"kicking" poems
the history of melancholia
includes all of us.
me, I writhe in ***** sheets
while staring at blue walls
and nothing.
I have gotten so used to melancholia
that
I greet it like an old
friend.
I will now do 15 minutes of grieving
for the lost redhead,
I tell the gods.
I do it and feel quite bad
quite sad,
then I rise
CLEANSED
even though nothing
is solved.
that's what I get for kicking
religion in the ***
I should have kicked the redhead
in the ***
where her brains and her bread and
butter are
at ...
but, no, I've felt sad
about everything:
the lost redhead was just another
smash in a lifelong
loss ...
I listen to drums on the radio now
and grin.
there is something wrong with me
besides
melancholia.
30.3k
The way Sunday sits in its secret hideaway paradise
at the end of the week
It's legs carelessly kicking at the lake,
with wet bare feet
making concentric circles in the water with its toes
That's how you make me feel.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 12:55 AM UTC
Off that landspit of stony mouth-plugs,
Eyes rolled by white sticks,
Ears cupping the sea's incoherences,
You house your unnerving head -- God-ball,
Lens of mercies,
Your stooges
Plying their wild cells in my keel's shadow,
Pushing by like hearts,
Red stigmata at the very center,
Riding the rip tide to the nearest point of
departure,
Dragging their Jesus hair.
Did I escape, I wonder?
My mind winds to you
Old barnacled umbilicus, Atlantic cable,
Keeping itself, it seems, in a state of miraculous
repair.
In any case, you are always there,
Tremulous breath at the end of my line,
Curve of water upleaping
To my water rod, dazzling and grateful,
Touching and *******
I didn't call you.
I didn't call you at all.
Nevertheless, nevertheless
You steamed to me over the sea,
Fat and red, a placenta
Paralyzing the kicking lovers.
Cobra light
Squeezing the breath from the blood bells
Of the fuchsia. I could draw no breath,
Dead and moneyless,
Overexposed, like an X-ray.
Who do you think you are?
A Communion wafer? Blubbery Mary?
I shall take no bite of your body,
Bottle in which I live,
Ghastly Vatican.
I am sick to death of hot salt.
Green as eunuchs, your wishes
Hiss at my sins.
Off, off, eely tentacle!
There is nothing between us.
19.4k
let this be proof that on day
***
I am alive
and kicking
with nothing but a
caffeine headache
and a good
twenty days of
September
in my back pocket
but now
the cross breeze
comes and
I lament the past four
autumns
how they left me
cold
broken
and seeing women jump
off buildings
God!
Sovereign soldier!
Sinner!
Saint!
let me live more than
20 days
I am a good person
I only **** when asked
I eat spaghetti with a fork
and spoon
I once tried to jump off
a cliff
but that was then
and this is now
and the breeze is as cold
as winter
don’t think that I ever enjoyed this
time with you
don’t think that I won’t ever
try that again
I promise I won’t float
in the air
no
not this time
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 1:51 PM UTC
I remember hiding under an old cherry wood dining table. I remember holding my baby sister, shielding her eyes, covering her and trying to tuck her away. Pulling her as close to me as possible, like I might be able to fold her skin into mine so she wouldn’t have to see what was happening around us. I can still hear her crying into my bony 7 year old shoulder and whaling amongst the chaos with the bitty 4 year old voice that she had at the time. I remember the heart stopping feeling of watching my mother get thrown into the wall and watching my brother, 11 years older than myself, hurtle the beautiful antique silver coffee *** that my grandmother left us- into the space near her head where it bludgeoned the wall. I remember barely being taller than the table myself and pulling my sister out when I saw a chance for us to escape the scene and run into another room. I remember turning around and seeing my older sister, who was 10 at that time, running up and hitting and kicking my brother and getting shoved to the side. I’ve grown accustomed to the headaches I now get at the sight of flashing police lights.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 12:02 AM UTC
If I could love
the limping
ugly
afraid
part of me
That I drag through the mud
and thorns
If I could let
the transparent
clawing
screaming
silhouette speak
Instead of kicking it
into the basement
If I could put
my deepest human essence
onto paper
for everyone to see
Then.
Then, I could be free.
