"digress" poems
They didn't know what Diversity was...
The kids, that is.
Since the kids didn't know it,
the teacher coined it as "“black” visibility".
She wasn't sure if she could make that call
so she nodded her head, looking for approval.
The interviewer asked in what direction did the teacher see Diversity
As if Diversity was a one-way street.
Let me just refresh your memory...
"“black” visibility"
As if decades of progress in the schools were undone,
The kids voted on Performances and Projects for “black” History Month.
How shocking!... Kids of every shape, size, ability and race studying a time in history...
Sounds racist to me.
They wanted a Gospel Choir that is clearly only for “black” students
Because I'm the student Director for the Fordham University's Rhythm of Praise Gospel Chior for the fourth year running...
Maybe I'm missing something...
MAYBE I'm “black”... Maybe if I close my eyes really tight...
Nope, I'm still “white”.
Olive brown perhaps?
Only in the summer.
Anyway, I digress like Sophia Patrilo from the Goldren Girls
Who was Italian by the way.
Just advertising for Diversity.
Let's debate about "Music Debates" for a moment.
Maybe you call it Debates because Hip Hop is debatable, and by the way only for “black” students.
When I could argue for days upon days
About how Reggaeton didn't come from Salsa
but I know **** well that Salsa came first.
The kids wanted to Stomp the Yard and battle it out.
I do believe rap battles take place around the world
And one of the best rappers I know is an English teacher in Harlem
Whose hair is redder than a leprechaun.
Talent Shows that showcase every student's ability
Whether it be singing, dancing, performing their poetry,
But still apparently that's not Diversity.
Neither is an International Day
Where International ways are celebrated.
And finally, a Diversity Day,
That clearly means diversity is separated.
"They wanted a lot of things"
Yeah. They asked for a whole lot... of everything BUT diversity.
That's right, because they don't know what it means
The Kids, that is...
Then tell me please:
Define Diversity.
Is it seeing a “black” horse with “white” stripes
Or a “white” horse with “black” stripes?
Why is it between “black” and “white”?
Why not between “white”, “black” brown, yellow, orange, brick red...
Let's get it out of our head
That teachers can't learn anything from their students,
Because it sounds to me,
Like they had a pretty good start to the meaning of Diversity.
And if it turns out they didn't,
That's what teachers are there for:
Make a **** lesson about it.
Sep 26, 2011
Sep 26, 2011 at 2:16 PM UTC
‘tis but a thing she does
The female assassin
They say that poison is her weapon… maybe on occasion
But that is a level she’s surpassing
You see, what they fail to understand is that she doesn't take lives for vengeance
‘tis but a profession
The beautiful, tantalizing female killer
Her male victim’s obsession
One minute she’s a runway model… with her devilishly sinful grin
A smile so engrossingly enticing… full, red lips that cut across her face playfully
Against her flawlessly peaceful skin
One word for that…’killer’
Forbidden pleasures… blissful sin
She’s taken out big names… maybe even one or two heads of state
To dinners she’s escorted these men… and later on left them in their deadest state
She walks through the front door, but when leaving she can scale windows
Agility is her forte… ‘Man killer’ she is
The black widow…
In a red dress
You may be reading this thinking you can never fall prey to her seductive tentacles
‘tis an argument I do not even wish to get into
I digress.
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 8:43 AM UTC
she put my heart in a jar.
wait here until i return, she said.
i waited two forevers for her to open it, my heart was suffocating.
i was drowning in her memories, her eyes danced like fireflies in the moonlight. timeless passion. she is my flower child.
flawless. my heart is in a cage, solitude sedates me. i recall memories we never had or maybe it was visions of a future we will have?
i sit down with a notepad and admire your movement. i pen down my studies, and try to understand your complexity. your face glows, your waist flows. like the beautiful Victoria Falls, African queen.
i digress, you still have my heart in a jar. open a few holes, my heart is suffocating.
hair like Rapunzel, fine spun gold, only love knows our connection. time is but a teardrop in our moments.
on my notepad, is stories of what i think you could be, yet my imagination is far from your real being.
your shadow is unique. i can see it dancing under the stars, it tells its own stories. faded, i am.
im loving, your heart. keep moving, beauty. i love you. stop arguing with your mind, you’re beautiful. every man knows.
o, to be young and feel love’s keen sting.
beauty.
je t’aime. belle âme, mon coeur appartient à vous.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 12:24 PM UTC
Depression.
