"instigate" poems
it's 3:23 in the morning
and I'm awake
because my great great grandchildren
won't let me sleep
my great great grandchildren
ask me in dreams
what did you do while the planet was plundered?
what did you do when the earth was unraveling?
surely you did something
when the seasons started failing?
as the mammals, reptiles, birds were all dying?
did you fill the streets with protest
when democracy was stolen?
what did you do
once
you
knew?
I'm riding home on the Colma train
I've got the voice of the milky way in my dreams
I have teams of scientists
feeding me data daily
and pleading I immediately
turn it into poetry
I want just this consciousness reached
by people in range of secret frequencies
contained in my speech
I am the desirous earth
equidistant to the underworld
and the flesh of the stars
I am everything already lost
the moment the universe turns transparent
and all the light shoots through the cosmos
I use words to instigate silence
I'm a hieroglyphic stairway
in a buried Mayan city
suddenly exposed by a hurricane
a satellite circling earth
finding dinosaur bones
in the Gobi desert
I am telescopes that see back in time
I am the precession of the equinoxes,
the magnetism of the spiraling sea
I'm riding home on the Colma train
with the voice of the milky way in my dreams
I am myths where violets blossom from blood
like dying and rising gods
I'm the boundary of time
soul encountering soul
and tongues of fire
it's 3:23 in the morning
and I can't sleep
because my great great grandchildren
ask me in dreams
what did you do while the earth was unraveling?
I want just this consciousness reached
by people in range of secret frequencies
contained in my speech
©2003
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 6:51 PM UTC
Is that an Echo? I hear someone talking back
Is it me? Have I begun to crack?
Heart break memories I have stacks
So tell me "Echo" what do I lack?
Adventure..more games..unique...yet all the same
Maybe its me..Happiness I try to maintain..
To only feel love in moments of hate
Set fire to surroundings as I instigate
Scorpion tail swings..Who did I devastate?
Poison transformed new energy we create
Like a ball toss it to me..
This ball can transcend multiple realities
What you see have no regret..You'll get back what you spent
Memories squat pay no rent..In your head sit like an Elephant
To much pressure no more room
Echo roars back with a sonic boom
Melodic devastating is the tune
Every wolf on the planet howls at the moon
So tell me echo what you think about that?
Can you match me wit for wit..always come back?
Beyond the mirror..see the cracks..
Read scars share stories of many attacks
Stay with me Echo..ugh..Please remain..
Add to my voice when it begins to..strain
Feel my every loss with you I gain
Mimic my heart..Oh Echo..Share the pain..
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 4:22 PM UTC
I Felt●
How
You curled
Your hands from the heights
Did instigate●
I
Felt
I could fly and catch your smiles
I felt I could fly but to that mile
Just like the kites●
In
Endless fantasies
I clench myself like colourful crayons●
But
Someway,somehow
I felt each had a riven beak
And foil me
To print the picture of these delusions
So bright●
Now
I feel am right,and myself
Waving back to the same heights●
I Felt●
©Historian E.Lexano
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 2:10 AM UTC
The night was comfortable,
branches lightly choreographed a dramatic reaction
to the conversation beneath…
spoken words breach the midnight hour by 2,
and words are in place of sleep.
They speak,
but still pretend to have something worth to keep
In silence now, no reaction.
Walls and thoughts collide
and they see the infraction.
In a quick succession of contact,
blood boils
intuition becomes submissive.
With the steam of these midnight hours
rises away
the taboos of love and loyalty,
as intoxication devours
any human decency.
Breathing softly now;
with eyes that berate the truth
hiding behind the midnight-hour lies,
they instigate innocent massage wars
desperately wanting
neither knowing
how they plunge underneath
these unbreakable ties.
Now speechless
they grasp one another
speaking devilishly with eyes
and even louder
with the toils of their hands.
Why do you run from surreptitious lies
and hide behind your eyes?
