"disfigurement" poems
I found a crack in the sidewalk
That I didn't have the urge to step on
And I passed this crack every day
On my 4.40pm walk
For what seemed like a lifetime
And I glared daggers
At the thing that made my skin crawl
And my neck ache
And my fingers twitch by my side
Because cracks in sidewalks
Were meant to be tread upon
Every single one of them
Even partially
Not to break a mother's back
But to cover the imperfections
And to fill the void
That made me uneasy
And to fill it
Even for a millisecond
Before I moved on
As if the sole of my shoe
Could somehow heal the
Sadness that the ground must be feeling
But there was a crack in the side walk
That I didn't have the urge to step on
No matter how many times
I passed within stepping distance
And no matter how many times
It caused me pain
And maybe that was the period of my life
When the obsessive compulsive part of me
Decided to take a break
Because maybe
Maybe some part of me
Saw that the grass that grew
In the messy line that pointed east
Was something more beautiful
And more honest
Than any hidden disfigurement
Could ever be
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 10:08 AM UTC
I have a heart
made to adore
juvenile fantasies,
despite modern tragedies.
In moments of madness
when modern photography
presents to me
the horrors of humanity
I can engage for a minute
and escape the insanity
in the comics
that carry super hero forms.
When I see bombs
that blister skin
till flesh bursts
revealing red disfigurement
I can travel in
my own mental
compartment
to escape this.
I can revisit
Winnie the pooh
or review the crew
of “Star Trek
The Next Generation.”
When mind numbing poverty
rears its sad faces at me,
with stranger’s eyes
and thin lips quivering
in lonely desperation,
despite my empathy
I have a gift for escaping
the irrationality
of human suffering.
I just sip the soft brew
of nostalgia for old cartoons
recalling a slightly saner time,
when all the sorrows
were only mine,
when I ached
with a mother’s fury
but tv shows saw me distracted
the fact is
I have been escaping
my whole life,
and I don’t see
that changing.
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 10:30 AM UTC
The sad part is that most of us, writers,
are almost ashamed to say it out loud.
We do it like a bad habit we can't escape.
****** junkies with the leash around our necks.
Treat it like a disfigurement; our
malignant entries spread like cancer from
under our pathetic, hypocritical hands.
We're sad.
Depressed.
"Heart broken".
Angst ridden.
Jaded.
Coping.
Coping.
Learning to cope,
but often failing.
Stepping on each other;
a sea of cadavers with
no bottom, surface, or center.
Full of brilliance/ brighter than the sun.
Collectively, we are a diamond made from ****
A uselessly expensive commercial good,
nonetheless.
The next Bukowski will be a child molester,
or a sociopathic spree killer. Too bad
no one wants to be the great writer of course.
What greater shame could there be?
What bigger embarrassment could exist?
What insult and tragedy is more than being
a writer?
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 3:47 AM UTC
The scar tissue that covers my forearm fades more with each year, And I wonder if any of you notice.
Each disfigurement is marked with a name.
Every single line contains its own story, and holds its own pain.
I could narrate it for you but I doubt you'd understand, very few truly do.
The stinging pain can creep back with a subtle memory, and I can still feel it.
I can remember each scars meaning but I can't explain to you the feeling of how it felt,
Or what type of clarity came over me,
Or how great it felt to be flooded with relief,
Or what I was hoping the outcome would be,
Or if I made it deep enough to sleep forever.
You might think I'm crazy.
I can never make you get it.
I'd be lying if I told you these stories ended happily.
This isn't a fairy tale,
This is reality.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 12:51 AM UTC
Disfigurement
to a one time pretty boy
is like
finding out that I'm positive all over again
a tower of rubble
to the chest
another death sentence rolled out
just in time for the new year
a new contagion of scar tissue
and self-doubt
self-loathing and your disgust
turning me away in the rain
and if it hadn't been you
it will eventually be a whole line of others
whom no longer wish to sample
this drama queen's merchandise
of defilement
and raw pain
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 8:15 AM UTC
Not the smile the way you pose for in front of the camera no the real you the one that God made when you were born. The completed developed one the one when you fall short of your true self you feel the disappointment acutely you can’t rush perfection you can’t avoid the struggles the test that draw you into introspection you must sculpt this living being go the wrong way take a short cut you bring on the tell tale signs of disfigurement to the untrained eye it can pass unnoticed sorry the soul has a mirror that bears little resemblance to the outer man you learned in school how environment social order can effect outer growth.
