"interrogating" poems
I was asked today "what
are you really into?"
while I was walking to film
class.
He had changed direction
with a flair of drama
and was walking along,
interrogating me.
I had to think.
I wondered how
I would answer his
question, were it posed
by someone I was interested in.
"I like the smell of hormones
colliding, omnipotent in their
decision to do so and in doing
it."
Could I say that?
"I like to feel like a hormone,"
or
"I like being a hormone."
Were these answers?
"I like patting my contracted
******* against the *****
majora of my partner."
"I like sewing," I might say.
That is, the idea
that if I push
and she opens
both testicles
and ******** may pop inside.
Like a **** needle pulling
a ***** thread
through a tight weave.
I laugh, imagining what the little man
would say, but
he doesn't know why.
"Stitch her up, Doctor!"
I'm
laughing.
He just says "you know, I'm into
chemistry, biology. Just tell me what
you're into."
I've been silent.
Is he still walking with me?
All I think to say is
"music" pointing to the earbuds
dangling over my chest, song
interrupted
by his pedantry.
He says "you've always liked music"
as if we've had this conversation before.
As if we know each other.
And it seems like he will follow me
to class.
And sit by me.
And talk about chemistry
and biology
while we discuss Singin' in the Rain.
Hormones, sewing and music.
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 12:50 AM UTC
I want to get hit by a BMW.
I want to get hit by a Mercedes.
I want to get run over by a Porsche.
Something big.
I want to get smeared against the pavement
by a Cadillac Escalade.
I want to get hit by one of those big ********
who drag gasoline across the continent,
but I want the driver to be a manic psychopath.
I want him to stalk me on the sidewalk
and then run me over slowly.
He's not any coward, not like those bald patriarchal
Corvette drivers in polo shirts tucked into khakis.
No, he's a great fat man, a hairy beast with
a crooked stare that slows the pulse on impact.
I want the police to cringe or get scared interrogating him,
and haul his truck somewhere to be inspected.
I want the price of gas in nearby areas to go up
by at least fifteen cents for two weeks.
I want to get hit by a BMW.
I want to roll over the windshield,
and drag under the bottom for about ten yards.
I want to separate at the middle and leave organs on his
left side view mirror and hanging on his hood ornament.
I want to seep blood deep into his car,
and when he turns on his heat,
he'll smell my blood full blast in his face
burning.
I want to wreck the car inside and out.
I want to get hit by a car with a McCain sticker on the bumper.
I don't want to get hit by some middle class Ford or Honda,
or someone's shit-level Chevy or beat up jalopy.
I want to get hit by a BMW.
I want the driver to make his tires scream like banshees,
and leave four long streaks of rotten burned rubber on the asphalt.
I want him to step out in business attire, and gasp, inwardly.
I want to flip off the sky, because my aim is bad,
and call him a coward for hitting the brakes.
I want him to think,
"What did I do?
Is he Okay?
What am I going to do?
What if I lose my license?
How will I get to work?
How will I pay for this.
Does my insurance cover
vehicular manslaughter?
I'm not alone right?
I'll get through this.
I'll survive.
I'll just be another statistic.
That's all."
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 12:46 PM UTC
Everything was fine.
The friendship was steady
Our organs were just in line
Mistake from my brain was ready.
A night, a saudade night.
I was vulnerable so was my thought
At last thinking a sleep would just feel right.
Well, I got closer to the trap my brain brought.
An hour later, I found myself in in a room.
A familiar one, my chaps were there too.
I looked up I felt doomed.
Talked to my brain, yeah this is cool.
Well, we were all together,
happy and bloomed.
A friendly limerence, that's all we had for each other.
The chimera felt me like a perfume.
Suddenly, I decided to leave.
Wanted to freshen up my attire.
But was staring at myself with pure grieve.
Heard a sudden din, was a person I admire.
He stood there, just stared.
Tried interrogating him. once and twice.
But the movements were none, just eyes with care.
Now it was not just him, I too stood there just as ice.
Then his fingers caught my upper arm,
pulled me close to him.
His lips with thirst touch mine with charm.
Mine joined them too and weak were my limbs.
Merrily opened my eyes.
A weird curve ran across my face.
He stepped back, satisfyingly sighs.
Looked at me, smiled, gone were his trace.
Sudden shriek woke me up.
Perverse was what I felt.
But my brain had already ******* everything up.
Amity was surrounded by this wierd belt.
I reached, where my organs retreated.
Walked, each step filled with guilt.
