"guiltier" poems
This isn't Rome
I'm standing still because of statutes
Stone grill: I a carved marble statue
not a muscle dares,
Near frozen by the fear,
let it go I hear
over shoulder: perfect pass
if I get shot over a penalty
Is it clear?
my arms are arms?
a load chopper; in his shades,
do those aviators make me even darker?
(if I studied aviation I could take off I can hover, I can…)
Wait.
he's moving closer,
every hair strand an antenna,
I can feel him,
The smell of disdain on his glare,
stained blood on his hands,
another brother,
my brother
Guiltier with every pace so
-- show your hands,
foot mixed with concrete
I take this order serious,
my motions are motive
and mistaken for resist,
Wait.
Is it his stare or am I ******
(Why did I decide to go my friends wouldn't believe this…)
limitations to the thoughts;
am I arrested or caught?
I'm cold on the surface,
Erode so slow is my sediment evidence,
A blue god so I'm pacified,
I'm hesitant,
he calls and I say that I'm innocent,
I'm witnessing
the transitioning from eruption to ocean
-- volcanic
Blue Medusa,
can you only sculpt destruction?
(I'm not 3 dimensional, I'm real and I matter, I'm real and I matter)
I'm real,
But I shatter,
Gravel if determined that I'm rude so I can't breath,
Gravel if My license plate removed I don't leave,
I don't speak,
I don't flee,
I'm not free,
I believe,
That this happen to my mothers, mother
mothers' brother,
Brother from another was granite
and granted he's valuable
but only in a home
-- of course
I'm quartz in the making
A corpse still shaking
Cause a wallet was mistaken
Or I.D. was misplaced
So, I'm on the rocks
since the bar says that I'm a criminal,
velvet rope divider marks my life
and a vigil,
a wake,
or a hashtag,
you choose,
glass house,
Cold Stone’s,
rocky road,
Medusa licks his finger tips
same finger which
petrified me in the first place,
Reminded I'm in Rome
as I'm standing there motionless
a statue for display
or a trophy for the kitchen,
this art is not for sale
there will be no shipping,
With solidarity
through our solidification,
It won't matter if I look back,
I Matter and I’m Black.
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 10:56 AM UTC
fear me not, though I am armed.
I have opened my entry to that next country,
and my heels sit upon its border.
gentler, guiltier than last time, I reach for thee
and as I drown and I dry, I hope for her to see.
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 10:23 AM UTC
Love is a roller-coaster with volatile emotions emerging from within.
To deny its existence will inevitably cause irrefutable sorrow guiltier than a sin.
Tis’ is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
Oh, the wise words of Alfred Lord Tennyson, how you enlighten us from afar.
An unfathomable angst intertwined with a euphoric state of passion.
Caged with inaction yet stupefied by its glorious reaction.
This volatility is not confusion, you see.
I am witnessing myriad waves of emotions emerging from the abyss within me!
Is it true? Could it be?
Has my unconscious decided to compose a poetic tragedy out of me?
Triggering aloofness and indifference to the goodness it perceives?
Have I become too jaded to feel real love literally?
This tender feeling deriving from my soul,
Yearns to journey beyond the engrained barb-wired pine road.
However, the universe continues to reverse the roles.
Now it's apathy that causes the heartache of this man’s soul.
