"descriptor" poems
two days
before we loaded the car
with what seemed like the entirety
of my heart and belongings
to move me across the state to attend college,
my baby brother found me on the kitchen floor,
crying
about the microwave.
well,
not just the microwave.
he found me in a crumpled up heap,
sobbing that this day
would be the last i had
to microwave things
in
this
particular
microwave.
i couldn’t justify my lament then.
my dad chalked it up to ***
my brother called me a drama queen,
and my mom told me i needed to eat less microwaveable things.
but i think i might’ve figured it out now.
five months later.
y’see, i grew up an ARMY brat.
attended five different elementary schools,
two separate middle schools,
one high school,
and two colleges.
i was never good at saying goodbye,
but i’m a pro at walking away.
i found out quickly
that while the faces and names
of my friends and classmates
change from state to state,
the character tropes
stay basically the same.
people and places become such replaceable things.
i worry,
a lot,
about being a replaceable thing.
there are talented people in this world.
people that can divine the past and future
from coffee grounds and tea leaves.
but can anyone here tell me what kinds of awful things my footsteps say about me?
there are boot marks,
with my name on them,
in places i know i should never have been.
and clumps of dirt stuck to my heels
that have been with me longer than some friends have.
i sat on the floor last night
while my love explained physics to me.
he told me
that gravity is a constant force,
and of course,
the earth’s gravity affects each and every one of us.
but our individual gravity affects the earth as well.
according to newton’s third law,
the earth pulls of me
with the same force that i pull on the earth.
my mass disrupts space time.
carl sagan once told me
through the clarifying prism of the television screen,
that we are all stardust,
collapsed suns
and black matter.
we belong to no place.
i belong to no place.
i belong to no place.
i don’t cry about the microwave anymore,
i don’t waste my tears on saying goodbye.
i know that every thing and every one has their time,
and sometimes that time is brief.
it’s a hard pill to swallow,
ultimately my favorite self descriptor is ‘infallible’.
but somedays, i fall
just to stand up and see:
the sun still rises,
the earth still turns,
the microwave still makes bomb-ass chicken nuggets,
and i am still here.
Nov 16, 2016
Nov 16, 2016 at 11:28 AM UTC
What has become of us
Amidst the hustle and bustle of city life
When did evolution condone us to regress into a state
Of uncalculated caucus
As we meander our way through the rapids of life
Rapid
Is hardly a best-fit descriptor
For we are past the point of speed
We mill around like headless horses
Buzzing bees
Stinging roaches
Fallen leaves
Roaring lions
Try to lead
But fail
Like cottons fighting breeze
Is this all we are?
Is this what we were made for?
To quickly climb the climb
And await the graceless fall
Parachutes prepared for praise
But our pride prevents and prevails
Till the day I climb the ladder
Shall I not attempt to see
What the view at the top might be like
I fear it enthralls me
But then reality strikes like a maddening blaze
And suddenly I see
That I'm well on my way up the hill
As I swing from bridge to bridge
Is this the way to live?
Uncautious steps with kleptomaniac ease
As we take what we desire
From our capitalistic divider
Though we hate to be the same
Not at all do we differ
Are we not all blinded mice
With a tetra-human vice
Spiders apt at spinning lies
Banking life on Friday highs
All around me boring beasts
Lost to whims, to say the least
What I fear most is the day
I give in and join the race
Is the day I eat my heart out
Just to enjoy the highest gaze
Till then here trapped in the zoo
Enclosure encasing truth
Finding fault with every human till the day I conform too
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 8:12 AM UTC
Nestled in the mountains
Like a tree, birch or pine
Definitely a tall one
But kind of short, too
Medium-sized, I suppose
Two windows, glass
Seaglass, a pretty blue
Kind of green
Teal-colored, I think
Cerulean might be a better
Descriptor
Stone stuck together
The outside is pretty
Cobblestone, not brick
Like it was made in the Middle Ages
Or maybe the Stone Age
Yeah, that makes more sense
It's pretty here
Like a sunny day
Or a rainy evening
One of the two
Or both
I don't know
I just don't
But I want
To be here
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 11:17 AM UTC
only dead boys hold insects like they're something
special
only a dead boy would let a mantis in his heart and
preying was always a better descriptor
because hymns burned in my throat and
i scratched a cross into my palm but i was never lucky enough to scar
but
oh, dead boy
bug lover
enduring a thousand lashes to save the soul of a beetle -
i'll help you peel off all your scabs to make sure they scar
thick tissue skin memory sometimes you think scars are the closest you'll get
to a wedding ring
you're a suicide king i think a kingdom of hearts was never the safest place for you i
don't think you understand the way your subjects' hearts are strung because
entomology entomos everything you love is cut to bits
and on the fourteenth of february you told me
the only purpose of a flower
was to hold
a spider
inside
and i guess that was why you painted all your walls with roses i
hope your garden smells as sweet
covered in your misfortunes
only a dead boy would let
a praying mantis so close
to his neck
oh, you freak. disgusting.
i ate the last one that let me this close.
you told me {if i die
leave my body
in the forest
by
an anthill}
maybe you don't realize we were doomed from the start or maybe you're just naïve but
honey you're a dead boy and
corpses don't fall in love.
