"gel" poems
Clothes have outgrown me many times over,
but this sadness never does.
One size.
fits all.
There should have been an obituary for cancer, not you.
Wishing these slits within my skin could have been
replaced by a reality check from you, “You chose to exist.”
My name causes a sigh to escape from lips,
that do not feel like they belong to me,
the girl,
whose words always had to be special.
The schematics of hospitals like a birthmark in my brain,
born into sadness, a gut feeling as a child.
Never trusting time
due to what it delivers.
Death, being the only thing I desired.
But you,
who I love,
endlessly-
robbed by it.
Whose ebb for life glowed so feverishly.
Stopped comparing depression to lace,
restricted the belief that suicide is poetic,
seeing things as they were.
More often than not, applauded for feeling emotions deeply.
Every second that dies, the shift of my heart quakes.
This world is not tender.
II. Sad.
I have known the flowers I wanted at my own premature funeral,
knowing how many bouquets honored you that day.
split open my veins like a dimension
reminiscent of days where I anticipated deathbeds.
My family wondered,
can we make it through another day?
Death scares me for what it has taken,
yet, I’m not afraid to die-
it’s all I deserve.
So I await the day pain erupts
from my throat,
acknowledging the days a soul
lived inside of my body-
footprints that walked,
belonging to me.
But I learned so well.
How to suffer with a smile,
dreading the beating of my heart
how unfair—
I don’t want to take these deep breaths
You deserved,while I masquerade as a member of the undead
Never outgrowing the desire to rot with the phantoms residing under my bed.
III. Jokes played by the universe.
punchlines delivered,
how could anyone to stand to be in the same room as myself?
How could anyone look over skyscrapers and sunsets,
and not be infatuated with concrete consuming them?
How I shared a sigh of relief during the thought-
of knowing people would thrive without me,
or the power of a belly laugh,
resembling a laugh track audience
drowning out 3 AM suicidal thoughts.
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 11:23 PM UTC
You call me
She, Her, Daughter, Girl
Shhhhh...
You speak with a blind mouth,
Look at me, see me
She isn't me,
Only a fantasy that you clutch till your knuckles grow pale.
I am not broken, I am free
But you hide behind a veil
Afraid to finally let go of...
Long hair, Lipstick, Lace dress
You question each time I show you my truth,
"Are you trying to hide your femininity?"
No, my femininity is simply not my definition.
Spend a day in my skin, in my cage,
And don't cry when the words start to pierce you like daggers,
Shhhh... Stay silent, don't worry, it's just a phase.
Now do you see that "She" just doesn't make sense?
You speak to me but your voice seems distant,
Bouncing off of me and echoing
Like I am the hollow statue of the girl you used to see.
"I am right in front of you, you know"
But my words are only heard when they come from her lips.
Do you see me now?
Mother, Children, Wife, Woman
A silent prayer each night for all the things I am not,
Stomach swollen, hair to my waist
The glow of an expecting mother on my face.
Curves, not edges,
Pink, not blue.
Delicate hands grasping the man who stands in my place.
Do you see me now?
Pants swollen, hair to my brow,
Along my jaw,
Down my legs,
Sprouting from my toes.
Do you see me now?
Bulged, Buzzed, Boy
Blood on my sheets, not between my legs
Stained by the girl who lies in her place
Fresh coat of gel and cologne,
Swirls of shaving cream.
Bare chest, Burning skin
Twitch of an Adam's apple when breath comes short,
Nervous fidgets with a tie,
tick tock,
"Pick me up at eight"
"Treat her right" "I will sir"
"Will you be my..."
"You're going to be a father!"
"You are the best daughter we could have asked for"
...."Son" I whispered.
But you didn't hear,
Please tell me
Do you see me now?
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 3:01 AM UTC
~-English-~
The Beauty Of Flowers (Multiple Tankas I)
A field of tulips
Is where I laid down to sleep
And dream a sweet dream
Dew sparkled on the tulips
And fell upon my fair cheeks
In the shady woods
Ladyslipper Orchids grow
Near a babbling brook.
Yellows and Pinks standing tall
With ferns spreading all around.
Beside the ocean
The hibiscus are blooming
Such a sweet perfume
Lingers on the salty breeze
Such beautiful rainbow hues
Snowdrops are the first
To appear blooming in frost
Pure white heads nodding.
Cold hardy and full of life,
They offer a hope of Spring.