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 1:15 AM UTC
What if
I had fallen to my knees
On the cold parking lot concrete
Tears washing over my cheeks
And cries no one should ever have to hear
Bellowing out from beneath my ribs
Screaming at the sky
Looking up at your face
Forcing you
(and everyone else)
To see me in this godforsaken state
Of absolute chaos
Heartbreak
In it's rawest form
What if I had begged you to stay?
What if I'd told you I can't do this without you?
What if I'd told you how much I needed you
What if I did anything other than fighting back the tears
Maybe for myself, maybe for you,
Mostly for the crowd of people gathering
Saying their goodbyes
Anxiously looking around to bear witness to everyone else's reactions
And I didn't want to be that girl
That girl who falls to the ground
Kicking and screaming and crying and begging
But what if I was?
What if I was any girl other than the one I pretended to be that day
The one that held her tongue and kept her mouth shut because she knew the second she opened it to speak she would sob
The one that wrapped her arms around you for the last time,
and the one that let go
The one that couldn't bear to watch you walk away
So she kissed you goodbye
Got back in the car
And drove home
What if i wasn't that girl who didnt allow herself to completely fall apart until she was alone in the privacy of her own home?
What if instead I'd made a scene,
Doing what everything inside me so desperately wanted to
Grabbing hold of your hand and refusing to let go
Losing the facade of confidence
The charade of strength
But I'm not that girl
And I never will be
So each and every time you leave
I kiss you goodbye
I unclench my fists and retract my anchors
I untether my heart from it's human home
And I put on a brave face
Maybe for myself, maybe for you,
Or maybe
For that girl.
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 12:19 PM UTC
and this day it was Spring….us
drew lewdly the murmurous minute clumsy
smelloftheworld. We intricately
alive,cleaving the luminous stammer of bodies
(eagerly just not each other touch)seeking,some
street which easily tickles a brittle fuss
of fragile huge humanity….
Numb
thoughts,kicking in the rivers of our blood,miss
by how terrible inches speech—it
made you a little dizzy did the world’s smell
(but i was thinking why the girl-and-bird
of you move….moves….and also,i’ll admit—)
till,at the corner of Nothing and Something,we heard
a handorgan in twilight playing like hell
12.1k
The Cross, the Cross
Goes deeper in than we know,
Deeper into life;
Right into the marrow
And through the bone.
Along the back of the baby tortoise
The scales are locked in an arch like a bridge,
Scale-lapping, like a lobster's sections
Or a bee's.
Then crossways down his sides
Tiger-stripes and wasp-bands.
Five, and five again, and five again,
And round the edges twenty-five little ones,
The sections of the baby tortoise shell.
Four, and a keystone;
Four, and a keystone;
Four, and a keystone;
Then twenty-four, and a tiny little keystone.
It needed Pythagoras to see life playing with counters on the living back
Of the baby tortoise;
Life establishing the first eternal mathematical tablet,
Not in stone, like the Judean Lord, or bronze, but in life-clouded, life-rosy tortoise shell.
The first little mathematical gentleman
Stepping, wee mite, in his loose trousers
Under all the eternal dome of mathematical law.
Fives, and tens,
Threes and fours and twelves,
All the volte face of decimals,
The whirligig of dozens and the pinnacle of seven.
Turn him on his back,
The kicking little beetle,
And there again, on his shell-tender, earth-touching belly,
The long cleavage of division, upright of the eternal cross
And on either side count five,
On each side, two above, on each side, two below
The dark bar horizontal.
The Cross!
It goes right through him, the sprottling insect,
Through his cross-wise cloven psyche,
Through his five-fold complex-nature.
So turn him over on his toes again;
Four pin-point toes, and a problematical thumb-piece,
Four rowing limbs, and one wedge-balancing head,
Four and one makes five, which is the clue to all mathematics.
The Lord wrote it all down on the little slate
Of the baby tortoise.
Outward and visible indication of the plan within,
The complex, manifold involvedness of an individual creature
Plotted out
On this small bird, this rudiment,
This little dome, this pediment
Of all creation,
This slow one.
11.7k
Faking Bad
In anticipation of my
Evaluation to be declared
Non Compos Mentos
I slept under a bridge
For three days
"Getting into character,"
But on the morning of
My intake interview
My hair fell perfectly,
I mean I looked like
A ******* rock star.
