"kneecap" poems
Calf augmentation => silicon implantation
Endoscopy, otoplasty, baby
Mentoplasty, rhinoplasty, scalpel
Juvederm at 4, Starbucks pit-stop right after,
pop some xany's and go
Chemical peel, dermabrasion
Dr. Unknown PhD. meet patient Montag XR3.
Brain stimulation, kneecap replacement
Doc, I'm starting to miss the table, is this a complication I should expect?
Fat grafting, bone grafting, mystic tanning
(what really is natural nowadays?)
Chin reconstruction, laser resurfacing,
(what really is me anyways?)
Consultation with your post-op pain,
It's gonna be "Ouchy" for a month,
but worth it in the end.
Self-esteem scan shows a cancerous tumor and growth
Yuck
And here I thought plastic was
"cancer-free"?
Apr 9, 2012
Apr 9, 2012 at 11:43 PM UTC
Did you know that if you leave your car in your driveway,
With the keys in the ignition,
And someone sits down in the front seat like they own it, and drives away,
You are the one who is liable for theft?
They can drive that sucker to the coast.
They can burn the upholstery with their cigarettes. They can bring their friends into the back seat, and fill the compartments with their refuse, and **** and they can leave it ruined in front of your house, or crushed into the median on the highway, or left in disconnected pieces under an overpass.
It will be called, “unauthorized use of a vehicle.”
It will be called a “misdemeanor.”
But you left the car running.
Weren't you kind of asking for it to happen?
They said,
This,
(Gesturing to the skirt which fell to two inches
above my kneecap),
Is like that.
If I walk outside of my house in jeans and a t-shirt, or a long dress with thin straps,
Or with my chin tilted out,
Or with long eyelashes,
Or with full lips,
Or with my hips swaying when I walk,
It's like I left the car running.
It's like I invited them to force their bodies into the front seat.
In their minds, or with their hands, or with their lips to anyone who would listen to them.
Little girls in leotards become like unlocked car doors;
Where men can burn their cigarettes into their skin,
Or stick their fingers in
In plain view of their parents,
And told to let it happen,
Quietly.
It isn't theft,
It's “a medical examination.”
What did they expect?
It isn't a theft.
She was just as guilty of negligence.
It isn't really a felony.
It's not THAT BAD. (Stop being so dramatic.)
It's the unauthorized use of your body, for a time, or one night,
or every time you close your eyes for the rest of your life,
Sure-
But you left the car running.
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 1:25 PM UTC
I FORGOT TO WASH MY HAIR FOR TWO WEEKS IM ******* SLIMY ALL OVER DO YOU STILL WANT TO KISS ME
this isnt a ******* pride parade **** me with your eyes open
**** me and say "god,the smell of you"
the stench
******* spiders crawling out of my mouth i smell like a gutter turned into a bomb shelter
im an epidemic
ITS ******* ART THATS WHY I RIPPED OUT YOUR THROAT ITS ALL A METAPHOR DONT YOU SEE IT NOW
let go of me. let go of me--slime central
home of the world famous gutter babe
**** off ******* shut up ******* **** me
bury your pride and the ******* ****** weapon in one line its not that complicated
but i want to be messed up, or i used to want it
or i will want it
i can feel everyone vibrating with the force of it all and somewhere you're laughing at me
chains around your ankles
this is what it takes to **** a martyr
this is what it takes to swallow him whole
go out guns blazing
WELCOME TO YOUR DARKEST HOUR
**** the switch, or turn the lights off, or whatever
put a blindfold on when you stab yourself
put a blindfold on me when you pull my intestines out with your bare hands
desecrate me
im not a tomb but im a funeral pyre
bodies are my specialty
sorry, i misspoke
what i meant to say was, "i want to **** myself"
but i won't, not when the meats so fresh, lick blood off of my kneecap
YOU WERE ALWAYS GOING TO BE THE SACRIFICE
sentiment is for liars and thieves
(im both but you dont know that yet, it hasn't happened yet--shut up, I'm telling the story.this is my fall from grace,not yours)
bite your tongue bite your teeth too in fact
just bite yourself ******
its better this way, or whatever you want to hear
what am i supposed to say to a graverobber? do you want me to thank you,is that what this is about?