Beside the farmhouse
Gardenias are blooming
White satin blossoms
Their perfume is breathtaking
Rain-washed petals of fragrance
~Timothy & Marian~
~-French-~
La beauté des fleurs (plusieurs Tankas je)
Un champ de tulipes
Est où j'ai prévue de dormir
Et un doux rêve
Rosée brillait sur les tulipes
Et tomba sur mes joues justes
Dans les bois ombragés
Ladyslipper orchidées poussent
Près d'un petit ruisseau.
Jaunes et roses debout
Avec fougères répand tout autour.
À côté de l'océan
L'hibiscus sont en fleurs
Tel un doux parfum
S'attarde sur la brise salée
Ces teintes belle arc-en-ciel
Perce-neige est les premiers
À comparaître fleurissant en gel
Têtes blanches pures hochant la tête.
Résistantes au froid et pleine de vie,
Ils offrent un espoir de printemps.
À côté de la ferme
Gardénias sont en fleurs
Fleurs de satin blancs
Leur parfum est à couper le souffle
Pétales restés du parfum
~ Timothy et Marian ~
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 6:25 PM UTC
Every atom is lenient towards the human being
streaming up from the deep root they spur
laying down the perfect descending of the stars.
They can take on the stellar in their deep club
that shows up opening the windows up in the sky
and down on to the earth cast their eyes!
The slim fit sharp atom knows all the shortcuts
constantly vibrating not a single star can catch nor will it ever
thin out – it has the extraordinary stroke of luck.
But the eyes are on the humans not over the amber.
Dreaming to be physically absorbed within the human being
to be in the human’s divine proportion ever transcendental
a far cry from the sun and the moon but with it both gel together!
Once they came so close almost touched the dream
they rose to the occasion, squaring the circle,
laser scanning through, as above so below, so humble.
Submitted them without waxing lyrical took the brush off
the colour bowl of the day then blindfolding the moon
in the night reached out to the paragon of the phi mania,
flawlessly made to measure, numerically perfect Fathima!
Presented themselves before her as pure blank
whereon she can jot like her chalkboard
or do as she please like she could show up
taking it as her shadow in silhouette, she exactly did that.
Touched down on the earth, in the veil
and revealed her as above so below.
The ocean moved stirred the water but none saw the sunshine
behind the full moon in bloom that steals the starry night.
Day in day out Fathima did all in a veil she lived and gone.
Keeping the atom on its toe ever honing tracing the footprint
in its own shadow as once a human being without a mark
crept in it lived in pi magic and leaped out!
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 10:53 PM UTC
The world is small even heaven isn't big
but an uncreated Word is,
an expression of love and promise!
The tale of the beginning
the tale of the end without the ending.
Soon God said it 'Qun' be
bang it couldn't be bigger indeed.
Everything small and big the complete
creations panache came to be so big!
The body is small the soul came in the front
and every soul big banged in one go.
All heard the same Word it was only one
that sets the tone for the first to the last
so sweet it took everyone’s heart!
The death wouldn’t touch the soul
that already died but couldn’t die.
Revived there and then instantly,
hearing the 'Qun' the uncreated melody!
Crooned up even through the dead-end
surged up to the other side of the black hole.
Like a waxing Moon passed over, crossing
the asleep body in the shadow, yet in the making!
Unable to resist it, the first big bang
didn’t happen amidst the material entity
not in the star, milky way or in the galaxy.
Adam was yet to be in the body
the physical ear was yet to hear it!
Unlike the tuned in abyss soul there
that harks and the clouds rise and rain
only to revert back to the sea
showering the shallow terraqueous body.
He said ‘Qun’ again and the first physical big bang
on the matter takes place in Fathima’s joint
interlacing her live soul and pre-design body.
It cuts through the irrational pi in between
the soul and body so that gel in melody!
With pure love without a condition
that shall keep up perpetuating the body!
Nature that was yet to be, gets a mirror in its entirety
and bangs big hearing an echo of ‘Qun’ be, says the Almighty
it comes to be and shall perish only to be an eternal body!
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 10:27 PM UTC
solace is to comfort in words to be kind
in the wake of tragedy and tribulation find
solace is as crisps as fresh as air after the rain
wash away the tears heart broken by grief and pain
solace is soft as gel as tender as dew on blades of grass
mellow the bereaved of bitter memories till it come to pass
solace to the loser like sun rays breaking through dark clouds
bearer of hope to the persistent over negativity that shroulds
to console the believers for at the tunnel's end there's light
like merciful angels sent to soothe the terminal's plight
solace is to come to term one will expire oneself
to be plucked by the One off the shelf.
