry, misguided
Troubled and insecure
Uncertain and lonely
Trying to find a cure
To all of my despair
Thought she was something more
Wet and red
As my wrists bled
She was there
In every tear I shed
What a haunting way
To honor
The memory of a ghost
Priestess in my memories
Temptress in my dreams
Why was it so easy?
So easy to leave me?
To hurt me?
How was it so easy to let me go?
I’m still holding on
To all the things I can’t recall
You must have took them all
On our last call
The sound of your laughter
The sound of your voice
Choking on your tears
I still remember
Worry, confusion
Tainted memories
In the tea stained color
Of her eyes
Agony and heartache
Looking back in vain
I’m blurry, misguided
Troubled and insecure
Uncertain and lonely
Trying to find a cure
To all of my despair
Thought she was something more
But I was colorblind, I should’ve known
When our love was blue in a world of red
Nov 7, 2021
Nov 7, 2021 at 7:51 AM UTC
Brother Iran
by Michael R. Burch
Brother Iran, I feel your pain.
I feel it as when the Turk fled Spain.
As the Jew fled, too, that constricting span,
I feel your pain, Brother Iran.
Brother Iran, I know you are noble!
I too fear Hiroshima and Chernobyl.
But though my heart shudders, I have a plan,
and I know you are noble, Brother Iran.
Brother Iran, I salute your Poets!
your Mathematicians!, all your great Wits!
O, come join the earth’s great Caravan.
We’ll include your Poets, Brother Iran.
Brother Iran, I love your Verse!
Come take my hand now, let’s rehearse
the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam.
For I love your Verse, Brother Iran.
Bother Iran, civilization’s Flower!
How high flew your towers in man’s early hours!
Let us build them yet higher, for that’s my plan,
civilization’s first flower, Brother Iran.
Published by MahMag (translated into Farsi by Mahnaz Badihian), Other Voices International, Thanal Online (India), Deviant Art, Portal Vapasin (Farsi). Keywords/Tags: Iran, Iranian, Farsi, Persia, Persian, brotherhood, culture, civilization, poetry, literature, poets, mathematicians, philosophers
Mar 26, 2020
Mar 26, 2020 at 3:06 AM UTC
She stands at the window
a fine white stream of goodevil
trickling down her chin
Heaving against the pane
heaving against the pain
She longs for a killer breeze
from the die-hard fan
Yellow-eyed seconds slither out the clock
hi S S ing in rhythm as they crawl
On the table
the used core of a once
juicy red delicious
hourglass figure, cyanide hearts and all
She is aware of her nakedness
Moon ogles on
bleeding silver from stab wounds
by dagger branches
awaiting a crack in the window
through which to enter
Tree of Life towers menacingly overhead
He walks in
AdamAnt
intelligent designer suit
businessgod attire
briefcase in hand
brief case in point
He knows
She knows
Time knows
Electric Goliath stirs in the depths
Ego awakens
lifts its rod
beckons to waves of children behind it
parts the folds of red sea
charges head on
Rides long and hard
hooves pounding the riverbed
Ready
to pull out
on the other side
Branches find their crack
Enraged Goliath stumbles
Ego trips
relentless walls close in
It goes under in a seizure
frothing at the mouth
drowning
as its children swim
Time holds the couple's breath in suffocating grip
Tree binds Life to a cell
at the center of her flower prison
Pane, reflecting
pain, reflected
Window souls mirror soul's Window
Branches regain their higher dwellings
Exhumed goliath stirs on a distant shore
She stands at the window
a fine white stream of goodevil
trickling down her shin
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 9:00 AM UTC
I wish my mom thought we were more important that the T.V.
I wish my stepdad thought we were more important
than his nightly bing drinking
I wish my stepsisters wouldn't be depressed to come home
or afraid to stay after dinner
instead of fleeing, alone
to their designated shelter
I wish my stepdad was less angry all the time
I wish my mom didn't have to thirst her sorrows with
boxed Franzia Red Wine
I wish she would stop complaining,
and see all the little things worth enjoying
I wish they knew their lives were slowly wasting away
faster than the drinks they put down
and the sarcasm they put out
I wish they knew there was a world outside
because I'd like to experience it with them
and leave some good memories inside
I wish they knew that missing their life
was more important than missing their show
I wish they knew missing their children's lives were too
I wish they could sit down with us
and learn what brilliant family they have
But we are too boring
We are no ****** mystery, crime
sport, beer, or wine
I wish they would be honest with themselves and each other
and admit out loud that
they are unhappy
I with they knew the energy they expelled
the atmosphere they create
makes it a home of one almost hated
They are good guardians, they protect us, feed us, love us
and I know they care
Still lingers this sad, constricting, and distant feeling in the air
I can come and go as I please
but I wish they saw their daughters
had the running away disease
Whether inside themselves, to their room, or a friends,
They should not want to escape their homes in the end
Their children have such inspiring minds
They are beautiful souls,
ambitious, intelligent, kind
I wish they could see
but it's blocked by the T.V.
and all the Netflix movies
I wish they could tell I am an outsider looking In
and I don't even know where to begin
Mainly I wish they would open their eyes
and realize, their lives and their family
are passing them by
We love them so much
we miss them
we know they love us
but I wonder if they miss us
Or if they even know who We are..