College girls on the bus
Were giving me their
Numbers and my skin,
Which I'd purposely sunburnt
And caked in the finest filth,
Glowed like an Australian
Chippendale dancer named Weegie
And even the female Assisstant D.A.
Who had busted me for vagrancy
Waved her ******* from
The third story building
Of the Courthouse.
No matter how much I
Tried to speak gibberish
Poetry and philosophical
Tracts spewed from my mouth.
Shuffling past the park
I beat eight
Grand Masters
At chess on move 1
Inadvertently I solved
The Phi Epsilom Theorem
By kicking stones
Into an algorythym.
When I arrived they didn't
Make me wait at all.
My caseworker giggled like
A schoolgirl while I told her
Each day was like an endless shift
In a Chinese fish- gutting
Sweatshop and every one of my fellow
Employees was motivationalist
Richard Simmons.
She ungirdled her enormous
**** and as they spilled
Like fishguts onto the desk
She began to howl
**** me, **** me, oh ****
Me right here in
Front of the open window
On State Street as everyone
Watches me ******* the strongest,
Healthiest, smartest, most popular,
Well-adjusted man in the world.
The rest of the examination was
Also a success.
But as I left the Mental HealthCenter
feeling marvelous
I accidentally bumped
An old woman with the door:
"Watch out you manic-depressive
Schizoid with Socially Avoidant
Features klutz."
-Thomas L. Vaultonburg
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 5:05 PM UTC
I was drowning.
Underwater.
Fighting for air,
fighting to swim.
Drowning, underwater.
Something held me down,
Something kept me from taking a breath.
Drowning, underwater.
I tried to float, but always sank.
I tried to breathe, but always choked.
Drowning, underwater.
I had no escape.
But you saved me.
You cut me loose.
Taught me how to swim,
taught me I could breathe.
Inhale, exhale.
Taught me I could smile,
taught me I could laugh.
You showed me kindness.
You showed me happiness.
When I found you,
I found me.
You gave me life,
you gave me purpose.
But you changed your mind.
Was I not enough?
not smart enough
not pretty enough
not skinny enough
not **** enough
not happy enough?
Was I too much?
Did I ask too much?
Did I care too much?
Did I love too much?
Did I need too much?
Did I hurt you?
Did I scare you?
Why were you so ******* afraid
Afraid of change
afraid of unknowns
afraid to let me in
afraid to feel what we felt
afraid of distance
afraid of trying
afraid to love me
afraid to let me love you
afraid of the future
afraid of us
afraid of this happiness
afraid it wouldn't last
But I needed you.
Now I'm drowning.
Underwater.
Fighting for air,
fighting to swim.
Drowning, underwater.
You're holding me down,
You're keeping me from taking a breath.
Drowning, underwater.
I'm trying to float, but I'm sinking.
I'm trying to breathe, but I'm choking.
Drowning, underwater.
There is no escape.
But I can't forget you.
Your words grab my ankles,
tying me to the ocean bottom.
I'm kicking and fighting,
but your touch paralyzes me.
I'm crying for help,
but your memory suffocates me.
No one sees me,
no one hears me,
no one saves me.
You don't save me.
Drowning,
Underwater.
But I still love you.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 10:45 PM UTC
You kick to gain speed
Lean side to side make a turn
Lean back scrap the board to stop
The rush on a board
The fear off falling
Uphill you burn out kicking
Down hill you hall ***
Hoping not to land hard if fly off
Tricks are hard could barely ride
Some extreme take it to new heights
Kick flips practice till you land them just right
Clean stairs ride with pride
Skate boarding is hard keep that in mind
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 5:07 AM UTC
“The Owl and The Fox”
Silvery white shines the moon tonight
As the sea caresses the shore
And rain slips through the door
The wind roars aloud
At a ship sailing on a cloud
My safety seems so weak
For these walls are all i seek
To guard against these forces strong
But my safety will not last for long
This hope I abandon in all
And pray to God to catch my fall
His hand i do not feel
Though his help I know is real
My castle is gone
Standing alone I feel so wrong
Secluded on this sandy stretch
I look to my right and to my left
Then looking to the water black
I see a face that has no lack
Of terror and fear
That drowning is near
Forgetting all thats been lost
Saving them is my only thought
Plunging into the icy sea
I try to save them as i tried to save me
Kicking back in hope of life
The waves cease their strife
And the wind sinks in its icy knife
Looking down to face this man
I see it was a woman i brought to land
Taking her hand
I lift her from the sand
Staring at me she opens her lips
Then speaks in a voice not honeyed or crisp
Never the less her speech I can tell
Is the voice of an angel chiming as a bell
I try to let go of her hand lily white
But she holds on so very tight
And whispers so slight
Nine words in my ear
That I could barely hear
“Thank you for saving me
my gallant gray knight”
Heart skipping a beat I knew that I would
Love only her for as long as I could.