Dec 23, 2017
Dec 23, 2017 at 11:07 PM UTC
The world is losing
Gravity,
But no one can escape,
We're hurtling on our petrie dish
In a gel that seals our fate;
Gravitating
Towards black holes;
They're closer than you think.
In China
There's a wall of dust,
Seen clear from outer space;
Our living waters die
In a legacy of disgrace.
We're citizens
Wearing masks;
We should hide our faces,
But we're running daily tasks.
We're fossils burning
Fossil fuels
Found in cremation gas.
The amphibians
Are on the fringe;
Whales can't sound,
They run aground.
It's an environmental slaughter.
Our world has lost
Some gravity.
We need to plant our feet,
But charnel fires
And greenhouse gas
Have hastened our retreat.
Migrating birds lose sense of time,
Confused by the lights.
The morning dove coos at night,
The nightingale at dawn;
We're like
New turtles muddling,
Under lost starlight.
We must grasp
The gravity
Of burning
Burning light.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 10:19 AM UTC
This is not a breakup poem
This is not me liquifying when I open my eyes in the morning
This is not my furious animal tearing at my chest to control the thrashing inside
This is not the bile that burns my throat
And this is not the hollow in my abdomen
This is not a breakup poem
This is not your static sobs and back-breaking voice cracks
This is not your acid apology
This is not your deadly uncertainty
And this is not the jagged shards of yourself
This is not a breakup poem
This is not the blood bursting from my scraped elbows and knees
when I went head over heels because you promised you would catch me
This is not my pavement-smacked stinging palms
This is not the gravel in my wounds from when you let go too soon
This is not a breakup poem
This is not your whiskey bottle on the shelf at the foot of my bed,
a gentle reminder that now I have nightmares alone
This is not the toothbrush and the hair gel and the speakers and the things that have more staying power than you
And this is not a breakup poem
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 1:22 PM UTC
If somebody asked me if I still loved you
I'd say yes
If they continued to ask me what I loved about you
I would say
I loved how you laughed at the things I said. The way you stopped mid sentence and kind of chuckled. You'd cover your mouth and your eyes would dance and your shoulders would shake a little.
I would say
I loved how your hands played the piano. I always knew that there was some beauty in humans but never like the sight of your fingers dancing over the keys. You played so effortlessly, like it was nothing. I could have listened to you forever.
I would say
I loved the way you obsessed over your hair. I know I would always rag on you for being too into it, but it was endearing. Whenever you played with it a little I wished that I could do that too. I also loved the smell of the gel you used.
I would say
I loved how the sun hit your eyes. It would make them spark like you had something witty to say, and most of the time I think you did. The blue would look like the underside of a flame, bright, hot, burning. I think I hurt myself on them.
I would say
I loved how you breathed. Just sat there breathed. I wish I could have laid my head on your chest for longer, held my breath for longer to hear your heart beating. Sometimes giving up my life just to be in yours seems like a better option.
I would say
I loved when your glasses would slip down your nose when you were concentrating, whether it be on music or schoolwork. You'd push them back up with the delicate tip of your middle finger, shoving them back up to the safety of the bridge.
I would say
I loved the way your arms looked around my waist, like there wasn't a single thing that you wished to hold more. Your smooth skin was what I wished I could feel on mine again. I don't think there's another thing I wished I could touch once more.
Lastly, I would say
I loved how you tried to stick around until the very end. It wasn't easy for you, I know. But ******* it you tried. I think that's what I loved most about you, that you didn't give up because it got too hard. You gave up because you knew that I wasn't ready. I'm never going to be.
The only thing I hate is how I have to write all of this as "loved" and not "love" because I'm supposed to have let go of something this trivial a few months ago.
I'm sorry.
