"infidelities" poems
I dream of innocence
of days long spent
beneath summers sun
a Carpenters son
and royal daughter
a Queen and a martyr
one girl one boy
eyes fuse like alloy
caught in a sudden trance
a courtship dance
loves hypnotic rituals
of star filled visuals
white lights against black night
white Knight versus black Knight
this is now a game of chess
strategizing what to do next.
Three is a crowd
how I wish he wasn't around
your first mistake
so I sit and wait
for the nightmare to be over
for my Knights mare to save her
I already know the pain she's due
it's as old as the sun, this rain isn't new
nothing washes away infidelities sinning
nothing can make them white sheets of linen
once innocence is lost like paradise
if only you took another roll at the dice
maybe fate is predetermined numbers
and maybe innocence only exists in slumber
maybe it was lost at birth
maybe it's just an ancient curse
inherited from days long ago
maybe we were never white as snow.
But still I have this martyrs cause
yet still I never really give pause
the Knight that sacrifices for his Queen
for he has already witnessed all to be seen
history repeating itself
Déjà vu sapping our health
reincarnated pain
can the black Knight ever be slain?
or is it just another side of the coin
everyone is still curtain drawing
hiding from the dark
the day that's lost its spark
black night only masks the sun
black Knight versus the Carpenters son
but white lights appear in the sky
the white night is there when we die
when our numbers finally up
when our slumber finally stops
the ending of the night
maybe we aren't really Knights
maybe we are all just pawns
so innocence can be reborn.
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 8:44 PM UTC
building purist æsthetic
proselytizing solar-powered heliolatry
commemorating historic concert
sensing dark forces
fokken lekker antwoord
pumping sensory overload
featuring high-tech dee-jay
admiring gelato micro-truck
laxing laying lazing
"doing something nasty"
continuing quality content
entering another cathedral
journeying without borders
"exactly one year
since visiting vatican"
appreciating full-time gigasphere
awaiting pyongyang performance
depicting unlikely crowdsurfer
foreseeing exponential improvements
furthering esoteric agenda
sensing profound incompatibility
data-mining people's infidelities
anticipating futuristic caffeine
perfecting invisible propaganda
researching mind-control techniques
polishing psycho-social weaponry
sensing social embargo
flourishing frantic fanfare
admiring longitudinal monument
parodying marketing slogans
cycling through österreich
eyeing dystopian disneyland
streaming crosswords extended-play
herding glass kittens
deleting idiosyncratic fragment
loremipsum-ing laconic loudmouth
receiving ultramodern telegram
eigo-ga wakarimasu ka?
guzzling duck-fat fries
encouraging panic selling
(juxtaposing past incarnations)
getting black-and-white privilege
renewing boutique account
relishing cinema poutine
re-entering hibernation mode
opening old windows
continuing zoo motif
absquatulating excessive excesses
nullifying originality claims
proliferating protean persona
disappearing sidewalk alphabet
shrugging opprobrious moments
enjoying vertical alignment
re-entering cyberpunk paradise
approaching island sun
soaring beyond monoliths
trivializing extraneous argy-bargy
decreasing character limits
dumping generic accounts
uglifying commit message
escaping into idiosyncracy
moonshining great lake
exuding idiosyncratic propaganda
living nineties' dreams
making occidental cuisine
envisioning idiocratic president
expropriating your time
ascending homely helix
singing fat lady
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC
Everything is such fun in the beginning,
when it’s new and undiscovered.
i’ll try almost anything.
What is meant by almost?
All these stupid sick **** roles we play,
all this pretending, why?
i want to believe there’s something
behind the curtain
besides a windowless stone wall
Something inexplicable
his/her majesty of everything/
living/dead/never existed.
William Blake said, “Either be a poet or a painter.
Being both muddies audiences, and discredits one or the other.”
Actually, Blake didn’t say that. i am lost.
is it possible to love after what has happened?
the rage, hurt, disappointment of betrayal.
my ex still stalks
as recently as two mornings ago,
all her exaggerations, over-reactions, fury.
