"examining" poems
When i was 13 I thought that gay and straight were things that other people were
People that weren't raised christian
People that didn't have dads
People that were abused
People that i should pray for but not get close to
when i was 14 my best friend came out as gay
i didn't see it coming but i probably should have
she wore ties every day
and plaid shirts with the sleeves rolled up
and cut her hair short as soon as she could
but i didn’t see it because gay was other people
when i was 14 i watched as the news spread like wildfire
“did you hear? that girl is gay.”
I watched as people slowly backed away from her
people that knew her all her life
that is, the people that didn’t cut her off instantly
I watched as the youth group we had both attended asked her to leave
I watched as her drama group kicked her out because they were afraid of the yearly camp we went to
that somehow knowing that she was gay made her more likely to attack the other girls in their beds than the year before
I watched.
I didn’t do anything.
what changed my mind wasn’t a change of perspective on queer people
it still took me a year to decide being gay wasn’t wrong
but i decided that my best friend was someone i would stick with
because i loved her
I quietly stayed.
didn’t make a fuss, didn’t call people out when they called her names behind her back.
I should have.
but i didn’t.
I didn’t join in, but i didn’t defend her
i didn’t say to these people
**** you
that girl is beautiful and amazing
and if you can’t see through your hatred then i don’t want to be your friend either
but i didn’t .
I didn’t go through what she did.
I didn’t get kicked out of anything, i didn’t lose friends
When i was 15, i got fed up
I left that drama group.
I stopped going to that church.
I stepped away from those friends and even though i never said why
the look on my face when i ran into them and they asked, “how’s she doing?”
answered that question for them.
I spent 24 hours examining my bible
trying to find the verses that say being gay is wrong
there were barely any
and they were right next to verses that said eating pork was wrong
or planting crops next to each other
or wearing two different fabrics
there was my answer.
this isn't a story of my journey.
This isn't me building myself up
“hey, I wasn't as bad as those other people
I’m good now”
this is a story of how one person can change your life forever
if i didn't have a gay best friend
what a way to start a story, huh?
if i didn't have a gay best friend then I would still be there
quietly praying for the sins of others, but not trying to understand
so don’t look at all Christians and say
they’re awful
they’re bigoted
they’re judgmental
because we are
but often it’s because we don’t know any better
teaching us kindly works
leading by example.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 1:27 AM UTC
the world needs a lesson in self esteem
we can start by re-examining exactly what each part of that term means
self (hyphen): "to, with, toward, for, on, in oneself"
esteem: "favorable opinion or judgement; respect or regard"
self esteem: to hold a favorable opinion or judgement, respect or regard, to, with, toward, for, on, or in oneself
the world needs this lesson because our children do not know what this term means
because the reason they do not know is because their parents did not know
because the reason their parents did not know is because every generation before them passed along
a belief that you had to fit into every box, had to blend in to every crowd, had to meet every bullet point on the checklist
in order to be considered a person of worth
because the great secret that they never told is that people were not made
to fit into boxes, or be marked on a checklist
because my mother married a man who did not deserve her
because she thought that she wouldn't be able to do any better
because that man looked at his beautiful new stepdaughter
and told her she was worthless, and that her mother knew it too
because that girl was cursed with the hips and the **** and the waist of her great grandmother
and when she went to school with her stepfather's words in her head
a boy in her second grade class said the same **** things, and worse
because i was that girl and i was never the girl who got to walk behind me in the hallways
and laugh at the way that my shirt was too tight, and my thighs were too big, and laugh even harder when i cried
because my best friend in high school was always "the hot one"
and because i cried myself to sleep every time one of our guy friends talked to me about how much he wanted to **** her
because i craved objectification before i'd even finished ninth grade
because i wished that i could sink my hands into my own flesh and rip pieces away and be left with something "beautiful"
because i looked in the mirror every day of my life and pointed out every small detail of what was wrong with my reflection
because i hoped that would help me pretend it didn't hurt when other people pointed out the imperfections
because even after satisfying girlfriend boyfriend girlfriend boyfriend, i still did not feel good about my own body
because it took finding the woman that i want to spend the rest of my life with to make me want to turn the lights on when we ****
because she is the most beautiful woman that i have ever seen
but before me, she'd always wanted to leave the lights off too
because we are grateful to each other for the confidence we have gained
and because we both wish we hadn't needed the other to find something that should have been found within ourselves
the world needs a lesson in self-esteem
and i know this because
i had to write this poem
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 7:19 PM UTC
the bones were hard to give up,
they pushed out like daisies
caressed under the hounding
heart of a copper sun.