Say this is how you feel for one thing
then when it’s around
wear a disguise?
Helpless you act
toward desires that you conspire to
You lit the match
and now you must put out the fire.
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 5:45 PM UTC
Different strokes for different folks, but if I stuttered when I spoke, there is a reason why I wrote, and if you think that I'm a joke, then stroke me, stroke me...
Empirical lyrically virile and viral a warrior reborn like he's gone out of style,
a rage unabated both non-syncopated and internal/external no meter's abated!
You wanted an anthem?
You wanted a cause?
You wanted a figure to even the odds?
You thought I was kidding
but now you're admitting that
I am the chosen whose broken the clause!
Rising in status, my main apparatus, the attitude: platitudes lack the finesse!
I'm searching for perfect not anything less!
I'm raring to stage an incredible coup, there just ain't a limit to what I can do!
Melding the milieus of millions and millions of masses who clash for the chance for the cash,
when all that was needed was truth to believe in, significance outed, you puppet let's dance!
No bragging, no lagging, and no more sandbagging, the hustle is over, your tussle is weak!
For soon we will savor the end of your flavor, fifteen minutes over, your outlook is bleak.
I'm nobody's pigeon hole, nobody's fool, I've seen quite my share of arrogant tools,
but here are the statements that lead me to greatness:
love me or hate me, go on instigate me, ignore me and gasp when you hear of my rule!
I'm raring to stage an incredible coup, there just ain't a limit to what I can do!
Now join me in raising a fist to the sky,
and pound upon pressure to powers that lie.
Make diamonds of rhyme-ends and squelter your silence
to pierce through the casket that left us so quiet.
Their reign is run dry, and nobody buys it, let's hit this at home so they cannot supply it.
Prepare the artillery pack in your fire, you're gonna need it , if the bars get any higher,
now hear from the jokee, I dare you provoke me, you still talking **** well stroke me, stroke me.
I'm raring to stage an incredible coup, there just ain't a limit to what I can do!
**I'm willing to take it for me and for you, THERE'S NO ******* LIMIT TO WHAT WE CAN DO!**
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 4:41 PM UTC
Hungry stones line the narrows
a jagged, muddy trail
aspen trees as pharaohs
gaunt columns of massive scale
Broken wagon pieces lie
testament to treachery
splintered axles cry
hopeless dwell in reverie
only insects fly
Lonely road disintegrate
loose shades of beige and brown
fallen roadsigns instigate
nature steal the crown
Hungry stones in narrows
still are left unfed
bodies strewn with arrows
death they do not dread.
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 3:07 PM UTC
MEMO
FROM: Mr Phil Indifrence, Strategy Chess Insurgency Corps.
Space Headquarters, Castleview Avenue, Dunstable XY10
TO: Ms Petal Dontrun, Crimson Chess Federation.
De la Wigan Headquarters, Wigan, United Kingdom, SM00
Dear Ms Dontrun,
Please accept my greetings. I write to clarify my stance on our
outstanding matters and hopefully to deter further speculation,
gossips, rumours, distortions, misinformation and sensationalism by the media.
As you are aware I contacted you on the day as arranged only to
be confronted with a response that was astoundingly unethical, un-
professional, rude, inconsiderate and totally uncalled-for. It was
so below expected standard that it raised doubt about your suit-
ability to be seen as a matured adult much less an intelligent being.
Still in the reverberations of this seismic occurrence I called again in
the hope it was a momentary loss of composure and yet again I was
subjected to a deluxe version of the first onslaught. To say I was
flabbergasted is putting things mildly, most especially as it was
totally unwarranted and underserved. It was obvious you lacked
any sense of decorum and had become an affront to common human decency and an embarrassment to your status.
In all fairness you did call some weeks later, but it had become
apparent that the ethos, protocol and cordiality that my Organi-
sation works within may not be relevant to your Organisation,
hence my unavailability to your contact.
