"inflating" poems
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say?
‘A posteriori’ leads the way
For the extra and the ordinary
Axiomatic sway,
In the gravity of corollary,
‘A priori’ interplay
Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation,
As the innocence of dissonance delay.
Practicing semantic contemplation,
In willfully prevenient interpolation,
Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray,
Forecasts in vague extrapolation
Contrasts the millennial contagion
Already underway,
Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves,
To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves,
A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves,
Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves,
Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves,
A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves.
The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates,
An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states,
Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates.
Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates,
Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates,
Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates.
An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion,
Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion,
The personable recluse fighting an illusion
Breaking down the nuances of every institution.
Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity
Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility,
An opinionated adversary,
to the realist without evidence,
Theorizing in futility,
Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community.
Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified,
Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified,
Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide,
Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide,
Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified.
Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity,
As consequential regiments are expounded universally,
To unstratify the residents indiscriminately
And identify quantum elements spiritualistically,
Changing collective behavior individually,
Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 8:07 AM UTC
our bread and butter...
*the web of stars,
the scatter of moons
and orbiting planets.*
the entire universe
harvested and crammed
into the metre,
of a poetic verse.
our bread and butter...
*harnessing the regal rays of the sun.
inflating the fluff of quiet clouds.
drinking up the winds of the weather.
revering the magic in the flight of birds.*
we fill our cups to the brim...
with fantastical dreams
and let spill
over parchment
the cornucopia of idealised words.
our bread and butter...
the incessant peeling and picking
on healing wounds.
of which we have learnt to savour...
*let bleed
the willing blood...
feed the seeds
with impending flood.*
nurture to fruition
thoughts stunted in discretion.
bring to light
thoughts hidden in the nether.
our bread and butter...
we dip...
the nibs,
of our word worn feathers.
let them sink,
shallow beneath the surface
to the sanctity of a familiar place.
*casting our trials,
and tribulations...
pent up emotions,
and what we think
unto paper
with the burn of
everlasting ink.*
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 9:16 AM UTC
We slump on the couch when we return like lifetimes
have passed before us.
We have to, even though it was only a seven minute walk
to the dining hall, because 1) the food was just
“weird consistency”
(which we tend to say regardless), 2) the light
in there yawned indifferently to us (when does it not?), and
3) the reassuring clink of our forks on our
plates wasn’t even there this time it was
hiding underneath slop
and smothered on top by the intruding sound waves
(who asked?)
of our next-table neighbors’ lives.
You made a sly remark about seconds to catch
a glimpse of youthful ****
She’d gone to get some more baby carrots and cucumber slices
to put in her salad maybe
(who knows? who cares?)
Either way, her youthful **** would make the food taste like
something to you. And you
described them to us when you sat down again so
the slop would taste like something to us
(there’s pride in that type of generosity, don’t forget) and
(congratulations)
we had the faint impression of
some sort of
****** there, but
we didn’t tell you
(it’s easier that way).
A cup, a squeeze, a kiss on her ******* yes that could feed
our hunger for a night. And tonight was a night
like any, so her ******* led us to talk
of women, and women led us to talk of
love
(and the blooming one for the poor *******
as we who lost withstood the vicarious twinge of
an addling ****** very different from
the first.
This one led us to pine for sweets, but the ones we found
were dry, so we left the table, left the dining hall, looking around at
the others: the lonely, the couples, the blessed
lonely couples, and the fortunate friends
huddled against everything with open laughter, enjoying
the weird consistency like drunk theoretical physicists before
they discovered bubbles and inflated eternally meaning
when they safeguarded a
zoo with a pistol they didn’t know how to
use, in Soviet Russia.
(So you see?) We have to slump on the couch
when we return like lifetimes
have passed before us.
No one even bothers to pick up a guitar, we leave all four of them
strewn on the floor like
dead wooden boxes because
Dylan or Young or Cash (or whoever)
is already in the living
room. Any
bubbling, inflating, theoretical physicist
(any drunk, pistol-packing zookeeper, for that matter) will
tell you that.
So we slump, comfortably uncomfortable,
(at least we’re trying!)
feeling their (our) strings plucking. No sounds, no voices.
Because we don’t need
to hear this that.
Not right
now. (Not right
now).
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 7:33 PM UTC
When I was a little girl I loved going to the fair.
seeing the clowns
rides
and carnies.
but my favorite thing to see at the fair is the fun house
Remember those?