unbridled and undried they bore
zealous arrogance of themselves,
petals dripping ****** convictions
and vibrating like awful angels.
under cruel devices they tried to
soften my bones and mold thick skull
constructed of lackluster candles
on their last flame.
days passed like doctors and white nurses
examining old wires that pray tell
the routines, the stools, the teeth.
i am their Jesus, their Lazarus.
my hearse, my sheep keeper,
my pretty things,
i become the acrobat at the
finale, the last supper,
supplementing at the **** of my
recovery. i lay my skin down for all
of you to see: here is my breast!
my toad belly! my glass feet!
Jul 6, 2018
Jul 6, 2018 at 5:02 PM UTC
I though he carried the light
where words would illuminate
driving me to a euphoric ******
a man without a face or a trace
unhindered in a double live and lies
a bubble of psychotic psychic surety
his passion was an addiction
my reservations moved a notch
addicted to a body of ideology
the stances of philosophical terms
uncovering ancient possibilities
the unfelt mysteries of history
veiled in icicles of pretence and lies
as if a Marxist, a closet bourgeoise
The stoicism of present bargains
questioning Socrates and morality reasons
a fatal dose ,examining the unexamined
as colourful as his mind blew my inner glow
he was lost in sad and low dialogues
afraid to face the earthly shallow shadows
yet his spirits moved deep within mine
and it paralysed and fed on my energy
and his delusion became my seduction
but he woke my inner poetic tongue
letting it caress all his inner wounds
A shadow hiding behind Frankenstein’s
a sly monster who lied to my eyes
ghosting in with the a pen that weakens
romancing with letters of a fiery doom
a penpal whom I met within my lowest
but whose words lay in a deep unending quarry
his warmth I could never ever tell
his kiss only a draft on the dewy grass
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 5:29 PM UTC
Hi, below I copy a humorous hiabun, which I shared as an exercise to mentor enquiring and inspired poets to learn, so they might adopt and try different techniques and then give critique together with awesome comments... Yes, I used the words *** ****** and **** for context the rest was left to an individual imagination as in good poetry!
It included reflective commentary encompasses innocent classification terminology used in the critique, reading, examining, appreciating, understanding and writing of poetry for example: POETIC DEVICES (enjambement, duality, keriji, images, collocation, semantic, oxymoron, repetition, listing etc.), STORY (personification, characterisation, subject, context, voice etc.), IMAGERY (synaesthesia), STRUCTURE ( lineation, breaks, syntactic etc.), SOUNDS (syllables, rhyme, alliteration, pace, musicality, phrasing, beat, assonance, onomatopoeia, mouthed rhythms, patterned) and WORDS (preposition, determiner, verbs, adverbs, lexical, nouns, adjectives) used by poets, critics and academics...
And here it is :
**** tongue-in-cheek haibun - a reflective commentary on writing a popular tanka
Eye lashes flicker
a shared urgent interest
parting - dancing smile
My first inspiration was *** passionate life squeezing screaming *** the thumping wall musicality of *** exhaustingly inventive sweaty and wet.
I wanted to make it a senryu but for duality the female characterisation demanded two more lines each extending to seven syllables.
Arousing images captured her moaning splashing loneliness in unusual collocation.
I was first excited by the placement of a hovering extended enjambement to give life to my final line, whilst also considering the satisfaction in using noisy mouthed rhythms.
I believe I easily hid the wet aroused context with a watery semantic field, that suggested she would choke and drown.
So in my last line I had ‘pleasures’ as a cutting keriji to make clear the dominating ****** context, having previously used a preposition and determiner to maintain duality!
Exhausted shivers
in windowed naked currents
unfolding sinking
then surfing vital wavelets
drowning screams - pleasures wet bite
**
May 2, 2010
May 2, 2010 at 7:10 PM UTC
I can tell by the way you look at me,
one eyebrow cocked upward while
examining my so called perfection.
Completely astonished by my beauty,
the beauty I don't even see in myself.
Peering out of the right corners
of your deep brown eyes
without tilting your head at
even the slightest angle
because you don't want me to know
you still think about me.
But I've noticed you can't look away.
