"cst" poems
They were masked
with obedience of terrorism on their lips
shoot people mercilessly
played with their souls
in their eyes, no sign of remorse
that dreaded night
when Mumbai cried rivers of blood
death toll increasing with the politicians giving zero *****
ten men killed approx 164
so many injured
so many scarred
lest we forget them from our hearts
martyrs left a legacy
they were many other than Salaskar, Kamte and Unnikrishnan
They played with blood in
Taj, Oberoi, Cama Hospital, Nariman House, CST and Leopold Café
their minds were moulded to be like this.
the innocent tried to hide in hotel lobbies
she watched her husband die
and then she died a silent death
they shot her unborn child
they ignored the infant's cry
they killed humanity
they came with guns
tied their hostages to a pole
and had fun.
The bomb exploded
shattering all their body parts
nothing but chunks of human flesh here and there
the innocent hid themselves in a room
took up the phone and fumbled words
they found the innocent
and...nothing.
the phone line went dead
6 years later,
we still can't forget
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 7:51 AM UTC
Blown out
**** filled ashtray,
bedsheets without
her coconut scent.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 4:08 AM UTC
Teetering on something significant,
but the words haven't been molded;
just some idea that was formed
in the attic of an old comic book store
when I was inspired by the artwork
of that Liefeld guy who inks dysmorphia.
-
The definition of ******* seems to be something
that fits like a drunken tattoo in a hard to see area.
You need a couple mirrors, your arms start to ache
and you never really do get a good look at it.
Now you have to explain to casual intimate partners
that you think it's the first Megazord, not a little devil.
-
I recently did a math problem that took up an entire page;
it was my first time doing something like that.
The pacing of math classes gives me an anxiety like I can't believe.
The word prerequisite give me an anxiety like I can't believe.
Sweaty, cold, fetal, this can't really be a normal reaction, right?
I think Montessori might have messed with my wiring.
-
I can hear my mom shuffling about on her walker.
I think she must be feeding a cat, or cleaning up puke;
the spectrum of caring.
Holly is in heat and howling.
I can't find my Proventil, it tastes so much better than the other brands.
I think I might just have some fruity pebbles.
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 4:31 AM UTC
A single soul lays on the corner
Abandoned, lonely for the time.
Its vessel has left it there to cry in silence
For that soul has no medium, no outlet to use
These words are before perfection
A monotone within soulless mind
The toil of the environment would be enough
For if the soul were present to weep the tears
No joy or pleasure, desire lacking
A constant dredge through swamp
Eyelids flutter unsynchronous to the sun
Behold life of instincts and irrelevant singals
Written: March 28, 2006 @ 9:33 AM CST
Feb 1, 2010
Feb 1, 2010 at 5:25 PM UTC
Pale Moon Light
Written by:
Jessy Andrews
5-4-2010
9:29 PM CST
Poem 13
Into the night I again go.
Faint light touches my skin.
No shadow do I cast.
Haunting only to those who bother to cast an eye upon me.
What they see will burn deep into their memory.
How long will it last?
That is for the one who cast the eye on me to determine.
I again become a child
This is where I once made my mark.
The night time world was once caught unexpected.
It embraced me then as it embraces me still.
In it was the strength to heal.
I go back into it now for the same reason.
Pain, it’s a constant in life.
It’s cold, staying sharp as a double bladed knife.
Such a strange energy and feeling comes from this power.
Opening these arms to it I am.
I merely await the witching hour.
My eyes are trained to stay focused upon a darkening sky.
Breathing in the oncoming nights air.
Taking on a very pure high.
I want to go out and dance among the stars.
Melt away all of my past scars.
All of my past fears.
Encompass me within the soft breath of night.
For now I am it’s child.
I walk out into it and take a deep breath in.
I sense a storm coming in.
I release the breath and feel tingling underneath my skin.
As others pass me by my eyes stay focused on the darkened sky.
The faint light that now graces my presence.
It will soon disappear into total and complete blackness.
I’ll stand in it as the thunder roars.
I’ll get soaked as the rain caresses the ground.
Into the night I will now stay.
Moving silently, I will not make a sound.
Others presences and thoughts are mine to haunt.
Without the light of the moon they are my victims.
They are mine to haunt.
Jul 3, 2010
Jul 3, 2010 at 11:52 PM UTC
Blistered Heart
Written by:
Jessy Andrews
5-3-2010
1:34 PM CST
Poem 8
This pain is loud and very much alive.
I wish I could say I know not where it comes from.
