"hereditary" poems
I've inherited my mother's fear
And my father's bitterness
And he inherited his father's recklessness
And his mother's pain
And she inherited
And he inherited
And we've inherited hatred of our own kind
Passed down from the terrorists who have colonized the lands and minds and bodies of my ancestors
And I can feel the anguish & the effects of this hereditary agony from here;
I am ready to heal.
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 7:19 PM UTC
It started with a pen,
and wound up in English.
No diction, addiction, or
ambition,
to get published.
“Don’t scream and you’ll look normal.”
Screaming “MISOGYNY!”
if screaming at all,
I’ve seen the great minds of
my generation
addicted to Adderall.
Some friends who get wasted,
and I remain sober.
Cheap ‘03 cars, yet,
no ones coming over.
Actors without work now,
no one with opportunity.
Suicidal crazies now,
crafted from 80’s and 90’s responsibility,
and A is for Adderall.
Sugar coated heroine,
designer drugs.
Poor blacks, whites, mexicans,
and asians swept under the rug.
“The father, the son,
the invisible hand.”
Crack in prisons, *****
holy ******* in a BMW,
Feminism, becomes communism,
becomes atheism becomes you.
You so counter-culture,
you forgot about us,
“She’s not an angel friends,
throw her under the bus.”
Politicians in purple now,
blessed American royalty.
Slaughter the disenfranchised,
poor, socialist regime,
and A is for Adderall.
Don’t shoot the police,
shoot the children instead,
or send them to war,
but the war had to end.
“In god we trust, but
in the market we invest.”
So occupy Wall Street,
and get called a hippie,
or occupy college,
and become a dead beat?
In high school you’re told,
be what you will be.
Cancer is still a…
“…”
…Hereditary disease.
Actors without work still.
Politicians lying still.
Suicidal crazies.
Ecstasy filled crazies.
Counter-culture conformist.
Culture conformist.
Eco-terrorist.
Mindless consumer.
Junkies, addicts,
soldiers, students,
leaders, followers,
murderers, democrats,
conservatives, liberals,
republicans, child molesters,
sexists, racists.
No more labels.
It was every single individual.
Individual failure.
One by one, we were all found guilty.
You are guilty. I am guilty,
and
A is for Adderall,
and the new marginalized.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 9:43 PM UTC
I don't understand anymore why my mother acts the way she does. She is a ***** who doesn't care about anyone but herself. If she doesn't like something, it doesn't happen. She hates my father and his girlfriend. I call my father's girlfriend my stepmother because it's easier than explaining that their not married nor do they plan to (6 years and counting.) She screamed at me for hours telling me that she's not my stepmother (I cried myself to sleep). I say it for convenience. My mother's a total ***** but I wonder if that's hereditary.
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 4:18 PM UTC
just now my heart gave two great
and heaving beats
that shuddered my whole chest.
i know this is just a symptom
of the cardiac quirk i inherited from my mother
but it felt to me like some sort of physical closure.
for a moment after it happened
my chest didn't have that emptiness anymore.
my body is healing my nonbody.
that's what it felt like.
for a second, anyway.
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 11:03 PM UTC
rich people blame poor
people for living off the
state & poor people blame
rich people for living off
them; & the state blames
everybody for living off it;
the rich pay the state
to let them skate; the state
kills a generation of the poor
when it goes to war; the poor
only riot when there's
already too much violence;
it's been said the true
revolution starts w/in
it's also been said, it's
not what comes out, it's
what goes in; we came
out of she who he went into
but who went into him?