You can't look away
because that may be the last time
you ever see my face.
And the thought of that being
your last chance to catch a glimpse
at my sparkling blue eyes
destroys you.
You just can't look away,
and that's how I know you still love me
(even though you wish you didn't).
Jul 5, 2023
Jul 5, 2023 at 12:18 AM UTC
by God, I don't know what to
do.
they're so nice to have around.
they have a way of playing with
the *****
and looking at the **** very
seriously
turning it
tweeking it
examining each part
as their long hair falls on
your belly.
it's not the ******* and *******
alone that reaches into a man
and softens him, it's the extras,
it's all the extras.
now it's raining tonight
and there's nobody
they are elsewhere
examining things
in new bedrooms
in new moods
or maybe in old
bedrooms.
anyhow, it's raining tonight,
on hell of a dashing, pouring
rain....
very little to do.
I've read the newspaper
paid the gas bill
the electric co.
the phone bill.
it keeps raining.
they soften a man
and then let him swim
in his own juice.
I need an old-fashioned *****
at the door tonight
closing her green umbrella,
drops her green umbrella,
drops of moonlit rain on her
purse, saying **** man,
can't you get better music
than that on your radio?
and turn up the heat..."
it's always when a man's swollen
with love and everything
else
that keeps raining
splattering
flooding
rain
good for the trees and the
grass and the air...
good for things that
live alone.
I would give anything
for a female's hand on me
tonight.
they soften a man and
then leave him
listening to the rain.
7.5k
Nobody was born today
But you picked up a cake anyway
for five dollars fifty plus tax
Now you're watching
Criminal Minds on a couch made for three
and eating it with your hands
It vaguely occurs to you that
you should be sharing it with someone
or at least put on some **** candles
You're not even hungry
you don't even need to fill a void
you did good today
You hardly even miss her anymore.
You haven't thought about it in weeks.
If you just slept you'd be fine in the morning.
You consider it all
examining the red velvet
stuck under your thumbnail
Maybe you're looking for
a file or a prison shank
sunk beneath the frosting
Or maybe you just need
to make this a Night
The Night of the Cake
It'll blend in
with the others
in a matter of time
But for a few weeks
you'll look back
and remember
you are a member
of those romanticized ranks
those plastic or terracotta statues
Tomorrow you will feed the dog.
And after work you will pick up groceries.
And after groceries you will pay your bills.
But tonight is the Night of Cake.
Tonight
you become a stereotype
An unforgiving consumer
with chocolate-stained hands.
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 1:33 AM UTC
I peruse exhibits through the modern art museum
Nails hammered into wood
And trash strewn on the floor
I couldn't help thinking
What the **** is this ****
These can't be the champions of modern art
Moonlight and Arrival morphed my empathy and perspective
The theater is fine
Music is there for those inclined to discover it
So what about visual art?
I know a few things for certain
Nails hammered into wood never changed my perspective
Nor does seeing a garbage can in a museum affect my empathy
Trash is not art
Trash is trash
Waste meant to be thrown in the proper receptacles
So as not to obstruct our view of true beauty
I will concede that
Beauty can be found in everything
Depending on analyzation variation
But those that live an examined life
Constantly see silver linings and sour grapes
Experiencing comfort in tundras to the point of banality
Those visions are much more interesting
in their organic state anyway
As opposed to an interpersonal expression of the seemingly obvious
So what to hang in an art gallery?
I have my own opinions
At this point in time
No visuals elicit more emotions
Than dank memes
When I'm consuming art
Questions are innate in my consumption
Is this a vessel for empathy?
Is this examining the human condition?
Dank memes meet those criteria
Satirizing the powerful
Highlighting emotions and virtues in ourselves
That we're either proud or ashamed of
Memes share a common thread with poetry
In the sense that everybody can create memes
Or be a poet
I get the impression that
Universality of art diminishes it's importance
In the minds of patrons
There's an element of truth to that
But what makes art special is quality
And what makes art truly special is high quality
And that's what belongs in museums
Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 11:23 PM UTC
According to
the science of the “unknown”,
random samples of emptiness
can only scratch the surface of nothingness..
Depleting the distortions of invisibility
while examining the possibility of
the non-existent state..
Leaving only what appears to be
worthless ashes of eternal entropy!
...
And in another related stories...
Oct 3, 2025
Oct 3, 2025 at 1:28 PM UTC
THE BALLOONS hang on wires in the Marigold Gardens.