The door of awkwardness met me and greeted.
stretched out my hand to open it with brain filled with jilt.
Sudden jolt, I felt.
A face, made me nervy
It was him, eyes with care and a smile with stealth.
Greeted him usually, but feelings were lively.
But I sure can't deny,
That I never wished it to be true.
Talk about it? I can't even try.
But want that feel of caress, just like a leaf groped by dew
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 9:56 AM UTC
i am
so tired
of these men
stripping me down
and
leaving me bare
interrogating me
with no words
left to spare
it's never new to me
i try not to care
but
somehow
i find
i'm always left shook
like a winter night's
tree limbs
the wolves come in
sheep's skin
i let them in
they rob me
blind, tender
of heart
of soul
of peace
even
my mind
i surrender.
i feel empty -
i am.
from all that’s
been took...
i am so
****
tired
of these men
who love me
then leave me
exposed in my sin.
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 5:42 AM UTC
I'm troubled by a broken tune,
that can't keep time and loops too soon.
Like Christmas in the heart of June,
each summer's heat a curdled moon.
It's not that I keep glancing back,
or wander down well-trodden tracks,
I've raged against a wall of facts,
interrogating every crack.
Yet still I feel its tender bass
and scrawl each lyric on my face.
I've copied out each line to trace
the meaning of this groundhog chase.
No matter which new route I choose,
this labyrinth seems short of clues.
There are no shields or string to use,
just an ageing bard that strums the blues.
And now begins another dance,
the waltz of sighs and askew glance.
It's orchestra tuned up by chance,
with instruments of circumstance.
And so returns the song's refrain.
Its endless echo back again,
to score my steps while I remain,
a different man, who's still the same.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 4:50 AM UTC
I miss you
I heard the remorse in your voice as you said it.
Well, sweetheart, I guess I could say I miss you too.
I miss your judgemental demeanor
And your pugnacious attitude.
I miss you treating me like ****
And your constant complaining.
I miss your vicious words
And your pointless insecurities.
I miss your pissy glare
And your interrogating questions.
I miss your painful attempts at saying sorry
And especially your violent movements.
And do you remember the first day you came into my life?
Oh, love, how I wish I could have missed that too.
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 1:19 PM UTC
The winds howl through the valley
galloping across the fields
gusting into town
knocking down garbage cans
rattling grain silos
shoving highway traffic
stealing people’s hats
blasting tractors
slapping around limbs and branches
knocking live powerlines to the cold winter ground
interrogating clattering palm trees
threatening creaking, aged oaks
They’re just outside the door, now
whispering, moaning, vehement, loud.
Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 11:55 AM UTC
Examining the accuracy.
Exploring the brightness.
Hunting for certainty.
Inquiring the directness.
Inspecting the lucidity.
Investigating the precision.
Pursuing purity.
On a quest for simplicity.
Researching transparency.
Chasing articulateness.
Frisking comprehensibility.
Going over conspicuousness.
Inquesting a definition.
Rummaging for distinctness.
Scrutinizing the evidence.
Shaking down the exactitude.
On an expedition for explicitness.
Working the legs towards intelligibility.
A perquisition for legibility.
A wild-goose chase for limpidity.
A witch hunt for obviousness.
Interrogating openness.
Probing the palpability.
Prosecuting the penetrability.
Racing perceptibility.
Raiding perspicuity.
Coursing the plainness.
Following the prominence.
Hounding the salience.
Meddling in the tangibility.
Prying into the unambiguity.
Reconnaissance in the cognizability.
Seeking decipherability.
Snooping for explicability.
Sporting limpidness.
On a steeplechase for manifestness.
Studying the overness.
Tracing unmistakability.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 10:14 PM UTC
She who is the agent of chaos
Knows not why she does dance
Shyly she poised on her tiptoes, bare
When I saw her just by chance
She, my Shiva dances atop the highest of the Himalayas
Humming and hoping I watch alone from below
And I wonder - how does the dust feel betwixt her toes?
How does this earth resist from swallowing her whole?
***** a compass, she traces to encompass
A circumference within which she does reside
There, she spins, twirls, pirouettes a vortex
And the dust obscures her from my salacious sight
But I can still hear her
Blinded by the grit and deafened by the gale
I hopelessly follow the sounds of her anklet bells
But to scale these peaks with my bare hands, I slip, I fail
And fall forever into her infinite fractal spells
A feather, I drift towards her fictional siren calls
Travelling through echoes of silence and spectre
She punctuates her poses in the shape of question marks
Interrogating me, when she knows I cannot help but surrender
Who are you I ask, my agent of chaos?