By: Michael M. De La Fuente
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 10:03 PM UTC
Doubtful of the future
As our wooden furniture
Creaks and cracks
Like wounded soldiers sutures
House on the edge of the water
The Earth shows to
Only be getting hotter
Heaven may only be a starter
I've asked all my questions
Meandering in drunken perspiration
The moon hangs laughing
Behind my back
Where I was before this
I can't keep track
Trams, metros, terror colored in streetlights
All souls around me barely giving off light
Piano man plays with broken fingernails
Screaming he's guiltier than all that is wrong or right
Could have beens
Would have beens
Should have beens
Sticky black tar regret
Stare at the sun and
Unveil the lie they've
Been telling you all along
I wrote something
That looked like something
That came before
I wrote that other something
And when I read that something
And read the other something
Both seemed to be about
Nothing and nothing
As well as
All of the above
Staring at the stove top
She lays upstairs in bed
Silence atop these fingertips
Secrets flying high
In this unstrung kite
A cloud stubs his toe
The sun makes His move
I feel like a real man
Acting like I have a plan
Too fast some days
Other days
Too slow
Proving routine
Is the curse of the
Owner's of the silver spoon
I hang on the edge of
A smooth, round beer bottle
My hardened fingertips
Show to be slipping
I'm lost in a sea of forgiveness
Frantically keeping my head afloat
While smiling to myself that I left
The life vests tied upon the boat
My need for revenge has
Sunk into The Black Sea
Bitterness was such a boring feeling
Like an old ring I was always wearing
I hand out my pleases
Like ripped off store candies
Everybody's got their maybes ready
I look at my hand and see its steady
This day
This month
This year or so away
From home is
Showing me
Only I
Know where I need to go
Let the snow fall
The government post what they will
High up where we can't reach on the wall
All will be remembered
All will be forgiven one day
The last man to laugh
Will be
He who believes not
In His own trap
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 4:18 PM UTC
“Just like sparrows,
You'll never see one dead.
Must be millions of them,
but you'll hardly ever see one dead.”
What happens to them?
“They get over it.”
Over what?
“Over being there.”
They simply lie with stale fear
reaking from their skins,
for death cannot heal them.
Slowly, they let go of
each others fingers
and sink, numb,
into that thick silence.
They drown there.
A thousand soffacating creatures,
choking in a bombed-out town.
All the candles in their churches are out,
and death is a bone that stammers.
And suddenly,
they are guiltier than hell.
History counts every smudging thumbprint.
Jul 1, 2011
Jul 1, 2011 at 7:12 AM UTC
the bitterest, bitter
guiltiest, guiltier
trying to reach out the flag out from here
most hidden, more hidden
can't...
Sep 22, 2019
Sep 22, 2019 at 6:52 PM UTC
I am shocked by the sight of you
How did you get here
You look the same
You look different
What did he do to you
You broken used little *****
And of course you go back
Just begging for more
Said you were ugly
Said you were dim
Just wanted your body
It's always about him
He tells you he needs you
And you pretend to believe that
Then he hits you
And you think you deserve it
Sends you away
Begging and cold
All you want is someone to hold
So here you are at four in the morning
You walking mistake
Finally come through the door
You look like ****
In fact you basically are
Only an idiot
Would let it progress this far
I'd say go to bed
But that's where you were
Begging for someone, anyone
Till he shoved you out his door
He is using you
And you him
So tell me, whose guiltier
Of the greater sin
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 5:40 AM UTC
It's been twenty minutes
And I haven't seen his eyes.
He blew his nose twice,
Sneezed once.
One time,
I saw him eat—
That was days ago, though.
His fingers tip-tap
On the click-clacking keys,
Hands moving faster
Than the greatest gunfighter.
He would never have
The patience or desire
To duel me, however.
I can't decide which I want:
To smash his face into the keyboard
Or to wrap him in fraternal embrace
Until he remembers he is human;
So I just sit motionless on the couch,
Guiltier than he.
Apr 18, 2019
Apr 18, 2019 at 12:37 AM UTC
He doesn’t play guitar,
He’s been told he cannot sing,
He doesn’t study art,
He wouldn’t know where to begin,
He doesn’t like reading much,
He don’t think the good guy should always win,
He doesn’t like playing judge,
He thinks no one’s guiltier than him,
He doesn’t believe in God,
He can’t think he’d be forgiven,
He doesn’t know what religion’s for,
He can’t even bare to read the hymns,
He doesn’t like how he talks,
He knows that they will not listen,
He doesn’t always speak his thoughts,
He tries not to have an opinion,
He doesn’t remember where he was,
He doesn’t remember where he has ever been,
He doesn’t miss you just because,
He doesn’t know that you are missing
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 5:42 PM UTC