This is the hidden man of the heart why are you plagued with self doubt or self loathing or you feel like a world class phony you picked up the hammer and chisel but distraction or higher self interest caused you to rush away now you feel dismay friend the artist in you will not be satisfied with half measures shoddy work are you forgetting you will go to the still bathing light his royal personage will speak nothing you alone will pass the vote to condemn such failure I took the material that possessed endless possibilities of perfection and I through disrespect to my own higher good over a life time I measured and weighed values that cannot be trifled with would I give unreliable information to family and friends knowing it could harm or lead them to ruination no but to yourself you foolishly barter indescribable beauty for rot and waste even in song they have spoken He gave me beauty for ashes. Will you conquer bad habits and the lair in the natural mirror? Turn to the unblemished the true and only master who gives direction in the most dangerous and beguiling circumstances never wavering only the true picture does he draw from these unquestionable lines provide inspiration and heady waves of joy from satisfaction in knowing the progress is real it will stand the acid test you can be duplicated in others they will reverence your integrity as they see it growing in themselves. Finally unbound they secure the heights of rare and noble discovery pressing toward the high calling of resplendent glory. Take these golden reins they lead to streets of purist gold and to the heart to that only one who knows what you can truly be.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 12:24 AM UTC
That girl with the burn
Had the prettiest face under the sun
I would never have guessed
That she had such a disfigurement
Permanently on her arm
Her eyes were brilliant
Like dragonflies
Flying about in the sky
Wings of color
Fluttering in those eyes
I tell ya
Who would have known
That even I
Have had some work done
Cosmetically,
I have been altered
By some pretty ingenious doctors
My eyes and my smile
Are a result of new science
That was
Well constructed and performed
By those
Who have earned
The green paper
We like to burn.
Oct 20, 2011
Oct 20, 2011 at 10:58 PM UTC
Not the smile the way you pose for in front of the camera no the real you the one that God made when you were born. The completed developed one the one when you fall short of your true self you feel the disappointment acutely you can’t rush perfection you can’t avoid the struggles the test that draw you into introspection you must sculpt this living being go the wrong way take a short cut you bring on the tell tale signs of disfigurement to the untrained eye it can pass unnoticed sorry the soul has a mirror that bears little resemblance to the outer man you learned in school how environment social order can effect outer growth.
This is the hidden man of the heart why are you plagued with self doubt or self loathing or you feel like a world class phony you picked up the hammer and chisel but distraction or higher self interest caused you to rush away now you feel dismay friend the artist in you will not be satisfied with half measures shoddy work are you forgetting you will go to the still bathing light his royal personage will speak nothing you alone will pass the vote to condemn such failure I took the material that possessed endless possibilities of perfection and I through disrespect to my own higher good over a life time I measured and weighed values that cannot be trifled with would I give unreliable information to family and friends knowing it could harm or lead them to ruination no but to yourself you foolishly barter indescribable beauty for rot and waste even in song they have spoken He gave me beauty for ashes. Will you conquer bad habits and the lair in the natural mirror? Turn to the unblemished the true and only master who gives direction in the most dangerous and beguiling circumstances never wavering only the true picture does he draw from these unquestionable lines provide inspiration and heady waves of joy from satisfaction in knowing the progress is real it will stand the acid test you can be duplicated in others they will reverence your integrity as they see it growing in themselves. Finally unbound they secure the heights of rare and noble discovery pressing toward the high calling of resplendent glory. Take these golden reins they lead to streets of purist gold and to the heart to that only one who knows what you can truly be.
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 4:29 PM UTC
Dark coldness cuts my cheeks
A disguised mirror, her disturbing emptiness unreal music
In her perfect she crashes alone
Isolated in her beauty.