Mute and vengeful she turns to strike like a cobra
With one blow she breaks her own spell
And refracts her remnants from fractal to mirror
She who is the agent of chaos
Danced a waltz upon my throat
Speechless and breathless I was rendered lame
But he knew it’s really all the same
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 6:11 PM UTC
*
*A robber slipped inside my heart's abode
And deposited a treasure trove of SOUL LOVE
A burglar slipped outside my soul's spirit
And took away the treasure trove of my SOUL LOVE
Both the things happened simultaneously
Without my knowing
By doing that - since that day
The robber and burglar have
Became integral part of my life & living
What has happened to me now?
Now I am responsible for
Robber's SOUL LOVE that's inside me
I also want back that SOUL LOVE
That is taken away by the burglar
I am in an unique state now
I think I am in LOVE now...
My eyes are running after
Cajoling the robber and the burglar
Who even though seems
Physically away from me
Are residing inside my being -
My Heart & SOUL
Thus I am attempting to search for
The same robber and burglar
Inside and outside my being
I was surprised and shocked
When the police came to arrest me
Mistaking me as a robber & a burglar
Interrogating me for
Days, weeks, months and years
For robbery and burglary of
"SOUL LOVEz"
I said:
"I am just a LOVERz who is
Safe guarding a SOUL LOVE of a robber"
I said:
"I am just a LOVERz who is searching
For the SOUL LOVE that's taken away by a burglar"
Need I say anything further?
I was made a LOVERz by fateful destiny
And I am suspected as a Robber and Burglar
Oh my BELOVEDz
The one who has
Deposited SOUL LOVE in me
Oh my BELOVEDz
The one who has
Taken away my SOUL LOVE
Can I say this to YOU?
"Let me keep your SOUL LOVE with me
Please keep my SOUL LOVE with YOU"
By the way if YOU do not mind
Let us deposit both of our SOUL LOVEz
Into "ONE" LOCKER of
"ETERNAL UNCONDITIONAL AGAPE LOVE"*
*
Mar 25, 2019
Mar 25, 2019 at 12:01 AM UTC
AS I become adrift into his eyes
I start to see the mystery that his lips fail to convey
He holds a deeper legend then he lets most conclude
His eyes express beauty and tragedy
yet they have this twinkle
that reveals aspiration
for something greater than the history they sustain
When his lips speak
I can’t help but notice
the hidden story his eyes are trying to express.
Does he realize that I can see this?
He has mentioned the butterflies his stomach
perceives often and always glances away
. I want to ask what his eyes are trying to express,
but then I feel as if maybe his eyes are interrogating mine.
I too perceive butterflies and often look away;
why do we do this?
Is it the fear of finally being understood,
or is it that
we are so comfortable with the walls we have built around us
that we don’t want anyone to intrude.
Whatever it is;
it continues to keep me intrigued.
His eyes are a wonderland;
filled with many anecdotes
I
desire
to
figure out.
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 12:14 AM UTC
Just stop trying to be someone who you're not,
Because evidently, it hurts a lot.
Stop the staring and wishing to be someone that's not you,
All the unwanted thoughts passing through.
A head filled with endless wants and needs,
Desire for illusions, my helpless heart bleeds.
Stop all the complaining and fuss,
With all the fights, who’s to trust?
You are not inferior to any of thee,
But through those faded pupils, can you see?
Do you notice the world around you?
Or are you too oblivious, so lost, so blue?
Just get over your interrogating feelings of doubt,
Strive beyond your abilities; go all out.
Know what to expect from your actions,
Superior or inferior, the omnipotent fraction.
Simply love yourself and only you,
Forget the haters with nothing better to do.
Handle life's challenges in a way a unified manner,
Instead of debating who is tanner.
Live for the moment and appreciate all the love,
You have always received near and above.
Stop fooling with your mind,
Sobbing away till clearly blind.
Let yourself know we all think differently through everything,
That without you, it'd be lifeless; all the personality you bring.
We all have the power to try,
maybe then our minds won't die.
Try something riveting and new,
Something you are proud to call you.
Stop trying to love thee,
A fool, a coward you would be.
Love yourself above all,
But care for others and proudly stand tall.
Yes, I said love and not hate,
break past the open gate.
Express yourself for what you want,
Easing of tensions, by detente.
Stop all the excuses and lying,
The unreal attitude you have, the fake crying.