I'm sure you can see
Even though this may be
A story far off way out in the sea
I still hope in my heart its about you and me.
From The Fox, To The Owl
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 12:00 AM UTC
There's a mermaid that waits under the sea,
she waits in hope that a brave soul shall surrender to her and in doing so she'll rescue them in return and embrace them into her watery world.
The sea belongs to The Mermaid, she's delved the underworld, lives for discovering and has left the surface for those that are not ready to meet her yet.
Maybe it's part of her enchanting beauty that she is always so immersed in the intensity of the water,
the darkening depths of the sea, her own emotions, the womb of her world giving sustenance.
In my curiosity to go deep into the abyss I met The Mermaid and there she asked me to plunge to the depths of the sea with her.
The water was no longer blue, the rays of the sun no longer illuminated,
it was cold and dark and I knew that I could just about reach the surface of the waters again to leave, but I also knew I'd done that many times before.
I begin to sink but apart of me still resists,
my legs slightly kicking and my hands unsure as I struggle to know what to do.
'Let go' -I hear The Mermaid echo through the water,
her patient voice holds me, I feel safe but still I'm in conflict with all that I'm confronted with above.
My mind continued to battle here as my body naturally slipped down some more,
the deeper under water I went the more everything felt still.
I felt The Mermaid on the periphery,
in a distant part of me I think she's always lived, I've just not been able to trust in her.
Everything feels longer underwater,
time isn't of importance once you've abandoned your anxious breath.
you begin to feel apart of it all,
as though you're a small ripple of an imperminant wave and an untameable current bound into One.
This place feels like I've been here forever now, it's so cold it actually begins to feel warm. The deeper I allow myself to sink the less I seem to contemplate. The less I struggle to let go the more peaceful I feel and the deeper I slip into the unknown the closer I get to her.
I soon reach the bottom, the deepest place I can go and here I meet her where I always knew I would;
It's too dark to see so I wait in the unknown for her to show herself but she didn't appear outside of me, in fact she spoke through me and with my own inner voice I heard ...'If you do not connect to the depth of yourself then you'll never know how you really feel. Just as a Mermaid swims so deep she can no longer see.. You must swim too, even when It's dark and scary and you might not even know what you feel or you feel too much and you feel as though you're drowning.. You must trust. Trust in yourself beyond anything and you shall always find your treasure here...
...There's a Mermaid that waits under the sea,
she waits in hope that you shall meet here and to see without having to see. <3
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 9:24 PM UTC
The beauty of comatose can only be seen through
the eyes of a wizard in a blizzard
strutting in garlic slippers,
or Christ with knees bent at the tabernacle
peeling bananas and kicking prayers
farther than eternity with each gapping second,
or like Basquiat slumped back to the wall,
with ounces of speedball dancing through his veins,
eating 80’s free-based fried chicken *******
as his eyelids paints beautiful nightmares of lemon flowers
and Bacchus bacon over a glycopyrrolate desert
of flagrant cuckold buffoonery.
Or like leprechauns burning chocolate ******* candles
on the mantle of Zion, sipping oatmeal sprinkled
with Staten Island malt liquor bacon.
or like Tupac reading the thoughts of Mother Shipton
through the daze of California cannabis
and hearing the ominous voice of Plutarch sing death assignments
from heaven to Assassins on horsebacks goggling ***** water
to wet the dry bones of their throats as they prepare to fulfill
the gospel of self-fulfilling prophecies of being fell by ***** bullets.
Or like sophisticated wallets of spice and kitchen characters in a bald head
cooking chemical kisses and 18 February nights under Moloch’s skin,
where constitutions are written in charcoal diaries with Egyptian ciphers and razors.
