"jinx" poems
They say having good friends is like winning the lottery,
Well who gave me a fake winning ticket?
Every friend that comes and goes is just a mockery,
Of my undying kindness even for those who don’t return it.
Is it dumb to believe in the phrase “Best friends forever”,
Or am I just stuck in my 2002 kindergarten playground?
People seem to drop me like a bird sheds a feather,
And I am unwillingly isolated by the time I am found.
I was not aware that friends were like snacks in a vending machine,
Picked and chosen when it is most convenient for you.
I guess I am the little pack of crackers stuck in between,
The chips and the Mountain Dew.
God forbid that machine runs out chips and drinks,
Because then you may have to settle for my boring ******* ***
And maybe for once it actually won’t be a jinx,
But it’s too late I am no longer a convenience so I shall pass.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 6:00 AM UTC
Scared of what life has planned
Thinking back to the past
Already been dealt a hard hand
Thought it was good at last
A lump in my throat
Scared to jinx the scheduled test
Too soon that I spoke
Holding hope too close to my breast
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 8:10 PM UTC
My hands were shaking
Not as hard as yours, I'm sure
You almost lost everything and I
was forced to watch,
bearing silent witness to a
destruction not my own
but at which I felt at fault,
thus I digested it as my own
Who knows?
In my mind, I had lived fantasies of
something like this happening--
you, helpless, I hold fast to your life and then
salvaging you, just barely,
scaring us both out of life and then
falling back into something new--
dark, strange, and yet intimate
This has happened to me twice now (for real)
and neither time was nearly as glamorous as
I had played out in my mind
(I'm a stupid girl)
Both times I felt drained of a vital energy I couldn't
call back--ever
I became an echo
of me
and us?
we were skeletons of
the children we once were. Both times
robbed me---
of sleep, and years, and appetite.
robbed me---
of innocence, and soul, and
love
which always
bleeds out uncontrollably
in times like these
unclottable
and out with love
spreads guilt and shame
(I'm a jinx, I'm a cursed girl)
across the tar, filling the black empty
cracks with invaluable energy
Full of foreign weight
cargo stored too long
too far pushed down our throats
too removed
My hands were shaking
Not as hard or as long as yours
I'm sure
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 7:28 PM UTC
You told me once that I am your favorite writer.
I was hesitant and unsure. Your innocence might jinx me this time. Then you laughed, as you always do, like a child giggling while waiting the rain from the summer sky. Everything becomes clear. After all, whatever comes from you is never you.
Of course, you are as always an empty being.
Your emptiness tells many stories. Your emptiness fools me. Your emptiness is the real vessel of soul. Your emptiness is a parchment for budding thoughts. Your emptiness is a magic.
No wonder, I fell in love with that emptiness. I just do not know if emptiness loves me back.
Or, was it me who stares at the abyss long enough that a centenary gone by.
1900: The Boxer rebellion begun. Freud published his Interpretation of Dreams.
1903: The Wright brothers marked their first flight. In turn, Curtiss decided to invade the sky.
1912: Titanic anchored to Atlantis, to its final resting place.
Two years after, the first World War broke out. Horses galloped to the killing fields.
1925: The first among many trials of the century began. That day, Darwin risen for the second time.
1934: ****** became Fuhrer. The world becomes a theater. “Absurd,” says Beckett. “Cruelty” for Artaud.
1939; 1941: Second World War broke out; Pear Harbor bombed. Asia Pacific meets its infernal fate.
1945: Three mushroom clouds seen: New Mexico, Hiroshima, and Nagazaki.
1960’s: Humanity becomes obsessed with multiple wars: cold, space, nuclear, music, universities; not counting the mutants who played major roles in between.
1986: Itay wrote a letter to Inay. The letter reached Manila after a few days from Jeddah.
1989: Capitalism won. Berlin wall fell like a paper plane after its victorious flight. My parents met for the first time. Months later, they decided to cut the cake and get married.
1993: The World Wide Web saw its day. I was born.