Where mirrors flooded the walls bending towards you
distorting the image you saw to one of absurd portions
Nose swelling larger
legs shrinking
hips inflating.
I loved seeing the shapes my body could take.
...I haven't been to a fun house in years.
And even if I went I know the mirrors would look like those that hang in my room.
Body dysmorphia is it's own fun house
one full of insecurities and self-hate.
It makes regular mirrors bend my perception of reality.
Makes my stomach bloat
thighs inflate
cheeks widen
eyes shrink
My mind has turned into a trapeze act
And I don't know if i want it to stop.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 12:46 PM UTC
every time he touched me
i felt him memorizing me like a wreck
every time she touched me
i felt her heartbeat caught in my own neck
they are problem solvers.
i had cushioning companions
fuller and calmer than me.
perhaps someday i'll tell them this
if i ever learn to handle it:
the open, raw closeness.
In the meantime, i'll remember her
laughing into my legs
immersing us in the soft hair from her head
and his enchanting voice
inflating my lungs;
the simple gift of speech in bed
the moment right before their contact,
a few light-years away from being.
the moment between shine and its reflection,
just a hollow eternity to all the space in between.
company?
I starve for the long moments
that thick time of silence together
feasting on whatever he just said.
community?
I crave gazing at an orb of truth
wholly understanding one another
a vague sense of being like her family.
civility?
honoring the ghosts of our realities
and remaining gravely touched
by the mortal ritual at hand.
I couldn't deserve either of you
just promise me you'll understand
or at least try to
get the **** off my land
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 10:17 PM UTC
I
The absence of air
affects the lungs,
which stop inflating,
and kills the subject of illusions.
The absence of love,
which is not so fatal,
immortalizes the unemotional
and ponders if in heaven he must be put.
There's a longing
as wilting as flowers
and as old as happiness.
There are colors
which together paint my town
with praises and pains.
II
There's a new effect:
creepy like fear,
fragile since early
and sad when undone.
There's a new now
which arrives in mind
and explores in it
everything what feels
The absence of us
saddens the unhappy
when there are no advantages,
The absence of what I did,
done alone,
makes useless what is said about flowers.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 6:16 PM UTC
I am Jupiter storms
Unabounded by time
Raging on
And eons
Can not hope to confine me
To unstable matter
And mass
Rearranging
My molecules morphing
To liquefied jewels
And my surface
A canvas
Of unrefined fuels
Like an abstract mosaic
Of swirling
Unfurling
Tempests of archaic
As constellations
And the ages I've waited
And slumbered and spun
Into memories
Faded
And taken the names of your gods
As my payment
Inflating my ego's
Mesmeric rotations
So quick to claim hearts
Of Europa's amidst
My seductive, enchanting
Illusory bliss
Venture into my centrifuge
Fumy abyss
I have pressed up my lips
Of a frigid, wet steel
And then sealed
With a kiss
What ‘nary
A planetary
Can resist
And as she revolves
Around me
And gives life
Io dances about me,
Callisto my wife
Ganymede my seed
And the rest of my progeny breed
Future needs
What the Earthlings will need
To make up for their greed
All will see
Look to me
In my enormity
As my reservoirs
Fill them
With infinity
Mar 30, 2019
Mar 30, 2019 at 3:44 AM UTC
Stress is living life in a self-inflating balloon
From airless to full is the excitement in life
Increases in pressure is a tension of colour
Stress filled is not stressful in this party of life
With survival a knack of avoiding sharp objects
And where excessive inflation will inevitably
Cause an instant deflation in very small pieces
Of the dreams and goals which are life today
And like Humpty in pieces these cannot
Be easily put back together again.
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 2:30 PM UTC
There’s some comfort
In a Cigarette –
Slack on the lips,
Balanced as a Newton’s cradle,
The smoke rising,
A heavy silver blue
Lifting and settling in the air; a toxic mist,
Emerging – volcanic - from the singed
Yellowing paper.
And the mind clears and
Slows, for a moment and settles as the nicotine infuses
With the brain.
And it feels
Good.
You tap the ash and it falls, dissolving into hot powder –
you take another draw.
Breathe deep.
“Smoking’s bad for the health” someone says.
As the smoke -silver blue –
Travels down the throat, into the lungs; inflating -
Exhale (more refined now)
“I know” you reply.
Give some excuse or other, for the habit –
Needs to be kicked -
Their eyes flash to
Yellowing skin which
reflects the yellowing paper cradling the ash
encasing veins of red.
Smiling, a crooked smile, you take another draw
“the last one.” you say,
“good.” They reply.