Terrifying stillness covers her movement
A surge of frozen disfigurement confuses her fish, sharks, mermaids
Terror invades her beauty:
Pain, punishment, promise all pull me under
Hiding me.
Quiet ripples warn of rain
Excited energy invades her calm
A storm kills her silence
Her depths overflow with lost wrecks:
They scream their suffering.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 4:55 AM UTC
What must I do to restore this disfigurement?
I hid from the world
In a shell of ugliness
From wounds extremely dislike
So hideous
As they made unmusing comments
Like cackles
To ridicule
As I lose my soul
While the scales rind
My face renewal
To a spirit of fondness
Now I'm redeem
Dec 7, 2009
Dec 7, 2009 at 11:21 AM UTC
Scarves. high collars,
or extra mascara
hide the brownish-purple
disfigurement wrapped
around her throat.
Part of her being
is scarred with
remnant traces
inflicted from traumatic
scenes endured
during his rage.
Horrific echoes
careen around her brain
like video clips replaying
the self-hatred he
spilled upon her.
His crazed lashes
struck her
bone deep.
Musty smells
from those moments
linger among her nostril mucus.
She carries on
distracted with moments
near tranquil music
or beside still brooks
and squawking crows.
Each day she captures
views of sunrise
and sunset while chanting
mantras to unknown gods
striving to complete
her forgiveness.
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 12:07 PM UTC
You have the audacity
To stroll by my house
Thinking your tough ****
Calling out to me that I'm the *****
You already met my fist
Once, twice before
So if you want
I shall reintroduce to you
My fist
Hey *****
And **** You
Now that you're acquainted
Get the **** out of my neck of the woods
And learn your place
At the bottom of the dirt on my shoes
I wish you the best of luck
With the disfigurement of your face
But think again before
You want to have a rematch
You should of learned the first and second time
You can't and wont beat me
And please don't get your big brother
Because his 6 foot 209 lbs ***
Will be quickly hospitalized just like the last time
He made the same foolish decision you did
Plus it will just make you look just that much more
Of the pathetic **** faced ***** that you are
So please leave me alone
I really don't have the time
To play these childish games with you
Hey Bitch...Fuck You
The names of my fist that
Have left their mark on your face
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 8:42 PM UTC
Not the smile the way you pose for in front of the camera no the real you the one that God made when you were born. The completed developed one the one when you fall short of your true self you feel the disappointment acutely you can’t rush perfection you can’t avoid the struggles the test that draw you into introspection you must sculpt this living being go the wrong way take a short cut you bring on the tell tale signs of disfigurement to the untrained eye it can pass unnoticed sorry the soul has a mirror that bears little resemblance to the outer man you learned in school how environment social order can effect outer growth.
This is the hidden man of the heart why are you plagued with self doubt or self loathing or you feel like a world class phony you picked up the hammer and chisel but distraction or higher self interest caused you to rush away now you feel dismay friend the artist in you will not be satisfied with half measures shoddy work are you forgetting you will go to the still bathing light his royal personage will speak nothing you alone will pass the vote to condemn such failure I took the material that possessed endless possibilities of perfection and I through disrespect to my own higher good over a life time I measured and weighed values that cannot be trifled with would I give unreliable information to family and friends knowing it could harm or lead them to ruination no but to yourself you foolishly barter indescribable beauty for rot and waste even in song they have spoken He gave me beauty for ashes. Will you conquer bad habits and the lair in the natural mirror? Turn to the unblemished the true and only master who gives direction in the most dangerous and beguiling circumstances never wavering only the true picture does he draw from these unquestionable lines provide inspiration and heady waves of joy from satisfaction in knowing the progress is real it will stand the acid test you can be duplicated in others they will reverence your integrity as they see it growing in themselves. Finally unbound they secure the heights of rare and noble discovery pressing toward the high calling of resplendent glory. Take these golden reins they lead to streets of purist gold and to the heart to that only one who knows what you can truly be.