Twenty two years later, I met her. A year after, Phil Collins sang once again Separate lives.
That time, I know, I will never be your favorite writer.
Dec 26, 2016
Dec 26, 2016 at 6:34 PM UTC
the feelings I have
for you are bold
there bright
like the color red,
your my moonlight
and my sunshine
I know I can count on
you being
there
for me I know
I can trust you
I know I wont
have to put my
guard up
what we have
is just more
than something special
its something rare
its divine
I cant say its love
don't wanna jinx it
all I know is you make
me happy
even when on my bad days
you can make it brighter
there's no hiding the smile on
my face
your the sparkle in my eyes
Nov 17, 2016
Nov 17, 2016 at 10:03 PM UTC
I was sitting at the computer
trying to think of a way
to describe a woman's
*** as anything other
than a woman's ***
and there were
marlboro black
cigarettes on my
creaking desk
and I had a fifth
of whiskey on the
windowsill and
I rubbed my forehead
and thought of fruits--
apples and oranges--
no, no that's overdone
and I thought of animals--
elephants and horses--
but, again, no, I'd
come across as one of
those sick ******** that
go to the zoo in
stained trench coats
and rub themselves against
the chain link
and Eve would walk in
beautiful girl with short
hair and a sharp mind
she'd ask what I was
writing about and
I'd say women
but the women were
never her, she pointed out
and I'd say I don't want to
jinx this, what we have,
you know? and she'd say okay,
okay
I'd get lit up every evening and
I'd text other women
I'd tell them about the shapes
of their ***** and the sizes
of their brains and they'd
usually say uh huh yeah
but I was fishing, always
fishing for that compliment
that sliver of hope, that
unsatisfied wife
when you're trying to be
Bukowski you'll throw
yourself under the bus
again
and
again
for what?
a story, trivial and base,
and that good woman,
that best woman, that Eve,
one day while making breakfast
she'll say to the eggs in the skillet
I can't take this **** anymore
and you'll say so don't
and she'll say fine
and she'll walk out the front door
wearing your t-shirt
you'll feel free for a week
and alone for two years.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 5:15 PM UTC
Creeping souls, Beware.
Look around, shes here!
The Ringmaster's near.
Prepare for thy seasons,
Spring, Summer-sault, fall!
Light, shine,
Blinding thy eyes.
Look, Look this way!
The Ringmaster is here!
"Welcome Ladies and Gentlemen, To thy Haven."
Of sanity's sphere.
Hello Boys and Girls,
Cackle, clap, cry.
Laugh away my dearies!
High air fives! Good one!(Yeah Right)
I twirl my cane,
dancing into the ring.
I tip my hat, Announcing my name.
"Ringmaster Jinx at your service!"
"Rhymes with Sphinx!"
Stampede around!
Bounding lions roar,
Elephants triumphant!
Sounding war,A war of the century.
A crack of the whip spurs motion,
Big cats rear, growling at the stands.
Ace makes them sit, and spin!
"Get on with it!"
Thundering hooves sound,
Rippling figures race into the ring.
"Horses freedom ring! Hail Gladiator!"
They rear raising their heads high,
Controlled by Vex and Zakirai!
Cackling children scream,
"Oh my! Look!"
"Clowns wheeling into the ring!"
HONK! :o) Laugh and Dream!
Pies fly,
Unicycles collapse.
Laughter erupts!
Pie war! Duck!
Spring, soar!
"Guide the war!"
Left, right,back.
One "SMACK!" Two collide.
I control the theme, an Extravagant team.
Even if, I'm covered in pie cream.
Dance, Bound, Leap!
Up, Up and away my sweet!
Dancing through the air, gravity defy!
Hysterical...Insanity.
Your leap, of faith!
Vex falls into the net,
Safe, grounded, relieved.
My friends cheer with glee!
Insane sanity!
Look around, see me on the ground.
Hello Boys and Girls, Enjoy the show!
Haven Circus, Sphere of Humanities finest!