One word.
Pretty easy to say.
But what you don’t know
Is that it controls my day.
The sun rises as I go to get out of bed
yet depression whispers “You’d be better off dead.”
But I push through those words and I make it to class
when it comes to concentration, depression kicks me in the ***
So I go to eat lunch, but nothing looks appetizing
depression smiles at me and asks if that’s surprising
Another class, let’s see how this one goes
Will I pass this test? Only depression really knows
Cause last night when I went home and tried to study
depression was surely there, my only buddy
And although I tried to do my absolute best
depression said, “I think we’ll fail this test.”
My teachers look at me in absolute disgust
I try to tell the truth, but depression doesn’t let me trust
So instead I say I’m sick, a cold or maybe the flu
But I’m sick inside my head, and depression proves that true
You can’t expect them to understand the pain and the sorrow
This depression is unique to me, you’d only know if my mind you could borrow
But back to my daily routine, I didn’t mean to digress
sometimes my thoughts start racing, depression never lets me rest
Which leads me to sleep, for some the best part of the night
Dear depression, will you let me sleep? Maybe, I just might
Then I look at the clock and it’s almost four in the morning
Depression, why are you doing this? In my mind it’s nearly storming
For most are in their beds, cuddled up all snug and tight
But depression sowed up early this morning, so I have to be ready to fight
Some have called me strong, but that is not how I feel
for depression clouds my head, and I’m not sure what’s real
And there it is again, the sun has stared to rise
I’ve made it through another day, to depression, that’s a surprise.
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 10:45 PM UTC
PTSD is not something you get over.
It is when soldiers get tired of hearing their own shots fire
Into a purple horizon of nothingness.
It is when assault victims are scared of becoming a statistic
And their brokenness is suffocating
It is when fear compels the mind to change
And it willingly obliges.
PTSD is when the darkness of human nature becomes evident
It is when it's stronghold is suddenly
More prominent than the beauty in the world
It's brash fingers create a vacuum
That ***** the sanity from your mind
Until you wake up in the middle of the night screaming
"Don't shoot me!"
"Don't **** her!"
You see him and now he is with your little sister
Taking her into his Jeep
While you stand there, watching
Tied up because you can do nothing about it.
This has not happened
And probably never will
But you are crippled by paralyzing bouts of anxiety and guilt and fear
From which your mind cannot console you
You can no longer hide the loss
That this event, this person, this illness
Has placed strategically within you.
It is when you will do anything to get these memories to stop playing on repeat
An endless loop maybe ended by alcohol
Check
Cutting
Check.
Promiscuity
Check
Anything that will eliminate cycle of not knowing
Of reliving
If only for a short time
Even pretending you believe in God
Because it makes it seem like there is a reason for this confusion
But then you begin to question why God would do this to his child
So you digress into darkness once again
Left feeling unsure.
PTSD is when you stop repressing memories
And they come back so forcefully that they knock you to the ground
Leaving you bruised and ******
Leaving you lost.
PTSD is different from other sicknesses
Because you do not feel sick
You feel there
Like you are in his bed again
And his room smells like mushrooms
That is actually a field of grenades
Waiting to explode throughout your small body
You remember the tone of his words
Slipping from his lips as though they are snakes
Strangling me, leaving breath unable to escape
This is not sick
As you feel no symptoms
But an altered state of consciousness
You do not even realize you are disconnecting as it happens
But this is Hell
This is war
You are broken
And the worst part about it
Is that you must understand your triggers
Your dissociations
Before you can get better.