it's said that Abraham
wrestled god's angel til dawn;
demanding a ******* instead
God gave Abe a painful STD;
passing down through his line
until the coming Messiah; he who
is born w/out the hereditary STD
of Adam & Eve's Original Sin
if sin is the knowledge of good
& evil & Jesus was born w/out
sin, wouldn't that men Jesus didn't
know right from wrong? he only
knew the Jewish law; he wasn't
guilty of anything but he was a
trouble-maker; a poor carpenter
who said he was the king of the Jews
& didn't have any STDs, but he never
got laid so how would anyone know;
the disciple whom he loved felt an ache
in the thigh & going to see Luke, was
given a spongy bit of mold to take until
the ache went away;
since the Lord had gone around clearing
up all the sudden zoster infections there
was no outbreak except among the Pharisees
& Saducees who frequented the local temples
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 7:03 PM UTC
no emotionally ecstatic experience compares
to the seminal instance
whence spermatozoa
(from profuse *********** beget
the miraculous propensity
to procreate despite the steep odds
female fertility fosters potential impregnation
fusing the hereditary debt
of feral, fiery, fomenting friskiness
fueling fancy free footloose fornication
prior to seminal fertilization union
sans ova doth induce fret
full ness in tandem with
diametrically opposed exultant sensations
(biologically, embryonically, microscopically,
et cetera) seismic shocks inject
when deliberate intent arises to disregard
applying prophylactics choice
plying reproductive roulette let
which analogous fruitful uterine plain
bastes the "cooking" egg omelette
which impregnation upends cessation of "self"
first and foremost asper desire to breed
wrenching role of "me" as operative
of webbed world de jure upon
consummating that most miraculous deed
necessitating yet for the fecund female relief
from messy menstrual cycle
she becomes temporarily freed
that perhaps a novitiate (or even a gal practiced
in the euphoric family, she instinctually
abides prenatal signals that heed
without feeling debased, harangued, lectured
pedagogical, polemical, puritanical, et cetera blast
assessing copulation enjoyed gloriously,
ineluctably, kinesthetically
lectured by elder, especially cast
in thee reel life drama, that nine months
til offspring utters initial whimper
elapses exceptionally fast
emitting a radiant golden halo wishing
to bottle confluence of hormonal secretions last
ideally fully awake to the birthing process,
when juiced the first stage of maternity past
cuz every moment thee inconsolably
(perhaps colicky infant)
gets first dibs to suckle,
which round the clock nursing
consumes moments many vast.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 11:04 PM UTC
...
*And just like that, I was drifting again. I was slipping into the folds of static, describing the abyss as I drowned. I fell from altitudes of happy to suicidal in only a manner of insidious seconds, because that's how it goes. You think you have what it takes to be ice but in reality, you're only shattered water.
It comes when I think of them. The urge to succumb into my own ghost has never been so appealing until now. But there are visitors here, the twins grief and guilt have been uninvited guests in a home held together by dried flowers for ceilings and walls of teeth. I have learned to confuse my name with wreckage under their supervision.
The brothers tell me how to do it, how to **** myself without hurting anyone else that I love. But they only speak their diseases to me when all my fight has bled out onto the kitchen floor as the latest mosaic. Then they feast, and teach me the art of being empty through their hungry wolf bites. I remember how to breathe in a shallow way so my skeleton won't fall apart. I haven't had to do that in a very long time. Guilt reminds me the idea of shrinking is hereditary, while grief tells me it's time to practice that now.
When I want to hurt myself I want to do very strange things. I want to ask cigarettes to try to strangle my lungs with smoke as weak as a newborn. It reminds me of what is missing. The sweetest punishment is often the deadliest. When I want to hurt I pick fights with my grief or guilt just so I can lose again, just so I can keep the moon in the same spot in the sky. Just so the stars will pity the same people. I am sick, I am sick, I am sick. Welcome to the sickness, amen.
When I want to die, I rinse my soul out and leave it to dry. Like a flower that will become brittle and turn into a bookmark to mark the page where my life left off. I allow myself to deliberately stop holding the weight of the sun and I allow the sky to crush me softly.
I let the tsunamis out of their cages.
I cup his face,
he is beautiful and he is holding what remains;
I will let love hurt me in unspeakable ways,
until death too, dies.*
---"How to turn cancer into god."
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 12:10 PM UTC
From where I stand, there is a kaleidoscopic view of the world.
My cousin always had something negative to say about my upbringings, my excessive scruples.
Life is an hourglass.
The scent of your tongue is a foul one and I cry because it reminds me of my brother.
The blood runs down my fingers, scared I run to the nearest lake.
Has anyone identified Victoria's secret?
The reindeer reign over me, because of this I know Santa is near.
The wind tells me stories of my father who lived in China until age 8 and I ponder if my love for sushi is hereditary.
The kitten meows until I give her milk. Little *****
My red moccasins are the reason I could not attend the wedding but I have no regrets.
Yet again, you enter my thoughts, and I throw you out like yesterdays trash.
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 10:09 AM UTC
Hereditary is the world
from one universe to the next.