Why so desperate to return to crime scene?
An admission of her own guilt?
Excessive compulsive wound licking (psychogenic alopecia)?
Another excuse for getting drunk?
When we waited for the elevator going down
You said, “Let’s just get this over with.”
i understood completely.
i, who worships my own death.
i, who ****** on my own grave.
i, who gets bored faster than speed of light.
i, who suspects killing around every corner.
i, who sleeps restless.
i, who worries.
i, who loves women.
i, who does not understand women.
i, who is a woman.
i, who bangs the dude in L.A. to advance my career.
i, who is a nobody.
i, a man with no place to stand.
i, who belongs to a family of
blustering flirts, flatterers,
kidders, thieves.
We sit at the table,
monkey-wrenching hand over fist lives.
Forget about the eyes.
Watch the fingers.
Don’t listen to the speeches.
Words are intentional distractions.
Where’s your wallet?
Gypsies? No, we’re not gypsies,
more upper-crusty, yes, very well-connected secrets.
Do the names Dante, or Cervantes, or Nabokov mean anything to you?
No, none of them are our kin,
but we know people who know people,
infidelities in very high places.
All i’m saying is,
once you reach a certain level,
we’re all family.
i will make success happen,
with or without you.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 12:23 PM UTC
how odd, to be a woman and a girl
to wear the dresses but concern about cleavage
more than meets the eye: because.
and so we waddle for the men –
twisting straps, my petticoat drawbridge
i am over-aware of myself: know the pulse and
when to tug draperies from ‘part thighs
they only see what i am okay with,
which does not include exhaling.
i am like a drum, drumbeat
i punch my body until the purple softens
and it sounds beautiful, but incomprehensible:
me, this woman-girl and child cheeks
placed upon petals that flap
with attention, not the old storm breezes –
every april shower molded me into a flower
i rise above each season, gay spectacle
the men that believe hurricanes so enigmatic
must lust me for such a reason –
i have been through many in girlhood
that i bleed one as a woman.
because of word infidelities, the muse
april said that i am only as big as my body
and i grew, grew, grew
until my stem became caught
to where it grew no longer, a woman-child
who took the wind like salad dressing.
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 5:36 PM UTC
there's endless poems of broken hearts and broken dreams
there's endless stories of what could've been
I think about what we were
and how I become a part of the cliche in which I am another woman
broken down like a little girl
because of the infidelities that I thought would stop because you said you love me
I have realized that love has become an excuse
to hurt others and for others to accept it
I accepted your lies
time and time again
now I am another cliche
broken by the relationship you let fall to pieces
Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 11:53 PM UTC
I can savor
The taste of fear
Riding upon the wind
As turbulently
As your troubled mind
Seeks desperately
To understand the mortality of this moment
The life and death mechanics of reality
The realization
That we are to die
As evident of the staccato pant
Of your futile labour
Frivolous at best
Arouses a sense
Of ******* justice
Hard truths
Brought to bear witness of
Your infidelities
Your betrayal
Lies
Aborning of arsenic
Sputters froth
From your womb
Searing traces of bitterness
Cascades a corrupted truth
Transformed into an ugliness
That has become us
Two hearts that once beat as one
Cast fervently
Into a cold war
Unrelenting hatred
Reciprocated
Ricochet
Unmitigated threats
Wounds
That cannot be reprieved
How did we get here?
Do you even care-
To ponder the thought?