But, I can’t. It’s made itself quite obvious.
I wish it would just let me go numb.
I know what it is. It’s the rock hard fist of reality.
Reminding me that it was me that made a decision.
One that needs to be followed through all the way.
Giving me absolute reason and leaving me with nothing to say.
Is my world falling apart?
Or is it just following the rhythm of this blistered heart?
I don’t like having to make tough decisions.
But, neither does anybody else that I’m aware of.
The Universe tells me the time to move on has come.
It tells me I’ll have the support that I’ll need.
So why must I still bleed?
Hardships said to be coming my way.
Only is it me that sees them only as an illusion.
A reflection of growing into the future self.
For a being that lives in the sunlight of the Now.
A reflection such as that is hard to swallow.
But it is the way of making this being more secure.
Secure in finally being my own person.
It is to the stars that I pray.
Pray for the strength to face this new vision that’s not so far away.
My time has come. My time is here.
To fulfill my own prophecy.
The one I’ve ran from. The one that has fed into my fear.
Burying myself so deep into the darkest of my shadow.
A claim to the energies of something chaotic.
No I must embrace them.
May the flame again rise in me.
Revitalizing this heart so blistered.
ÓMinistries of the Chaotic Publishing Inc.
May 19, 2010
May 19, 2010 at 10:24 PM UTC
It is 7:58 on August 6
and I am in love with
the world.
I tell myself this
because one day I
will feel like
the world has
left me
for someone else.
When that day comes
I'll have the poem
to remember him by.
Everything
is washed in
pink light
like some old
masterpiece.
"If I were an Impressionist..."
I muse, smugly
patting myself
on the back,
knowing I'll never
be able to
paint.
As I'm writing
it's fading into
some unchartered
purple, and
by the time I
finish, it'll probably
be dark,
but the sun
will be back up
tomorrow.
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 9:04 PM UTC
you've been derisively labelled
"basic" before, but they had it
all wrong your acid tongue could
eat away at the
solid steel of the most
guarded hearts end
my solitude devour me
please oh god devour
me I'm so pathetic and
unworthy why are you still here
you should have left me
months ago and now months
have passed yet you remain,
unmoving, though not unchanging,
and I am unsure what to do.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 3:42 AM UTC
Write You Out
Written by:
Jessy Andrews
8-10-2010
11:07 AM CST
Poem 18
This is the last time I will write about or to you.
This is the last time I will ever have anything to say.
It is now time that I submit to writing you out.
It is now time to erase your manifestation from mine.
It’s taken me three long months to admit I’m fine.
Three long months I’ve had to come to terms, come to peace.
I watched as you started wasting away.
I counted the days to the time I could make what we had cease.
I don’t hold a grudge against you.
I just want nothing more to do with you.
I don’t care what you think about me.
I don’t care how you feel about me.
I have merely released myself by setting you free.
Yes! You abused the love I so willingly gave.
You were that hard lesson I was hoping I would never have to learn.
Your touch isn’t a memory I want to save.
Think me cold, think me harsh, think me mean.
Keeping you around wasn’t worth the hurt and pain I was accumulating.
With you I was becoming too weak and too vulnerable.
A future we weren’t allowed, we were too busy be complicated.
This is the only time I recall my heart and mind working as one.
Now don’t look for me. Don’t come and find me.
The damage is done. The illusion has died.
I eventually saw you for who you were.
In me you found it too difficult to confide.
That unfortunately was half your undoing.
The other half was your multitude of lies.
Some day I will be able to forgive you.
Some day I won’t feel so cold.
Right now that doesn’t matter and I must heal with time.
I wash you out of me.
Your energies I no longer own.
I’m taking much pride in surviving alone.
No longer will I be inhibited.
No longer am I a boy too easily fooled.
Too many shadows of former selves do I have.
What it is that you really saw of me I’ll never truly understand.
Too long I’ve let you have the upper hand.
I’ve said my goodbye.
I’ve released you from my heart.
This is the last thing I have to say to you.
How to love me you had no real clue.
Hopefully life for you will some day be worth your while.
Hopefully without me you’ll be able to bear a smile.