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 10:59 PM UTC
I use to write of pain and tribulation
mmm I've always just been looking to feel the greatest sensation
senses at peaks, they peak when they peek at the sight of elation
I've always taken to sealing all my stories away
in notebooks with binding finally looking to fray
because the pressure they hold brings such a dismay
Binded in between faded blue lines
I swear im fine
I swear im fine
in these lines of what could have been mine
and I'll lose it all in this glass of wine
where red bleeds to black
and I've done away with that
The great purge of endless words
heard by no one other than the mad man
running through my head screaming that I can
do anything I thought my mind and limbs had banned
from the realm of possibilities
Because pain ought not be sealed to live an endless life
So I now write of hope and dreams
and the endless possibilites
that stretch from the cities and into the trees
finally dancing down into these seas
but I'm also writing
of wishes and laughs and smiles too
because what else can you do
there are only a few
who know everything is new
everything we knew
can be lost in the great blue
that paints our skies and seas
carrying away the bundle of keys
that locks pandora's box
and leaves us with happiness and cheer
Because happiness can be carried in anything as simple as a tear
racing down the lines of your cranial
that houses your greatest fears
From the lines of light blue to the minds of the hopeful and the true
And words of optimism should live
And breathe and smile and laugh
In the hearts of the world for a lifetime and I digress
In a habitat so vast
With horizons reaching from sky to sky
Drowned in blues and red
I'm glad to of found you at last
We're left to defy all that society presents as lies
I wanna speak at an intimate decibel
Acknowledge your flaws, don't be bound by them
Open your mouth to nothing coming own
Settle down in your head and make a home
I just want to compliment your soul
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 6:28 PM UTC
Meticulous and true. They are so careful. So skilled. Deftly and with a swift and sure hand, the words,
Oh the words, they flow like a brooke. The one in the forest, you know the one. The one out there, out far. In the deep of the wood, over root, under canopy. Through the branches you have to look real hard. And the hard part is not knowing at all what youre looking for. And then there,
After an eternity and in an instant it is there infront of you. What you have been looking for. A vast clearing. Wide and open. The sun glints through the salt-and-peppered leaf roof. It crawls and stretches and lightly caresses everything you lay your eyes upon. Even matte mossy rocks, they seem to shine. You look down and it caresses you as well. Gentle and warm the embrace that you cant quite put your finger on. The location. The origin. It is everywhere, it surrounds you. Close your eyes. Embrace the sun back. But i digress my digression. The brook. It flows over, around, through. There is no stopping the water. It is relentless, it WILL get to its destination. You cannot change its mind. It is immovable.
That is what it is. It is beauty.
I know i should not compare. There is beauty in it all. But, goodness, the feelings invoked when reading others' poetry in admiration.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 1:22 AM UTC
Feeling so worthless,
Worthless,
I can't digress,
I'm just worthless.
I never take the gold,
This is getting old,
All the racers pass by,
Me,
You see,
I'm worthless.
Wish I could repress,
The fear in my chest,
That I am just worthless,
Worthless.
I'll never be there,
For all to stare,
Lifted high above,
I'll be alone,
At home,
No one there because I'm...
Worthless,
A pest,
Retreat to my nest,
Where I am more than less.
Can't escape that bar code,
Bars me to a price.
But feel free to take me for free,
Since I am a grain of rice.
Worthless.
Jun 5, 2012
Jun 5, 2012 at 8:19 PM UTC
I sweat deep warmth
In the grouchy storm
Because my body’s worn
In a cold dress
Captured
In a melting mess
Sized from ignorance
I peel labels
Torn through significance
I reveal the stress
But given this test
All the cut feathers
And opened chests
My instabilities
Cause me to digress
Feb 10, 2010
Feb 10, 2010 at 6:03 PM UTC
With a face and voice like that you’d never guess
the girl was five foot ten
she walks in and towers above the image
you expected
a girl pushing five feet, dainty, even whimsical
but surely petite
she’s far from petite
This girl sympathizes with transgender bodies
yet envies those who succeed
Hormones and knives can fix gods mistake
but nothing can fix me
so women will sit dreaming of dropping pounds
and she dreams of dropping feet
never complete
Psychs and shrinks digress this to be nothing more
than another disorder
Her views on herself are simply brushed off
as body dysmorphia
yet therapy nor pills shall shake her desire
to fix gods mistake
by freeing her soul of this giant hell hole
leaving it for someone else to take.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 1:42 AM UTC
PART II: A GLASS CEILING DRIPPING WITH BLOOD
Mohanad Younis, of Gaza City;
Where the sand is stained with blood
As the world feigns pity.