And there’s some beauty to be found in
The silver blue smoke pirouetting in the air
A poison, personally selected.
Some assurance in this perpetual act of self-destruction,
Some comfort in knowing what it is that’s killing you –
Though it takes some mystery out of life -
Conducting one’s own mortality can be quite the security.
Inhale again,
Turning the filter,
Ash drops,
The word Marlboro
(If there’s some money in the bank)
Stares back.
A Cigarette is a sin to be shared or taken in private,
A true pleasure which leaves one wholly unsatisfied -
Something in which to partake with others; the rich, the poor, the lame -
Those who would not normally give you a second glance, nor perhaps you them -
“Got a Cigarette I could *** they ask
“Sure” you say
As you reach into your pocket,
Pull out the packet,
Weathering,
And hold out an offering.
In that exchange
Alone
Is a bond born, a moment of connection,
some common ground.
You turn away,
“Smoking’s bad for the health.”
Someone says, to them,
“I know.” They reply, give some excuse
And then smile
That crooked smile.
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 2:01 PM UTC
For my mate Ernest W who cared....
Invisible in silky strands, a gossamer of lethal thought,
Drifting through the nether regions, touching on my mind.
Complication’s vagaries encroaching on the circumspect
Magnifying well beyond solutions I can find.
Nervous in the groundswell now, I feel it all inflating,
Inflating to a curtaining beyond my self control,
Waves of peristalsis in a shrill persistant keening,
Locking out the sanity in holding logic’s goal.
Waves of peristalsis in a bath of perspiration
Panic in a rupture at the coccyx of my spine,
Ravenously eating at the fabric of all reason
Ravenously gnawing at this rationale of mine.
***** in a puddle on the floor beside my footwear
Cloying is the stench of the ***** in my drawers,
Lost are the vestiges of any thought of decency
Gone is the differentiation in my flaws.
Clenching of hands in a bind of blue confusion
Catatonic slowness in arresting the decline,
Vaccilating eyeballs are rolling for the camera
And utter desolation is a flavour on my mind.
Why be concerned with the shaming of tomorrow?
Why come to terms with the maunderings of late?
Why face the music of the mirth and derision
When there’s a more practical direction to take?
Glide to the realm of the smooth overflowing
Slide in the slipstream oblivion makes,
Slip the bonds of your sad mortal tenure’s
Awful array of destructive mistakes.
Glide to the realm of serene independence
Glide far away from the troubled and hard,
Gone to the gossamer web of the ether
Gone to the nether world’s silky facade.
*...........: But what's the guts Courageous,
You happy with your deed?
Are your friends all overjoyed
To see your suicide succeed?
Is your family unaffected
By the loss and guilt remorse,
Your sudden grand departure
leaving kids without recourse?
Did you think about the aftermath?
The chaos and the pain
And the long term implications
Of your shattered families' shame?
The guilt within your partners heart,
The kids who are confused
And the ****** dissapointment
Of your mates.. who feel abused?
The mess you left behind you
And the tangled web you wove
And the bruising of good memories
For which, you once,...had strove.
Your painless, quick demise, you thought,
Released you from all this.....
But the sadness in the silent eyes
Condemns you as remiss.*
Marshalg
In an effort to understand why?
....And explain why not !
9 December 2010
Read more: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/suicide-12/#ixzz17kzvfsTk
Dec 10, 2010
Dec 10, 2010 at 2:09 PM UTC
Someday Girl
Everyday I miss what I never had, that kiss, that feeling of bliss, leaving my head swimming in neverland...
Soft lips speaking the depths of aqua blue eyes… a brilliant smile that could stop traffic for miles.. I’m talking about a woman that’s just wild.. with a personality that could be bottled and sold in vials to melt the hardest hearts into molten piles…
My someday girl…
Walkin in the room with brilliant blond hair flowing.. exuding confidence and not afraid to show it.. pure beauty for sure you know it, when she can’t even be captured by the words of a poet.. I can’t describe my feelings inside I just know it.. someday I’ll be on a roll, meet her, and slow it…
Til then I’m patiently waiting... gasping to keep my lungs inflating… raspin verses til my tongues achin.. but I get frustrated.. cause I even visited churches and the nuns are taken..
Some days I think of giving up hope.. settling for something just to stay afloat.. but I keep waitin it out grasping at a tiny little frayed rope that’ll lead me back to the realization of my greatest hope..