**** you, **** you, what the **** are you still doing here, anyway?
i hope you rot
i hope we both rot
(AND HERES THE PART WHERE YOU SAY "I ALWAYS LOVED YOU" AND HERES THE PART WHERE I CUT OFF YOUR HEAD)
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC
Control
Everything comes back to control
There are pins on a board
Places you took me
Needles in my skin
Places you touched me
But, no
This time I'm not losing it
Maybe it's because you're only a foot from me
Maybe I still have some hope
Trials and errors
Everything comes back to trial and error
You were a trial
I was the error
I'm realizing in time,
Everything really does fade to black and white
I'm realizing
Everything doesn't happen for a reason
This wasn't fate
This wasn't a higher power
Here I sit,
Ready to pour
And your back is turned to me
Nothing's the enemy
There is no ******* enemy
Walking through empty corridors,
Filled with paranoia
I'm not afraid of going numb again
That'd be the best case scenario
No,
I'm afraid of feeling this
All of it
Like a slow, steady beating
Like a nail on my kneecap,
A hammer in your hand
Like it was all just
Nothing
This was your trial
And I was the error
Like a hammer in your heart
Like your heart morphing into a hammer
One swift hit
Trial and error
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 12:05 AM UTC
I woke up this morning, and no I am not singing a blues song....
There is something big and white in a small room
I had a torrid few minutes trying to recall...
re-fri-ger-a-tor
a step forward
ouch! My kneecap hurts, not fun.
I learnt the refrigerator although white
is not as soft as a pillow or a cloud
I managed to make the room safe
by pushing the refrigerator
out of the window.
Whoops.....sorreee!
there is something under it outside, round and red
a volley ball is round and red
but this round thing is gurgling
and very red indeed
except for the things like lips that are going bluey-grey
Wow the world is fun with severe memory loss
and a laissez-faire attitude to exploring things.
Bubby, my neighbor gave me a present
it is heavy, has a handle and a little lever on the side
safe......fire.....safe....fire......
It fits in my mouth, I wonder if ..
BANG!!....
Feb 8, 2011
Feb 8, 2011 at 3:12 PM UTC
i found a birthmark shaped like Alaska
on the inside of your kneecap,
and i only saw it the day you
let me cross the border;
it was sensitive to my touch,
the moon-like ripples leading
to the needles on the pine tree
in your back yard.
sometimes i can read behind the
lines of DNA makeup,
like the lonely biologist you seem to be,
but your lingo is foreign to me,
tattered words and language deficiencies,
i can hardly follow along the braille
carved onto your outer layer,
the marble you worked so hard to
weather on your own time.
yet, somehow its turned to rubble again.
sometimes i hold an out of order sign
against my breastbone so i can set eyes
straight and wish anyone would light me on
fire,
(but not literally, i'm absolutely against abuse)
i want the sticks but not the stones,
since wood won't leave my body bruised.
use my transitions for kindle,
and my organs for the flames.
i want to be colored red,
like ambulance lights, stop signs,
painted like a signature to warn others
how my frequencies can only be heard
by animals.
maybe some other life forms,
or god,
but i have never hoped more that
you would pick up on my signals,
my freckles scream out samples
of how this could be
or what we could have known.
May 25, 2011
May 25, 2011 at 12:00 PM UTC
I was suckling the barrel
of my grandpa's favorite gun,
when Gloria strolled in,
head held high,
like a 12-story *****
"What the **** are you doing?"
"Nothin', sweets, I was just wondering about the taste."
Gloria mixed herself a Mt. Vesuvius,
unplugged the telephone,
turned on the tv,
dug her nails into my weary couch,
over and over.
I didn't ask how her day went,
she didn't call me babycakes,
we didn't touch,
I just watched as she changed channels,
sunk further into oblivion,
I traced my kneecap with
grandpa's gun,
it was something to do, I suppose.
"You know you got to get out," she finally said.
I looked like a suicidal ******* baptized in cobwebs,
and every word I threw at every guest teemed parasitic.
I hadn't left the apartment for awhile,
it seemed like every time I did, I would collide with
some enemy, and my bloodlust was subsiding.
I didn't like it to be so awfully one-sided.
"Hey, look at me," she demanded.
Maybe the neurons are crippled,
can't cross the synapse,
or perhaps it's this culture that
listens only to the false priest in its head,
but when no one else around you is living,
it makes the whole gig seem a bit pointless.
"Gloria, sometimes it's better just to die."