Broken families, unspoken tragedies –
The order of everyday life.
He was born amidst chaos and strife,
To a divorcing husband and wife.
If life were lived in peace,
This dissolution would’ve been a release.
Not much more, not much less –
A family’s lore, a decision to digress.
In war-ravaged land, however,
One needs every helping hand,
Especially a soul that was so clever.
Such a curious, voracious mind needed to understand;
A furious, rapacious search,
Unexplained conundrums to unravel and unwind.
Why do we exist?
Why do we fight and resist?
Is it worth living with all these scars on my wrists?
Does anybody outside Palestine care?
Will they keep on watching?
Or will they be unable to bear?
Of this and much more Mohanad must’ve thought,
As he sat at the Marna House Hotel,
Smoking cigarettes, freshly bought.
A student at al-Azhar, a mild-mannered pharmacist,
A prudent man who would have gotten far.
An admirer of Bassel al-Araj, another victim of oppression –
An inspirer, a brother who alleviated his depression.
Hunted down and killed by the IDF,
Another pacifist murdered for being an activist.
One figure of many who died;
One of those who did not want to hide.
Mohanad wasn’t a resistance fighter –
He felt that such persistence did not make their burdens lighter.
Instead, he wished to make his mind brighter,
And perhaps have family of his own.
He was in love, and wanted to get married,
But life was rough, and warranted a future far more harried.
The final twist of horror?
Having the intellect to apply for University,
And deserving the respect needed to obtain a reply,
Yet not being allowed to leave the city.
That is the news Mohanad had received,
Hopes and dreams suddenly deceived.
Denied a right to education
Because he was born on the wrong end of a cruel fabrication.
The glass ceiling, dripping with blood,
Swallowed his hopes whole like a flood.
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 10:04 AM UTC
Oh sleepless night
What a trick on me you play!
For the reason I cannot sleep
Is because I anticipate the day
We build our day up
To have it elapse at night
But how too often a time I experience
A continuance through the night
Oh how unfair to me you see
For nighttime is a break much overlooked
Because I walk through the day quite sleepily
Which is difficult in a day so overbooked
Sleeping figures
Rejuvenating minds
Your mind is cultivating in peace
While my face is forming lines
Oh how I wish I didn’t get so worked up
I expected this to happen
Which ironically is the reason
My tiredness has been dampened
I lay in bed, ready
Ready to try this out
A pleasant sleep is all I wanted
Without completely passing out
How I get so jealous when
You lay there and drift to rest
While I’m dealing with two polar issues--
Either abruptly collapse into sleep or else from it slowly digress
Oh sleepless night, you tease me so
You fool with me and upset me so
For when thinking of tomorrow I surely know
I’m not going to be as lively as my potential.
It’s like I’m a hobo on Fifth Ave
Looking at the rich not realizing what they have
I get excited over spare change
While you collect your pay checks again and again
So let’s face it, tomorrow I’ll be miserable
And I’ll look forward to when the clock strikes night
But then the hours I have will become considerable
So I’ll lay there restlessly and drift away just before the light.
So I’ll get a taste of what sleeps like
But I’ll never get to experience it right.
Oh you cruel, mean sleepless night!
Where dwells your brother so known as the “Goodnight”?
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 4:53 PM UTC
My impending fear,
With danger near,
Only increased until I began to see myself wondering how he left without shedding a single tear.
And happiness,
My biggest weakness,
Was on a constant downward spiral into something that made even myself wish to digress.
But suddenly,
Fairly abruptly,
I began to understand how his absence brought me a soft feeling of serenity.
My excuses,
Hidden bruises,
I was reluctant to push the blame onto anyone but myself even though I didn't choose this.
People asked me,
Quite literally,
If I was aware that I smiled brighter and laughed louder now that I've had this epiphany.
And finally,
Now I can see,
I allowed myself to be taken for granted just so I wouldn't have to be lonely.
And in the end,
I recommend,
Looking inside yourself and seeing the broken bonds you must mend.