How can I believe that you
are the one truly blessed?
Is your skin of gold?
Is your heart soaked pure?
Delicate is the honesty,
of all that you endure.
Belief is as distant
as a butterfly at night.
Night, flight, caught and bite.
No longer will see the light.
Goodnight.
I refuse to believe.
Oct 15, 2012
Oct 15, 2012 at 11:06 PM UTC
The slant-eyed
giant hunter
people of Tsul Kalu
came in peace
To become
the central universe
Cherokee white elders
hereditary priests
teaching peace
Winged rattlesnake
constellation
of time untime
Singing the death song
Sacred spirits
animal, plant, herb and tree
The wheel
what is, will be
(*The ancient Chinese were
the greatest astronomers.
Later in the 1400's their
massive treasure fleets
mapped the World
The Yuki, Navajo, Apache,
Yuchis, Ming ** Melungeons,
Shawnee (Oceanye ** Sioux,
Cree Ojibuwa and Moskoke
have Chinese ancestors
some claimed to be Chinese
European explorers told of
elders speaking Chinese
ancient Chinese artefacts
and wrecked junks seen
History as taught might
be but a fairytale*)
Aug 12, 2010
Aug 12, 2010 at 5:07 AM UTC
I used to love my mother.
I wanted to be like her.
She was the person I looked at as an adult.
Today I no longer love her.
Today she is the cause of all my problems.
From my health problems, due to her drug use while she was pregnant,
To my mental problems, both hereditary and from situations she put me in.
My addiction problems, not only because she’s an addict but also from how she treated me.
My eating disorder, because she used to bully me about my weight.
I have problems making friends because she ****** me up so bad I don’t relate to people well.
I’m afraid of being alone with men because of how many times she left me with random men and every time I ended up getting hurt, from as young as 3 ******* years old.
I lost trust in the system because no matter how many times CPS was called she found a way to keep me and my brother, because she’s ****** her way out of every one of her arrests. Including but not limited to, possession of a controlled substance, driving without a license, prostitution, endangerment of a minor, petty larceny, and grand larceny.
I have authority problems because her parenting left me with no positive thoughts about authority.
I’m currently $1,263.21 in debt because she used me for drug money.
I don’t know how to handle my emotions healthily because for the first 16 years of my life I wasn’t even allowed to have them.
And even though she is also a victim of **** and ****** abuse she told me I was a liar and that she didn’t believe me when I told her her boyfriend’s son had been ****** me for years. She stayed with the man and told me it was a family decision about what to do about it.
She didn’t believe me when I told her her boyfriend felt me up while she was away taking care of her dying mother either.
I thought my abusive relationships were okay because she treated me the same way.
She’s why I was a closeted transboy for so ******* long. And when she finally found out I was screamed at me and told me I was a girl no matter what.
My mother.
My mother doesn’t deserve my love or my respect.
All my mother is today is a model of what not to do.
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 7:52 PM UTC
Betty Coutu drives a mean Rambler
takes us public school, heathens
to catechism on Saturday morn
Smokes a cigarette like a prima-ballerina
Shifts three on the wheel
drives that clutch to the floor
with her thick leg
Makes the engine roar
a little
“to warm it up”
Turns with the grace of swan
Pavlova or belladonna
Something of beauty
just to watch her
three-finger the wheel through a turn around
all while taking a drag
exhales to ceiling
to music on the radio
Elvis? Roy O, Patsy Cline
circa 1959
Betty's hair is short, uncombed
but she's not without lipstick
lights her smoke with amazing matchbook skills
Calm
like a woman who does it often
takes on wear
with I'm in love, and I don't give a care
She shifts and turns
cigarette balanced like gossip on lips
or between
those first two fingertips
Smoke swirling
amid kids squabbling and whining
in the back seat
No belts back then
till Dad got home
to keep them in line
But, I bet on Betty every time
to get us there
I want to drive like her, so badly!
I sit beside her-- ossified
watching
her smoke and handle
like a total expert
I am distracted
and will surely fumble
my catechism answers
for the nuns
cataclysmically
She drops us off by an icy foot slide
I swear to God to stop back later when we're done
...with prayer and penance
recitation... and resolvings
to sin no more
Once we're out the door--
back to that forbidden foot-slide
Always had a plan for fun
So did Betty's son
the hemophiliac
Bless myself like an Olympian
and pray for Johnny
before he joins me for a run
hemophilia:
a medical condition in which the ability of the blood to clot is severely reduced, causing the sufferer to bleed severely from even a slight injury. The condition is typically caused by a hereditary lack of a coagulation factor, most often factor VIII.