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 1:42 AM UTC
In second grade, we did an experiment with static electricity
We rubbed balloons on our heads,
& stuck them to walls
& kissing you is kinda like that
My hair stands on end,
I get shocked when I touch things
& I want to tell you stupid stuff like,
kissing you is a bundle of kittens
colliding with my face at .5 miles an hour
It's like being shot with a dart gun
made of hummingbirds
that shoots darts made of hummingbirds
& your lips are so soft,
I can't actually tell when we are touching,
like braiding hair underwater,
like napping under a blanket filled with rainbows & clouds,
& your favorite books
When you kiss me,
the cartoon devil & angel on my shoulder
climb into my ears,
like all of my neurons,
& start ******* on my brainsteam
If you were a 300 pound professional weight lifter
& if I were a Kia Sorento,
you could drag me anywhere
Kissing you is patient & impossibly slow,
like peeling paint off the wall with glittery stickers,
or cooking a turkey with a lighter
You remind me of the time in second grade
when Bethany Hopkirk
called me a freak face & stabbed me in the arm with a pencil
Cause kissing you is kinda like that,
unhealthy & will probably result in disfigurement
But baby, bring on the ****** scars & lead poisoning
Cause when you kiss me,
you are dangling me off a bridge by a belt
You are the screen door of my childhood,
all taste & swinging
So full of holes you could never keep anything in
You are every black eye,
you're a semitruck & I'm a turtle with two broken legs,
& a broken heart
You are illegal fireworks falling down stairs together,
driving on four flat tires,
playing frisbee at night with a saw blade
Kissing you is like falling out of a 37 story window,
exploding into a cloud of robins
& reappearing on the ground with my mouth full of feathers
& when I can't kiss you,
I try to find the static electricity in my apartment
I dig around in light sockets,
change lightbulbs with my teeth,
& make out with the toaster
& I know we've only been seeing eachother
for a couple of weeks,
But baby, when you kiss me,
I can't remember my middle name,
or which one is my left foot
So come over tonight
We'll shuffle around the apartment in our socks,
& we'll let our lips drift toward each other,
like tectonic plates made...
out of kittens
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 9:45 AM UTC
Looking at her from a distance
She drinks her tea
As she gazes through the window
Admiring the botanical gardening
Which blossom every spring
She awaits
For my return from sea
Voyaging across the ocean
I'm terrified
By my conditions
A disfigurement of fatality
I was once a handsome man
Writing her many letters of love
Now
Remoteness is my only friend
How can she love a bewildered creature?
Hidden in my heart
Is a love
To this woman
Who sips with a soul of hope?
Jan 29, 2010
Jan 29, 2010 at 4:16 AM UTC
They cry about heaven
Even as they transform skin
Into sin, punishable by death
Or **** or disfigurement
Sent by the devil for sure
Wearing tonsures and cassocks
Causing their own brand of havoc
Ruled by insensitivity
Because we are the enemy
No longer human, doomed
To suffer the ravages
Of their bad ***** training
And lack of discipline
Over and over again
On playgrounds as kids.
They did it all over again
When in uniform, warmed
By the glow of popular bigotry
Idiocy blessed by some dope,
Some Protestant proto-pope
Who thinks God has time
To engage in crime in his name
So they can blame him instead.
Little else in their head
They steal land, and brand people
Burn people, assault people
And do their best to make them feel
Their god, their way is not real
And is not worth keeping.
Sleeping at night, nobody knows how
Now that they have shown their colors
To their brothers and sisters;
That they will **** mothers and fathers
And babies and the land
And think it just grand
Because they got paid
As they laid waste,
Turned the gardens to paste
Between the toes of evil.
We the boll, they the weevil;
They mashed us under their feet
No thought of being discreet,
We were fodder for their hatriotism.
Not patriotism.
That is impossible
And totally improbable
Once you’ve sold your soul
To Old Nick and his minions,
Hell’s hand-picked denizens
Who look just like your neighbor;
They labor at jobs, like you do
And look a lot like you, too,
Especially if you make excuses
To commit abuses
And blame it on god.
Savor the rod
And abuse the child.
Isn’t hatred wild?