They spot their yellow and gold, they juggle their blue and red, they float their faces on the face of the sky.
Balloon face eaters sit by hundreds reading the eat cards, asking, "What shall we eat?"-and the waiters, "Have you ordered?" they are sixty ballon faces sifting white over the tuxedoes.
Poets, lawyers, ad men, mason contractors, smartalecks discussing "educated ********* here they put ***** into their balloon faces.
Here sit the heavy balloon face women lifting crimson lobsters into their crimson faces, lobsters out of Sargossa sea bottoms.
Here sits a man cross-examining a woman, "Where were you last night? What do you do with all your money? Who's buying your shoes now, anyhow?"
So they sit eating whitefish, two balloon faces swept on God's night wind.
And all the time the balloon spots on the wires, a little mile of festoons, they play their own silence play of film yellow and film gold, bubble blue and bubble red.
The wind crosses the town, the wind from the west side comes to the banks of marigolds boxed in the Marigold Gardens.
Night moths fly and fix their feet in the leaves and eat and are seen by the eaters.
The jazz outfit sweats and the drums and the saxophones reach for the ears of the eaters.
The chorus brought from Broadway works at the fun and the slouch of their shoulders, the kick of their ankles, reach for the eyes of the eaters.
These girls from Kokomo and Peoria, these hungry girls, since they are paid-for, let us look on and listen, let us get their number.
Why do I go again to the balloons on the wires, something for nothing, kin women of the half-moon, dream women?
And the half-moon swinging on the wind crossing the town-these two, the half-moon and the wind-this will be about all, this will be about all.
Eaters, go to it; your mazuma pays for it all; it's a knockout, a classy knockout-and payday always comes.
The moths in the marigolds will do for me, the half-moon, the wishing wind and the little mile of balloon spots on wires-this will be about all, this will be about all.
5.5k
You can fall in love
with the way
someone pours milk
into their cereal,
listening to the things they speak about
when they sleep talk
at three in the morning,
and by watching them untangle
earphones, which somehow
seems to be their biggest challenge
of the day.
You can fall in love
examining the face they make
when they try to hold back laughter,
if they put their head or their arms
through a sweater first,
and the way they shiver
when it is 23 degrees outside
and they are only wearing
a leather jacket
while drowning in a
thick red scarf.
You can fall in love.
You can fall in love.
You can fall in love.
And you will fall in love
with all of that.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 7:32 PM UTC
Under the microscope they walk.
And probably never know it.
From all perspective they unaware of their power.
But a few know it.
While only a few uses it.
A woman can get a man faster then a man can.
Women are selective.
While men selects anything for the moment it seems.
They under the microscope for everything they do.
Their clothes.
Their voice.
Their physical presence when they been creative blessed.
A woman has ways of getting more.
Then many men realizes.
Even when they think they in control.
A woman knows it's only in his mind.
The charm.
The smile.
Just reels them in to her trap.
Tell a man, where you live?
And watch him purchase a road map.
Only, when they don't get their way.
Do the male complains.
But a honest woman of truth will speak out.
She never promise him anything.
And they under the microscope for many things.
When it seems it's the males.
Who brain needs examining?
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 8:53 AM UTC
Midway upon the journey of life
I found myself riding
zigzag down dark streets,
for there was no straight way
through that teeming urban grid.
Thus I travelled deeper into the night,
while rosary beads swung hypnotic
from the mirror, reflecting the revenant eyes
of one raised by an invisible hand
from salt water rocks where
as a boy, he said, he should have died.
Deftly navigating changing lights
of amber, red, and green,
he humbly inquired after my beliefs
and the state of my soul.
As to this I could not say,
so I drew it out and held it gingerly
by the rough edges, examining
as best I might in that dim backseat
its wrinkles, creases, and scars.
In the reflection he saw all these clearly,
and with gentle resonance spoke
of things impossible to know,
less difficult to believe,
and blessed me so
that on passing out the door
I found my soul again soft and warm.
May 26, 2019
May 26, 2019 at 1:25 PM UTC
If you visit google's home page today
You will see a Japanese man
Examining noodles with a microscope
Hahaha
Thank you Momofuku Ando!