Mar 24, 2019
Mar 24, 2019 at 7:31 PM UTC
*concerning the last lines... all we can do with the Cartesian Libra is add adjectives to it, which is contrary to what the existentialists did by simply modifying a furthered abstraction of the compounds 'i think' and 'i am', via the inverted comma(s), otherwise known as dittoing, sic, prior said, or re-, true to the oddity; a king will continue to question his position / being a king by not thinking about it, hence his uninhibited delusions, hereditary, very much genetic; and hence someone who precursors his being with much concern for thinking, the inhibited delusion, self-serving - both are adjective expansions of the Cartesian Libra, just added qualities, given both are facts requiring a slab of marble to look like Rodin's kiss - or approximate, with therefore being the chisel, and so dependent the end product, indeed a slab of marble at first, but not necessarily Rodin's kiss at the end - perhaps a Notre Dame gargoyle...*
i am what i think,
that's what i came up with after
reading some of the bio sketches -
even though the truth is that
i am what i own -
thinking is the part that comes last,
if i own a bed and a roof over my head,
i end up i thinking about being
homeless - but sometimes you do find
the ones that are inclined
to be what they think, the extremes
we call them - supreme anti-materialists,
it's not satisfying to own a house
or a phone, more is required,
something tinged with transcendental
counters - they "own" a home
but rather not live in it, already the
looming fairy of heaven tells them
of an unnatural life expectancy -
some might say thinking a form of
uninhibited delusion sketches,
like i'd be a venture capitalists taking
a weekend away in Hawaii while
some ridiculousness of poverty in India
was to blame for my jet streams and
carbon footprints - they keep the
inhibited delusional in cages without
a chance to sketch - because the uninhibited
delusional have all the freedoms
that Versailles could allow - or...
uninhibited delusions of non-thought,
inherited, hereditary,
versus inhibited delusions of thought,
mutated, self-invented...
this could very well be a "magic" square
with two further variations, i.e.
uninhibited delusions of thought (psychopathy)
inhibited delusions of non-thought (coma?
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 10:11 AM UTC
Dear Boomers
Our generation isn't entitled, or lazy
So take off those rose colored nostalgia glasses if you think I sound crazy
You dealt us this hand, not The WW2 babies or even before them
You dealt this to us and we're trying to do better, even though our hope seems slim
The fact is only profit concerned you, not the future children that would populate this earth
Now we have poison in the air, melting Ice caps, an economy that doesn't work for us, and knowing this physically hurts.
You could've spoken up and said "Wait, what will our children have to deal with? "
But you chose to get ahead by any means necessary.
And you call us entitled and spoiled because we don't think unbridled greed and crushing everyone in our path is hereditary.
So to the baby boom generation, you lit this fuse on the earth, and we're trying to put it out.
You can scoff, and say we're lazy, we should just go out and get construction jobs that aren't here, and you can try to break us down with doubt
But a storm of changes is coming, and I can guarantee you will be caught in the tide.
So laugh all you want, because into a better future is where I aim to ride
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 1:04 AM UTC
Once upon a time
This was known as "the river of many fish"
We are told this as children
like it's a fairytale
our parents, trying not to laugh
as they tell us of a time
long before their own
when this was the place to be
If you wanted to be somebody
you came to the town with the name you can't pronounce
and you could have your American Dream
Newly free men and women
arrived early and bright at our train station
their sleeves rolled up and heads held high
ready to kickstart their lives.
The gears of industry were turning here
in the land of wine and covered bridges.