I write to primarily reiterate that my position on this matter and
the present status quo is not based on some immature Ego play,
stubbornness, power-play or pride, rather it's in all truthfulness it's a belief in upholding standards in ethical considerations. I do not believe that bad manners, ill-considered behaviour, ill-judgement and a lack of sensitivity and good grace are matured and progressive trends to interact cooperatively within.
In conclusion, this is my stance on this matter and I hope it helps
your understanding. I believe a formal Apology from you and your
Organisation is appropriate in this regard and will instigate a
return to cordiality between our Organisation.
If you however feel this is unnecessary I will respect your decision
and the situation will remain unresolved.
I thank you for your attention.
Regards,
Phil Indifrence. C.E.O.
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 5:18 PM UTC
you vile of lust,
contained liquid belligerence.
how you instigate my future regrets
in all senses of the term.
burning away boredom at best,
a touch of carelessness and freedom.
and at worst causing obsession
with my failure to pursue desire.
faux self-confidence and heightened hopes.
its just pretend time for adults.
like sliding into dreams
unconsciously without meaning
and while i try to resist
all the impulses and reactions,
it makes me feel natural
like anything can happen
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 7:04 PM UTC
I'd quench that thirst -
*evening satiation throbs in
my head, in my heart, in my* -
whenever you were thirsty.
I'd live without it -
*no shortcomings of vices in
the smoke, in the liquor, in the* -
unless only you instigate.
You keep on lying -
*can you let me escape the
thoughts, feelings, desire?*
- on that bed, those satin sheets.
Black lace and smoldering incense
cloud the hazy, lustful dreams
where the satisfied sighs, screams,
smiles were unforgettable.
I'm up in the sky and I can't
keep running away.
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 9:45 PM UTC
Our world today is filled with lies and painful rage
Wars, destruction, and fear with senseless hate
Many Leaders’ obsessions to become super great
Led to Killings without thinking of the one who creates
Don’t they worry about the day in hell they’d suffocate
Or is it lack of faith, yet thinking everything is fate
All they worry about is how history will narrate
Heroes, or villains, depends on how you translate
sometimes depends on how your faith accommodates
Christians believe their faith is superior you shall celebrate
Muslims believe heaven is through their way you must navigate
Didn’t God tell you to him only you must dedicate?
And killing your own is a sin that he shall not tolerate
Yet behind the mask of religion you all instigate
A war of self- interest then meaninglessly advocate
“The older you grew, the wiser you became”
Oh, Wait, wait, wait! could you illustrate?
Because our leaders have grown into a psychological stage of “Childate”
Making decisions that even a child wouldn’t appropriate
Now I tell you, the end of the world we shall anticipate
For peace is far, far, far away from the stairs of our gates
Pray to the only God who taught us how to appreciate
And hope that one day Humans will better communicate
Oct 30, 2016
Oct 30, 2016 at 2:01 PM UTC
Hate fate mate date rate late regurjatate frustrate manipulate instigate late
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 7:10 PM UTC
.few people don't know, unless they read Sienkiewicz... but the Marienburg Castle at Malbork... was originally constructed from white, & ghostly grey brick... not red brick... the red bricklayers came with it being destroyed from the German erasing their shame at it being, claimed... the whole structure used to be a ghostly shaman color of fog... partly white, partly grey... but never... exactly... red brick...
did you know that the Teutonic Order
was the first to invigorate /
or rather instigate the primordial
concept of a... post office?
well... i guess somehow had to write
out the demise of the concept,
or be caught up in it, reaching
the 100m finish line.
those monks really invented /
invested / investigated
the premise of a post-office...
shame, really,
that the post-office is
lying on the death bed...
and the only "thing" that cana
rekindle it is...
a relapse into postcards...
which will never happen...
just as hand writing will
collapse into:
nothing more than a scrawly
stature of pseudo-literacy -
of a signature.