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 9:12 PM UTC
Lost
Empty
Apathetic
Varying degrees of self hatred
Effortlessly breaking me down
Making me doubt
Everything we ever were
Asking politely
Let me be
Or learn to grow
Not digress
Existing in solitude is what I do best
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 7:57 AM UTC
Everybody’s going nowhere and I am far gone
I can’t even see the ocean the motion was all wrong
Just a sea of broken bottles and cigarette models
On the floor, so high I had to clean the sky
Never been an existentialist, cynic, or a pessimist
Just another body on the edge of metamorphosis
Clinging to a rope I hope will not snap
Like my neck if I hit the ground, oh crap!
I’m apocalyptic fresh and I can’t say why
If I do it’s a lie, see the needle in my eye?
Meditation, preparation, or a conscious legislation
Couldn't help the fact my words are often littered with abrasions
As if shock rock poetry could save me from my death
It could possibly enlighten but I wouldn't hold my breath
Now I’m frightened by the notion of a new world order
But anarchy is hip if you’re on this side of the border
I digress, what a mess if you know what I mean
But I've burned out quicker than gasoline…
Dec 14, 2012
Dec 14, 2012 at 10:11 PM UTC
Hip hop. Equals art stop. That crude **** stopped musical fusion
Right in its tracks.
When it first landed, it was still music with a lotta spittle flying.
Not naming names. I listened to a lot of it.
Then Gangsta rap hit. Oh ****
Cant accuse me of blind judgment, I still check it out from time to time
How do you say.Get diverse mud flappers. Know the history.
learn to play an instrument and read it so you can write it. Then come back an see me.
Who am I?.
John Q public.
Pavlov's dog.
Tin Pan Ali.
Long Tall sally.
Sachmo. Scratch less.
Yard-bird.
Donald Bird.
Stubborn ****
Stuff out there is weak as thrice used tea bags. And cost more to get unless you got
a peg leg and a parrot ******** on yer shoulder.
Lyrically, man my six year old says more about less with **** left over. What?
Flame out digitized No talent constructs that make me wanna hurl, url give a dog a bone.
Tin eared, tone def hoochies and synthetic cool cats. Not to mention the rough neks.
Looking like they pooped their pants six times and forgot how to belt up.
There are some real deal talents out there but it is like pickin peanuts out ****
After disco died. Yes I said disco. It has been a circle **** in the cemetery after dark. Naw mean.
But I digress.
.
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 4:42 AM UTC
it comes and goes they say. Bringing life to awkard ways. Stimulating awkard minds on lonely days. wastes away in intrinsic minds,repressed.
hapless beautiful thoughts used as insipid grumblings in a harvest without seed.
It is a must.a need.a gift
times' vacation, times' digress.
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 10:33 PM UTC
My mind is out of focus
And my mouth is dry
My eyes are too heavy
'Im so very tired
And my face is blank
My heart is slow
My body is so warm
Then it turns cold
Now my body twitches
My breathing is getting deep
I can't trust my ears
Or images that I see
It seems that I'm here
But my mind is gone
Time seems so short
But feels so long
My system needs a shock
Or a wake up call
When you talk to me
Its like conversing with a wall
Caffeine don’t do a thing
Caffeine won;t do a thing
Caffeine does nothing
Caffeine do something
The sunshine hurts my eyes
My mood is so damp
I'm like a zombie
Try to get up but I can't
Brain drain
Brain drain
Causing me mental pain
Brain drain
Brain drain
My head can't sustain
Brain drain
Brain drain
Everything looks the same
Brain drain
Brain drain
I feel so lame
Brain drain
Brain drain
I can't concentrate
Brain drain
Brain drain
Worn out from this game
Wake me up
Get me up
Keep me up
Give me up
My head begs for endorphins
But I cant oblige
Now I'm feeling down
It weeps and it cries
Keep my head spinning
At every minute of every day
But now I'm running on fumes
You got nothing to say
You got my heart, hold it oh so tight
I go behind your back doing things that ain't so right
Wrap me up in all this drama I wanna leave
I need to take a break I'm almost outta steam
In school I'm barely getting by
Because I'm focused on getting laid and getting high
My mind wandered off
To where it shouldn't have been
So now it has died
And buried with my sins
I wanna go back to normal
Original thought process
Mind and body went to hell and back
All I can do is digress
I had too much fun for way to long
So now my right is left and my left is wrong
I've got all this stress and it piles up
But it's on my shoulders and I can't pass the buck
I find no enjoyment in what I once held dear
Becoming eternally empty is my deepest fear
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 7:06 PM UTC
There’s a lot to be said for this place.