Trapped in portieres,
All the feelings of distrust, how unfair!
So let’s close the portieres of guilt,
And cover up with a nice, warm quilt.
A good night’s rest will do the trick,
For a poor one, who's psychologically sick.
It will help alleviate the pain,
To feel some comfort, once again.
Stop hurting yourself and feeling down,
That ashamed, guilty, timid frown.
You will learn to love,
And give those unjust feelings a great shove.
Go have fun and smile wide,
Because no matter what, when, where, why...
Everybody is on your side.
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 3:46 PM UTC
I find myself in full fantasy mode lately. I have a BF (who I saw a couple of weeks ago) and I’m not interrogating my romantic choices - but he’s not here.
Do I have an impulse to throw myself at that boundary? No, but I can steal a look, now and then, like a hotel souvenir - can’t I?
Yesterday morning, Lisa and I stopped at Steep, a coffee shop on science hill, to pick up something breakfasty. At one point the small shop filled with the aroma of apple pie and in my mind, I had a flash memory of this guy, Jordie, last fall, coming into this shop in his little Yale blue and white soccer shorts.
He’d looked fit. In memory, he seemed to move slowly, like individual video frames. There was an interesting, uncomplicated strength, something polished and fresh about him, like a shiny new phone.
“Here,” Lisa said, passing a coffee to me. Then she gave me a sly smile and a tilty-headed look, asking,
“Where’d you go? You looked like you were lost in some bliss.”
A guilt washed through me, as thin and unpleasant as cigarette smoke. The thought of telling her struck me like a slapping hand. Submitting this fantasy to a roommate focus-group seemed wrong.
The whole fantasy was bunkum anyway, an unimportant memory, mapped to a fragrance, as if his taut, tanned, muscular legs had significance.
“I was daydreaming,” I said, with an ‘I don’t know’ shrug and grimace.
(BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Bunkum: a foolish or insincere idea)
Jan 16, 2024
Jan 16, 2024 at 1:42 PM UTC
My shadow says his heart sounds different
Words to assuage whatever pain this causes evade me
However I am somewhat loathe to enter
Into a Socratic dialogue with my shadow
Only to be aware if imperceptibly
That his knowledge of such far outweighs mine in the balance
So I say nothing change the subject
My shadow raises a question
Interrogating me on my pursuance of its form
It probes me as to why a fifteen-year-old boy peruses him
Forever questioning about his purpose and mine
These questions I cannot answer, now look bewildered
Blushing even in the presence of my shadow
But he smiles for he knows my thoughts and my actions
After all he is me
But I know his contagious affirmation of myself
Feel his warm glow his imperious perfection
His desire the need to accommodate his want
I reduce myself to his wondrous allure
Feel the ripples of a soft capricious breeze enticing me
I succumb gladly to its seductive enchantments it seduces me
I allow it to overcome my being
Then as so many times before we become one
Mar 31, 2012
Mar 31, 2012 at 11:21 AM UTC
Just stop trying to be someone who you're not,
Because evidently, it hurts a lot.
Stop the staring and wishing to be someone that's not you,
All the unwanted thoughts passing through.
A head filled with endless wants and needs,
Desire for illusions, my helpless heart bleeds.
Stop all the complaining and fuss,
With all the fights, who’s to trust?
You are not inferior to any of thee,
But through those faded pupils, can you see?
Do you notice the world around you?
Or are you too oblivious, so lost, so blue?
Just get over your interrogating feelings of doubt,
Strive beyond your abilities; go all out.
Know what to expect from your actions,
Superior or inferior, the omnipotent fraction.
Simply love yourself and only you,
Forget the haters with nothing better to do.
Handle life's challenges in a way a unified manner,
Instead of debating who is tanner.
Live for the moment and appreciate all the love,
You have always received near and above.
Stop fooling with your mind,
Sobbing away till clearly blind.
Let yourself know we all think differently through everything,
That without you, it'd be lifeless; all the personality you bring.
We all have the power to try,
maybe then our minds won't die.
Try something riveting and new,
Something you are proud to call you.
Stop trying to love thee,
A fool, a coward you would be.
Love yourself above all,
But care for others and proudly stand tall.
Yes, I said love and not hate,
break past the open gate.
Express yourself for what you want,
Easing of tensions, by detente.
Stop all the excuses and lying,
The unreal attitude you have, the fake crying.
Trapped in portieres,
All the feelings of distrust, how unfair!