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 5:26 PM UTC
i hear the whistle of a mockingjay
play every time someone says your name.
a rebel girl in a patriarchal world
defying the absurd iterations of hyper-masculine
oppression that manifest themselves in solipsistic
displays of impotent aggression.
how do you muster the compassion
to forgive seventy times seven?
i want to learn to love like you.
the white noise fades away
when you and i fly
down the interstate.
the breeze teases
your hair, the sun
kisses your face
the way i'd like to.
i hope you hear my voice
every time one of our favorite songs
gets stuck inside your head,
singing in time to the rhythms of love requited.
have faith in me.
and i'm trying hard—
real hard—every day
not to lose my temper
with these circumstantial quandaries
that leave us wondering whether or not
we should press pause.
instead i'll climb the mountains
of your vertebrae so i might find
a resting place in the holiest of holies.
if only i could shrink myself down,
dance between the synaptic gaps of your brain cells,
i could see reality through your eyes—
twirling like twin nebulae,
galaxies inviting me to endless epiphanies.
i want to lose myself in your universe.
your courage is infectious.
when i hold your hand,
i summon the strength to smash the State
and all the arbitrary authorities
trying to dictate the limits of liberty,
that instigate injustice and propagate malice.
it all just falls away until it's you and me,
forever us against them all.
you're like Hermione,
time-turner included,
feeding the homeless,
leading a women's health group,
acting for a short film,
directing a play,
writing a novel,
all in a day's work.
and you breathe white-hot fire
when you fight for the disenfranchised
recognizing that those who are neutral
in situations of injustice have chosen
the side of the oppressor and it's quite
impressive how you stand-up for
the little guy or invite the social acolyte over
to your table to have a bite of whatever
vegetarian dish you cooked up last night.
i see you on the silver screen,
in each new book i read ,
in every single note i sing,
latent remnants in recited rhymes
of poetry from the one and only Bukowski:
i found what i love
and i want it to **** me.
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 7:54 AM UTC
We protect the women,
We defend equality,
We are the beacon,
Of life with quality;
We give hope to the emarginated,
We provide a voice for the silent,
Our goal is to balance,
And to oppress the violent;
We instigate thought,
We promote stability,
We educate,
This is our reality;
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 5:35 AM UTC
Lines of love..Lines of Hate
Middle is where we instigate
Lines of Life..Lines of Death
Energy released at ones last breath
Lines of Poor..Lines of Rich
Some dreams take flight others die in a ditch
Lines of God..Lines of Men
War with nature peace is not a plan
Lines of the Father..Lines of the Mother
Protect one another as if they were your sister or brother
Lines of Chance..Lines of Fate
Destiny bends to what we create
Lines where we start..Lines where we End
Infinite lines connect begin again and again..
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 7:34 PM UTC
messing with perfection,
you critique yourself,
why do it yet again,
a single choice, *******
yet every time them words,
penetrate, they instigate,
and you want to let~vent,
burst busting out in glory
bible student, we both. so
understand that titled reference
instantly, the secondary hid, secreted
a hurting with hallelujah familiarity
I weep. missing the singer,
his poetry delights, paralyzes with
a *********** indescribable, ecstaticly
indebted to him, his chosen words
he chose, I chose,
this decision to accept,
the need to expiate, explain, to better
understand our whys,
therby grasp our wherefores,
to give ourselves up entire,
thereby making, giving and even
t a k i n g,
the very chore so human to accept,
that surrendering,
f o r g i v i n g, one
accomplishes a chance to uncover the godliness within
that sparks
our frail humanity
to blossom to fruition, that our
fragility is the thinnest tissue of
diamond iron strength
encasing and encoding us unique
but yet united by
a single commonality,
that we are holy,
born to be
to be celebrated
and to share our voices
so differing
in an
unceasing
harmony
Sep 16, 2024
Sep 16, 2024 at 9:11 AM UTC
The fan whirling next to my bed
Sounds like Nascar racing in my head
Images in Negative
Not Alive Or Dead
In another room the T.V. transmogrifies
And ceases to be what is seen &
into a medium for
DogoDs GodoG eaters to commune with me
Instead
They whisper other's secrets - They instigate Ill will
They tale of truths and curses _ so convincing so bold
Be still and carefully listen
They are feasting on my soul
Dec 31, 2009
Dec 31, 2009 at 9:22 PM UTC
I puzzle you as I try to avoid stepping on the cracks of the
cobble stone streets of Paris and raise my camera to my eye to
frame a picture of the Pont de l’Archevêché and catch
lovers eating each other’s faces out in the left third of my shot.