I twirl my cane,
Tip my hat,
And proclaim my name.
"Jinx the Ringmaster of this train!"
Goodbye one and all!
Hope you enjoyed the show!
Laugh, Cry and Dream!
I take my cane, and hat,
Exiting the Ring..
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 8:11 AM UTC
I can't tell you how much I'm hurting
To acknowledge my pain is weakness
To share my weakness is pathetic
But I hurt, oh, I hurt
I can't tell you how much I want you to love me
Because to say it would be to jinx it
And to jinx it would be to lose you
But, by god, I wish you loved me
I can't explain how much I depend on you
Because to explain would be to trust you
And to trust you would be to make me vulnerable
But I depend on you. I really do.
I can't tell you all the little things I want you to say
Because to tell you would be to make them unoriginal
And to make them unoriginal would be to make them unsatisfactory
But I wish you would coddle me and tell me those things
I can't tell you how much I want to be yours
Because to tell you would be to give you power over me
And to give you the power would be to give you my leash
But I wish I could, and you would own me.
I can't tell you how twisted I am
Because to tell you would be to make you notice
And to make you notice would be to disgust you
But I wish you'd accept me
I can't tell you
I'm sorry for that
You've given me your trust
But I can't give it back
I can't explain
So I'll apologize
I simply don't want to be
Pathetic in your eyes
I can't confide
And I'll always feel remorse
But if I were to lose you
I'd feel much worse
I can't be who you wish me to be
So I'll keep who I really am
Under lock and key
I'll chain up my personality
So, ideally you'll see
The person you can't help but love
That person that leaves you starstruck
I'll hold back all I am
Because I am not your ideal
And your ideals are above me
So I can't let myself be real
I've shunned who I am
Because of who you are
I am bitter and angry
But you'll never see my scars
I want to let you closer
I want to try my luck
But deep down I know
I'm not who leaves you starstruck
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 10:18 AM UTC
Your family yells and I wish I can help,
Your family beats but I still wish to meet,
Your family drinks and I still need to jinx,
You a better life.
You don't deserve this,
You say you do, but you don't.
Trust me, I won't stop saying this, I won't!
I love you as a friend, you know I do
How can I make you believe me, what's new with you?
I need for you to understand, so you don't become a shrew,
Will you ever love me as I've loved you?
May 24, 2018
May 24, 2018 at 11:57 AM UTC
i'm just bored of having to feel what other people
feel, limiting the realism of things,
a woman with a child's severed head in moscow is
sensationalism to them, but when they get a mild
reality, Kashmir chilly on the palette, they make
cheap Monty Python jokes to scare the facts away...
the so-called satire that requires canned laughter;
was given a library of 25 philosophy books,
not one of them by an englishman,
went as far back as the greeks,
i guess the version of english egalitarian
was not worth a communism,
somehow the two synonyms became
antonyms... 25 volumes of philosophy,
not one english philosopher...
the english intellectualise: i.e.:
regurgitate facts....
the english do not philosophise,
i.e. instead they cite facts... they're intellectuals by rite
of citation, the citation of facts,
they can't philosophise i.e. not cite (facts)...
they intellectualise, they cite and recite
facts with a dogmatism that fears a demolition
and no rekindling of interest...
to philosophise is to avoid citation:
to work from nothing,
the english cannot philosophise because
they intellectualise and by intellectualism
they cite and recite facts like an ave maria
pi = 3.14... Galileo's spectacles...
etc. the english cannot philosophise, they're
just intellectuals, they cite and recite facts,
they cannot engage from non-citation or non-recitation
of a fact, like a greek might ignore a stone
and fool himself claiming it's nothing,
the english cannot allow a confiscation of
a subject and treat it as nothing,
it would not make sense as to why charles i
was the precursor of the french aristocratic en masse
meeting with the guillotine if darwinism wasn't
discovered on the islands of Galapagos...
although i beg to differ with a thought on Gauguin
and the islands of Tahiti: make a turtle yawn
and you'll jinx yourself a blessing to live to be one hundred years old.