“I had rain sowed into the pockets of my sneakers and composed 1310 eulogies
at the basement of king David’s tower,” said the Kraftwerkian caricature,
as he dangles cigarettes in remembrance of Klaus Nomi and philosophizes on the proliferation
of poetic vandalism at urinals where modernism failed under the phosphorescence of coloration at the avenue of no trees where Picasso's "Guernica" **** Lies All.
Jul 17, 2012
Jul 17, 2012 at 6:01 PM UTC
Do you cut your birthday cake?
Do you know your birthday is fake?
Don't continue to make the mistake
It's time for you to now awake!
Ask your mother when you were born
You were kicking weeks before and this went on and on
You were alive long back, she knows
And even science has pictures as the embryo grows
Nine months before your so-called date of birth
That is when you actually came to earth
Then you didn't have blood, bone, and skin
You were just a Power, the spark within
But because you believed in the birthday lie
You believed that there were ghosts and fairies in the sky!
Every year you continue to cut your birthday cake
You don't realize the truth, just believe what is fake!
When will you, to the truth, awake?
When will you stop baking your birthday cake?
When you realize that nine months earlier you were born
Then to stop cutting the cake, will you undertake?
Although you know that it is not your date of birth
You came forty weeks before as the zygote on earth
But you just choose to follow the herd
You don't investigate, don't fly like a bird
You don't ask the question, 'Who am I?'
If the body came later, then, 'I am the body,' is a lie
I was that Energy Spark that first came to earth
Not on my so-called birthday is my real birth
In what way will this news make us awake?
Why this big fuss about the birthday cake?
When we realize we are not the body or the mind
Then, Self-Realization we will find
If you are not the body that developed on earth
You realize you are that spark, that's your real worth!
That spark is Energy, that spark is the Soul
To realize this is our life’s ultimate goal
After the spark, starts as a little zygote
Our body is created, be it man or goat
We are not the bodies that we seem to wear
The bodies will live and die and tear
One day, every ‘body’ must die
The one who was alive will depart into the sky
The body that is made of skin and bone
Returns to ashes, as people mourn
We are not that body that died, were we?
People say, 'He passed away', and we are free
They are so sure in the body we no more live
To the flames or to the coffin, our body they give!
If we are not the body that will one day surely die
If we were not born on our birthday, that is a lie!
If we are that spark conceived nine months before birth
Then who is it that on death leaves the earth?
The Soul, the Divine Spirit, the Atman is that spark
To give us life from birth to death is its task
It arrives at conception and departs at death
We are that Power that gives us breath
When you do a simple thing like stop cutting a cake
When you investigate and realize that your birthday is fake
You realize you are the Soul, you are no more vague
To the ultimate truth, you will awake
This Realization is the real beginning of the journey called life
It will liberate us from all misery and strife
When we realize we are not body, ego, and mind
Eternal Happiness and Peace, we will find
Just because we were taught many things that were lies
We believe that God lives in the skies
The birthday cake will make us realize
We will live as the Soul, we will be wise
So, from now don't cut your birthday cake
Don't continue to be ignorant for God's sake
Realize that your birthday is fake
You are the Divine Soul, to this truth awake
Sep 16, 2022
Sep 16, 2022 at 4:25 AM UTC
Superhero
I have a pipe and dark sunglasses,
taking names and kicking some *****
I'm a powerless superhero,
they call me Captain De Niro.
Owe me money, you better pay,
or pain will be on your way.
You better not be selling drugs,
or my lead pipe will give severe hugs.
Don't be ****** any innocent women,
will be breaking your hands and fingers, all ten.
Molesting kids and you don't wanna know,
the dumpster, your ***** I will throw.
I don't allow any peeping or stalking,
with broken legs, there will be no walking.
I'm one of those modern day vigilantes,
on my head, I wear my wife's *******
Can't leap a building in a single bound,
like you, I get dizzy when spun around.
Can't go under water and summon fish,
I prefer them on my eating dish.
No fancy car or a sidekick,
but my pipe can break a brick.
Don't have an invisible jet,
like you, I'm in deep debt.
People have no idea who I am,
I might be Steve, I might be Sam.
Just a man who hates violence,
I hate people that are spineless.