Once upon a time
there was a trainwreck here
a lot of people lost their lives
even more lost their way
as time rusted over the wheels of progress
and our water
once so full of hope and prosperity
caught fire and burned for miles in all directions
scorching the water, and suffocating the fish
Today
this is "the river of much pollution"
We have always known it as such
A town were depression is both
a hereditary emotional and economic condition
Where pessimism is our only tradition
The train station no longer operates
The free man's grandchildren's children are up before the birds
trying to find a way to kickstart their high
chasing the American Delusion
"Ashtabula does not have a drug problem"
The police told a friend of mine
as her two year old daughter looked on curiously
at a strung out stranger who wandered into their home
and took their bathroom hostage for two hours
He shook uncontrollably
His eyes overflowing with emptiness
By the time the cops showed up, he was long gone
tossed back into the river
The fish in this water have nothing to lose
If evolution is true, we can sprout legs and lungs
crawl onto dry land and breathe
but the current prevents it here
It's hard to see the glass as half full
when you can't drink the water
I suppose we could drink the wine instead
and stumble inside of a bridge
seeking shelter from the toxic rain
Dec 20, 2009
Dec 20, 2009 at 4:10 PM UTC
Some tell me Blackpool's cool,
so I sit in the cool,
watching a darkening sky,
wrapped against the onshore breeze,
stifling a day's end sigh.
Starlings do maths in the sky,
imaginary numbers,
imaginative paths,
sweeping, forming swarming,
hereditary helix,
genetic genuflection.
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 10:27 AM UTC
I don't know where, where to exactly to begin
Being judgmental should be a mortal sin
Don't look at me like I'm outrageous
Alopecia Areata Isn't contagious
My spots maybe be small, big and round
But there is always someone who has it in your town
Alopecia Areata doesn't discriminate
Any one can have from birth to 108
I have no clue why it had to pick me
Genetic, Stress or just Hereditary
All I know that there isn't a cure
I've tried all the treatments that's for sure
Hair follicles are in a sleeping state
When I lost all my hair was the icing on the cake
Doctors really don't know why
But when they told me all I could do was cry
Found myself all alone and in pain
Thought I was going to go practically insane
Made a few call and met a friend
Slowly my hurt and confusion came to an end
I've come along way not to hide my head
Use it as a strength and to my advantage instead
If you don't understand and want to know more
There is valuable information out there that's for sure
Don't hate me because I have almost no hair
You can talk and giggle honestly I do not care
The smirks, whispers, and goofy looks
One can educate themselves by reading a book
There might be a slight difference between you and me
When you notice an Alopecian don't look at them any differently
I'm still alive and sent from above
Alopecians Such as my self Value the true meaning of love
Next time you see and Alopecian Walk by
I implore you do not hesitate to say hi!!
Oct 31, 2009
Oct 31, 2009 at 10:30 PM UTC
I am scared.
Of everything.
I am scared that the people that have been there for me in the past will not be there for me when I need them most.
I am scared that maybe I won't graduate.
That I won't go to college.
I'm scared that I might actually go to college but then I won't know what to do.
I'm scared that I am not aiming for the right degree.
I'm scared that I will get the right degree and get my dream job but then I won't like it.
I'm scared that I am too focused on my future that I will look back on my past and realize that I didn't do anything with it.
I'm scared that I am wasting my time trying to become something for the possibly that I might become nothing.
I am scared to move.
I am scared to get out of this town and get lost in a big city with no one to run to.
I am scared to stay here and this be the only place I will ever know.
I am scared of my genetics.
I am scared to have kids and have them suffer because they will have some hereditary disease that I can't watch them live through.
I am scared that I will never become a mother because of my fear of being a failure.
I am scared that these fears mean nothing but I am obsessing over them anyways.
I am scared of having a reason to be scared...
And that scares me.
Jun 11, 2016
Jun 11, 2016 at 6:24 PM UTC
Dear dad,
I'm 18 years old,
and you've been out of my life for 17 years and 42 weeks of it.
You missed out on your little girl learning, and growing, and turning into a woman.
Someone else taught me how to ride a bike,
but I don't think that you mind missing something so important.
I don't think you mind missing recitals, and concerts and shows.
I don't think you'd even recognize me if you saw me on the street.
You don't deserve the title dad,
so for as long as I can remember, I've called you ***** donor.
Because that's all you ever given me (except for daddy issues and hereditary mental illness).
You don't deserve the title dad because you never taught me how I was supposed to be treated;
so I settled for too little, and longed to be loved.
But now, I don't even call you ***** donor,
I neglect to recognize your existance in my life,
because let's face it, you were never even a possibility.
I feel bad after all these years,
because you missed out on the joy of having a daughter,
and being a father.