My someday girl…
I hope to someday embrace her slowly… sliding my hand across silky soft skin to hold her closely… the sweet smell of her hair controls me and my heart dances to her pulse as she holds me..
I could spend eternity locked in that embrace.. if I could just find it I’d gladly step into my place.. but I guess life would be too easy if that was the case.. so everyday I tighten my shoes and keep runnin the race… stumbling through dates.. tryin to put numbers with a face… but none of em got the key to put my tumblers in place… so again I wait and I wait…
For my someday girl…
It doesn’t seem fair though, cause along the way I’ve met girls that I’ve longed to date… only to find out that they’re engaged or they’ve found a mate.. it makes me wanna shake my fist at fate.. give up, and roll a spliff to sedate and smoke it down to that last crispy trace.. but through it all I still hold that glimmer of faith.. that my someday girl will come and take her place… so I wait…
and I wait....
For my someday girl…
Aug 6, 2010
Aug 6, 2010 at 2:09 AM UTC
I'm sitting in a bar. A place where they all collect. They come together with smiling eyes and open hearts and sit, drink and just shoot the **** They are all noteworthy people, not a boring or reserved soul among the bunch. And they share stories of their highs, lows and purgatories.
One of them, his name's Jimmy, tells the story he always tells when he's teetering between coherency and slop-talk. He tells of how he died. He hopped in his car one day, and boy did he love his cars. And that particular car, the one his heart stopped beating in, was his favorite. He sped down the road, his hair blowing in the wind and his hand beating the side of the door as he sang "Strangers in the Night" as it blasted through his radio speakers. He wasn't drunk, he never really was fond of drinking when he was still breathing (he says being dead is depressing and alcohol is the only thing that "assures" him). His car swerved sharply, it was raining, and he just couldn't control the hunk of metal. His head hit the windshield before he even knew what happened.
Jimmy looked down at his Jack and Coke and smiled. His eyes, now drowning in salt water, glistened off the cheap fluorescent lights. He told me he never got to tell his mother he loved her. Never got to tell his girlfriend that he thought they were meant to be. Never got to show the world that the man hidden behind so many layers of insecurity and recklessness was a man that was going to span time, generations. And I look back at him, my mouth curling a little and told him that he might not have gotten to talk to his mother or his girlfriend... But he **** well made his mark. After all, he's in a bar filled with dozens of people with stories not unlike his own. And he's talking to me. Me, with my chest inflating and deflating as it filled and emptied itself of sugary oxygen. Me, with my eyes alive and blinking and shining with life. Me, who is alive.
At least, I hope to God I am.
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 7:16 PM UTC
I can’t do this anymore
something has to change
I love you
I miss you
and I never meant to hurt you
I won’t say I’m sorry
because isolating myself
is the best thing
I’ve ever done for me
I’m finally getting to know myself again
and now I know why
I was never happy
The thing is
I was too caught up with
you and your messes
to realize
I was beginning to unravel
from the inside out
I was too busy making sure
everyone else
got their own happy ending
that I forgot
who I am
and what I needed
Now I realize
I needed
more
I need someone
to remind me to breathe
to step away
keep my sanity
stitch myself together
and bleed my own sorrows
Everything
you are, resided in me
everything
they needed flowing in my
veins
every dream
slept in my heart
and yet
everything
that I am was
nowhere to be found
and I can’t be that again
So this is goodbye
to the girl I used to be
and sleepless nights
worrying about
tomorrow’s sorrows
wishing
I could take the pain away
'til one day
I did
and never stopped
I whittled myself away
until I was nothing
without the pain plaguing you
and those around me
I became addicted
to ******* the pain out of you
and into me
inflating myself back to life
just so you wouldn’t disappear
I never showed it but
I was slowly
going insane
always needing more pain
You always said
I never wanted stability
and you were right
because if everything was alright
I had no clue who I was
and I couldn’t
fill myself back to life
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 8:59 PM UTC
“Fiat” in Latin means “let it be done”
Yes, a “binding edict” for everyone
So “fiat money” means “by decree”
THE approved money for you and me
“Fiat lux” means “Let there be light”
God said the words, God has the right
But fiat money by leaders decreed
Abuses that role - if inflating by greed
Dollars are printing by trillions, it’s true
And all decreed money is inflating too
If “by decree” - debased money we use
Much of its value we can and do lose
Now you can use a “money” that’s new
Not “by decree”, so it’s freeing for you
Bitcoin is money that plays by the rules
Safe and predictable - no one it fools
The money printing, controlled by a few
Takes from the rest - not much we can do
You can use Bitcoin, by choice - not decree
Let’s make the choice - so we can be free
Jan 29, 2022
Jan 29, 2022 at 9:29 AM UTC
Chaos is the weather of the day
raging its fury and madness on all beings
Every drop of sanity left is far more precious
than the diamonds we craved
reducing mountains to rumble in our greed
Standing by a hidden window
I witness the drops of sanity
slowly being swallowed by chaos' infinite army
Fear runs freely through my veins
gathering followers in each cell it passes
My trembling fingers can barely hold onto the curtains
that hide me from chaos' dark forces
Its too cold to even try to sweat out
all the confusion and fear that runs freely inside me
My feet once planted firmly on the ground
now slowly turn to liquid
melting my resolve to keep fighting
Just 20 feet up a dark forgotten building we hide.