I catch bank robbers in the act,
the odd against them are fully stacked.
I help keep crime off the streets,
can't count the number of villain defeats.
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 12:22 PM UTC
As I watch you sleep, you wonder through vivid dreams,
This must be the reason for your kicking and muted screams.
As you slept, I held you so tightly, even though your naked body excites,
Which is a blessing on cold winter nights.
But as morning creeps in and the light starts to begin,
I create with a tiny lick, the most arousing sensation.
And as her vestigial legs slide so easily, I being the lovers embrace,
Bathing in her ocean of taste, great emotion fills her face.
"Oh, I am sorry sweetie, did I wake".... "oh no my dear, I did not want an oversight,
For a wish or a dream in the night, a touch so softly, there is no fight.
I figured I would stir you in the seeking of a snack,
But don't you worry a little bit, just relax and lay right back
For there is no greater act, then to lick our passionate parts so sweetly,
In between your thighs, while I drive my tongue so deeply.
But what I do with my tongue at midnight, when there is no one around to hear the yells,
I would go into more detail, but a gentlemen never tells!
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
Heart crunches million veins
Kicking pressure to its highest level
Grinning from ear to ear
Gladly to meet you here
After the dark clouds heavy water
Over the rainbow liquid of joy splatter
When I'm with you, nobody's after
After a day of grief and monster
Finally it's bliss and laughter
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 8:29 AM UTC
The Viet Nam era was a witches brew.Mission creep in Saigon
The evening news brought the ****** trips stumbling into
my TV dinner, kicking over my Tang.
Bouncing Betty went bang
Beans and ***** out the can.
Guys in my age bracket knew it was safe cause 18 was the magic Number.
RESPECT
Simon and Garfunkel ,The godfather of soul.
What we.
Had Here.
Was.
Failure to Communicate.
We were reaching for the stars with one hand and
squeezing of rounds with the other. Bobby was in the crossfire
Martin would retire,
I remember.
Guys slinking back home with broken minds
Baby killers all. No love ,No jobs. COMBAT FATIGUE. PTSD Came later.
Got a monster habit, Nose running of like a racetrack rabbit.
Oh yeah Asian Strain Gonorrhea.
Penicillin
Penishmillin. WTF
Hendricks.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 3:25 AM UTC
Im Sitting Here
Thinking about life.
As The Homies Are Taking Turns
Passing, Shot Gun
Sniffing, Racking, hot railing
Twisting
The Pookie Pipe 666
The Devils Clear ****
There Getting lost in that ****
Addicts since they were all youngin
Kicking it with 19, 25 30 40 year olds
Im Looking, Then Im looking down.
see the pipe passed on to me
Where ibegan to think and
Look Down On my
Life.
Reality hits me.
Im following the same line, chasing the same thang
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 12:14 PM UTC
Habits
Gluttony
Greed
Bribery
Lustfulness
Passed down
Generation
After generation
After generation
After generation
Okay, I get it, it get it
You get it, you get it.
Let's get personal
Born set up for failure
My statistics not looking bright
First baby born of color born into
A family of strictly whites
Grandmother beat my mother
When she discovered
The life forming inside of her
Was half black -
Don't cry mother, or I'll whither
Inside of you.
I grew and grew
Taught lies upon lies
About myself
The other half of me.
The only love I knew was of my mother.
There was no other -
Until she started to take it out on me
Habits
Passed
From generation upon generation.
She was sick and tired of being
Sick and tired
Stomped to the ground due to her
Kindness
Abused emotionally due to her
Selfless-ness
Mistreated physically due to her
Weakness
She took it out on me.
Cornered me to a wall
Choked me up
Laughing - she couldn't get enough
Of the amusement of my pain
All done in vain
Because she couldn't stop the strain
Put on her brain.
Scarring my face
Pulling my hair
Public places
Not a care -
Kicking
Scratching
Pulling
Biting
The agony
The hate
The battle wounds
The hurt
The scars -
On my heart.
Habits
Passed from generation
To generation
To generation
I was sick on the inside
My heart - suffering -
never ending bleeding
My brain
Psychologically ill
Flashbacks
I locked myself up in my room
Head in pillow
Screaming louder than your annoying baby sister who throws her unnecessary temper tantrums
In the middle of the night.