How
I once loved thee
A dream shattered
By the realization of now
But
The now I can live with
The thought of losing you I cannot
**** this relationship
Endure
I must
For the taste of you
Is the sake of me
My sustenance
I close my eyes
In perusal of happier times
When life was bearable
Abruptly
I'm jolted out of my reverie
By hilt of your scorn
Protruding from my chest
Animately
I touch
As if to confirm its legitimacy
A reason for its being
Overwhelmed by solemn peace
I collapse in passive supplication
And as she turns and walk away
Contemptuous
Of the final utterance
To flee my lips
I forgive you
I ponder
If she ever
Loved me at all
Aug 3, 2016
Aug 3, 2016 at 12:20 PM UTC
The invalids,
misanthropes-
Spell-check your ego at the dooooooooooooor
And though I fancy that fancy liqueur
I'm of sound mind and jaded-
Gore doesn't bother me and my eyes are all faded-
I'm a child of the devil
So let me level with you-
I don't know what I abhor more,
All this violence in the world, or the lack of haberdashery stores
So I'm of reasonable theory,
And awfully good at this-
So let me circumvent this infinite abyss-
Yeah, I'm ********
Send me your tired, your weary,
your weird and your eerie,
and I'll eat them with a spoonful of peacock ore-
So I'm better at this than you are-
And I'm from France-
That probably makes you leery,
But my pants are clean and I'm the God of War-
Inadequate!
Mundane!
The pedestrian,
Heretofore-
I crush you, I'm a crusher-
A garbage compacter pall bearer usher-
I'm of appropriate quality-
I spit at inequality with a certain measure of frivolity-
I'm the benefactor of a luster-
So let me rush you into a hasty decision-
"I don't know about that," I hear you utter,
"Stuff it, yo!" I tell you, this is intermission, not the gutter-
So I'm a trap-
As comforting as a spinal tap-
Happy as a lark but fashionable as a jester's cap-
and with a wire cutter mouth-
With which I eat things with a forkful of infidelities-
Though I find the rings hard to chew-
Apr 5, 2010
Apr 5, 2010 at 8:21 PM UTC
No one ever said
Forever would be easy
Past infidelities and abuse
They still carry around
Ghosts that still haunt them
While you still have your
Self doubt, anxiety, depression
Hidden away in those dark places of
Who you are and used to be
You accept their
Paranoid nail-biting nervous hair twirling
Impulsive pen tapping incessant gum popping
Greed indecision pride, nosiness, sarcasm
Deal with their
Stubborn, psychotic, drama queen
Multiple personality moments
Which are less than desirable
Parts you wish
Weren’t always there
Like when they’re sobbing so loud
It’s impossible to hear them
Or they get so scared
You have to talk them down Off the ledge
Backed so far into a corner
All they feel is the pain inside
They’re so weak
You have to hold them up
Support their weight
While the universe
Crumbles around them
When tricks become the truth
Mistakes that still remind us of forever
Still, most of love is in the fights
Arguments on the edge of rational
Cement your relationship in place
That prove being together is
Worth the pain
Sometimes small arguments
Like where to go or who pays for what
When you go out
Turns into a fight where
The tiger tears open a new wound, roars
MONEY! MONEY! MONEY!
Someone’s face turns into a ripe tomato
That needs to be picked
Smashed against the wall
Juicy pulp and seed
Splattering everywhere
Still, the black rose blooms
From the same seed
Scraped from the wall
Where it grows into a beautiful flower
That only guarantees
With a little care it can last
Forever, still
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 1:18 PM UTC
you took my ****** rags and smeared them with your spit-- taped naked pictures to the wall of that dungeon until all he could see was your body, and your body alone. you loaded the pistol and shot yourself in the foot, when I noticed the bleeding you said it was just a flesh-wound. he finally fizzled your toes from out of your shoe, a dark cinderella-meets-the-prince-in-the-dark, and I saw that the wound was so open and gangrenous that little spritz of dried blood had formed faces and tears on the soles of your torn-and-tumbled canvas shoes.
you tried to say sorry. you pleaded and pleaded and said you'd take pistol-to-head or pistol-to-heart to be rid of the pain of my gargled and gutted reaction. you cried and you cried, our hearts sunk to the bottom of plastic-now stomachs.. but forgiveness is no microwave. forgiveness is a ballpark in steep Illinois summer heat where you drink to stay hydrated, think to stay sane, and write to the titter of tears on your chest.
Now heal your wound, antibiotic the gangrene. Just better the soles of your feet.
I'm already walking and walking and walking 'til my face meets obliterate sun.
