"hysterics" poems
T'was the night before Christmas
And with everything done
The kids were all dreaming
Of Christmas Day fun
The tree was completed
We had wrapped all the toys
When from the basement below
We heard a faint noise
I sprung from the couch
Took off down the stairs
On my way through the kitchen
I tripped on two chairs
I slid down the staircase
To the base of my house
And there with my shortbreads
Was a ****** great mouse
My wife followed close
And then she let out a shriek
She saw me and the mouse
And she started to freak
He nibbled the cookie
and he ran past my nose
right down my torso
Then he stopped at my toes
My wife was still screaming
The mouse didn't care
He continued his running
On under the stairs
I crawled to my workshop
Grabbed the first thing I found
A mallet for pounding
That mouse in the ground
I limped to the staircase
And I swung at the wall
I again lost my balance
And again, I did fall
I put two holes in the riser
Two more in the tread
I was gonna keep swinging
Till that mouse was dead
I broke the one lightbulb
That lit up the room
Now I was worried
I couldn't see...found the broom
I stepped on one end
Squared my self in the sack
I then heard a noise
The mouse had come back
I heard his slight skitter
As he went past my feet
He was off to the larder
For more stuff to eat
I went back to the workshop
Tripping at least three more times
I would finish this mouse
He would pay for his crimes
I grabbed for a lighter
And my large propane torch
I would hunt down this mouse
And his **** I would scorch
I lit up the propane
And I aimed at the stairs
It caught light on the carpet
And I burnt both those chairs
The flames went on upward
The stairs were quite dry
I laughed in hysterics
That **** mouse would fry
My wife had recovered
And decided to run
but, after seeing the flames
She phoned up 9 1 1
The mouse left the building
In fact, he never was found
The house burned in seconds
It collapsed to the ground
And through the whole scene
I just stood there and laughed
At the wreckage before me
And I thought, **** I'm daft
I had ruined our Christmas
And I burned down our house
Over a **** shortbread cookie
And one little mouse
The kids, they got out
And were wrapped up and warm
While I was creating
My own perfect storm
The gifts were all ruined
The house ...all consumed
And over my head
One large question loomed
If I had gone for the shotgun
And shot at the mouse
Would I be still having Christmas
And would I still have a house
My wife came on over
And she gave me a swat
She said "look what you've done"
"you great stupid ****
I learned a great lesson
and folks ...it is that
Once I rebuild
I will then buy a cat!!!
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 5:01 PM UTC
I remember when MTV was in its prime,
A new voice to represent the new boom
Babies growing up since the 80s
Louder still through the troubling decades
(Maxed out credit no head room)
After —the punks in nirvana and rapping clergy
It was the only channel on
Youthful rebel yell —honest news
I remember it pretty well
Shaping us generation x y and Personal Jesus
New wave good bye to when
Childhood then without pain of malnourished
Africa or nukes threatening our
Cruel summers
Were we happier then?
So what happens to the music
Rockstars rip van wrinkle
Geriatric hall of fame
(No one lives forever
Reruns with the ****** & mr. Ed
Now that old neighbor’s dead)
Television
Nowadays
Seem more gangster
School shootings terrorists
On the train, kamikaze planes,
It’s all the same ole
Bling kablam oh bits
******* please
Redirecting our attention
To WMD
***
Where the hells are we?
I remember back then
On MTV —Nicki Minaj says
Between the hysterics of police brutality
She said Happiness is living your life
Without struggle,
That stuck with me
Because we all watch the tube
We all search for meaning
Sadly defining what happiness
May look like
Real World and paradoxical reality
TV
Para socially defunct
Clarity
Conditioned to continuously
Stay tuned
Brief message of empty
Hypnosis a pure form of business
Wall Street
Boulevard of broken dreams
I want my
Happy. What do I mean
To be?
Life ***** lately
The human condition
Talking too much
Refusing to see
No more talking heads too much
Bla bla ********
I want my
MTV . Happy .
My generation
We are the world
freedom And yes, Peace.
Man kindly as one
Symphony
And street, a melting ***
Of diversity
I remember the music
The future
I had hope to see
Behind the shades
Circa 80s 90s
(Fossils)
What time is it then?
When will we
Begin
Again
Don’t worry be happy
Run Forest run!
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 11:55 PM UTC
I kept oscillating;
in and out of love,
in and out of emotions,
between the familiar realm of raunchy young adult literature and
the new, slightly uncomfortable realm of raunchy young adult life.