A near-perfect pitch for diversity,
Diversity: a neurolinguistic term;
A quaint way to say: miscegenation.
No, just kidding; I meant the melting ***
A fine blend of Anglo, Hispanic & Indian blood—
That’s Pueblo & Plains Indian blood--
Not that **** masala, chapati & dal Indian blood.
My apologies to "Who's the White Guy?" Bobby Jindal.
New Mexico: “The Land of Enchantment.”
Where 310 sunny days per annum,
Are like money in the bank, earning
Double-plus compound interest for those
Suffering with seasonal affective disorders.
A land of sunshine without the orange juice,
But substitute chili, red or green?
An equitable offset to be sure.
310 days of sunshine:
Even the white people are brown here.
Which does a lot for my self-esteem.
Back east—New York, Chicago & Philadelphia e.g.—
People that look like me, i.e.,
People with dark brown hair, eyes and skin,
Get stopped/ass-cheek spread/& frisked, routinely.
Stop & Frisk: NYPD’s spectator sport for decades.
Stop & Frisk: Mayor Bloomberg-defended
Crime-stopping Godsend,
Getting guns off the streets.
Getting homicides down.
Everything’s cool until some slick race baiter,
Starts yelling: RACIAL PROFILING.
Forget for a moment that people that look like me,
People like me with dark hair, eyes & skin,
Commit 78% of the crime in most cities.
“It’s not racially driven profiling,”
Said Newark’s police director recently
Referring to stops carried out by his officers.
“IT’S CRIME-DRIVEN PROFILING!”
But, again, political-correctness trumps common sense:
August 2013: Judge Rules NYPD
Stop-and-Frisk Unconstitutional.
Well I’ll be a monkey’s *** ******
I moved to New Mexico to blend in.
My complexion a shoe-in for
The Witness Protection Program or
Any other public or private,
Domestic or international rendition site.
But I digress.
New Mexico: no passport necessary, Babaloo!
New Mexico: be you white or black, Hispanic or Indian,
Or even Roswell extraterrestrial,
The cops here will beat the **** out of you.
Or shoot you dead, Kemosabe.
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 1:44 PM UTC
Indulge me for I'm sat looking at a scarf
As I transport rather splendid G and T
To its final destination
Not mine I hasten to add, my scarf that is not the gin
Purple not my colour you see
I had issue with burgundy as a child, frightful memories
I digress but it was left behind like a signature
Not intentionally just in a sweet forgetfulness
I can't pick it up, crazy as it sounds
I mean if I did it would be real not imagery
The moment lost, but no real moment as I can't feel it
Do you understand ? Perhaps not
I have admittedly been reminded of its presence
I imagine it's scent, no I imagine her scent
Her presence in the room, her smile lifts me
I mean it's just a scarf I mean it can't exist can it?
Do we leave a little of ourselves behind?
Emotion like lost property
I don't know, I honestly don't
Is there a course for metaphysical disorientation and the re repatriation of lost purple scarfs?
I guess not. I'd probably fail in any case.
It will still be here tomorrow. In plain sight, just hidden from my reality
Goodnight scarf.
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 9:55 PM UTC
I remember the jelly bean jar
perched next to the owlish librarian
in my school when I was younger.
One lucky soul would win a prize
for pulling the right number of jelly beans
out of an air still filled with fancy.
I can’t remember who won the prize,
and I can’t remember what the prize was.
But I guess as selfish minds are wont to do,
I remember the act of guessing.
It was a childhood of guessing,
and I wonder if any of those guesses were truly wrong?
When the engine of innocence toils away,
any solution, however fanciful,
can’t be false in a world that finds falsity
in far more veritable places.
I digress back to that jelly bean jar,
packed full of sugar,
and to a young mind,
full of promise.