Feb 29, 2016
Feb 29, 2016 at 10:49 PM UTC
Stupefied
Enchanted
Lips pressed
Casting spells
Tongues intwined
Pouring potions
Leave me hexed
Be my jinx
-JCM-
Jun 30, 2018
Jun 30, 2018 at 1:40 PM UTC
Be-be-be-because, he starts,
stutters breaking words apart,
intoning what he’d overheard;
it’s painful listening, like darts
prying loose repeated words.
Naught’s amiss, we say, the birds
they laugh at us, ignored lampoons
and bullies’ taunts, how absurd.
He sits and watches his cartoon-
two mice who call a cat buffoon
I hate mieces to pieces! shouts
Jinx the cat; it ends too soon.
Our son despises school, flat out.
We believe him, there’s no doubt,
But he’s a well-adjusted sprout
But he’s a well-adjusted sprout.
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 3:45 PM UTC
Jealousy
A powerful, slow curse
"It's in your head"
Mumbling truths...I rehearse
I religiously chant my lines
but it gets worse
Obsession, you are mine
in this entire universe
Mar 28, 2021
Mar 28, 2021 at 6:10 AM UTC
I'm not going to write about you in my journal
Because unfortunately I feel that that form of confession tends to backfire dramatically and leave me jinxed.
It's like those ink-stained secrets wrapped up in leather counteract the decadent visions I drift to sleep with at night
And so,
No
I'm not going to write about you in my journal
You see, I care about the concept of you far too deeply to chance our lingering moments on teenage whimsical compulsions to gush in secrecy
About the way your words shifted my anchored soul,
About the flooding in my heart when you bared yours,
About the mass amounts of internal riots
(The butterflies doth protest)
Of your pragmatic, flirtatious adequacy
Nay, mastery.
No
I'm not going to write about you in my journal
For fear of risking those moments of substance:
Secret-swapping
Joke-exchanging
Soul-bearing times where I wanted nothing more than to jump eight hours ahead so that I could see the undigitized blue of your eyes and feel the ends of my nerves explode off my skin like the Fourth of July.
How is it
That physical proximity has nothing to do with the closeness we seem to share?
I feel
Compelled
by some unexplainable piece of mind to insist and hope and wish that
Like you once told me under volumes of conversation,
We are connected.
I don't want to waste any of this enigmatic familiarity and sudden interdependency
On matters of my own private indulgence
And for this,
I'm not going to write about you in my journal
For you say that you are Atheist
But I know that you meant it when you told me
Your soul knows mine.
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 8:21 PM UTC
You were small once.
With wide eyes.
You saw the world.
In an array of colours.
In another life.
You'd be a great inventor.
Instead you grew.
Too fast.
Too soon.
You were born.
To make mistakes.
If only you knew.
If only you flew.
To the world.
You became a flaw.
Your life was jinxed.
From the beginning.
You weren't born a fighter.
Yet became one in chaos.
You lost everything.
You lost everyone.
Will they ever understand?
All you ever was trying to do?
Was help?
They'll never understand.
The reason you became,
Something else.
Nov 11, 2024
Nov 11, 2024 at 8:07 PM UTC
Dash your art upon this stony logic and let bleed the colors. Gesso and treat the crevasses in this cliff mind and tighten your perspective.
Do not be afraid, these lines bend with your smile. Take it upon yourself to see what can’t be and make it so.
With bristled courage strike out against this ashen terrain and find your way home again. But stray not too long in the kettle warmth and poppy seeds, for even your willow locks long the sea again.
You throw salt in the eyes of those that seek you if only to season their sight. Hex and jinx in clandestine circles but do not forget that by a friends hand you learned these flairs.
Take to your faerie kind and seek the forest in yourself. Within the trees you are free.