I oscillated between dispositions;
between pensive and restless,
***** and
not remembering what kissing feels like,
between the doldrums of despair and the
weightlessness of bliss.
My center of gravity oscillated, too-
from my head to my heart to
my thighs
to the cavernous void in my amygdala that was once abuzz with stupid chemicals brought out by the hysterics of infatuation
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 11:16 PM UTC
“Never trust a ginger”
she sings giggling looking at the red head next to me.
Her song is a pretty good representation of our friendship.
Throw in a ***** bump and some dorky dance moves
oh yea
that’s the definition of our friendship.
Laughing and dying at things no one else gets
actions no one else see’s
and mouthed words no one else understands.
That’s just a little inside view of our “love”.
“Never kiss a ginger”
It’s a little late for that don’t ya think
blackberry tea and coffee making her laugh till she dies.
Hysterics that break her down till she’s on the floor rolling
rolling down a hill and being so dizzy she can’t get up.
Oh but she’s a monster that chases you around
trying to tackle you to the ground.
Falling off the playground rail and hitting her head
just like in our story
so she lays there laughing hysterically.
All I can do is shake my head
“Never kiss a ginger…twice”
yea that’s a little better.
he won’t be telling my slightly stunned, amazed face its cute again.
The face we later joked about
mouth dropped to the floor
eyes wide.
Like did that seriously just happen.
Our dumb and quirky reactions to everything
exaggerated, excited yeses
and happy little dances.
"Never date a ginger”
I’m not nor have I ever…
where do you get these thoughts that run through your head?
Ok I can’t say much
my mind wanders to the strangest places
and leads us to the greatest conversations.
Like cops on bikes with prisoners in baskets
leading to Mortal Instruments characters all riding one bike.
I’ve no idea where our minds get these strange ideas and imaginings.
“Never love a ginger”
I never said I love him
don’t let your mind wander
dangerous things happen when our minds wander
anywhere from dinosaurs ruling the world to death
and the things in between are sometimes worse to think about
“Never like a ginger”
OI!
with this again
I don’t I promise there’s nothing there
now please shut up.
Yes, yes I love you now please don’t attack my legs again
I really don’t feel like falling on the floor
it’s not very appealing.
Uh-oh
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 11:17 AM UTC
The one that winks,
The one in hysterics,
The beer,
The wine,
The OK sign.
The shocked one,
The facepalm one,
The angel baby,
The thumbs up,
And the one throwing up.
Life can't be bad:
My frequent emojis aren't sad.
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 7:23 PM UTC
Sun slits in through slats
of kitchen window blinds
and she is alone.
The art major is cooking
spaghetti,
pretending her thrifted T-shirt
bearing a cotton copy
of Campbell's Soup Cans
is not stained with tears and blood.
Oh, but that's hysterics and
hyperbole;
art has a tendency of making its worshippers
melodramatic...no?
The blood is only tomato sauce
and the tears...
well, what are tears but
water and salt?
After all, dramatizing the
mundane is just one awkward shade
of artistic temperament.
Visualizing life through
a heavy silk screen.
The art major sighs and
stirs.
The spaghetti is redder and
redder as she cooks.
Just as
her paintings bleed more blood
as she dangles a brush over them -
the teary-eyed watercolours.
The art major has decided
that drawing out extremities
of colour
might transform
her own life into
a pop of a Warhol painting.
The art major sighs and
stirs.
She thinks, tries to
think
in technicolour.
Today's thought-pencilled thesis
concludes (like a brush stroke of uncertain finality) that
love is the red of tomato soup cans.
Anger is the boil, passion is
the gulp,
danger, caution, warning,
the hot breaths, fleeting warmths,
the burn and sweet and tang.
She looks down at the
scarlet of
Warhol's soup cans,
blooming in worn out cotton
on her chest.
It might as well be blood, she
thinks.
It is,
it is,
it is.
Blood red love -
tomato soup cans.
Sun sets in slits
through kitchen window blinds
and she is still alone.
The art major sighs and
stirs.
The spaghetti is ready.
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 6:41 AM UTC
She stood tall,
Slender,
Flamboyant as she swirls,
Encapsulating dreams while dancing,
In a come-die ballet, from times evaporation,
Playing hysterics in magical fire dance of ritual celebrations,
Playing games of passion creations,
Such beauty in an aura of pleasure and pain,
In rigaudon she pastes her grace,
For she is not a dancer,
For she is my quill,
The dancing pen removes my ills.