Always on hand.
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 9:38 PM UTC
so many faces, so many faces
disfigured lives in hushed tones of living
find they have no choice
and with eyes discoloured
yet not blind destroy the flowers that bloom
they recognise the work of the infernal serpent
in Miltonian affirmation of a stranger
and a more deadly disfigurement
than that which like sun baked clay
bears its cracks in the haunting of lives
with a medieval gargoylian curse
to becomes the orphans
of nothing, except everything
and ask how does this equate
with so many faces
faces that are struggling for
the paradise to be regained
for the infernal serpent to be slain
so many faces, so many faces
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 1:21 PM UTC
Strokes on the page,
Wrists moving fluidly as it spreads and leaks across the surface.
You try so hard to erase it,
But we're not living in reality.
Your ink is permanent.
You don't have one of those fancy pens.
It doesn't erase like a pencil.
If it did, what would be the significance?
Pen is made to stain.
We've both been imprinted with the blemish from a pen.
Your pen leaks,
Not just on your page.
His too,
Hers,
Theirs,
And mine.
Sure, tear the pages,
Shred them.
Inflict any form of destruction,
But the ink will remain stained on the page.
There will always be existing evidence of you.
Of the way you so flawlessly allow your words to spill from your mouth to the page.
Of the way you inhale tense air and exhale a sense of tranquility.
Of the way your intensely blue eyes explore the progressional evolution of the materialistic world.
It will all be forever written on the page.
I know you didn't want this for yourself,
Nobody in their right mind ever would.
Maybe you didn't ever want me either,
But change in either extreme is inevitable.
I am not leaving,
No matter how hard you push me away.
I will stay to read every single word you expose to the page,
Even if it gnaws at my heart to be chewed raw.
You can try and hide your pages,
But I'll just read from your eyes.
I can see your hurt.
I can feel your hurt.
It makes me hurt.
It makes me write,
In hopes that my ink will influence the tides from which you view the world.
Please don't stop writing,
I want to keep reading.
Please don't try to erase the disfigurement from your work,
It's my favorite part.
Please find the sublimity in each sentence,
I see it, even if you don't.
Please don't burn the pages,
I think I might burn with them.
Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 10:50 PM UTC
A picture of you
Not the smile the way you pose for in front of the camera no the real you the one that God made when you were born. The completed developed one the one when you fall short of your true self you feel the disappointment acutely you can’t rush perfection you can’t avoid the struggles the test that draw you into introspection you must sculpt this living being go the wrong way take a short cut you bring on the tell tale signs of disfigurement to the untrained eye it can pass unnoticed sorry the soul has a mirror that bears little resemblance to the outer man you learned in school how environment social order can effect outer growth.
This is the hidden man of the heart why are you plagued with self doubt or self loathing or you feel like a world class phony you picked up the hammer and chisel but distraction or higher self interest caused you to rush away now you feel dismay friend the artist in you will not be satisfied with half measures shoddy work are you forgetting you will go to the still bathing light his royal personage will speak nothing you alone will pass the vote to condemn such failure I took the material that possessed endless possibilities of perfection and I through disrespect to my own higher good over a life time I measured and weighed values that cannot be trifled with would I give unreliable information to family and friends knowing it could harm or lead them to ruination no but to yourself you foolishly barter indescribable beauty for rot and waste even in song they have spoken He gave me beauty for ashes. Will you conquer bad habits and the lair in the natural mirror? Turn to the unblemished the true and only master who gives direction in the most dangerous and beguiling circumstances never wavering only the true picture does he draw from these unquestionable lines provide inspiration and heady waves of joy from satisfaction in knowing the progress is real it will stand the acid test you can be duplicated in others they will reverence your integrity as they see it growing in themselves. Finally unbound they secure the heights of rare and noble discovery pressing toward the high calling of resplendent glory. Take these golden reins they lead to streets of purist gold and to the heart to that only one who knows what you can truly be.
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 1:37 PM UTC
The cracked window brings the light, beautiful to many, yet vile to to my sight.
Can I sleep?
don't remind me of what I must do.