Dec 9, 2017
Dec 9, 2017 at 3:20 AM UTC
Timothy Baxter: An intellectual genius with the emotional intelligence of a five year old
so thank you for these closed lips
and thank you for the impeccable hair line
thank you for the one too many thoughts keeping me up at 4 AM
thank you for my 5'7 stature
and thanks for all the self-loathing
thanks for the rent
and thanks for making me love hating responsibility
thank you
Mary Hartley Baxter: not one who came from white picket fences and Sunday drives. A giver. A lover. A control freak
Thank you for these psyche wrecking nerves
the bowling ball taking up permanent residence in the pit of my stomach
Thank you for teaching me how to treat women
and thank you for the stubbornness which allows this arrogance
thank you for keeping my feet attached to planet earth
while my head sails among the billowing clouds
for telling me how handsome I am
thank you for teaching me what it means to be in a family
thank you for letting me be a loser sometimes
thank you
Harry J Baxter: the heroic coward with a funny joke in bad taste and the right words for the wrong times
anti hero of a story nobody else is aware of
thank you for abusing all those pesky substances, they surely deserved it
thank you for the black lungs
thank you for speeding down dead end lane at five hundred miles an hour
thank you for remembering your helmet
thank you for saving all the words we never said to those we love
thank you for hiding from the unknown to avoid the scars of failure
thank you for getting those scars anyway
just so we knew what they felt like
thank you for the writer's block.... You ************
but in all seriousness,
thank you for building up your tolerance to beatings
because they will continue until morale improves
thank you
It's a strange place - the real world - monsters lay in wait in every shadow around every corner
and yeah, you aren't the human being 2.0
but you're prepared enough to board up the windows before the hurricane
and Mum, Dad,
I can talk all the **** in the world
but all of it would be empty
because for as ****** up as I am
as ****** up as you both certainly are
we've made it this far
and god **** it
I can't see our sun setting anytime soon
so my naturally adapted cynical sarcasm behind me
Thank you for loving me no matter what
even when the well was so dry love was hard to find
Thank you.
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 12:49 PM UTC
I'm sorry for when I called
you an *******
Even though it was my fault
and I was having a 'bad day'.
I'm sorry I never responded to 5
that text.
When you said I was a
good kisser, but I think you too.
I'm sorry I'm short
because of hereditary. 10
Because it means you have
to stoop, I to lean, for us to kiss.
I'm sorry I'm not taller to see
your green-hazel eyes.
The eyes are the window to 15
the soul, but I don't have one.
I'm sorry for playing guitar
so badly.
But no one has ever told me to
stop, so I never did. 20
I'm sorry for not keeping tally
on the McD vs. KFC fight.
For the amounts of hits and
misses, each response had back.
I'm sorry for never saying upfront; 25
I love you.
But you don't love me, because
Who could? Not an angel like you.
I'm sorry for not liking punk music
all that much. 30
I want to understand, but 'Sixteen
Candles' doesn't appeal.
I'm sorry for not crying
at TFIOS.
Augustus was beautiful, Hazel too, 35
But cancer doesn't scare me.
I'm sorry for not talking about
your personal crisis.
When all I feel I do is
Talk about 'The Other' with you. 40
I'm sorry for being a
narcissist.
For being me. ME. ME! All the time,
When you are so much more interesting.
I'm sorry for being a 45
*****
For what I didn't mean to say,
That might have made you cry.
I'm sorry for being a
misogynist. 50
And for hating men too. And
for all I've ever said against the human race.
I'm sorry for sighing
so much.
It's just I'm tired of 55
Everything I do. I'm done.
I'm sorry for talking to you when you wanted
to talk to friends.
But being the gentleman you are,
Didn't tell me to go away. 60
I'm sorry for wasting your
time.
When you could have being speaking,
playing, dreaming, sleeping, living.
I'm sorry for you knowing 65
me.
And talking to me at all. Because I'm a spider,
Slowly ******* the life out of you.
I'm sorry for existing
here. 70
Or just existing at
all.
I'm sorry for being
sorry.
Because I know you hate it when I 75
apologize for the things I say.
I'm sorry for living
at all.
Because all I do is drain your optimism,
And replace it with cynical thoughts. 80
I'm sorry for breathing.
I'm sorry for writing this poem.
I'm sorry that you know me.
I'm sorry for it all.