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 3:04 AM UTC
The Convent at Le Cap Fureur
Lies empty, by the sea,
Its ancient walls a grim despair
Of anonymity,
No more the chants of singing Nuns
To vespers, weave their way,
A thousand years of heartfelt prayers
In silence, drift away.
The Sisterhood of Sainte Bernice
Is cloistered there no more,
The end came in a fury from
The world outside, at war,
The Nuns were fasting, deep in Lent,
When soldiers came across
To find each sister worshipping
The Stations of the Cross.
No godly men were in their ranks
No thoughts of sin or Christ,
The Nuns were ***** and beaten in
Some pagan sacrifice,
The Abbess stood with arms outstretched
And prayed, ‘Forgive them not!’
Was taken to the courtyard where
The sergeant had her shot.
There’s blood still on those convent walls
It leaches out at Lent,
Runs down the walls of dim-lit halls
And stains the grey cement,
We lodged there late one April night
Myself, Joylene and Drew,
Lay staring at the stars above
As round us, silence grew.
We slept within those hallowed walls
Until I woke in fright,
And roused the others, ‘Come and see
This strange and fearful sight!’
For out there in the entrance hall
We heard a weird chant,
And two long lines of Nuns approached
To keep their covenant.
Two lines of candles in the dark,
The Nuns wore hoods and cowls,
And as each candle flickered out
Their chant gave way to howls.
Screams and pleas then filled the air,
The sound of steel-capped boots,
A pagan army from the east
Of rough and raw recruits.
Joylene was in hysterics by
The time this vision went,
And Drew was praying loudly on
That final day of Lent,
We grabbed our things, rushed out and then
We heard a single shot,
The blood-stained Abbess blocked our way
And cried: ‘Forgive them not!’
David Lewis Paget
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 10:27 AM UTC
"I hope we last. I hope we do.
But if we don't, this is how I want you to remember me:
I want you to remember me curled up, listening to the sound of your heartbeat and tracing maps across your skin. Remember me laughing at your jokes even the stupid ones. Remember me in hysterics for absolutely no reason and in tears because one time you made me so sad neither of us thought I'd recover. Remember me brave, that time you held my hand and I thought I was going to die; remember me scared and gentle and delicate and breakable - only for you though, only for you.
Remember me happy, and all the ridiculous ways I tried to get your attention. Remember the way I was too stubborn to talk to you and how absolutely insane it drove both of us.
Remember all the firsts and how they were so delightful we went back for seconds and thirds and fourths. Remember the songs you couldn't stop listening to and the childish dreams you allowed yourself about the future. If it's any consolation I allowed myself to have them too.
If it comes to it I don't want you to remember the ending.
Remember the beginning. Remember the first time you knew."
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 6:40 PM UTC
Flowers to drown in the pond,
Frogs to make a blood bond,
Hysterics and cruelty,
I laughed, making it echo in the tree trunk,
Forgetting classes I just flunked,
I rolled in the grass,
smelling the green and powdered glass,
Ignoring cuts on the nose,
Went to frolic in the pink garden rose,
‘Ere I saw a red-black, lovely beetle,
Snickering at me,
Showing it’s needle,
Curiosity, red-sight,
Taking it in my hand,
Marveling at innocence,
I closed the trap, feeling the beetle decay to strands,
Despite my mind, my blue heart shed a tear,
So lovely the beetle,
Without a blue-black fear,
So quickly the light rolled away,
Murrain of regret, the cruelty that once was disappears,
Inside me lays moths and trolls,
And now,
The lovely beetle’s soul.
-Firefly
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 5:38 PM UTC
I ponder the what ifs and will be's.
What if I love you with all that's left?
Will it be enough?
What if I open my heart to a new beginning?
Will it be taken lightly or will it take my life by storm?
What if you love me back?
Will it be enough to put back all the pieces that are missing?
What if you break through to me?
Will it open my eyes to the beauty that is invisible to me?
You are seemingly perfect..
Your closed eyes carefully speak into my soul.
Is it too soon to say I see you?
Is it too soon to say I know you?
When is the time to speak up on my findings?
Yesterday? Tomorrow.. right now in this moment?
You sleep so peacefully next to me as I grasp your hand softly.
Do you know? Can you feel the reality of a heartbroken heart dying to be fixed?
Dying to be wanted.
Dying to be let free.
What if I told you?