The last few drops of sanity left
in a ferocious universe of death and decay
Our number is slowly dwindling too
I feel my mind losing its control
over any stray hope or might left within to survive
But then,
Hope quietly walks in
wrapping his arms like thick steel bands of resolve
strengthening my feet
and burning away the fear with its warmth
Hope pulls me towards his warm beating chest
chasing away the icy breath of fear
that took hold of my weak body
Hope slowly walks us back
to the lone camp bed
whispering words which fall
like soothing waterfalls
drowning my soul
Hope looks me in the eye
shooting all his strength into me
inflating my body with his resolve
Hope sits beside me through the
shrieks and cries of sanity being wiped out
protecting me from sanity's doomed fate
Like a warm ray of sunlight
Hope stands tall
keeping the final dregs of sanity aflame
giving just the warmth and strength needed to survive
Day by day I watch with rapt curiosity as
Hope plans our final escape
to paradise or hell all depends
on luck
But with Hope by my side
I need not company of chance and luck
who are strangers to my being
In you I believe
In you rests all my faith
and should we all be turned in tomorrow's rising sun
I shall be glad to have been wiped away
with Hope by my side.
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 11:11 AM UTC
Leaders of the 'Free World':
Get jobs inflating hot air baloons
with all that hot air you love to blow,
Then perhaps you'd make an honest living
and your words would be useful
not just to you and yours, but to those you claim to seek to help.
WE ARE SERFS
WE ARE PEONS
WE ARE PAWNS
WE ARE STATISTICS
WE ARE UNITS TO BE EXTORTED
WE ARE UNITS OF PRODUCTION
WE ARE THE UNTOUCHABLES
Our right is to worship our system
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 12:33 PM UTC
In twenty years I've yet to see,
A soul as destitute as me.
The curse of life is strong within,
Yet blessed are the ones who sin.
For they know joys that you do not,
Although their souls are left to rot.
So try not to do things as they're planned,
Instead make each next day more grand.
The Lord himself can not refuse you,
The wonders made just to amuse you.
So smoke and drink and swear and ****
'Cause one day you'll be out of luck.
We can't all stay at the top,
One day left before my drop.
Let me say just one more time,
I loved my life, the one of crime.
I shan't refute that morally,
I've settled with ambiguity.
But does that really make me bad?
Or does it really make me glad?
You may say both, I'd say you're wrong,
I've smiled and laughed my way along.
Soon my road must come to end,
My soul, to eternity, I must send.
And now I see the heavenly gate,
Peter's eyes aren't filled with hate.
The doors swing open and there I see,
The manifestation of purity.
A dove, a man with drink waiting,
I feel a sense of love inflating.
What can I do but gasp in awe?
I've woken up on the bathroom floor.
So if you're dim or as bright as the sun,
Do what you like, just have some fun.
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 11:27 PM UTC
Final
Nail
Will
Not
Hurt
Feelings
Are
Left
In
A
Shoe Box
Of
Goodwill
Multiple
Nails
Over
Years
Hurt
Laces
Are
Undone
Left
Behind
Bending
Down
Kicking
With
Force
From
A
Steel
Capped
Nail
Gun
Destructively
Simple
So
Hard
To
Prove
Deflating
Scraping
Inflating
The final nail
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 3:58 PM UTC
I'm told foie gras will change my life.
That it's savory, exemplary
to die for.
Ironic.
Someone already did that.
A gavage in his throat...
plumped, fed,
suffocated by
his own fat
like an inflating noose
on an unwitting neck.
Ironic also that
his flesh inflates my girth
and feeds my gluttony.
"Stupid things...
don't even know they're dying."
Dying indeed.