Nov 2, 2010
Nov 2, 2010 at 3:51 PM UTC
phasical circumlocutions of basic, embodied life..
i am an infant still i teethe and moan in lonely darknesses
solar revolutions
earthling orbits and spheroid whirls
an axis of worlds
adulterated limbs
my adulthood limns an architecture's disconnections
thin, the layers undulate
of elbow's sway and kneecap right
i am an adult still i teethe and moan alone in darkness, light
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 4:51 PM UTC
within Zieglerville, pennsylvania
genuine snow white hair
upon her noggin doth adorn,
perhaps she will divulge to me (in private)
after i croon (to said lass),
the melody of Jimmy Crack Corn
hmm...or, maybe this mission
perchance twill be doomed from the start,
and hence finding me forlorn
thenceforth, a backup contingency measure,
would warrant me to don my thinking cap,
and for extra ordinary reinforcement unfold
each Taj Mahal shaped ear flap
plus (for reinforced ironic steeliness),
aye also resort to buttress
any aural "stormy Dani yelling)
via walled in interlap,
which accouterment functions
as a double agent i.e. (or,
to be rather crude),
an audiological jockstrap
to vet or figuratively kneecap
any unwanted infiltrating leaping lap
ping "FAKE" distracting news
inducing madcap
mass media circus
driving this generic teetotaler
to pour himself a nightcap
essentially providing wig gull room
with very little margin of ear err, or overlap
against bigwigs to trumpet pap
pill low ma rendered free and clear
asper insidious (mama mia) paparazzi
charting imp pea ching fear
bringing out bare arms
most likely something internuclear
simply to discover visa vis authenticity
if cute employee
(sporting hair
white as the ****** snow),
which doth simmer and glare
blindingly, thus necessitating sunglasses
(I choose the Ray-Ban brand)
as recommended by cited
all time favorite pharmacist
who unwittingly (or simply because
my myopic eyes didst stare)
fixedly - drawn to such a darling (doll ling)
explaining any reason to go THERE
to CVS - that tis where.
Mar 28, 2018
Mar 28, 2018 at 5:58 PM UTC
I.
black & blue
as the scissor handles
on a hospital desk
outside the x-ray room
where a scared boy
waits for his best friend
to emerge safely
six sickly pink
as the sutures
outlining her kneecap
and the pale
as anesthesia
filling up her irises
II.
black & blue
as the waterfall
of markings
cascading down
sheer breastbone
to pool in my bellybutton
brown
as the split blue moon
on ice, and darker as
the curls still unable
to rival the vehemence
of your stare
III.
black & blue
as the smeared ink
of broken contracts
bound to my skin
in sheets
achromatic
as the morning after
and the murmured reminder
to forget all about it
seeping from your pores,
as tainted honey
from bees beaten
blue & black
into blindness
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 12:56 AM UTC
Twiddling thumbs, stiff with a wobbly fidget,
A slight tick in the present thought of the pending arrival,
A silent yawn and flare of the nostrils, day after day,
A tickle, ricocheting like twinkling stars in the black skyline,
Descending from the kneecap and shivering south like freezing raindrops falling single file down a window,
You sit; I am the passerby,
I smile; You bat an eyelash,
Wondering if I will stay constant in my path or stop to smell the floral design; a future sunk into the bud,
A past with a blooming, yet stunted growth,
A yearning to be in a field with your flower, twisting together a ladder for the bumblebee,
Awakened with the sting of tomorrow and drooling in the waiting, for the patient to cough,
I will clutch my breath until I am called into your office.
Jun 19, 2018
Jun 19, 2018 at 3:14 PM UTC
i'd like to live in the geometry
of your body
like the cut of your kneecap
and the planes of your cheek
build myself along the rays
growing from your fingers
like so many smokestacks
the dodecahedron
Platonic in my orbit
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 7:37 PM UTC
I saw your head turned to stone.
You'd only been alive four days.
There is nothing like music for the dead
lovers who don't bother
to flatter me anymore.
I know that the ones who love me would not
waste breath on flattery.
I've been jailed for battery.
The road back to my house is made of
gravel.
The map is a scar on my kneecap.
One half of a bright red big wheel.
That is all I remember about the sky,
as it works its way into my self conscious mind.