[you're so genuine it hurts and i think
i could teach you how to be a fake -
nobody likes an honest man
i could teach you how to hate the world but you said
{the only one
i hate here
is me}]
freakish child.
all you see in every rorschach is mantes and
decapitations and
wedding rings you are an aberration,
suicide king entomologist your throne room
was full of termites.
with hallowed cheeks and hollowed churches,
i will assure that you scar
dead boy, if you die
i will put maggots
in your chest
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 2:44 PM UTC
as a poet in conversation,
"good" doesn't seem good enough;
any other descriptor would be much
more satisfying:
delicious.
rich.
magical.
stirring.
great.
tasty.
decent.
exceptional.
creative.
pretty.
please.
anything.
else.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 5:44 PM UTC
I felt with one hand in your depths--
fathomless!--for an emblem, an anthem!
No other time but then
did every bright vestige touch my fingers
to be held close,
and now,
and forever!
Only later when I moved to breath did I find
I’d come up with only,
handwritten in ballpoint:
*“Mahogany: A color which
may or may not have been
a precise descriptor of your sweater.”*
It must be an interloping loyalty that grieves me,
as you claimed never to have been
a sensualist.
Yet you brushed my temple with wasp-nest lips!
How sad that your echo exists thus, solely thus;
It is, I think, a paltry token
of a transcendence so complete
that, for once, I did not ***** for color,
but had it kissing
my cold hands.
Dec 11, 2011
Dec 11, 2011 at 3:05 PM UTC
Hard Fall
Dead Winter
Soft Spring
Suddenly Summer
Rehash
All the needles on the ground I found
and cigarette butts
Create the frame of this city-town
and liberate us
Liberate?
Indenture
Is a better descriptor
Should you beat elitism
Peace and Love?
Progressive?
Truth is lost to history
Should you read you see schism
From one bridge looking North
I see at least five more bridges
Westside and East split by a river
This is a long, long division
And it's not stopped
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 7:48 AM UTC
This can be defined as a feeling of deep heat within the throat.
A feeling of volcanoes spewing in the stomach and dynamite egnititing through the face.
One cannot simply control anger
It is one untamed beast, ravaging through innocent villages destroying whatever is in it's path.
If anger was a certain organism
It would have melted it self right out of existance of time
It would have never truly existed
Anger does not fickle
It endures it's prey through out it's existance
It is an enigma and resembles the unknown.
Anger is not part of the fight but rather inflicts it
Anger is no origin
No beginning
No end
No creator
No Descriptor
Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 6:18 PM UTC
they describe the Great White shark as the ultimate killing machine
when it is the descriptor who really fulfils that statement
Man and his killer shadowed heart hiding in plain sight
desperate measures usually end up with corpses stacked high
and there is no other animal more desperate than Man
a territorial fear spreading nonsense believing fool to his own breed
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 6:29 AM UTC
who are you really?
who are you once you are stripped naked,
beaten and hung in front of everyone you have ever had an idea of loving?
who are you when your name sticks in your throat like hot tar, makes you choke and drown in dry air?
who do you think you are after every descriptor has been smashed at your feet
on the barbs of yourself you never wanted to uncover?
what would you have been if you had never seen a mirror?
would you love yourself more;
would you see yourself better?
what will happen to you when the world ends, but still keeps spinning, and all you have is blood and ***** spilling from your mouth?
who would you be without the walls of words that you have built to keep your soul from splitting out the seams of your body?
if nothing in your life had ever mattered, would you be what stands before you now?
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 4:33 AM UTC
i despise being pigeon-holed.
seeing myself through the circular looking glass
having one singular personality trait
based solely on my physicalities and class.
cute.
that's my descriptor
has been since I was a child
but I would walk miles to escape that word.
i am as multi-faceted as a kaleidoscope
i need no rope from another to pull myself
from the ashes of my failures
do not question my abilities because I have the eyes of a doe
or the body of woman.
i can move mountains with my hands and create worlds with my fingertips
hours of song can escape my lips
riddles and mathematic equations lay not in my hips
but in my mind.
i despise being pidgeon-holed
for my worth does not equate to my weight
and the space I'm allotted on this Earth does not count my appearance as a deciding factor
my strength as a human being does not relate to my gender
so you need not distract her
for she has goals ranging up to the sky
and down to the bottom of the sea
I am a woman and I will be free
of being pidgeon-holed.
Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 12:43 AM UTC
A state of being
A petite girl so cute and bubby she deserves an equally precious descriptor.
I met this girl at the show who was just so Shmoe turned me inside out and I want some more.
{sush-mo}
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 4:43 AM UTC
I have been my own castigator far too long,
I have beaten myself up for my misdoings,
And rightly so but no more!
What matters is not the man I have been,
It is the man that writes these words,
It is the sorrow regret and repentance
In my heart that matters now,
More than that,
It is my actions moving forward,
For I am no more a monster or an ****
Or other descriptor of how I was,
I am now just me,
The real me,
A man inherently decent; back in integrity,
A man who loves,
Oh dear Lord GOD how I love!
And just one Lord and one lady there
For all eternity,
I am a solid man with love and strength and skills,
A man who pours himself into the help of others
Often un reported and usually un remarked
Yet effective all the same,
And this man no longer needs castigation,
There is no more point nor place in it,
He needs love for sure
But more than that he needs
Permission to love
Permission to love and see that love accepted
Treasured and valued,
Permission to be someone's person and them mine,
Love is what we all are born for,
Not hate or anger revenge or retribution,
Why **** a man or his love "just in case"?
Be ready to react if it fails but
For my part it will not fail,
I will not fail,
Not this day,
Not tomorrow,
Nor any other day,
Sep 11, 2023
Sep 11, 2023 at 6:21 PM UTC
words are so frustrating
yet so relieving
hard to stay away from
easy to forget
not enough
more than i could wish for
heartbreaking
overwhelming
adoring
despising
indifference
~
Dec 15, 2018
Dec 15, 2018 at 11:13 PM UTC