-
Can you say “très dégoûtant”?
-
I harass my family for days about how we need to purchase a lock
from the vendors of Paris and eternally inscribe our family love onto it
with a black Sharpie from America, that would mean the world to me
and they shook their heads, not understanding why I was so enthralled with this
notion of love.
-
They didn’t know I was falling out of love in the city of love and locking my
nineteen-year-old heart’s impressions onto a bridge, but with our family name on it like a mask to cover up the unreturned love that burned in my chest each day
for two months while I wrote poems to forget him.
-
It is not until my parents leave my brother and I to wander about the Musée d’Orsay
on our own tick tock desire and dollar, where we take in the sun set and clock frame
I can recognize from a black and white photograph my mother took when she came
and I almost trip over the rope that protects a Monet—
-
“Excusez-moi!” I almost scream—
-
that I instigate a scheme to leave my mark upon Paris.
By the second to last day of our trip here, I find myself
finally sure that lover’s pain is all too real but
family blood is the only thing that escapes that scrape.
I want our name on the locks of this city, where people write
the dates that they have placed their love on the bridge
and occasionally admit a second date onto the lock
when they come back with their continued lovers.
And it is the most wonderful, lovely secret ever shared with me,
I think, as I peruse the sea of locks on either side of me, later that night,
my brother and I take the lock and key purchased for three Euros and write
our names and date on one side, leaving room for my mother and father and
other brother to find themselves and their love and put it on the lock too one day.
-
Then, we threw our key into the River Seine and I walked away
with my mark left on Paris.
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 4:37 PM UTC
the *** needs stirring,
the stitches have been
removed, or melted,
and the scars fainter,
daily…but, my words
have been clogged,
swallowing difficult,
and heartbreak is
non-curable and
the sad songs
combine the exercise
of crying and dying,
you can feel it piecemeal,
chips of you breakaway,
and you are just lessened…
all the variations of less,
redound cross my lips, but
there is no one here, no one
in my life…and yes he’s gone,
the one who lived faraway
but was intrepid in his love,
and solid in his affection,
but ardor cooled, distance
intervened, but I still have
that short skirt he adored
and close eyed images in
my cerebral cortex, and how
I wish someone would write
a poem
exclusively for me, selfishly,
and my mom calls less frequently,
she,
doesn’t know new words
to instigate healing, to break
me open and let positivity
return…butI having learned
much,
and my selective mode
is different, crap it’s true,
been made over into a sad sack,
incurable romantic…and that
part tarnished is the only part
of me that is growing by leaps
and winks and sighs and…
makes
the sadbad move aside…perhaps,
you’ll write me a poem, soothing,
gel cooling, and… no mas…
Jul 27, 2024
Jul 27, 2024 at 7:27 AM UTC
The car rattles along and the cityscape comes into sight. The city bustles with life and I watch the never-ending whirlwind of characters in a motion picture show. The flickers of city light diffuses and casts a shine on the photographic opportunities.
I see you and how you are oblivious to your own enchanting and radiant soul.
You are more stunning than the stars, yet also unattainable and heartbreakingly beautiful to gaze upon. I hope someday you achieve your goal of happiness and that you meet someone truly worthy of you. All I want to do is embrace you, ease your pain, carry your sorrows and share your joys. However, I know that I will never have the privilege.