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 6:01 PM UTC
The word ‘poet’ no longer sits comfortably between my teeth.
I grind it, choke it down, regurgitate it, manipulate it to be something it never will.
I wash it down with lovers, cut my feet on the shards of broken hearts I leave behind.
Still, your curse bleeds out from feet and wrists that carry the cross I bare.
You made me from the scars of every woman you ever hurt.
My body is an ocean of tears that were cried in your name.
Your infidelities, the ball tied to the chain that pulls me under.
Under the dead weight of guilt left on a 1000 lips that weren’t my mother.
Now she sits at the table, by all accounts alive and well, but we know you killed her.
Your face rests upon my bones, tormenting her, like a ghost forever caught in limbo..
You're the XY. Shes your ex and I’m your why? Like why create a body you won’t love.
The ghosts of your women scream inside my head, like I should die for your sins.
So I give myself entirely, and fall in love with everyone I meet.
I’m looking for silence, my chalk outline hidden between bed sheets.
Because this is what you taught me, this is all you ever said.
Naked I wait for someone to hold me, to settle the panic in my head.
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 6:26 AM UTC
somewhere someone
lies in wait
to judge all my
infidelities.
With a scale of morality
he will weigh and balance
indiscretions
against good deeds.
I gave to a homeless family -
dinner. I ******* my best friend's girl.
Is my time balanced,
or is sin irrevocable?
Either way, I am at peace.
Good deeds and sin, I decided,
are part of human nature's
two sided duality.
Cruelty and empathy
love and hate
desperate and giving
we all need forgiving.
In the end,
If you ask me,
The judge will decide, who is correct?
the rest.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 7:13 PM UTC
How did we shatter our innocence?
Tripping over the laces we tied together,
building homes solely out of old memories,
finding comfort in our worst pieces of skin
and calling it love at 3am
crying about insecurities and infidelities.
Darling, how can it still be called love
when the fires are burning down our sanctuaries, and our sanities?
How can it still be called love
when our foundations no longer mimic the Great Wall of China,
or stand indestructible like the concrete Pyramids of Egypt?
We are paper thin
and just as fragile
as the tiny paper houses
we used to make out of playing cards.
Our hands no longer fit
like perfect puzzle pieces -
they mimic sheets of sandpaper instead,
scratching out every ounce of sincerity
we once engraved into each other's palms.
Our footsteps fall separate octaves away,
out of sync and out of touch,
in this **** grand scheme
somehow labelled a masterpiece.
We were once flawless.
But now we've just made flaws
out of every single thing we used to fall for.
Now, we're just flawed.
gd
Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 2:04 AM UTC
Time consuming life
Pain of life's consumption
Soul of past pain
Dang... How it went out with a bang
The slender lady sang sweet melodies
Of infidelities to get past the rain
Me I mean...
He or rather...
We moreover...
Three came to be, one.
Mind if I take time to tell...
No, better yet enlighten you
Of this unbendable, inevitable, unmistakable truth?
No matter how hard you try
Emotions only go as far as you are willing to fly
One way roads to dead ends and old foes
Green lights to nowhere but fake feelings and new acquaintances
When do you decide enough is enough?
When it gets tough and impossible,
Or when the lies seem as though they are going to eat you alive
Why try?
Cross your heart, hope to die...
Sea full of bitterness and unnerving endings to the story
Body battered and bruised
From the battle on the mountain top
Lost to the ones that don't really matter
In fact her and her masters
Can **** off,
Those ********
As they torture and harass her
She said save it
I'm past em'
Who?
Three...
As in he...
Rather me...
sigh
Dang, what a bang
She shot me down while she sang
As I bled out in pain.
Mind, Body and Soul;
She chose my conscience to blame.