So let’s close the portieres of guilt,
And cover up with a nice, warm quilt.
A good night’s rest will do the trick,
For a poor one, who's psychologically sick.
It will help alleviate the pain,
To feel some comfort, once again.
Stop hurting yourself and feeling down,
That ashamed, guilty, timid frown.
You will learn to love,
And give those unjust feelings a great shove.
Go have fun and smile wide,
Because no matter what, when, where, why...
Everybody is on your side.
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 8:50 PM UTC
Just stop trying to be someone who you’re not,
Because evidently, it hurts a lot.
Stop the staring and wishing to be someone that’s not you,
All the unwanted thoughts passing through.
A head filled with endless wants and needs,
Desire for illusions; my helpless heart bleeds.
Stop all the complaining and fuss,
With all the fights, who’s to trust?
You are not inferior to any of thee,
But through those faded pupils, can you see?
Do you notice the world around you?
Or are you too oblivious, so lost, so blue?
Just get over your interrogating feelings of doubt,
Strive beyond your abilities; go all out.
Know what to expect from your actions,
Superior or inferior; the omnipotent fraction.
Simply love yourself and only you,
Forget the haters with nothing better to do.
Handle life’s challenges in a way; a unified manner,
Instead of debating who is tanner.
Live for the moment and appreciate all the love,
You have always received near and above.
Stop fooling with your mind,
Sobbing away till clearly blind.
Let yourself know we all think differently through everything,
That without you it’d be lifeless; all the personality you bring.
We all have the power to try,
Maybe then our minds won’t die.
Try something riveting and new,
Something you are proud to call you.
Stop trying to love thee,
A fool, a coward you would be.
Love yourself above all,
But care for others, and proudly stand tall.
Yes, I said love and not hate,
Break past the open gate.
Express yourself for what you want,
Easing of tensions by détente.
Stop all the excuses and lying,
The unreal attitude you have; the fake crying.
Trapped in portieres,
All the feelings of distrust, how unfair!
So let’s close the portieres of guilt,
And cover up with a nice, warm quilt.
A good night’s rest will do the trick,
For a poor one who’s psychologically sick.
It will help alleviate the pain,
To feel some comfort once again.
Stop hurting yourself and feeling down,
That ashamed, guilty timid frown.
You will learn to love,
And give those unjust feelings a great shove.
So go have fun and smile wide,
Because no matter what, when, where, or why…
Everybody is on your side.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 3:21 PM UTC
The day that you passed was the only time I felt close enough to understanding why you are gone. It made sense to me because your hand was in mine. The curvature of your fingertip figured times tables into my palm that I will spend the rest of my life decoding.
Each day since then I question each footfall I conquer. For I can find your footprints upon this sandcastle heart yet all I see are my footprints being eaten by waves. Everyday has been a dislocation of hope, wondering why they took you and not me.
Asking my cells to work musical chair patterns to fine a cure for the algorithm I can't remember. Your nails. I remember them. Pictures. I have them still. You told me, in a house fire it is your 2nd item to grab. For a photo can't be recreated.
You never wanted to be recreated. So we cremated you. Burning ash tray loneliness into the humid smoke upon these lips. So why does it feel like I am jigsaw puzzling you back together in each picture. Attempting to take pieces of the past and walk into my future.
My feet are wet from walking through the watered down alleyways of yesterday. I have robbed myself, beaten the best senses senseless, and found my ****** self laid up in darkness. Interrogating the best reasons to walk into the light.
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 10:40 AM UTC
Holding the poetic sword
Started reflecting on the much-divided heart
Into a brain storming question
Should responses be elicited
Or simply succumb to a passive slavery
Heart unleashed into two divided answers
One to confront with strong resolution
And the other to run away in steady flights
Duty towards society beckoning
Fear of being judged resisting
Mind unfurled its reasoning and logic
Voice it on one side and no you will be nailed on the other
Emotions played its music on
Be a humanitarian it sung its song
No you will get entangled into a web of trouble echoed logic self
Confused the body stood still
And then performed its decision
Interrogating such a response
The heart and mind stood in reconciliation.
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 8:21 AM UTC
“Help, help!”
Cried a boy in the wings,
A broken heart cannot be fixed,
He pleases he sings.
But he’s left without a clue,
A reason why he’s next to go,
His father takes out his whip,
The boy already knows.
He takes a gander at the long, black whip,
Struggling to make away,
But he’s trapped in his fear and mental agony,
In his father’s den, he stays.