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 5:07 PM UTC
fitted dots
to particles
fasting on
insanity
dreaming of
a brittle
sack battle
on beaches
silted rocks
on depth
paternal
hereditary
slush of my
guts and my
guttural
attempts
at
insular
perspective
these
thoughts
are alive
now.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 6:26 PM UTC
She told me she would take a bullet for me
I was left stunned only recalling my hereditary
The horrendous guilt emerging all at once before me
Until I recognized her inactivity and realized she want listening to me
I dropped down on the floor almost instantly
Kneeling on one knee hoping her approval of me
Pledging allegiance so she knew she has the chance to consult me
Every time she recalled her children that neglected her for another woman they didn't know
Or the times she felt enigmatic to disown you
As she calls out your name begging to return home
Hearing your voice and having that bit of hope that one day
You mention her, get back to her and abide in her
playing with the golden precious sand
that make up the land which your ancestors once lived in.
I stare at the ruins that lay before me
A familiar face I stumble across
As I lift the grains of sand hoping its a person I know
Unidentified
I stand beneath the bridge hoping it will echo my freedom just like it did back home
I want to scream a thunder
but knowing its too late I'm pelted with stones
being told to go home
as I sit in font of the TV screen hoping I see a familiar face before me
My country.
Hergeysa burco barebera ceerigaabo
Our cities names was never meant to be pronounced by you
The syllabols were never meant to pass your diseased lips
And the delicacy not meant to struggle through your rough throat
But they did anyway.
Every night I see the elan in her face
Whilst providing me with the decree of a fast spree from our relationship
The visions we incarcerate together
And the identical marks and scars we endeavor
With out any confession of our pleasure we seek forever
Our heart beat beats twice as fast
Forming a rhythmic percussion
simultaneously taking a breath of Africa
I lay beneath the golden sun as the rays shine through my eyes
Proudly defining the color of my skin
Showing that none other can be akin
As I am the uniqueness of this historical country
Mogadishu, bosaaso, Los anod, barberra
Our cities names were never meant to be pronounced by you
But when we look at our stars one last time
I realized that it has been colonized too
© S Y A
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 4:36 PM UTC
The whole thing smells like chlorine, which is extremely unsettling because chlorine always tastes green and a lot like hereditary paranoia. These pants were only two washes removed from brand new, and now there's a slit in the knee, a slit as precise as the shape my eyes make when I'm suspicious of wanderlusting newcomers who moonlight in my former prison cell. And I'm unsure if I should call it like I'd like it to be and say the **** things were defective or if I should investigate further as to where I placed my legs while hacking bits of plastic.
I'm TIRED of hacking at bits of plastic. I daresay if things start looking up, I could get there. I'm desperate, while this pumpkin-leaf hole grows in my chest, I'm realizing I'll never get to Lancaster at this rate. Sure, sure, I'm obsessed. I also have a blonde tail hanging from a tack on my shelf and a lot of cards tacked to my wall. They either resemble a quilt, a window or a complete mess.
I'm relying on plastic cups and the Internet to continuously foster this false sense of belonging. And I don't want to shatter it, but I'm terrified by the threat of a midterm and I feel trapped by my own sky. I mean, have you SEEN the prices for quaint bed and breakfasts? But the sad truth is, I would be haunted by insurmountable guilt at leaving her behind. The cash flow isn't flowing, either. I'm thinking I'll have to forget about it and sit at my shiny laptop on an empty desk, staring at the cottage cheese ceiling and wondering if God is looking back.
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 10:17 PM UTC
Your Crystal like body,
Shinning with cracks.
malicious sparkles.
Sharp facets.
Every chip, every drop,
That should have crystallized,
And then dropped off.
Has not.
Gorge on pain,
Revel in confusion,
Misery isn’t hereditary Like your back.
You can be happy.
Not seek out pain.
Is this what you want?
The girl I loved,
Is gone and missed.
Replaced by a miser of woes,
An unhappy beast.
That spits and sulks
Gone are the purrs.
The felicity.
The light.
I dated a wannabe corpse,
Not something I like,
Revel in your pain,
You can do it without me.
Everything brings you down,
Especially me,
That seems how you like it to be.
The girl I loved,
Is gone and dead,
As are we,
Stop ******* with my head.
Love me.
Hate me.
Do both,
I don’t care.
Do whatever you want,
I’m not there
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 6:31 AM UTC