For inventing Top Ramen
Although not the healthiest choice
Here are the sodium levels for each flavor
Top Ramen Oriental Flavor-- 800 mg 33% daily value
Top Ramen Beef Flavor-- 760 mg 32 % daily value
Top Ramen Chicken Flavor-- 910 mg 38% daily value
Top Ramen Shrimp Flavor-- 860 mg 36% daily value
Top Ramen Picante Beef Flavor-- 780 mg 32% daily value
Top Ramen Chili Flavor-- 760 mg 32% daily value
If you are watching your sodium levels
Stay away from the chicken and shrimp flavors
Lol!
Many college students
Throughout the past few decades
Have relied on Top Ramen
As they crammed for their exams
I have even indulged
And enjoyed Top Ramen
Once or twice
During my early college years
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 11:23 AM UTC
I have come humble to seek your knowledge
With exhausted feet and weighing burden, I bear my heart
I have travelled far to arrive at the world's edge
Ready to receive what wisdom you will impart
I'll set myself cross-legged on the opposite of you
I see you peering, examining my physical entirety
With one good eye, you gaze right through
Makes me uncomfortable, if I may... But I'll hold steady
I notice you muttering but no words could be heard
Your hands hovering over a glassy globe with an ominous glow
You turn to the left, as if conversing with an invisible third
Whispering secrets that I will never learn to know
Shifting your gaze now into the crystal orb
What do you see, Wise One, in that ball of yours
You shudder upon it's touch as though it's power you absorb
Tell me, Soothsayer... What lies for me in this course?
You swiftly pull your hands behind your back
I flinch with a start at your sudden display
You bring back your hands revealing cards out of a stack
You tremble in spasms, dropping the rest leaving one for play
The card you place face down, right in front of me
You motion for me to pick it up and flip it round
I see the card bore inscriptions and ancient runes, quizzically
You ****** the card and begin chanting in odd sounds
Reciting your incantations, in a tongue I do not understand
They sound like curses rather than the answers I seek
It all ends almost as soon as it started... I can't comprehend
You then place your warm palms gently touching my cheeks
Your features softened as you stared into my sullen eyes
A connection like eternity trapped within seconds never going astray
Then you turn away to fetch a bundle roped in knots and ties
You hand it to me hastily before ushering me on my way
I am now perplexed much... What does it show?
What did you see, what does my future hold?
Please enlighten me what you've come to know
From all of that, what could you have foretold?
Bundle in hand I turn to leave your rundown shanty
As I leave, you speak in your voice, different from before
Soft yet raspy you say, *"Do not open till the end of journey"
"Open only when in house, behind closed door"*
Moon is up illuminating, as I make my way up north
Armed in hand a strange, scented, tied up bundle
Leaving with the same questions with no answers, I amble forth
Wondering if in the bundle I may find the missing pieces of the puzzle...
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 4:45 AM UTC
She's a beautiful being
much like a flower,
from which I could learn,
examining for hours.
I admire her smell
and how she speaks of me,
the knowledge she carries
makes one feel less lonely.
From her crown to her toes
she is lovely and free,
a companion that was placed here
for irrational me.
She speaks like the wind
knowing I am delicate,
drops petal-like compliments
that I consider reverant.
She seems like a sea
in which I could drown,
a pure contribution
on this heavenless mound.
I know her as I know myself;
or any book from any shelf.
Open it up and read just a sliver,
ask your questions-
she'll surely deliver.
She knows when to play and when to relax,
she understands my being-
reads through the cracks.
She understands the importance
of an honest, open heart.
She shares my love of music
and creates striking art.
At times she makes me feel
as though I am the advisor,
but I have read a few pages
from her and feel wiser.
I've never quite finished
any book that I've read,
so I'll put the books down and
read into her instead.
~kd
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 6:04 AM UTC
JOY ... weaving two violet petals for a coat lapel ... painting on a slab of night sky a Christ face ... slipping new brass keys into rusty iron locks and shouldering till at last the door gives and we are in a new room ... forever and ever violet petals, slabs, the Christ face, brass keys and new rooms.
are we near or far?... is there anything else?... who comes back?... and why does love ask nothing and give all? and why is love rare as a tailed comet shaking guesses out of men at telescopes ten feet long? why does the mystery sit with its chin on the lean forearm of women in gray eyes and women in hazel eyes?
are any of these less proud, less important, than a cross-examining lawyer? are any of these less perfect than the front page of a morning newspaper?
the answers are not computed and attested in the back of an arithmetic for the verifications of the lazy
there is no authority in the phone book for us to call and ask the why, the wherefore, and the howbeit it's ... a riddle ... by God.