When they weep
Leave me my silence,
leave me my grace,
leave this ***** grimy disgrace.
We all should lie in obscurity.
Leave me this mourning
Leave me this bad taste
Leave me this sad and sorry waste
Living world of impurities
Cracks in the pavement
They wont break her back.
but don't break your neck.
I will make it through.
We all should lie in obscurity.
In a world of such impurities
Left in the distance.
Recognize the light.
Walk the paths of fear,
Acceptance takes flight.
Cloudy eyes may not see.
I'm not here to race,
It's another dawn ,
and the darkness breaks
In my opponents
I see great teachers,
family, monsters,
Scared men and preachers.
Lie in the shadows
Lie in the twilight
or a darkened room.
to embrace the light.
Such cunning,such sleight
Hardly believe your eyes
Phoenix taking flight
Takes us by surprise
Does anything have one side?
Truth found in a lie
Does anything have one side?
Truth found in a lie
Try to tell myself
brush of the ashes
you lived through the flames
some disfigurement
I killed love itself
with a thousand lashes
I know I'm to blame
The killing wont stop
This is just a play?
Will you make it through
Make me feel something
A knife on a strop
but it never slays
Just black and blue hues
This the love that stings
Leave me my silence,
leave me my grace,
leave this ***** grimy disgrace.
We all should lie in obscurity.
Leave me this mourning
Leave me this bad taste
Leave me this sad and sorry waste
Living world of impurities
Leave me my silence,
leave me my grace,
leave this ***** grimy disgrace.
We all should lie in obscurity.
Leave me this mourning
Leave me this bad taste
Leave me this sad and sorry waste
Living world of impurities
YOU HAVE NOTHING TO FEAR FROM ME
I COULD SQUASH YOU LIKE A FLEA
BROKE THE SKIN MADE YOU BLEED
YOU HAVE NOTHING TO FEAR FROM ME
The cracked pavement stained like night, beautiful to many, yet vile to to my sight.
Can I sleep?
don't remind me of what I must do.
When they weep
Leave me my silence,
leave me my grace,
leave this ***** grimy disgrace.
We all should lie in obscurity.
Leave me this mourning
Leave me this bad taste
Leave me this sad and sorry waste
Living world of impurities
Leave me this morning
We all hold the pen in our hands, we all sing the tune
many stories will be told, many pouring out their soul, was it love or rock and roll
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 4:57 AM UTC
I never had trouble believing in the light
Until darkness filled my eyes
My life’s eternal day was an endless fight
As I stood choking on my lies
My wooden world consumed by the sun the world sent
I rolled around in ashes- the only thing that’s left
The skin over my heart replaced with scar tissue
And I know it’s permanent
To think I never thought his world was wooden too
He’s the phoenix after my fire
And we started to rebuild everything I knew
Left my wounded heart and made my home in his
Clinging to the smile after every single kiss
I don’t know why but then in time
He left his heart in search of mine
40 days and a night with the plans it mars
Until reaching my splinters and lovely scars
Disbelief at the disfigurement he didn’t see
When he rested his spotlight solely on me
He sung his song and spoke the sky
Found in my heart the will to fly
Such the way my story has went
How I found out my scar tissue
Wasn’t permanent
Aug 27, 2010
Aug 27, 2010 at 3:44 AM UTC
{I can live life unfiltered.
I preen and uncover the riotous feathers
I always felt I had to tuck away.
When I cause those laughs,
or at the very least, those grins,
it seems suddenly, I have swallowed
something much like the sun—
all of the lit space in its seams,
and I become bright,
unchallenged, and with purpose.
I live life proudly and profoundly undressed.
To feel comfortable in my own skin
will never be this natural in any other context.
I am rarely a creature of grace, but
when I feel those fingers
run down the length of my bare back,
I become a word so treacherously beautiful,
writers are too hesitant to pen it.
Wrapped up in those arms,
I find that I fit; I’m home; I’m safe.
I get an unmatched pleasure out of
watching such a mind work—
in awe of how it knows when things fit together,
the way it peels, layers, creates, and stimulates.