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 8:14 PM UTC
so i write to you my confession...
to speak loudly and clear.
for so long, under such suppression,
damnation i had to fear.
greatly i have wronged you,
in more unutterable ways than one.
the truth of my infidelities
have yet to come undone.
i write to you my confession...
of a man of twenty-eight,
my lustful thoughts woed me,
actions i reprobate.
i write to you my confession...
of a man of twenty-two.
in which i spoke salacious words,
a man who is not you.
i write to you my confession...
of heinous and deliberate lies,
knowing quite well the manipulation
would lead to your demise.
i write to you my confession...
recite what you dont know.
the body that belongs to you,
i proceed to show.
i write to you my confession...
for i no longer wish to hide.
my words, my thoughts, my actions,
may now all coincide.
Jun 22, 2010
Jun 22, 2010 at 2:46 PM UTC
You want me to let you in?
To call off the guards?
To let down the walls?
You,
So passionately,
want me to
stop fighting
so I will.
I will fall violently,
unadulteratedly
& freely
in love with you.
Just like you want me to.
And you'll lie in my bed all day,
while I try on eight different
dresses for my cousin's wedding
And when you leave,
I'll watch my skin shrink
as I lie
paralyzed
in my bathtub,
day dreaming
about the two small freckles
under the left corner
of your bottom lip
And the first time we argue
& you spend three whole days
angrily ignoring my calls,
I'll chain smoke
until my throat burns
And when you
finally decide
to show up at my door
with a vanilla latte
and apologetic eyes,
I will melt
pathetically
into your collarbones
and all down your spine
And then we will sit
Indian style
across from each other
on my kitchen floor
& you'll tell me in
excruciating
detail all your past lovers'
infidelities and unkindnesses
that led you to fight with me
And that will be it
That will be
the exact moment
when I will know,
without a doubt
that I am
completely & entirely
******
And I will cry into
your neck,
knowing for sure
that from then on
even the most passive,
nonspecific
mention of your name
will make my stomach float up
into my chest
& jolt back down
into my abdomen
like I'm falling
from the highest point
on a roller coaster
And no amount of
poetry,
whiskey,
midnight drives,
nicotine,
house shows
or therapy
will make it stop
or even distract
my soul from it for
a ******* split second
Because
once I allow myself
to love,
I love until I break &
then I keep on loving
until I'm nothing
And I just don't know
if your conscience
is strong enough
to carry the weight
of my shattered heart
So...
tell me Hazel Eyes,
just how bad
you actually want me
to pick up that phone
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 12:36 AM UTC
that dimpled smile still glows
portal eyes that cut to the core
our rebel spirits were condemned by our parents
trading grades for wild escapades
we struggled together but lifted the other
never could say goodbye
one more kiss wouldnt suffice
wrapped in each other
left me lost in that beautifully naive vice
jealousy, anger, and infidelities
coupled with passion, bliss, then coalescence
i know that day will come
painful excitement bursting energy
the reunion is brief
a final memory
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 5:17 AM UTC
it's treacherous, really
how far out of your way
you are willing to go
just to find someone who
is not me.
and for what?
for the adrenaline rush of
an ego boost (?)
and at the price of what?
the hem that has held
my heart together
is beginning to rip-
the seams are giving way
spilling out every
and all
of the things that i try
so hard to contain
at the price of my own
comfortability.
i forfeit my precious solitude,
only to be met with
the coldest
and emptiest of embraces.
slight looks of annoyance,
eyes averted quickly
at laughter
as if mad that someone
might hear me.
where do i get off
on burning the
ends of my nerves
so that your touch
does not make me
shudder?
attempting to hold it all together,
as i can be responsible for you
in life
but not ever
in death.
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 1:11 AM UTC
Under the darkened wings of her soul
lies a heart cloaked in deceit
tormented by the love she stole
by the lives that were left incomplete
Encaged for leaving infidelities scars
for her destructive soul to reform
she's entrapped by cold lonely bars
until her dark wings transform
When her past has been shed
hinges to the door will disengage
when pure wings out spread
she will be freed from her cage.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 9:09 PM UTC
Because of your infidelities,
she is long gone.
And now she lightens up
the night sky of her new love,
because unlike you,
he recognized
beauties that you
were blinded to-
he recognized she was the moon.
And now, you curse him,
knowing that could have been you.