My heart goes to form words that my brain screams will destroy me.
Can you keep a secret?
I want to wake you with reality.
I want to wrap my thoughts with a bow and give them to you with no warning.
Will you be there to accept my flaws of the past but hope for the future?
Stop my mind yells.
I can't take it.
Let me free my heart screams.
I need to be known.
I whisper to you as you lay oblivious to the hope in my eyes and fear in my heart.
Can you keep a secret?
I kiss your hand and close my eyes.
The room is silent but my soul is in hysterics.
Can you keep a secret?
I open my eyes, slightly afraid of letting my heart take lead.
Can you keep a secret?
My mind begs me to find solitude in the silence.
Begs me to find content with being alone.
Can you keep a secret?
I say aloud.
Silence...
I love you.
I close my eyes and smile,
Knowing this secret will be kept.
I slumber knowing the possibility of reject is none.
I awake in the morning to find you staring into me.
Your mind free. Your heart oblivious to the gift I have given it.
As if they could speak, your brown eyes seem to say quietly, in fear of your own heart knowing the secret..
Your secret is safe with me.
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 2:04 AM UTC
dad is in the garage.
days into spark-light and piles of polyethylene
etched.
soon, he says.
as grandaddy laughs,
rattling the icebox for more beer.
dad’s homemade android:
the thing.
like a doll polished
& grinning, it
dances for us in the kitchen.
the dog barks, chained in the backyard.
the thing,
do-si-dos for a laugh, catches a glimpse
of the trees beyond the yard,
overheats,
circuits popping into a limp heap of pieces.
dead.
left to mold-over in the garage.
the days.
the rain.
the cats tiptoeing along the edge of fences
across the street.
the dog barking, chained, &
snapped.
dead
beneath a truck.
dad is in hysterics.
dad is in the garage,
weeks in and his soaked red knuckles.
mom is drinking with grandaddy.
they rattle the icebox.
the dog.
the dog dances for us in the kitchen,
reboots and sits.
it digs a pit all night and buries three cats there.
it sleeps on the mound.
it never barks.
it waits there in the backyard, still
& staring into the trees.
the trees.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 7:17 AM UTC
Then took her by complete surprise;
Bursting forth into hysterics
I gazed into her glazed, mesmeric eyes
**My intention descending like nightmarish haze;
*Said **** that merit badge
Grandma ***** let the cat out the bag
I wanna play***
She's fixin for a lickin
And I'm dying to get a taste
That ***** glistening so listen
Preheat the oven don't need no glove
I've got an addiction
finna bore in
frictionless!
Instantly smitten,
Her face turned shades of crimson
when I finished with
"Lets play genital hide & seek -
You're it"
It's time to remit demented dementia baby
I'm not so easy to forget;
& I'm shots of splotchy red like syphilis
*Don't front like you won't give me the nookie
Girl urrbody had a crack at your world famous cookies
& I just can't keep my hand out the jar*
Tonight I'll wrestle a cougar with my bare hands
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 4:20 AM UTC
I remember the day
when we went out
for a drink
or two
I remember it so vividly
in this old box of mine
that rests wearily
upon my shoulders
I recall taking you back to work
"I'll pick you up at eight"
I said to you
I did
Then of course
we called up the old gang
you and I
and went in search
of mayhem
loose women
and looser talk
Not much on the former, eh, o' buddy o' mine
Oh no, but plenty of the latter
which is usually
the case
You had just been introduced
to a **** cider
that you gulped like a drowning musk rat
then you were sick
and we called out
the
staff
who hurried and hustled
with a bucket of their finest
tap water
I watched in hysterics
as I patted your back
and watched the street lights
as they made your innards glisten
AND THE SHINE!
Oh, that perfect
shine
as the water washed away your remains
Poetic foreshadowing I am afraid, mate
as a bucket called Cadillac
washed up your remains
many years later
over the asphalt
AND THE SHINE!
Oh, that perfect shine
that a once pure immaculate light that was your enduring spirit
had waned
long before the wax melted.
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 9:52 PM UTC
I truly fail to understand
Why it’s gotten out of hand.
It seems so very odd
There are so many God
Is supposed to have ordained
Some aren’t even trained.
There is an absolute dearth
Of an actual true rebirth
In the revivifying blood of Jesus.
It’s almost like allergic sneezes.
Pastures full of pastors.
Priests and beasts.
Defectors and rectors.
Pickers and vicars.
Bleachers full of preachers.