Dec 7, 2010
Dec 7, 2010 at 7:35 PM UTC
Your life has been hard,
It has
And you're not even seventeen yet
You've just learned to wear your hair in a ponytail,
Even though it doesn't cover your face as well
Now everyone can see that face,
That tiny little forehead,
And those eyes that aren't quite green or gray or blue,
But full of hope
Hope,
That is the color of your eyes
When you look in the mirror and hate yourself to pieces
When you wanted to grab a pair of scissors and cut off those beautiful belly rolls
And when you wanted to carve out a new shape for your nose
Ther's still hope,
In your eyes
Because that is what your made of,
and it shines through
Every time you've been broken down
Countless times
Every day on your way to school
Stepping through the gates of hell on earth
When they called you names
The sticks and stones
Staring at you in the corridor
When you got through your ninth year
When you saw your grandmother and all the safety she was die,
For the third time
When you realized that this time she wasn't coming back
When you told your dad you hated him,
And every time you realize you still do
When they crushed you
There was still hope left in you, if only the smallest grain
You always believed there would be a better day,
Even when you sunk the blade of a pocket knife into your own skin,
And you could barely see through the tears in your eyes,
And you mom cried,
And she held you,
And you said "No, you'll gett blood all over yourself"
And she screamed a little,
And there and then, at fourteen years old you thought that this,
This is rock bottom
You knew the only way out was through,
You knew
And that's why you made it,
Because no matter how sure you were that you'd given up you never really had.
That's why you,
Eleven years old,
You didn't jump ,
You didn't
No matter how hard you believed in the freedom of bones cracking,
In just a second
Floating away,
You never managed to convince yourself it would be worth it,
Because what if the sun will rise tomorrow and you will be okay?
Maybe that won't happen for another week or ten or twenty years
But it still wouldn't be wort it,
Because WHAT IF
You don't want to miss out,
You don't want to be the jinx,
Miss your whole life just because you got tired so you left early,
So instead you flew
Because you knew
You' pull trough
And you did
You bright bright ray of light
You brilliant star
Even though you are covered in scars
And that's okay,
It's okay
Now look in the mirror,
Look me in the eye,
And say after me
It's okay
You did it
It's over now
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 4:43 PM UTC
Now I know why she ditched me,
And I don't blame her for doing so.
Her family checked my horoscope,
They figured that I have a problem.
My horoscope has the Martian jinx,
My Kundli has the Manglik dosh.
It means my wife would die early,
Yes according to an algorithm.
Such a stupid illogical reason,
Letting the stars govern them.
I can not do anything about it,
Let her go to someone not Manglik.
I will wait for someone more scientific,
Looking not at the Kundli but only my love.
Dec 27, 2016
Dec 27, 2016 at 6:34 AM UTC
1
The Clowns in Brussels Sprouts
have sent me a notebook. Tossers.
The latest thrilling instalment from ******** Creek.
The Animal Events Recording Notebook —
fits in your pocket,
if it happens to be a school bag.
A little picture on the cover
Jack, the farmer, a cow and her calf.
Equally gay as it is oxymoronically inaccurate.
No sign of a tag on either the cow or calf.
The cow has a pair of horns
that would **** any animal, never mind the farmer,
statistically dead. Plus,
the calf’s a bit too healthy looking
and the cow ain’t trying to **** the farmer either.
Between the covers coloured-coded sections
chronicling the animal’s progress
from Foetus to Fork.
2
Though, I do thoroughly enjoy filling out those
additional comment columns.
De-horning
Next to castrating lambs,
I love this job —
all-the-more if there’s a gang.
The first has no idea what coming
and the last wishes they weren’t.
But seriously, I’d say it hurts.
A lot.
Castration
See Revival, issue 6 P.14 —
revised in Inheritance P.26
Weaning
Always good for poem.
I laugh from the comfort of my bed.
Ye’re only halfway lads
And how far along are you?
They inquire back.
3
Ok, I get it. Seriously.
Stop depleting the rainforests please …
I have my own notebook thanks.
I understand their dilemma.
They fear mindsets will be inherited
form the old flock, the old stock —
the canners and brass tags —
who never converted.