That she could have been
your moon,
but while she wanted
to be serenaded by you
and light
every dark corner of your existence,
you were too busy chasing
dimly lit stars.
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 11:42 AM UTC
And she found true happiness
after she decided she had enough,
that she deserved much more,
that her dignity was worth far more
than his lies and infidelities.
And only then,
did she find true happiness.
Her grace,
her dignity,
her self-worth guided her to,
who we all know as, "the One",
and found the perfect happiness
she always knew she deserved.
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 1:23 PM UTC
I just finished Face Timing with Sunny, one of Lisa and my roommates.
She’s an edgy half-a-laugh, and I can’t wait to see her in person.
Sunny’s a slipa and seductive gadabout - this poem is about her summer:
She’s a treacherous lover whose infidelities could populate
a city of confessions. Apparently, the streets we ignorantly
travel, are crowded with immediate, sordid, physical wants.
And Sunny, she can see them, like blinking neon bar lights,
feel them, like radio waves the rest of us monkeys miss.
Does she ****** the Waffle House waitress (in the restroom),
the professor (in the closet), the Urban Outfitter salesgirl
(dressing room), the dental receptionist (supply room),
the bar girl who rejects everyone else that hits on her
(backroom), or do they ****** her?
“How do you know?” I asked her once.
“I know,” she said, nonchalantly purring like a big, Serengeti cat after a **** Now, you might ask - it’s legit - how do I know these trysts are real?
Well, at school, she brings a different girl to her room almost every night.
They pass through our common area quietly, on the way to her room.
And, like you and all of us - she carries a camera - and uses it.
Her cloud archive is an ****** deep dive into a hidden America.
Flipping through it leaves me breathless, and I’m not fem-facing.
If she sold it to ‘The Getty’ they’d have to open a new wing.
.
.
Songs for this:
i wanna be your girlfriend by girl in red [E]
Lava by Still Woozy
.
08.16.2:30p
Aug 16, 2024
Aug 16, 2024 at 2:30 PM UTC
AND NOW THE RELATIONSHIP CRISIS FORECAST ISSUED BY THE SANE SIDE OF YOUR SELF ON BEHALF OF THE MERRY TIME & KEEP YOUR GUARD UP AGENCY.
The general synopsis at mid-life is:
Late 40’s
dogged by blighted love life
new all time low
expected by that time.
new all time low
expected by that time.
***
occasionally very poor at first
becoming
moderate or good.
F**k all
(hand over fist)
******
Marriage 3 or 4
becoming a bore.
Blonde mantrap
34-24-34.
**** Mrs. Fitzroy
(formerly Finisterre)
affair deepening rapidly
expected imminent.
Getting carried away
hoisted by one’s own petard.
Chances it will work out alright
moderate becoming decreasing slight.
Fair Isle sweater left
carelessly behind in car
Eh...uh uh!
Big mistake.
Violent storm warning
boyfriend built like Viking.
Gulp...not Dover Wight!
Becoming cyclonic
...moronic.
Severe icing.
Oh ***** Despair. Panic. Flight
What more could go wrong?
Chelsea 2 West Ham 1!
Town gossip Lundy Fastnet
informs wife.
Accused of infidelities
backing off into continual lying
veering towards disbelief
clothes thrown out in street.
Locks. Changed.
Caught fast in net
like trashing fish.
Future visibility
moderate becoming poor
in showers.
Drunk. Again.
Singing in the rain.
What’s it all about
...Alfie
Sep 12, 2019
Sep 12, 2019 at 7:44 AM UTC
I am the deflating doll in the back of the closet. I sit, stuffed under mops and ***** buckets, right next to their secret infidelities.
I belong to the community; my plastic, airy skeleton is marked with many fingerprints; my froze-open mouth knows the shapes to fold to, going along with each individual's perfect kiss.
If I were real I’d leave this life behind. I’d find a mate and we’d sit in sunlight every day. But tonight I’m still a doll, an object made to please, and now another boy is knocking at my door.
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 9:38 PM UTC