Clerics and hysterics.
Papal delegates and celibates.
Televangelists and Adventists
And hostile Pentecostals.
We are becoming overrun
With an ecumenical kind of fun
In which before we can holler
Another puts on a backward collar
And starts tell us what to do.
When the rebirthing is through
They are on their park soapbox
And ******** about our Xbox;
Telling us what we should watch
And the coffee in our coffee klatch
Is unGodly because Jesus never drank it.
Makes me want to grab and spank it
Before it multiplies. Jerks, those guys.
Pastures full of pastors.
Priests and beasts.
Defectors and rectors.
Pickers and vicars.
Bleachers full of preachers.
Clerics and hysterics.
Papal delegates and celibates.
Televangelists and Adventists
And hostile Pentecostals.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 12:34 AM UTC
She sees left and right whilst upside down,
laughing in hysterics at idealistic semantics.
She jauntily journeys to and from small towns,
smiling dead smiles at boys being subtly romantic.
They all want her, the mean queen without a crown,
to be captured by one or another comely fellow.
They all see the lies, under painted makeup thick as a clowns,
she tells with those brown eyes shaded in true yellow.
I see her, my child, my dear, my eyes look around
shiftily calculating the great fortunes I would pay
to knot fingers in her hair, to hear her heart pound.
There she goes now, along on her merry way.
Not that I would join in all the lads attempting her heart,
for fear of the magnificent nothings I would say.
I imagine my presence would give her quite the start,
when she sees I'm true yellow, being born to be afraid.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 12:49 PM UTC
I inserted a suppository right after I had been using super glue.
My hand is stuck in my **** and I don't know what I'm going to do.
When I went to the hospital, the doctors and nurses laughed.
They were in hysterics from laughter and they called me daft.
When they laughed, it offended me so I kicked the doctors below the belt.
They kicked me out and blacklisted me because they didn't like how it felt.
Because of my problem, I can't drive a car or ride my bike.
I can't afford a taxi so to get to places, I have to hitchhike.
The drivers also laugh and I have to slap them to make them keep their mouths shut.
It's been three years and I don't think I'll ever be able to get my hand out of my ****
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 5:23 PM UTC
mechanical wonders are they!
the greatness of ever-changing plains
withered weathering willows which wallow in the wake of winds,
shriveling, sniffling, cynical twins.
solaris, the fantastical bringer of light!
oh how we lift our faces in your fruit-bearing gaze.
our thanks for extinguishing the inky blight, you have given us sight.
we miserable, entangled creatures in locks and chains,
at the mercy of the return of your fiery blaze.
we rely on Pandora’s final curiosity
and during times of ultimate crisis, we wish for you
and pray for catharsis.
but your sister…
luna, you wretched being, wrecker of sanity!
oh how you unravel the psyche, fibrous ends,
intertwining tapestries meticulously woven yet disassembled so quickly.
we are aghast at the horrors with which you plague us.
each stare through the mirror, reversed pools of vanity
freckles of light fall from their places
on weary onlookers’ shadowy faces
as they melt in the hysterics of your obscure domain.
finally a farewell, an intonation of speech:
“good-bye.”
discombobulated words, addressed to each;
for one sister revitalizes that which the other hath slain.
Apr 4, 2019
Apr 4, 2019 at 11:09 PM UTC
The needle scratches as I thump the arm
vinyl on wooden casket
illuminates in the eerie half light
unseen voices echo
distorted
as dusty sleeves reveal their inner thoughts
they station themselves between
the speakers
spouting yesterday's memories
as once more the needle
relaxes me
and 33 going on 45
leaves me in hysterics
laughing for my own amusement
as Sinatra on helium
sings
I did it my way.
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 10:15 PM UTC
The daydream-y miss gazes out the
watchtower of enchantment,
heart atrophied,
neck bound in a Gordian Knot,
riding nautical swells of
fear and love that
ebb and flow in
cursed duality
Calling to the cavalry trouper in
subdued hysterics
who, in an oceanic barrel surge,
will sever her lasso collar and
rebind their anchor hearts in
blood knots,
ascending the ranks, he will earn the
highest standing stripes of
Strength, Honour, and Equanimity
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 2:23 PM UTC
uncomfortable itching skin
wooly sweater clung around
my neck. closed fist around my
chest. tip-toeing, balancing
upon eggshells around myself.
unwilling to utter the two
syllables. thoughts tugging on
leash, restricted corners too
dangerous for venture. fear
of the uncomfort, of acceptance.