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 11:46 AM UTC
Every day is the same.
Wake up late. Procrastinate.
Rush to get ready, board a bus.
Go to school. And wait.
I’ve never understood
Why people are so heartless.
People swearing and shouting and arguing at each other.
I just walk down the halls, trying to block out all the sound.
People ask me questions a lot.
“Why don’t you talk? Can you even speak?”
Yes I can, but it’s not like I don’t want to talk.
I can’t, because there’s no point in it.
You don’t know what it’s like to hate your own voice.
To feel like you won’t be understood
‘Cause your voice is too soft and deep and quiet
And you have a stupid lisp that impedes with everything.
You don’t know what it’s like to have people talk about you.
“He only talks to one person,” they say.
It makes me feel like ****
But nobody cares how I feel.
Every day is the same.
I try my best to hide my feelings.
But sometimes things slip out
When I don’t want them to.
I cried once in class.
Put my head down on the desk.
After I was called a name by someone.
After no one would let me sit down on the bus.
I’m exhausted all the time.
I don’t want to do anything.
I just want to sleep all day.
It’s not like I’ll do anything else with my time.
I want to connect with people.
Even if I don’t understand them.
But it’s so difficult
When you face roadblocks every day.
Every day is the same.
My mind races with thoughts
“You’re going to ***** up. You’re an idiot. A loser.”
“A worthless waste of space in this world.”
“Don’t answer that question, he won’t hear you.”
They tell me to speak up, but I can’t.
It’s like something’s constricting me.
It’s the anxiety, and all those stupid thoughts.
I’m not happy anymore. I forgot the last time I was.
Can’t do anything anymore. The spark I had is gone.
It faded away with all my passions and desires.
I don’t see the point in doing anything.
Sometimes I think about the end.
I know nobody would care if I’m gone.
But then again, I can’t do that to her.
Not when all I want is to spend time with my girl.
I wish she was here. I wish we could talk.
One day isn’t enough for everything I want to say.
It’s irritating, frustrating, this distance is killing me.
But I know it’s not her fault, and I’m not mad.
If it wasn’t for her, I don’t know where I’d be.
If it wasn’t for me, she wouldn’t be the person she is now.
It’s amazing, how she’s able to survive with those parents of hers.
While I’m just a speck in a vast void of nothingness.
I hate them. I hate them so much.
They call her names, they insult who she is.
She’s just trying to be who she wants to be.
Why would you try and strip that from her?
She’s precious to me, can’t you see?
I tried so hard to get you to understand.
But you ignored it all, you never believed me.
So I’m done trying. There’s no point.
She’s the only one that makes me happy.
When I’m around her, everything just fades away.
My fears, my sorrow, my stupid thoughts.
I wish I could be by her side forever.
I miss her so much.
It’s like my heart is breaking when we’re apart.
I know, somehow, we’ll get through this.
And it will all be worth it.
Someday, I’ll be by your side.
Someday, your lips will touch mine.
I know one day, we’ll finally be together.
And we’ll never be apart from that point on.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 10:27 PM UTC
You were a tourist attraction
That I held in my hands
My fingers, constantly tracing the outline of your smile in photographs
A memory
A tourist attraction, is visited by thousands every year
But I, I knew you’re story
Where the bombs struck most
Where the guns left the most bulletholes
In your forgotten love life
I remember you like the Alamo
Broken, but still standing
You were the tourist attraction,
And I was the snow globe
in your gift shop
Shaken.
Stirred.
Removed.
But I still carried a part of you inside me
You were the Golden Gate Bridge
From hipster photographs
But I knew, your workings
Like how you keep your ropes loosen
To avoid constricting
Breaking
Throwing away
Tourist every day photograph your beauty but I,
I was the civilian
who framed you in my doorway
Statues are not freedom, they are committed to their solidarity
Unwillingness to move
The freedom is found in the boys eyes
Who walks away with the snow globe
Something new in his hands
An attraction.
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 3:45 PM UTC
How could I spell out love when it is absent of her name?