A slow and painful death.
And how deserving of it, yes.
Stupid things.
Too stupid to recognize their plight.
After all, don't the stupid
deserve their fate?
Ironic how - to this day -
we still think we're so much
more evolved than
our forebears.
Evolution aside,
The Divine Rights of the Food Chain
still stand.
*I do not understand it,
therefore it is less intelligent than I,
therefore I have the right to torture it.
I made it,
therefore it cannot live without me,
therefore I have the right to ruin it.
I own it,
therefore it is mine,
therefore I have the right to **** it.*
Our strength grants us Divine Right, indeed.
May the kingdom prosper under our boots and be grateful, for
history has proven us such gracious and kind masters, after all.
Are we not?
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 7:02 PM UTC
Words that sear
Lost in that
Endless haze
Of smoke,
Drifting towards
The skies
In that illumination
Burnt into our eyes
By the rays of a sun
That has long since
Disappeared
Beneath the horizon
Cigarette held loosely
But firmly
Between your fingers
You take a drag
I cannot help
But laugh
Cheered by the scene
You, content
And feeling cool and cynical
With each drag
Inflating with the feeling
That you're older- an adult
I laugh again
As you continue
To treat me like a child
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 11:48 AM UTC
something about
the way you held me so loosely
like a hesitant father holds his abortion wished baby
arms dangling lifelessly around my inflating ribcage
{that little bright balloon i harbored so safely.}
yes,
i nestled it close to your unsheathed knife
waiting for the burst, an exclamation, a curse.
but that sound, it never rang out-
it bellyflop, backfired and hush hush hushed its way out of an entity.
something about you-
makes me want to-
litter i love you's like
lipstick stained cigarette butts
from the thrift store wardrobe to the over gesturing hands
you unraveled me like it was all a part of the plan.
i watch you through intermittent exhales and yearning eyes
nervously fumbling fingers through greasy hair.
placing my fingertip as gently as i can
on the single, strange spiral of ****** hair on your jaw
staring out at you across rippling sheets,
"this reminds me of starry night."
you nodded, said you knew-
but what could you possibly know about a masterpiece,
when you won't even bother to pick up your brush?
something about-
taking your contacts out,
our inability to communicate,
how you only come over after a few drinks
and never before sundown.
asking politely to kiss me, when your intentions blatantly
ask otherwise. and how thoughtlessly-
you walk through a room,
the vanishing unannounced cigarette act,
how quickly you use laughing to express, (or repress) yourself.
something about the anonymous demeanor of the stray hairs
you shed unintentionally in my bed.
feigning disgust, i flicked at them hard and carelessly when you were watching-
but when you're not. and it's late.
i pluck them slowly and sweetly and let them drift gracefully to the floor beneath.
forcing symbolism into everything
will very effortlessly destroy you.
May 10, 2012
May 10, 2012 at 11:02 AM UTC
Who am I?
I am the Skeptic type,
Surfacing placid as each side creates waves,
Pulling on heart strings for their own self ameliorate,
Heated controversy focusing on Health care, Religion,
and Hunger debates,
Inevitably resulting in ******* up charges for war to undertake.
Equality's repercussions leaving our freedoms at stake,
While inflating our Economy
only the rich take the cake,
Consistently keeping the poor at bay,
One resolution would be to properly educate.
Before you sell into the poison they produce to control and degenerate,
Look into the disputes staged to manipulate,
Open your eyes and see we're being left with no other options but to obey,
For when they deny you your right to bear arms The Constitution goes up in a fury of flames,
As we sit back and watch as they replay the tape.
I am free yet I am caged,
Caressing the bars of black and white mind frames,
Constructed to destroy thought and leave the masses divided
in a collective state of confusion as their questions remain,
I no longer associate with my neighbors today.
Empathy is a far cry full of ache,
Frayed by the misconception that lives are part of a game,
Monopolies and greed breed nothing but hate,
As a silenced homeless Veteran plays his violin drowning in pain.
We're left searching for some kind of circumvent,
In a country that prides itself upon convenience,
Our golden gates are not always what they seem,
If born into poverty your chances can seem some what foreboding.
Think of the future aside from your own
and find hope in opportunities for the much needed change we all see and know,
With so many imperative predicaments there is plenty of room for growth,
Obstacles only providing the likelihood to overcome and to approach ,
For strength does not accumulate for those who are not familiar with struggle,
With all these unresolved culminations there is plenty to live and fight for despite your troubles.
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 2:13 PM UTC