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 12:54 AM UTC
Handbag~ 1994
exam timetable
£5 from my Mum
shiny key for the front door
fresh-mint chewing gum
Handbag~ 1998
keys for work
keys for home
£20 and a bit of change
photo of my best mate
and a bloke that's twice my age
lipstick~ lacy knickers
condoms~ ID card
ticket for a bus to town
UV sparkly stars
Handbag~ 1999
keys for work
keys for home
spare key for his flat
condoms~ contraceptive pills
No.7 powder-ivory/matt
VISA/Delta debit card
paper
gel ink pens
number of a bloke
who says our love
will never end
Handbag~ 2000
keys for work
keys for home
key for the gas meter
Teletubbies picture book
list of baby-sitters
new mobile phone
herbal teething gel
lipstick~ Anadin
vanilla impulse body spray
children's Nurofen
photo of my baby boy
really tiny socks
under-eye concealer
secret stash of chocs
Handbag~ 2002
keys for work
keys for home
pull-back-and-go car
baby wipes
mobile phone
estate agents' cards
picture of my little boy
list of things to do
Boots own brand pregnancy test
both windows coloured blue
Handbag~ 2005
keys for home
card from work
tissue full of tears
photo of my boy in school
that shows his gappy teeth
photo of my baby girl
and one of both of them
a ring that used to be my Mum's
Pro-Plus~ Diazepam
Handbag~ 2009
keys for work
keys for home
one SLIM~FAST bar
one Cadbury's wrapper
Haribo~ Calpol~ tissues
assorted Disney plasters
treasured stones~ special shells
sand and bits of twig
money to buy ice creams
photos of my kids
Oct 14, 2011
Oct 14, 2011 at 4:52 PM UTC
that night, i wore a polo shirt.
i thought *hey, i'm going to a friend's
dorm, no need to dress up, right?*
so i wore a polo shirt, a yellow and blue and pink
thing. i'd bought it from a charity shop
only weeks earlier, when i was still exploring
a new university town
and finding not-so-hidden gems;
and sure, it was three sizes too big
but it was comfortable, and made me feel safe.
turns out, you didn't care about polo shirts
or tank tops. you cared about what was underneath
and i was drunk enough to let you - or,
well, not really let you, but i didn't need to dress up
so i wore baggy clothes and a smile
so i had half a bottle of jack daniels
and i had a nineteen year old point to prove
and i had a pill that you gave me
and i had - sorry, have - a therapist's bill.
but this isn't about you. i don't write about you.
i make a point of not writing about you,
actually. which is to say that i write about you
in a way that doesn't let you hurt me anymore.
i write about what i was wearing
(did i deserve it? in my 1970s male t-shirt?)
or what i was drinking
(it was university)
or how i tried to throw myself into a river
in the aftermath
(but i didn't, because i got thirsty, and i didn't
want to die thirsty, so i went home).
no, i'm writing about the polo shirt i was wearing.
cotton, i think. polyester, probably.
the amazing technicolour haze of am i sober enough for this?
who knows how many iterations
of the same lancaster charity shop
it circled through, old men with families
and wives and kids -
it probably saw birthdays and christmases
and, safely tucked in the back of a closet,
shielded itself from the almost-crisis of cuban missiles.
and then, me. a nineteen year old
branching out into the world for the first time;
a lover of poetry, maker of music, naïve and beautiful.
then, it was just a polo shirt, and i wore it
as long as it was laundered, for a month or so,
until december. not that i stopped wearing it
because it was cold. it just reminded me of hands
and hands and hands and
**** how many hands can a man have?
how long will i have to feel them?
i didn't shower the day after, just slept.
a hangover, right? just a hangover.
and then, when the hot water in my dorm
daily ticked on, i washed every inch of myself
to get rid of you, and your foam banana shower gel
that your mother probably told you to buy.
so, what compensation do you owe me?
what price should i put on things?
you touch it, so you pay for it.
one charity shop shirt, three pounds please.
Jan 26, 2022
Jan 26, 2022 at 10:55 PM UTC
A pen is not a tool,
it is an instrument,
and it does not do for an instrument
to be cheap
or poorly made.
If I have a choice, it will be expensive
Ink, not gel.
God forbid a ballpoint Bic.
No.
It will be the kind of pen that makes you want to write,
even when you have no idea what it will be about;
Write,
not for the flow of thoughts to pen to paper,
but for pen to hand to brain,
the sensation of the tip smooth across white ****** paper
swimming up your arm.
Handwriting that is usual jerky
and of questionable legibility
morphing into a graceful scrawl
I would have the kind of pen that rips the words out of me,
if I had my choice.
The pen a bow, the paper a cello.
The notes pouring, spilling, becoming,
composer unsure of where they come from
but suspecting some deep, secret crevice inside them
only touchable by the finest instrument
that they can imagine.