I sense something on the horizon that beckons and pulls me in. Do I resist or investigate the call? I hope that in the future, I don’t instigate a further parting of ways. The only thing that would compel me to do that would be if that I were to cause you great harm emotionally in some way, intentionally or not. I will endeavor to the best of my ability not to. But like everyone else I’ve ever known, I might still push you away.
You are so wonderful to me but how am I even worth of being a part of your life? I don’t understand and I’ll try not to disappear. Honestly, you would be better off if I did.
In the future we might walk right past each other and in a flash we become strangers again. Sadly, all of our history and time together have ceased to be. Of course, I will inevitably be the one to blame. Oh Darling but it was worth the while.
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 5:00 AM UTC
I look for peace in this world
but my instinctual thirst tells me other wise
I think of women, battle, and love
yet which does my heart really lie
I sit in the dark playing thoughts and day dreams
at times they will lead to ideas of blood sport
and myself being the main attraction
strategies of how I would defeat my enemy taunt me
into becoming a monster
from only thoughts my heart does race
I long for the man worthy to see my intentions
I have not found him yet
I have been pushed
many attempt to instigate
yet I do not move for them
I do not let their battle be mine
Never do I fall short of courage
but I save my fists for better purposes
I could let go and be any other animal
but I decide to be the smarter kind
My fights for now are mental and spiritual
though I train for the day when my sword will hit flesh
that day will surely bring misery
my rage is not to be controlled
that is why I keep it buried
for the day when I will need it
I shall not waste it on the breath of mere mortal bones
It is meant for demons that walk on the surface
My urge for a taste shall be settled
so in the time of my wait
I make use of knowledge, love and freedom
for they will be what I fight for
Sep 21, 2010
Sep 21, 2010 at 10:48 AM UTC
This woman I know had a fox that lived in her root cellar. She'd knock on the door to let it know she was going to enter, and the fox would vacate temporarily to allow her time to store or remove canning jars. She ceased to leave her root vegetables down there, as they would nearly always become part the fox's nesting material. The fox had raised several litters in that cellar and my friend was always certain never to bother her distinguished guest while she had pups. The root cellar was under the house which was built half off a cliff and was cattywampus. It had lots of cracks in the siding and in places was missing planks altogether. This allowed mice easy access, and since my lady friend was such a fine cook, there were hoards. This served the fox well, who would keep at least the underside of the rickety cabin free of vermin. My friend could never keep a cat because of the fox naturally, though she did try to employ several. They would never stay. I had always tried to make repairs on the cabin, much to my friend's chagrin. Seemed she had an aversion to any change she didn't instigate herself, and was quite particular about not having any modern materials come her way. Any suggestion of modern convenience and you'd be read the riot act. She liked things, "organic," and her whole lifestyle, with the exception cheap cigarettes and tequila, exuded such.
One day, county officials came and put a red tag on her house. This meant the home was not in accordance with sanitation laws, on account there was no septic, just an old outhouse down the hill past the garden. Being that my friend had little to no income really, her "lifestyle," was in sudden jeopardy of being uprooted. Some kindly folks pulled together to be certain our friend did not lose her home. She got a new indoor toilet, a septic tank, and some siding to keep the mice out. Never once did she use that toilet, always kept the outhouse. The fox left on account the mice population dwindled. My friend keeps her root cellar well stocked now and whenever I visit, we laugh about that fox and enjoy some fine pickled snap beans. Change isn't always easy, but living easy is sometimes worth a few changes.
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 10:12 PM UTC
Generation Y
Nothing to ***** about
We've gotta a good life, no reason to complain
So we moan and groan, blow things out of proportion
We gives ourselves a reason to complain, ***** ourselves up.
But where does it get us? Nowhere.