but there are times where
self-control is out of reach
where it strays, undetected.
heaviness of slumber suppresses
barriers, finding my way
back to you. and for those
eight hours i find me
in your arms, dancing to
jazz tunes. and for those
eight hours you lips taste
of peppermint and cigarettes.
and for those eight hours
i finally feel the comforting
warmth of your voice and
the musical tones of your
laughter.
to my dismay, the sun
ultimately rises and time
comes that i must wake once
again. brief moments of normality
and confined happiness. once again
the cold sinks in and
my chest concretes, lump
in throat and strained vocal
chords. once again i
find myself on the ledge of sanity
and hysterics. and then i
realize i've always been
this way.
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 1:05 AM UTC
Life’s a ***** you must surely agree,
There are so many reasons that show this to me,
For instance, I just get the hang of the words to a song,
Then I find out the words I’ve been singing are wrong.
And why when out to dinner to impress a young lady,
Does my sleeve end up doing the “crawl” in the gravy?
Or sat at the bar; comes the moment to kiss,
Do I lean forward coolly and utterly miss?
Toppling face first from that three legged stool,
As I grin up inanely from a best bitter pool.
I remember my sports car, fast and blue,
With the wind in my hair, she really flew,
Strong and good looking, and to my touch, compliant,
(Though I did once get “burnt off” by a Robin Reliant.)
But “No” I digress, the story to tell,
Is the first time I took out a young girl called Michelle,
She had a nice smile; I thought she was great,
I walked her from her door, and held open the gate,
We got in the car, and made ready to go,
For a meal for two in a candlelit glow,
I turned the ignition and clickety click,
Nice time to choose for the starter to stick,
Under the car with a spanner and torch,
Whilst Michelle spent the evening sat on her porch.
And when I got married,
Thought thank God that’s all over,
Now for a life of roses and clover,
Ha, Ha - not on your life, not on your nelly,
Not like it is when they do it on telly,
I mean, when they’re in bed and they fancy a nibble,
You don’t see them smile and then start to dribble,
So your lover has hysterics, fit to bust,
Which doesn’t do much for the ***** of lust!
And in romantic movies - where are the tissues?
You see, for me, these just aren’t small issues.
So one thing I’ve learned and drawn a conclusion,
Is that life being perfect is just an illusion,
And it’s best not to worry about small imperfection,
For deep down philosophy’s just pure conjection,
So a far better line to put an end to this fable,
Is “Just laugh and just love as much as you’re able”.
Jan 18, 2012
Jan 18, 2012 at 6:45 AM UTC
I know that I'm different
Got something inside me
That makes loads of people's first instinct to fight me
For they sense my capability
For I have an ability
I'm bigger than me
I'm bigger than one
My message could spread like warmth from the sun
I'm my mother's spirit
I'm the sense in a lyric
I'm so much to say... it comes out as hysterics
I'm pro and I'm con, disadvantage and merit
All at the same time
All in the same line
It's crazy how poetry and art have evolved
How with lack of formula and rules... I'm resolved
To be what feeling dictates
Writing, sketching, rapping, singing, praying... kneeling
I can only describe this feeling as "great!"
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 6:02 AM UTC
you reach the bright light that enticed you and you walk into a white, glistening room. there is a boy, the kind that reminds you of autumn leaves or the ocean during a storm, standing behind a cozy chair.
"hello," he manages with a pained smile. his voice is rugged and deep, but sad. he motions for you to sit down, and sits across from you. after a moment of resting his face in his hands, he looks up to tell you that he was waiting for you. his voice cracks and his fist clenches as he says, "we were soulmates," his eyes are piercing as they fill with tears. "this isn't right," he croaks out.
he leans back, swallows, and tries to gather himself. after a moment he sits forward in his chair and his eyes trace your features; he can't pull them as he says "god, you are beautiful."
he takes a deep breath. "we were going to meet at twenty-three," his eyes still glued to you. "i just don't know what i'm supposed to do without you," he looks at his left hand, rips off the ring and throws it, now in hysterics. "we were soulmates" he cries, and paces, aware that he's running out of time. "you shouldn't have done it!" he screams, tears rolling down his cheeks. you remain completely still, you couldn't move if you wanted to. "if only you wouldn't have done it," he sobs. and all at once, he disappears, and you are left in a plain white room, alone with two chairs.
if only you wouldn't have done it.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 5:32 PM UTC