A pen like the head of an infant
in your palm,
so soft and inexplicably right
that you want to hold forever,
because it feels like it belongs in your hand;
cradled plastic as pleasant as downy hair
And with such a pen I will write
and write,
at the start hardly aware
what these words will weave.
A portrait of an artist,
genius or insane?
And the ideas will unravel
until it becomes more than sensation,
the meaning bigger than paper and pen.
Finally, at last.
Jan 15, 2012
Jan 15, 2012 at 5:58 AM UTC
He doesn't need Intra Ocular Lenses,
To dismember my defenses.
Without a Stethoscope,
He can hear my heart,
He won't have to take an MRI scan,
To know where to start.
He won't need to inject a syringe,
To romantically unhinge,
My every multiplying cell,
Into a palpitating craze.
He won't need a lubricating gel,
To ****** and amaze.
He won't require to operate
Nor investigate,
Me from head to toe,
To plainly know,
That I'm besotted,
my insides knotted,
My better sense clotted,
In deep rooted feeling,
Of immense love.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 8:56 AM UTC
Tangled by reeds
in the trash-ridden bay
of sunny Acapulco,
I brush your hair.
Dried gel
builds under my nails
and satisfies me.
You dive with me
into the ocean of fire
to wash our hands.
My heart beats red;
Leaking, it soaks
your white playera
It hangs high and dry,
but will never wash clean.
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 12:06 AM UTC
when i think about you not
being here, i imagine outer
space. no gravity spacetime and
then rubbing your feet in a forest.
it's raining, but we have a
straw roof. i'm obsessed with
collecting the water and you're
splashing it out of the clay jugs
telling me
it's infinite
laughing
kissing me
im on your chest. we're not saying
anything but we're using the rain like
morse code. my rain says i love you,
yours says something about a flying squirrel.
i laugh because you're weird
and then you kiss my third eye.
it makes so much sense, it
fits so perfectly, it fills all the
gel electrophoresis reservoirs.
its a spider watching her eggs
it's like when fluorine finds
hydrogen, that's exactly what it is!
it's a really high charge finding
a molecular body that brings it back
to equilibrium, that's what this is!
so i don't care what anyone says
because they obviously don't
understand molecular orbital theory.
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 5:39 PM UTC
The world is losing
Gravity,
But no one can escape,
We're hurtling on our petrie dish
In a gel that seals our fate;
Gravitating
Towards black holes;
They're closer than you think.
In China
There's a wall of dust,
Seen clear from outer space;
Our living waters die
In a legacy of disgrace.
We're citizens
Wearing masks;
We should hide our faces,
But we're running daily tasks.
We're fossils burning
Fossil fuels
Found in cremation gas.
The amphibians
Are on the fringe;
Whales can't sound,
They run aground.
It's an environmental slaughter.
Our world has lost
Some gravity.
We need to plant our feet,
But charnel fires
And greenhouse gas
Have hastened our retreat.
Migrating birds lose sense of time,
Confused by the lights.
The mourning dove coos at night,
The nightingale at dawn;
We're like
New turtles muddling,
Under lost starlight.
We must grasp
The gravity
Of burning
Burning light.
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 10:41 AM UTC
Only the eyes remain as they were.
The rest of her face is ravaged
by acid. Acid thrown by two
boys on a cycle. Just
another dare.
She combs her long hair carefully. Plaits it
neatly away from her face. No curtain of hair
to hide behind. Puts a bindi in the battleground
of keloids, scars and uncooked skin. She wears
them well.
The boys genuflect in a temple, mothers kissing
saffron kerchief covered heads
before they gel their hair
and go on another prowl. This is what
men do, you see.
Lakshmi puts another layer
of cream on her burns and then stands
behind a beauty counter selling bindis
and lipsticks to girls with unblemished faces,
like their eyes. Like her eyes.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 4:32 AM UTC
If you give me long enough
I could paint a vivid portrait of myself
with every blemish and pore behind a brush,
and hush the voices that would criticize
unsubscribe and dance it up over in wonderland with the sycophants
put on my bedazzled pants
let the local singles know I'm a dancer
just a beating heart away
From being another square upon a lattice
a writhing mass of hair gel
and cologne working up the ladder to fuckboi status
Imma walk the line between
a marble arch eclipsing the sun
over an angel statue kneeling in prayer
and a black leather boot clad
bad *** with bad habits
but he's so cool he doesn't care
Look at him go
all on his own
with only a thousand or so, little paintings
that are equally as photo shopped or filtered
just floating around waiting to see the show
and letting other people know they liked it
or not
What a spectacle destined
to leave us senseless and restless
what a test of the patience to be a slave to the masses
to see my juxtaposition against the rest of the best of us
and think "I should go with clever with glasses."