I tied myself up mentally
Stuck
Self-hate
Self-abuse
Self-hurt
In the sixth grade I to myself -
I wanted going to ****
And my victim was myself.
Filled with the poison - I was ill
Injected with self-hate
Hated my family
Hated all my traits
Hated all forms of humanity.
Habits
Passed
From generation to generation
To generation.
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 12:44 PM UTC
The light pollution
from the lives of little people
in the big city
reflects off the lowriding clouds,
the same way my knees reflect
in the little puddles
from the big rains.
It hurts my eyes to look up
without sunglasses,
hurts my lips to think of tasting
the subway oil that
drip
drip
drips
I speculate at the transformers,
part automatic, part people
in their pre-ripped jeans,
learning to get their Ns
to drive themselves away,
yarn trailing from their sweaters
like parade float streamers.
Citizens run so fast
to catch the early train home,
freefalling down the stairs
breathing in the exhales
of the other racer’s exhaust.
Marking their triumphs
with participation ribbons.
The pacific pants at toes,
a puppy that only occasionally misbehaves.
Impatient for attention,
waves wagging back and forth,
up the imitation river,
past the downtown.
Kicking the sea wall with it's gravity boots.
The geese are on hiatus
until they can take back the city.
Making the drains overflow,
creating their own habitat,
they’ll strut their haughty markings,
distinguished from orcas,
away from any saline nonsense.
Were we to retrain the population
to turn blind eyes,
we’d be much more efficient,
stop wasting time contending
to society’s obsession
with documenting itself.
But then, what would we do all day?
Creating light pollution
must give immediate gratification.
Once all the lights are turned off,
the influence won’t continue,
creating a lack of permanence,
making our need to be remembered
seem trivial indeed.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 1:57 AM UTC
She's taken your body wash, and used it without permission.
She's used it twice before and
presumed it would be fine to take it again.
You never gave consent.
You even said No.
She's used it twice before so what's a third time,
or a fourth or even a fifth,
she's just hoping you won't snitch and tell someone
she stole something from you...
Your confidence or your peach shampoo?
She lied about the temperature of the bath water,
you were supposed to drown
before you felt the heat,
but you didn't and now you're
tearing your skin to shreds,
Self-destruction on the first date,
how sweet.
She wants you to wash your mouth out,
you said something you shouldn't and now she's mad,
feeling sorry for you is in the past,
the new thing is drowning you in the bath.
Your heads now under water,
feet kicking the floor.
She's doused you with her perfume,
just to see you choke against the wooden frame of the door.
Nov 25, 2017
Nov 25, 2017 at 7:15 PM UTC
she was hot, she was so hot
I didn't want anybody else to have her,
and if I didn't get home on time
she'd be gone, and I couldn't bear that-
I'd go mad. . .
it was foolish I know, childish,
but I was caught in it, I was caught.
I delivered all the mail
and then Henderson put me on the night pickup run
in an old army truck,
the **** thing began to heat halfway through the run
and the night went on
me thinking about my hot Miriam
and jumping in and out of the truck
filling mailsacks
the engine continuing to heat up
the temperature needle was at the top
HOT HOT
like Miriam.
leaped in and out
3 more pickups and into the station
I'd be, my car
waiting to get me to Miriam who sat on my blue couch
with scotch on the rocks
crossing her legs and swinging her ankles
like she did,
2 more stops. . .
the truck stalled at a traffic light, it was hell
kicking it over
again. . .
I had to be home by 8,8 was the deadline for Miriam.
I made the last pickup and the truck stalled at a signal
1/2 block from the station. . .
it wouldn't start, it couldn't start. . .
I locked the doors, pulled the key and ran down to the
station. . .
I threw the keys down. . .signed out. . .
your ********* truck is stalled at the signal,
I shouted,
Pico and Western. . .
. . .I ran down the hall,put the key into the door,
opened it. . .her drinking glass was there, and a note:
sun of a *****
I waited until 5 after ate
you don't love me
you sun of a *****
somebody will love me
I been wateing all day
Miriam
I poured a drink and let the water run into the tub
there were 5,000 bars in town
and I'd make 25 of them
looking for Miriam
her purple teddy bear held the note
as he leaned against a pillow
I gave the bear a drink, myself a drink
and got into the hot
water.
6.3k