The way her eyes reflected a sunrise, the envy of Eos
She was like honey in the sky, the amber of her energy enraptured me
I was bewitched
She was a masterpiece drawn with starlight, unfathomable beauty
An ivory sculpture crafted by the hands of a god, masterpiece of Hephaestus
I remember the time I was blessed by that smile,
A vilified promise
The scent of patchouli and the taste of my favorite tea
Like ambrosia for a mortal, that sweet taste of paradise
Sunflowers and the many other favorites that she gave me
Stolen without a word
She used to call me late at night to talk about her day
But the days for me got longer, I couldn't keep her entertained
Such a coldness hid underneath the warmth I thought she gave me
Gone like a ghost in the night
I thought I was breathless because I loved her, now I’m suffocated by the agony
She was killing me underneath the sweetness, constricting like a boa
And when I close my eyes to see the memories lapse she's still in them
Haunting me like she wanted
Eros' is golden arrows struck me hard and shamelessly
Through my heart and left a scar, chasmic and wide
Her toxic serotonin left me high, addicted to her energy
A limitless euphoria
I spoke to the gods above and I told them of my love
What a liar she's made me out to be, the clever snake
I begged that Aphrodite let my words reach her
But they fell on deaf ears
Now I pray that Anteros relieves me and hears my plea
Unravel these feelings in my heart, lift the anchor of her name
Don't let me be the sole carrier of the blame
For the ruin that remains
Nov 7, 2021
Nov 7, 2021 at 7:42 AM UTC
Lately I’ve felt as though every little sound and feeling and smell and sight is grating at my nerves and chipping away at my sanity.
My clothes feel constricting and too loose and scratchy and smooth and not right
My ears are full of constant ticking and ringing and noise
My skin wraps my frame too tightly and I want to rip it apart and off of me but then I’d be cold and miserable
It’s all too much and everything is loud and jarring and I feel frenzied and too stuck and not stuck enough and all I want to do is jump in front of a van because then everything would
Just
Be
Quiet.
Blessed and sought-after and evasively, quiet.
Jun 26, 2022
Jun 26, 2022 at 4:42 PM UTC
The ice sifting in my glass
melts as the full moon sets
Another vice, constricting,
like a tightly wound corset
I can't be around so many people
in such familiar atmospheres
without a mixed drink and a cigarette
intervening through my beers
On her phone, at the table
She seems alone but not ashamed
I wonder if a single person here
could even guess her name
For a little liquid courage
I finish up my drink
I transfer to a closer chair
and ask on what she thinks
"I've got a past consumed by lovers
and a future filled with death
But the only thing I've ever wanted
was someone else inside my head
I want to hear somebody understand
that I don't always feel so fine"
I think I start to fall in love
as she pirouettes her glass of wine
She tells me how she grew up
on shattered hopes and dreams
Yet everything she's ever needed
has been well within her reach
The scars that she has
they paint a vivid history
A reminder of the past
A tour guide, makeshift, just for me
We talk a little longer
We joke and we sing
Halfway through her bottle
her ride informs us she's leaving
She says "I think I'm gunna miss you
when I'm alone laying in bed
Unless you want to take me there
and tuck me in instead"
We head out to the main street
where I hail us a taxi
She says she wants to split my headphones
and hear something relaxing
So we listen to Alcoa
Cab Rides & Cigarettes
I never knew that such a sad song
Could evoke such an affect
I dropped
her off
and left
But I'm glad
that we
had met
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 11:34 AM UTC
Muscles clench like knots on rope
prior to any wintry water droplets
dripping on my scarecrow frame.
There's a moment of cautious pause,
my mind waivers the rest of me--
uncomfortable with the atypical developments
insisting through western culture's handbook
bathing is meant to be relaxing.
I agree.
So after a thoughtful inhale
we dive in.
oo!
The siberian shock of the frigid liquid landing
on warm, pale-rose flesh
slowly erodes with an exhale...
My mercurial movements
and conscious unravelling of the constricting sinews
offer a peppermint bliss-like salvation!
The chill fades,
water wanders down,
allowing my body to interact with the clear solution,
allowing myself to be and breathe with each cold moment
of wide-eyed cool-headed serenity.
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 12:54 PM UTC
you tended to parasites,
thinking they were blossoms.
you expected them
to grow around
and into
the person
i used to be.
you expected something beautiful.
but now,
vines are constricting me,
growing around me,
curling inside me.
insects are scuttling on me,
through me,
they are a part of me.
i am made up
of parasites,
of weeds,
and wilted flowers.
everything good in me
has been devoured by
everything bad you've cultivated.
(i reach out to you,
hoping you will feed me
with praises,
with smiles,
with gentle intentions.)
but you water me
with hurtful words,
disappointed gazes,
and angry actions.
you expect
a paradise
in me,
and you are disappointed
when you see a barren wasteland
in the person
i was supposed to be.
and i am disappointed
because i cannot grow
the way you want me to
with the way
you nurture me.
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 5:03 PM UTC
Rubber bands wrap my body
The tan pseudo-office-supplies
Run in lines akin to guitar strings.