To a mind such as mine,
a mind akin to my classmates
who shared my sugary desire for that jar,
any guess was as good as the other,
as long as any guess was your own.
We clutched ordinary pencils
scribbled on ordinary paper
with our own extraordinary numbers.
In the basket went these figures most accurate.
Days during the week passed
with those store brand jelly beans
mashed against each other,
childhood memories turned ordinary pages
wrote with ordinary pencils
until that singular, self-sure number
mashed against pages turned against it.
However strong that memory of numerology
in a room full of words is etched in my mind; no trace
of the end of the jellybean contest remains in my ledger.
No trace of the disappointment of losing out
on such a treasure trove of tooth decay.
But I guess this is the way of the mind,
it tends to trace out the positives
while it remains filled with youthful levity,
no weight is imbued in innocent minds,
and so tragedy, loss, and disappointment
float away past untroubled eyes.
But time rolls on and much like the crushed growth
under an ever-rolling stone,
our lives start to fall harder on softened memories.
Our lives harden with our heads,
and those days of living out short-lived fantasies
fade with jelly bean guesses.
So as we mature and feign to seek the truth,
a small part of me keeps a singular page earmarked
for a time when the truth no longer weighs
down the air with half-true deceit, and a mind long
abandoned
will return to grasp fanciful ideas
out of an air that’s still light enough
to evade our youthful fingertips.
Jul 26, 2012
Jul 26, 2012 at 5:34 PM UTC
Today I find myself comfortably numb
My brain has gone silent, my emotions feel dumb
I will find warmth in a Moonlight Sonata
In an empty room filled with no sunlight
I will tell myself to live, I’ll say that I’ve got to
But looking around, how does one live?
I hear a voice, it says I must protest
Keep your focus, do not digress
For sleep, from you, has been solemnly taken
Until you leave a mark, the world must be shaken
I have proven to you that you are not a priority
And to surrounding people you are rarely picked
You do not exist to the vast majority
And you are left to die, you are left to be sick
So you must force yourself to leave quite the impression
And the world will know it was you, nonetheless
Get yourself out of this depression
And give everyone what you have left
I found closure in the idea that I was free
But the one who was chained down, I saw it was me
I reached for a helping hand; I felt my left take my right
How beautifully remarkable, what an incredible sight
And then my brain began to defrost
How cold and lonely; I was no longer lost
Without myself I was surely deserted
The evidence cannot be destroyed
And I made a promise, it can’t be averted
I have lived for too long in this void
How lovely you seem, how lovely you are
Your body has hidden most of your scars
So get yourself ready and get yourself dressed
Pick up your courage, pretend you are blessed
Aug 20, 2011
Aug 20, 2011 at 12:14 PM UTC
We assembled a modest telescope,
To find what sights there were to see.
I stared, transfixed, at the moon and stars,
In the driveway with all of my family.
I know exactly where I stood,
The moment I would find,
The infinite nature of time and space,
And how it all unwinds.
I asked about the size of the moon,
The distance of its arcing track.
I asked about the space beyond,
The nothing in the black.
I asked my family how big it is.
I asked if anyone knows,
The moon, the stars, and all of it.
I asked how far it goes.
“My son, our curious little one…”,
My parents said to me,
“It has no end”, “It just keeps going”,
“Outward, eternally”.
I stared up into a southern sky,
Ominous, dark as the sea.
And I swear, at that moment,
Looking up,
Something departed from me.
It flew into the dark of space,
And hasn’t slowed in all this time,
As far and as fast as information can.
The speed of light, I hear…
Which is not so much a speed…
Hitched, perhaps, to the Voyager probe…
By these new thoughts inside of my head.
But I digress.
This thing began a journey that,
Must bring it face to face,
With everything that ever was,
Every corner of time and space.
Everything that is yet to come,
Everything that has ever been.
Repeating every history,
It’s trek would never end.
That thought has always stayed with me.
It anchors me, somehow.
A line cast from a sailing ship,
Where I stand upon the bow.
In the oblivion of the infinite,
It grounds me to the “now”.
Jul 5, 2023
Jul 5, 2023 at 12:02 AM UTC