We should be making something of ourselves, working hard so we have a future
Not wrecking it with stupid decisions
Drinking isn't so great, it can wait
*** is overrated you don't want to get someone late
Drugs are for those who instigate
Violence and partying will **** you up
Mind over matter
Angst will make you even sadder
But who cares about a lost cause
When a country is going down the drain
and its people are in financial pain
But all we care about is a handsome doctor who walks around with a fucking cane.
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 6:32 PM UTC
Remind me, please
Write me one more letter
One like letters 16 through 53
The golden ages
Write the last paragraph
Like you don’t want it to end
Squeeze out the lines
You were planning on holding back
Like you did
For those 37
Teach me how to fall asleep before midnight
Again
Teach me how to wake up without hangovers
How to wake up with ideas
Show me everything
Like our poetry collections
Volumes 1 through 3
When we alternated days
And submissions
For 188 straight days
Minus the 14 days
We wrote four-letter poems
Remind me, please
When the bar was a date
And 1.75 liters was a dinner party
Not a Tuesday
Make me pay you back
The $65.00 in make-up
That I used to paint
“You’re too beautiful for make-up”
On the bedroom wall
Make me buy your little brother beer
For painting over it
Put 7,640 new songs on my itunes
Because these 7,640 are played out
Make sure we see every movie
Nominated for best picture
Before your cheesy award show party
It’s up to ten now, you know
Stay with me
For nine more minutes
While I hit snooze
Awake and right at it
Like ’04
Baby snores and blanket wars
Like ’05
Up before the alarm
Like ’06
Or at least in my dreams
Like ’07
And ’08
Rub it in my face
For the umpteenth time
By taking extra good care of me
When I’m sick
Even though
I never get sick
Pose for me
While I paint
And stare
Like that one time
When you were feeling so brave
Let’s spend our last $8.00
On yellow tail
Our last $18.00
On Sebastiani
Our last $38
On Veuve Cliquot
Because every day is a celebration
*******
Let’s reminisce on the 414 times
Our bodies became one
And the 671 times
They were at least in the same bed
Inspire me
Call attention to my capabilities
And caution to my chaos
Instigate that ******* in me
That made a jealous appearance or two
At christmas parties and night clubs
Hum me all 162 times I teared up in ’06
At the exact same time
Like a drumline
Of being lost
Because baby i’m lost
Point me
Point me in the right direction
Send me on the right path
You know, the one with you at the end of it
Jan 20, 2012
Jan 20, 2012 at 10:26 PM UTC
You are poking at my sore spots
Causing them to redden and swell
Leaving bruises upon ego
Due to show-and-tell
Tear at my facade
Standing there in victory
Watching as I fall down
Laughing while I scramble frantically
I'm screaming at you to stop
In an angry fog
Still love you even full of rage
When you won't say you're wrong
Arms sternly crossed, grow furrowed
Somehow caused me to react
Trapped within the spotlight
Wanting to exit your "concerned" act
Maybe I am just bitter because
You pretend like you care
But really take pleasure in
Exposing secrets stripped bare
It kills my pride to be embarrassed
Here you are mocking
Use my pain for satisfaction
False statements I try blocking
Your voice relentlessly cutting through
Dripping mean drops of bitter defeat
Eyes filled to the brim with resentment
The reason I flee on my feet
Although you are talking out of your ***
I know you don't intend any harm
You just love spreading propaganda
Masking wickedness with charm
Some opinions best left unspoken
Truth lies in your voice
You don't care enough to sort it out
Collect bits of conversation, share It, rejoice
Am I too sensitive, moody, and soft?
Experience should have made me strong
Losses only thinned armor
Eroded by countless decisions wrong
Caught in an infinite power struggle
You fight logic with exaggeration
I've surrendered, white flag waved
A soldier of your own creation
Go stir the *** again
That taunting tone I hate
I love you mom, tell me why
You have to instigate
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 5:27 PM UTC