No, seriously though, the mind thing?
[Nothing turns me on more.]
The same fears are shared—
of living a cliché and settling,
of pain and disfigurement,
but mostly of
endings.
I find contentment
in simply being held in the
silent repose of the morning
before my small world is awake,
and the street lamps are still
competing with the dawn.
It’s occurred to me that this has
made me into something marvelous
I didn’t know existed. }
Just know,
why I keep you around can’t be explained
johnny-on-the-spot.
See, when asked,
my little heart crescendos, and all of the words
rush to tangle on the back of my tongue.
I pull the phrases out, word by word,
and string them the way
they were meant to be read.
Don't be discouraged
by an answer of “I don’t know.”
It sometimes buys
the necessary time
for one to display the whole truth—
one that that lovely, whiskey-soaked head
can’t fully comprehend in that moment.
But maybe,
I keep you around
simply
because.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 12:25 PM UTC
I felt you kiss the back of my neck,
there was nothing there,
just a lack of respect.
And somewhere in your illicit, dulcet tone,
I found the sweetest sympathy of home,
and i found myself walkling back to you.
I heard your voice,
I felt my pain,
I whisphered, a thousand times the same,
Thoughts drifting through my head..
Is this really us?
Are we not dead?
And still i reply with a smile on my face
that nothing you can do will erase,
and with my sweetest tipped monotone
i wipe my hands and make for home.
And how i wish, this was not me or you,
it wasn't something you'd do,
that i could just be there and never far,
never following that elusive star.
And a thousand times i scream your name,
but this is not me
i am not the same,
Every breath i give, heavy and lost,
I gave up your kiss
and felt the cost.
And my head is weary, my hands are tired
my thoughts drift
exacting and wired.
I expected less-little, no more...
and still your breath upon my neck,
I drop my head and close my eyes
forgive myself and all those i despise
Me, us, them and you
there is nothing to prove,
nothing to do, no running away
let me learn to walk before i learn to stay.
And with each brusied moment, each repetitive tone
i take my words to worship at home
as i have no disfigurement, no-one can see this loss
but i wish there was something
but there are no what if's, what now or buts,
there are no scars, there are no cuts,
there is no wonderment or lust
I just wanted to take you here, take you there
hold your hand
feel the weight of your stare
I swallow my breath, i sing your name
i dance in circles around you
and still i'm the same
and how can i end this?
what is appropriate at this time?
I tell the truth, i swallow my rhyme
and on bended knee, dirtied and torn
i forge through the night
close my eyes
and dream of you, and being reborn
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 5:36 PM UTC
He loses grip of reality.
Loses morality.
Gets bitter taste of insanity.
No ability to bring himself back together, in time.
In his head, he hears beautiful chimes.
The clock inside his chest ticks on every step that he takes.
Right foot in front of the left...
dragging himself slowly back home.
Pondering and viciously swears at the wind.
Making up excuses for the things that he did.
Deep down beneath the skin, he is dying from within.
Stupefied from all the grievance and regrets.
Suddenly,his eyes go backward from shock and distress
His feet begin to soften.
Legs begin shaking.
No stableness.
Crisped nails and pruned at the fingertips. .
His hair converts to grey.
I called out for him stay.
But it was too late
The man is turning liquescent before my eyes.
He no longer can hear my cries.
Hardly recognizable by the disfigurement of his face.
I am amazed.
He gets down on both knees.
Dissolving in earth’s soil.
His heart then recoils…
I woke up and I screamed.
It was not just a dream.
Daddy has left me.
Cold heartedly.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 11:26 PM UTC
O how a comfort to exist in sleep
Lovely oblivion so many receive
But so few appreciate
O how true mercy is my friend
Hugged in the arms of weariness
A moment restored from anxiety
O what freedom brings these words
The language of my soul
O what merriment
To read my thoughts on page
Written by another hand in haste
To finish a statement,
To release the containment
O how painful to awake
To rush back to a world of hate,
Hate for greed, lies and disfigurement
And let go
Of this peacefulness
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 10:01 AM UTC