What a brutal twist of civilized life
to have an AI made for driving my car
so I can shimmy down and sneak another **** pic
THROUGH SPACE, to some guy who works at taco bell's wife
Laura something or something
I'm so social
What a medium,
Exchanging ideas,
and hunting body heat from out of the ether,
to have the pleasing distortion
of the speakers
drowning out all the wearisome noise
of our contortions
"You gotta learn to love yourself"
She says, and posts another photo
buried somewhere under 60 layers
of dog noses and rainbows, and angel wings
Oh **** this isn't boyfriend material let me change some things
-
You don't ever need to change girl,
there ain't anything, in this world
That I wouldn't do, to be with you.
And the Brief exchanges we had,
didn't reveal any red flags,
that I am willing to skip on *** over.
So somewhere down the line,
when the filters start to fade,
we'll just kick that can down the road,
and neither of us will change.
And the picture's that we painted of our Love
will degrade.
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 12:29 AM UTC
When you are singing in the
bathroom and you get shower gel in your mouth.
Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 3:42 PM UTC
endless pacing
of these
subaquatic halls
almost catatonic
until I remember
how to think
and then
I cry
I should be
dead
I was dead
free from this
painful
existence
until something -
the WAU -
brought me back
in it's skewed mission
to preserve humanity
the WAU
stitched me
back together
with its gel of life
hardly human
hardly conscious
but conscious enough
to hate what I am
and cry
over my own existence
misery
then
anger
I am half
myself
half WAU
angry
craving to ****
hurt
end
whatever
stumbles across
my path
in my habitual
walks
through these corridoors
I see him
something else
another
who is aware
oh what I wouldn't
give
to have another
sentient creature
to curb my loneliness but-
NO!
STAY AWAY FROM ME!
the WAU
starts talking
**** him
he doesn't want you
to exist
he will
prevent you
from being with me
you need me
we need each other
he wants to end us
to end
life
he must be
extinguished
for the sake of
preserving
humanity
find him
chase him
**** HIM
in my pursuit
of the sentient
diving suit
I recognize
his fear
and my humanity
comes back to me
and I weep
he is
so afraid
of who I am
the Frankenstein
the predator
seeking prey
I cry
because this
is who I am
I cry
because I don't want
to hurt him
I cry
because I am
alive
constantly torn
between animalistic
rage
and the
self aware
misery
of realizing what I am
I want someone
to hold me
and make me feel
human
but
I don't want
any conscious creature
to get near me
for the WAU
is controlling
the strings of this puppet
it is the reason
I exist
it gives me the
sustenance
I need and crave
to keep on
hating my own existence
it will make me
****
anything that crosses my path
I think
and I weep
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 10:25 PM UTC
~
Creatively I died inside a butterfly’s wing
Buried in the womb of a bird’s song
Sing…
Elevation
Planted deep in a spiders imagination
Twisted, converted
Underneath a pyramid
Midriff monsoon
Against the red noon of the Moon’s
Lunar tunes
Nightmares growing from daydreams
Like weeds
Reflecting the soul as darkness gleams
Broken seeds
The eyes of the Owl see
As wisdom he reads
Turn green with greed
No longer wise as pride
Glides and rides
Across the deceit of his landslide
Crashing like a crystal avalanche
Crushing lives and habitats
See one choice can lead back to the beginning
Of the first inning of a sliver lining
That has become dull
Losing its shine and luster
Like a haunted hall
In a old mansion cobwebbed with fluster
Skeletons and ghost threaded in walls
Shredded inside papery calls
Peeling from the owners fall
I’ve died inside the butterfly’s wing
The wing carved on a wedding ring
Its circle symbolizes my cycle
A tilted infinity inside the curve of clarity
Of my fall
That became a papery call
While threaded in a skeleton wall
Cobwebbed with fluster
Like a haunted hall
That has lost its shine and luster
Which became dull
Like the first inning of the silver lining
This choice has led back to the beginning
Crushing lives and habitats
Like a crystal avalanche
Crashing across the deceit of this landslide
Which glides and rides
No longer wise as pride
Turns green with greed
As wisdom he reads
The eyes of the Owl see
Broken seeds
Reflecting the soul as darkness gleams
Like nightmare and weeds
Growing from daydreams
Lunar tunes of the Moon
Glowing against red noon midriff monsoon
Underneath a pyramid
Twisted, converted
Planted deep in a spiders imagination
Elevation
Buried in the womb of a bird’s song
Sing…
For I’ve creatively died inside the ink of a butterfly’s wing
Dripping from an alien’s pen-well
Melting like clear gel
Faded and blurred
Secretly grew in between each verb
Hid myself in sentences
Like parables in genesis
With glee…
I impregnated the meaning inside me
Then birthed surrealism
In a chaotic schism
Between the fifth and second chord
Of a poetic discord
~
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 2:40 AM UTC
'I am a lover not a fighter.'