3.9k
Take me back to a different hotel every night and living out of a suitcase. Getting comfortable in our naked bodies around each other; comparing breast size and stretch marks—examining ourselves like the men who’ve carelessly fondled us before for our likes and dislikes. Sharing a bottle of lukewarm tequila in the world’s smallest bathtub and then I sing you to sleep. Highway cars buzzing past and there’s only one road to get lost on, but we manage it every single time. Your car becomes a dressing room at gas stations where people stare with disapproving glares and worry for the safety of their wallets; because we don’t belong here but we laugh—still drunk from the early morning hours and just trying to find the next check-in spot for the night. There never is a real destination but home always seems too close and we both hate that part. It doesn’t feel right when it ends or when I have to crawl back into my own bed without a time frame to be out by in the morning—before the housekeeping maid comes banging on our door,
yet again.
Dec 12, 2020
Dec 12, 2020 at 1:06 AM UTC
you see, i like partying, these celebrities ain't partying, they are popping pills
in the wrong way, you see i have thoughts that athena heals me in my sleep
and sometimes those pills could help, but really dudes paracetaol is good, it's just
that that people want to be so ****** perfect, like, i just woke up from a dream
where an old mate named james taught me all the mistakes i made when i was young
and a bit of mum and dad was thrown into the conversation, when i wasn't paying much attention to what james was actually saying, you see i know i was a crazy mother ******
but that doesn't mean i approve of their partying, but a lot of people don't approve of my partying, but i don't care, athena is helping me, with coke and paracetamol and fluoride
and seroquel and serenace, some people hate partying because they are too old, i just
say, hi, old i am brian and partying is going to community events and dancing by the stage
and i know, that looking and examining this documentary, it shows hos partying can lead
to rotten religion, but i believe in rotten religion i believe if you wanna have *** go ahead and have *** and if you like to party into the night, go ahead, just because you
party doesn't mean you ain't grown up. it just means i like partying and another thing
i am a grown up dude, i loves to party, with coca cola, you see i feel my voices are
trying to make me a fucken moral citizen, what is the hell wrong with partying at community events, my motto is learn about your drug your taking, saying, do you really
want this kinda life that the drug will provide for you and stay with partying with sugar or alcohol and leave illegal drugs alone, paracetamol is a pill you take to release pain
and if you believe it, send spiritual healer athena to you
ATHENA WORKS WONDER, take paracetamoil
let's party at community events
you don't have to look like you party, just say, at least i am out
i don't want to be the kind of old dogie who says no to going out partying
well, i don't think much of nightclubs anymore
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 11:38 AM UTC
"you are so strong"
my eyes stared into nothing,
burning with the absence of tears.
i knew there would be a point
where i could not cry anymore.
what was everyone seeing?
because all i felt was weakness,
pain,
emptiness.
my exterior was bruised and beaten
but only inside could i feel the effects.
i was not strong
i was fragile,
scared,
and vulnerable.
frustrated by words of praise
i sank deeper into my delusions,
and perfected my 'brave face'.
i was not strong
i was struggling.
listening to the vital carts
wheel in and out,
my door never a separation
but a portal to demons
wielding gurneys,
needles,
charts and machines.
i was restless in my immobility.
i was not strong
i was numb.
calling for my mother at 4:00 am
she carried my weight,
she held my hand,
she washed my hair,
she changed my clothes,
she slept, barely,
at my feet.
i was not strong
my mother was.
days piled on;
hours lost in isolation
maddening my mind
and diminishing my willpower.
with every test,
measurement,
and procedure
i felt helplessness
swallow the living light in me.
still, i complied,
i waited,
i did what was asked.
i was not strong
i was a quiet fire.
looking at my damaged body,
examining my inflamed veins.
my face was swollen,
my hair matted.
i shook in my skin
disassociating my identity.
i was not my condition
i was not my self disgust.
i can not say that i feel better
just different,
which is neither positive or negative.
reflecting on 10 days as a ghost
getting acquainted with myself,
filling in the blanks.
i was not strong
i was surviving.
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 10:49 PM UTC
No men.
But when the
conversation starts, they dominate.
Worm their way into every sentence, every silence.
Every caught breath, exhaled pause.
Names, nice-to-meet-yous, passed round with sandwiches and tea.