Sep 19, 2010
Sep 19, 2010 at 5:34 PM UTC
you are a child
opening presents at 6:34 PST on a
Sunny Christmas morn in PASADENA, CA
while her parents look on in
feigned interest
razor scooter abandoned amid
crushed scrunched wrapping paper as you
tear apart a box of Legos
for the plasticky viscera contained therein.
you are a teen,
finding marijuana at 15:34 CST under a
bed in BOULDER, CO
while your parents shout at your brother
feigning sympathy
simply to ****** it back
and you are wrenching open ziplock
to swallow a chunk of his stash
and you find yourself
enamored with the aroma.
you are a woman,
fighting for equality at 10:26 EST wielding
picket sign (paint and sharpie on cardboard) and megaphone in
MANHATTAN, NY
while your parents
turn over in their graves,
uncertain what you are
fighting for.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 11:16 PM UTC
in time, you will come to learn that
you can remake God in your own image,
if only you are bold enough to do so.
this power is frightening. it suggests that
maybe divinity is
overrated,
that there are no answers.
in time, you will come to learn that
there usually are not, and that this is
okay, if discomfiting.
you will write treatises in your head about
everything: the meaning of an emoji,
what your outfit says about you,
what you'll do when you're rich and have
forgotten all about where we come from.
we forget our past because the present
is much sweeter fruit to partake of;
we forget our past is the only reason
there are sweeter fruits to partake of.
you'll learn to stop looking for love
because you don't think you deserve it, or
because you don't think it'll happen
to you; when you stop, you will be
happier, and love will flow freely from you,
and to you. you will drink too much
***** late Tuesday night; your
roommate will hold your hair back while you
***** you'll awake on the floor with
chunks of food in the sink.
eventually, you will realize: this is love.
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 10:39 AM UTC
Never Again
Written by:
Jessy Andrews
6-25-2010
11:24 AM CST
Poem 15
Walking into a new day.
For the first time in my life I’m truly terrified.
Don’t really know why.
I’ve spent all year preparing for this.
But this morning I woke up with a new feeling.
My perception of my own life came back.
Something inside did finally click.
Putting me back on track.
Truth be known I am perfectly able of healing my own wounds.
I let darkness come back over me.
In solitude I gave no reason as to why.
It hurt and it was very uncomfortable.
Spiritually I began to suffer and that in itself is a very cold way to die.
Been looking to the moon.
Asking her to shed some wisdom.
Quit reminding me of where I’ve been.
Educate me on where I am going.
In stillness I must allow myself to go again.
There is a peace still worthy of knowing.
I’m far from ready to give up.
Far from read to just let go.
To live naturally I must again practice.
The need for immediate reaction I need to sacrifice.
Life works on its own terms.
Right now I need to be a follower.
Running away and escaping is not an option.
A guardian to myself I am now.
Sacred energies I must now again contact.
From the outside world I am no longer its to distract.
Anybody that comes into my life understand one thing.
This moment in time I am a walking evolution.
I will not be side tracked again.
I will now induce my energy transfusion.
For me there is no final destination.
Even beyond the grasp of death.
My comprehension is limitless.
I will not ever again be stripped and be made powerless.
Some say you are your own enemy.
Some say you are your own greatest threat.
I don’t totally agree.
I still have yet to witness another pitiful downfall.
Now that my vision has come back intact.
The path now again illuminates with the colors of my never forgotten neon vision.
As the colors bleed back into me.
It is forever my right. It is forever my privilege to embrace my life that’s free,
Jun 30, 2010
Jun 30, 2010 at 7:58 PM UTC
merlot gnat bite
quivering at my collarbone; can
hear kids screaming across the
intersection, me in my towel and
ankles still dripping with showerwater
upon plush carpet, crickets chirping
just out of view and fan humming
just overhead.
pity you aren't here with me.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 12:54 AM UTC
merlot gnat bites
quivering from collar to
coccyx, a carapace of
swollen skin.
I rub myself
raw, aching for release;
is this
how it's meant
to be?
être, pas être,
it's all the same:
I am; you are
under my skin.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 9:28 AM UTC
naked, sprawled across my bed,
flaccid ***** out of view, obscured by
flaccid technology, this impotent
old thing, 4 years old and
working perfectly fine for me;
lighting strikes.
there is magic, isn't there, in
the way she says your name
not unkindly when she is
with her friends and
without pre-alcohol inhibition;
lightning strikes.
I've been here for
hours, I fly out to
FRANKFURT in the morning,
routing through CHARLOTTE, NC,
cool, isn't it? how we conquered the world with
a pair of wings and some landing gear;
lightning strikes.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 12:55 AM UTC
IF for a moment then this moment
that if any where truer
hours would weep and time should die
IF for a moment then now is ready
that sweetest of knowing
When all is well and love alive
:: 10-15-2018 ::
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 6:23 AM UTC