They’re both slippery and stiff,
And they pull in their surroundings
Holding them close like rubber bands do.
They are the reason I’m still whole.
Constricting around my body and mind,
Keeping everything together.
But when they begin to fail at that job
And thus threatening I fall to pieces,
I simply add some more,
To reinforce the wrapping’s reliability.
Jan 23, 2022
Jan 23, 2022 at 12:36 PM UTC
You wrap my arms behind me
With bright red thread
In a pattern
Like a ballerina's slipper
Gone horribly bad
You stare me down
With searing black eyes
An aura of hate
Trailing your every
Movement
You know you put them there
He says
You tied those red vines, not I
My mind is spinning
Did I?
No, I didn't think I had
His words cast a spell,
A wicked hex
That divides my thoughts
The red thread
Is constricting
As I try to find
Myself
My reality
It hurts
I'm starting to bleed
I did not do this!
I yell in my head
I suddenly become aware
That his calloused hands
Were tightening
The thread
And my reality,
Whether good or bad,
Was slowly
Killing me
In his hands
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 7:12 PM UTC
Hey you there
It's not just me in here
Oh how I wish you could hear the coconspirator
Or see in a single tear how loud the fear of fear truly can be
And how I'm so rarely allowed to steer
I AM a dark passenger, MY dark passenger
A near prison like constricting atmosphere with no breathing apparatus gear
Life can be so impossibly cavalier
Death is always closer than it should ever appear, regardless of the mirror
In my story I have the glory of a lone fourth musketeer
With a crowded asylum between each ear
So many questions but not a single agreed upon answer will appear
And I've yet to meet this so called infallible puppeteer
Though the hierarchy is clear, it passes through an auctioneer
"Punish thee if thy finds I should ever veer from thy holy 'engineer'"
Hell, they can stay put like a headlight frozen deer
I'd rather be allowed to be the one to disappear
I did not ask to be here
©2025
Mar 16, 2025
Mar 16, 2025 at 7:13 PM UTC
I
The stars are double-weighted tonight.
bulging, beating, they sink
from their proper lurches.
One by one across the murky
evening they sputter out.
What natural light remains
seeps from that subtly gaudy
bauble of a moon.
II
Peeled eucalyptus, ice-plant, new-mown summer grass,
dandelion, sloping hill, carved stone bench,
the view, the reflected city-light off the bay water,
white-washed near-tenements.
I am firmly locked up, chained in a bone cage
of chemically manipulated cranial plates;
serotonin, synapses, dopamine, dendrite
create a web like seaweed constricting the sea;
this computer of a head calculates, oscillates,
and processes the sensory.
III
My body is a tattered jib sail
flowing in the light sprinkling rain:
the simmer of the gale:
a hollow cathedral abandoned
by the believers:
a vessel for my marrow:
an imaginary catalyst for profundity:
an incarceration: a hull of particles
arrested: some part of an experience.
Aug 25, 2012
Aug 25, 2012 at 1:46 PM UTC
Oh, I got that feeling again. I’ve been staring at the ceiling again. Letting my heart take flight, as the music reaches its height, taking my thoughts out of minds’ sight. But this feeling I now fight, cannot be controlled. Cannot be moved, overcome, or even forced to fold. Gripping my ever-changing soul and forcing my hands. As my breath leaves my body and my feet forget to stand. Hands pushed to speak through the letters they find. Putting feelings to words that cant seem to speak my mind. Frustrated by my inaction, that passively takes form. In the words I now force to unwilling conform. To these one-inch margins that box in my thoughts, constricting my deepest feelings and simplify life’s plot. All perpetuated by the rhythm, of the ever-spinning fan. Mounted just above my bed, that seems to hypnotize what’s in my head. Threading image to feeling, and my feelings to my words. As the tapestry of us, now resembles fleeing birds. Each winged reminisce that has forever taken flight, a moment in time that will always hold spite. Towards cliffs edge that stands between what the heart seeks. And a mans inability to step beyond its daunting peak. So with time ticking down and our future running by, I stand at a distance and continue our little lie. One living in the shadows of nights eternally pasted on, when passions ignited without though of our coming dawn. Only of the connection made with courage in hand, liquefied to motivate beyond what history had banned. What allies once forbid and witnesses cheered on, inhibition finding wind and politics forgone. Now forced to be nothing more then memories in the sand, as our hourglass approaches empty and my thoughts continue to be fanned. Continue to find rhythm as the blades spin madly by, ticking down to a day when I cannot take the lie. Cannot take this falsehood that pushes me from behind, as I approach that daunting edge of my own terrified mind. So with time in short supply along with my pride, I put black to white and our segregation aside. In the hopes that time stands still for just a moment more, to help you understand that it is you I adore.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 12:59 AM UTC