Hole-riddled autobiographies, wadded out with circumstance and need.
Explaining themselves, defending their actions. In turn. And I?
Have never felt so young.
To my left, and working clockwise: Affair-with-the-boss, Heart-condition, High-risk-of-genetic-defects,
In-the-middle-of-a-divorce-not-sure-why-she-slept-with-him, Grown-up-children-can’t-bear-to-go-through-that-again,
and back to me. (Boyfriend-has-two-kids-wants-no-more)
He noticed that I’m pregnant.
Was pregnant.
Was.
We chew our way through sandwiches. Different coloured fillings, no flavour- choked down with lukewarm tea.
We know it’s a test.
We have to talk, smile, eat, drink, laugh (not manically)
if we're to go home.
I can’t do it.
I want to cry. But I’ve been told off for that already (curled up on a trolley, examining bloodied fingers)
I drift, I think.
Jump out of my skin when she speaks to me.
"You must eat" she says.
"You must eat."
I search for myself in their eyes,
re-make myself from fragments and reflections I find there (Four parts child, one part b-tch)
"It’s OK" I tell her, "It’s OK.
On my way home I’ll get a Happy Meal.
I’m collecting the toys."
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 4:11 PM UTC
whenever I feel the tremble start to ooze its way
from my compact mind to the tips of my fingers,
I immediately anticipate the fate
that I have always been able to foresee
whenever that familiar first jolt of an anxiety attack sails its way,
like a vessel in a storm
throughout my entire body
heart pounds an intolerable caution
lungs wheeze frigid determination with a rough friction
that lightly scrapes my core with a ticklish flutter
shoulders lift up into a hunch; absolutely automatic
the top tray of teeth lock clenched into the bottom tray’s hold
a fleet of air hisses in and out of two nostrils like a monk’s meditation
capacious eyes flicker from
the lid to the lash to the iris to the pupil to see everything
everyone is staring
everything is too intimidating to look at for longer than two seconds
then, the tunnel
the clearest, acute vision waters into a soft edged frame,
into a pixel mud of a picture, into a black peripheral,
black corners rounding in – a narrow and petty circle
I use it and follow it to wherever my
deepened impulse decides to take me
silently contemplating,
silently speculating,
silently examining
the fears I let my feeble self
get swallowed up in.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 1:42 AM UTC
resuming textual trip
testing experimental procedures
visualizing model tsunami
augmenting facetious environment
catching abstract architecture
noticing rhythmic exchange
projecting subtextual database
airhorning reggae royalty
adding atypical party
resolving twitter question
noticing emotional mission
awaiting emotional dialect
installing metaphorical experiment
intensifying animated trip
displaying dynamic victory
programming abstract development
releasing emotional exchange
deriving fata morgana
glorifying referential sequence
intensifying facetious map
noticing harmonic trip
observing radical ratio
compiling nomadic message
predating google rebranding
reticulating facetious panda
using hyperreal feedback
exploring virtual panda
speculating graphic gallery
throwing mundane exception
targeting graphic experiment
replenishing emotional trap
localizing asemic animal
dropping rhythmic trip
propagating immortal experiment
displaying lowercase database
invading orange bubbles
crashing animated trip
running conceptual topography
remembering collapsed buildings
crashing hyperreal coverage
propagating hyperreal stipulation
finishing western library
envisioning neon tessellation
reciprocating network likes
processing animated device
releasing haptic quality
examining building seven
awaiting rhapsodical ratio
sampling death sauce
sensing lowercase clone
examining symbolic tour
processing potential development
encapsulating spatial lottery
displaying digital paragraph
reticulating theoretical source
perpetuating western paragraph
transmitting monochromatic structure
anticipating ambient quality
transmitting asemic environment
intensifying atomic quality
remastering history poem
keeping future light
hypothesizing eternal game
using future library
rearranging masonic language
transmitting masonic development
continuing ceremonial ritual
questioning party's legitimacy
deferring western coverage
finishing asemic hypertext
mollifying ostentatious presence
synthesizing allegorical icon
forming categorical unions
sketching app wireframe
programming immortal repository
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
if when you take
an afternoon stroll
in the fresh spring air
to the library
down the street
and you spend your time
not listening to the birds
or examining the new buds
but wishing that every car
that passed
would run you over
you probably
should rethink
a couple things
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 3:16 PM UTC