I say as I take you by the tongue
And kisses roll off my lips
Like bullets from a gun.
'I am a lover not a fighter.'
I say as I take my fingertips
And brush them across your back
Slicing your heart open
And letting the feelings from within
Like a blade
Makes blood trickle
Out of skin.
'I am a lover not a fighter.'
I say as you and I laugh
Cramps curling in my stomach
Hurting me like a slap
With broken glass.
'I am a lover not a fighter.'
I said as I see another
Smooth compliments and kisses
Upon you like butter
With clenched fists
And a broken heart.
'I am a fighter not a lover.'
I say as I punch her in the face
And kick you in the groin
Trying to ignore the annoying
Voice asking me why
I would hurt the guy
I care so deeply for.
I ignore it as you slump to the floor.
'I am, I am-'
I cannot finish it
Because whether
A lover with the passion of a fighter
Or
A fighter with the lighter of love
I know not anymore.
*
But my dear gel
Know that all is well
For you are God's Princess
Please do not forget
That you are
A fighter that is loved
From the Perfect King
From up above.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 6:28 PM UTC
i am reminded again of why i hate hospitals,
especially when there alone.
maybe it's the scuffed floor or ugly upholstery of the chairs,
or the doctors half-attention,
or the way everybody stares,
or the way i try not to....
or the way that one guy just needs to ask me what book i'm reading.
"it's... well, it's a book about these writers who are deceived into isolation
and they write all these stories of life and desperation"
(he doesn't actually care)
i hide in my hair.
at least we tried to have a conversation....
and then we just sit there,
until she calls the next patient.
i hope i'm next.
i am reminded again of why i hate hospitals,
especially when there alone.
maybe it's the stale air up against the smell of warm blankets,
or being fully clothed but feeling totally naked,
or being wheeled around to some other location,
or that being wheeled around kind of feels like
a ****** up vacation....
(you just get to lay there)
((and be numb))
but i think it's the way she rubbed that gel **** all over my tummy
and that when i say tummy,
i don't feel like a woman i feel like
a baby
and the way those plasticky tools let her see right through me
and the way men just do not know what to do when
women are bleeding
the nurse named jeff asks me, "oooh, which palahniuk?"
"it's... well, it's the one about twelve writers who fall into the clutches of
this crazy guy who locks them all up! this story's about guts n stuff,"
"nice," he weirdly smirks,
and thankfully gets back to work.
jeff touches my arm a little too much,
and i didn't really want him to have my blood,
and maybe that's just vain stuff
but the conversation was... good enough...
and i am reminded again of why i hate hospitals,
especially when there alone.
only got mister palahniuk*
trapped in a purple book,
this paper-bound blood work,
to keep me company.
i lay back with the iv drip next to my bed
as i sweetly surrender to his gory head....
this book, it's called haunted.
*i wish i had chuck's guts ~ literally and figuratively,
he has no ****** and incredible creative bravery.
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 3:39 AM UTC
When you watch the ocean tide,
Notice the swelling rise.
Then fall back as if to hide,
Only to come again and rise.
Life is such ebb and flow
Life is such come and go.
And mystical things
Suffer tides to bring.
The cold waves
Fluctuate.
My body
Shivers
And ovulates.
To the sound,
From the ground.
Up!
To the sky,
Of ocean tides.
I feel the sea,
Deep within me.
I feel the gel,
Where the heavenly dwell.
I never want to leave
This peace.
The Spirit
Takes me
To the sea,
So I can see,
Life’s story
Life’s glory,
Life’s sadness,
Life’s fleet.
Once I see,
I come to Thee,
I rest in peace,
I chant release.
Ebb and flow,
I love your sea,
Of heavenly beings.
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 11:47 AM UTC