On the count of one,
He stares at him with interrogating eyes,
On the count of two,
He says his last goodbyes,
On the count of three,
He’s no longer here,
His soul peacefully rests with God,
As he sheds one last tear.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 3:21 PM UTC
Your head is not open. We need you to register;
2. It is very important in the future.
Do not you want to create a game?
Seattle, New York, USA USA. Cicero,
New York, 222 120 600 Russia, In February,
his father saw him and others. Oh! New York Times,
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at the same time the prevention of skin. Average height.
Since decided between us. Games from Seattle, New York, USA
Currently, New York, New York, 600 120 222 Museum
December 12: Latin American bank.
Jesus, the word Aramaic mar. Seattle, April 22, April 2,
New York, United States, United Kingdom,
The United States, Health; He received 222,225 people.
You can now review the complaint in English and Irish.
Is the reported Oceanid without a contract. Music?
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That it is safe to take counsel, and there is none; others.
Also, too. De Witte Journal of the New York Times Magazine.
April 2, CHF222 Local Director, Service.
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Americans to add
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 7:44 PM UTC
AS I become adrift into his eyes, I start to see the mystery that his lips fail to convey.
He holds a deeper legend then he lets most conclude.
His eyes express beauty and tragedy, yet they have this twinkle that reveals aspiration for something greater than the history they sustain.
When his lips speak I can’t help but notice the hidden story his eyes are trying to express.
Does he realize that I can see this? He has mentioned the butterflies his stomach perceives often and always glances away.
I want to ask what his eyes are trying to express, but then I feel as if maybe his eyes are interrogating mine.
I too perceive butterflies and often look away;
why do we do this?
Is it the fear of finally being understood, or is it that we are so comfortable with the walls we have built around us that we don’t want anyone to intrude.
Whatever it is; it continues to keep me intrigued.
His eyes are a wonderland; filled with many anecdotes I desire to figure out.
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 3:41 PM UTC
You're in a hallway with endless doors,
some are open, some are closed.
They look inviting but
you'd rather find the one that pulls you with force.
you come across my room,
and you wait there patiently like it's yours.
"You don't have a key," I said
but he ignores.
You sat out there and waited so long
I started to wonder why you did that,
and if we would get along.
I talked and whispered, through the door
I didn't open it yet, incase something went wrong.
On the days I was upset, you'd slip notes
to tell me you believed that I was strong.
Slowly, our friendship began but
still the door was shut, and I sang my song.
Two years passed before you asked if you could come in
I gave it some thought
then nodded, with a grin.
You told me that you only stuck through
because you knew you could win -
but it wasn't true, you cared so much
that I was under your skin.
Then you wondered, interrogating me,
"Do you feel the same within?"
Maybe you were still unwelcome, I wasn't sure,
you couldn't take it and your patience started to run thin.
It wasn't all my fault, but I'll share the blame.
I miss you, sometimes
even if you think time's changed
and we're not the same.
Do you remember the time I got mad when I overslept
because we stayed up to watch the game?
The time you gave in to my music,
after insisting it was lame.
The memory I'm most fond of is the one when
you offered me your last name.
I wonder if you still walk in that hallway,
and if now, you walk around without an aim.
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 12:56 PM UTC
Proposed him what can he do for her
Confessing with confidence, he will die for her
Conveyed him, he is not the one for her
Asked her with hesitation why does she feel so
Declaring she need someone who love her
I love you a lot, he confessed again with emotion
Acquainted she, he doesn't love her
Interrogating her how could she say so
Coherently replied him with a smile
If you love me, your answer would be
I will live for you !
Jul 10, 2016
Jul 10, 2016 at 6:31 AM UTC
Smile, he said
Absolute stranger
Complete alien to my world
Announcing in declaration
Invasive species
All in one anxious
Interrogating rigged grin
Hovering below low light
Smile
Is what my mother did
Covering up depression
Fixated anxiety rendering her
Washing, drying, washing
Inability to tend to her
Inability to get out of bed
Earlier than noon
Smile
Is the look of despair
Across slit wrists and monkey bones
The wide-eyed stare of vacancy
Wishing and hoping
Someone would check in a room
Smile
Stands awkwardly on sidewalks
Making visual displays of arrogance
Oblivion and beyond
In pure ecstasy of making
Each woman
Each human being
Feel their soul being molested
So, no
Absolute stranger
These cheeks will not turn upward
My teeth till not show and my brow
Will not cease to crease
Because smile for you
Is not what smile is for me
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 9:53 PM UTC