It’s like auld women and the church
engrained since birth
and no amount of jibber-jabber will sway.
So they concentrate, groom us
weanling growing up
in the Age of A.I.M
on BETTER Farms
4
Regardless, the second you tag a calf,
the cunt’ll croak. So wink, wink:
so not to jinx yourself
and have to write a cheque;
adjust your Balance Sheet,
invariably affecting your Gross Margin.
I know … I know
S.M.R 6, 7 and all that $*@#
But it’s so cold the frost is complaining.
Plus, they said on the radio: be kind
leave food out for the birds.
I’m just thinking of the foxes.
And, if anyone asks —
she never came in calf
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 2:27 PM UTC
our palms and shins hit the floor, hard
the sound of our bones hitting the wood
echoes and your face shows the pain
you look at me, I look at you
a bandaid, yes, no, an ice pack
our spines and tailbones hit the grass, hard
the sound of our nervous whispers and
the lighter flickers through the night
your face shows your nerves
you look at me and unfold
I start to spiral out of control
but I attempt to keep my cool
I'm wearing 4 layers you'd think it
wouldn't be this hard but hey, it usually is
our lips hit eachother, hard
and then my lips hit your neck
and your lips hit my shoulder
and my shoulder hits your stomach
and your stomach touches mine
the sound of your breathing,
my breathing, sighs, sheets, skin on skin
you're whispering my name so quietly
my ear comes off and stretch out to your
mouth so they can hear more of you
our backs hit the bed, hard
and now you're on top of me
the sounds of the last time we fell fill
the air and you say something about
finally and I say something about don't
jinx this and we both shutup
and listen to the moment
the sound of the moment finds its way
through your bedroom door and sits on
the chair next to your queen size mattress
our heads and our hearts fall out of our
bodies and find their way to
each other on the cold tile floor
the sound of desperate crawling
fills the room and we look at each other
confused
time will never, ever be on your side, you said
no amount of luck or stitches could save me now
my hand cups your cheek and you close your eyes
one day
everything's going to be okay
one day
it will be okay
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 1:04 AM UTC
I checked my net
but all I got was catfish
Conversations opened, and suddenly
the sight of a notification from "Miah"
makes my heart race
Five days pass and I'm tempted to talk about her
but she doesn't exist in the
"real world"
so I twist my tongue inside my mouth
and hide the secret of her beneath it
I cannot jinx what isn't real, or tangible
because it's easy to believe in god but "Miah" is 400 miles away
I've only seen her face pixellated on a screen
The implication is planted that I should know more
Mythical creatures are hard to believe in
and then,
"Miah's" phone number is linked to "Mike's" smiling face at his graduation
I've put my heart online and the viruses ate at it
but here in the
"real world"
I'm just another fool with a net full of catfish
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 5:39 PM UTC
Are you not what i always wanted ?
if so, i am thankless and crib death mysterious.
i am ****** and clarity
if you are not to be
what's mine.
you are confounding compounded. a rough in the smooth crime.
a jinx in my saving grace... and a loon.
if it be so, that we cannot connect
then let me set my sparrows to arrowheads
and fell the beasties of my wayward
skylarking -
so they may know a noble death in mid-flight
where the downward
and the Midnight are -
eyes, still chirping absurd love
at your dissonance
with cold
blessings.
but give me this.
keep my hands in your robbery.
intertwine my fingers to lay prints
on whatever you stole from god.
let me share the fall
and the fault
so that we may yet share
a single living
Sting.
elsewise,
the ruin and the peck
is only your wound
chirping
and my song is mute
as a victim
in a flock
of ill.
or a grain of hope
in a scarecrow's
eye.
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 12:56 PM UTC
Darkness turned into sunshine, as you came into my life
Flowers bloomed gaily, as temperatures reached a new height
The coldness of the winter would probably come again someday
But for now let the summer and spring rule,
don't jinx it with a goodbye.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 9:25 AM UTC