Oct 9, 2010
Oct 9, 2010 at 3:48 PM UTC
Eyes out of focus, ears echoing with a hint of reverb,
Pupils alternating on perfect loop, a period to a black hole,
Hair becomes like static, a sound that goes unnoticed ,
Fingers numb, fingertips like nubs, bitten to the core like a rotting apple,
Nerves in the kneecap relay a rhythm to freezer burnt toes,
Bouncing a heel - a nervous and impatient tick -
The words in front are smudged by internal noise, binding brain activity,
Reality renders room for a romantic razor to ready the troops,
Slicing and dicing the fruit - on the cutting board - falling seeds like a hailstorm in July,
To be stuck forever, a coma with a comma to separate answers to commence,
Answers bladed sharp and split open by the distracted mind,
An attention disorder that lives in the people,
The people take drugs, die faster, and hide away from the natural,
The unexplored realm where one can truly find a companion,
Holding hands with Caulfield, innocence is immobilized for eternity,
The shuttle returns - all words loitering become visible, feasible, and manageable once again.
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 1:59 PM UTC
A living ball of white plastic twine
its bulb of body conscious
slim head pointed down towards the floor
chaos of legs whirling
knees bend inwards and go slack
like a flower opening and closing
a shimmering life
the size of my kneecap
hanging from a thread of silk
spider as a puppet
marionette legs
flailing as they play empty notes in space
haggling without gravity
mused into waking they paw at the air
smoothing the surface
of imagination
making and unmaking
an invisible tapestry
all these careless maids
whatever their purpose might be
whatever heartbreak is
the encroaching ends of their creations
meticulous in movement only
when the sewing
commences
In the morning
all the magic has worn off
the spider is a tiny brownish
common cellar spider
a miniature Daddy Longlegs
just the hull of what
was massive
and sentient
in the night
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 11:37 AM UTC
I don't know what I'm looking at
a masterpiece of acoustic vision in front of my eyes
but for all I had known
there were trap doors slamming themselves
shut, letting off dust into the crystal air
For all I had known
this freckle on my kneecap is a trickling spider
making its way over the hill
because it's been climbing so long it's footsies
are blistering and it just wants to
freefall into nothing.
For all I had known those voices of
children outside are trapped in my head
They don't exist because nothing is real
and nothing is real because it's safer fake
For all I know now is all I knew then
It's just altered and makes sense now
because I know what opportunities I left
to die dry
because I didn't water them with tears
I made an ocean instead.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 8:50 PM UTC
you cried my arms a perfect dough
like foreign pastries
scratch atonement for the tongue
i love it when you say i should
i shouldn't this or that
as if the stars had tabletted your mind
with what was pleasured best
and sparks in mine were best left dim
until the frosted world commanded fuel from two..
it eggs the burning fibers -- gaze
release be somewhat more across the gaps
our bouncing would incurr
untimely spring my step
become a kneecap brace
of hanging here
in reinverted sight
my laughing arms outstretched
both reaching for the earth
in giddy disbelief
you could mean anything
...the higher i fly i see that now
of split horizons into sun again
my screaming holds the jointed sweets
of vanity undone, remade in other grins
of wincing where the tissue does not hold
clawing bark to finger
weight away
our nylon bed aluminum
ringing stars
in squeezing eyes
suspended over dancing leaves
so many stillness-ecstasies aloft
our rhythms seasoned
thinly darkened to the house
where whispered creaks could drift
ignite another blush
to faintly mirror
heated gasps we recreate the meaning of
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 2:47 AM UTC
child- small voices sag
bomb-smoke rises from the ground
far off, birds still shake
Billy Striker blown
to Holland, the north sea wind
took weeks to fall
beforemourn chimneys
slate rooves yawn hunger,
one cigarette draws breath
moon crater on the
road to Derry, limousine
sarcophagus lands
siren scream and scrape
tears rigor mortis frozen;
the sea now quiet
hands across water
missing fingers, Gabriel
silent, the watcher
he’d stopped to look
smile asking the time of day,
pressing the trigger
one small death for man
one giant death for mankind,
eyes search behind moons
bicycle wheel turns
awkward lazy arm protrudes
broken flaying skin
obliteration,
scalpel dissects argument
camera’s detail
a.m. paper print
fortresses build stone by verse
each wall a chapter
retaliation,
leopard stalking, counter plot
begun in blueprint
burnt flesh of kingdoms
republic’s frost bitten dogs
bark anger blood ***
interrogation,
splattered kneecap agreement
hands shaking silence
investigation,
no stone unmoved, evidence
a silent quarry
old man keeping dust
one eye swollen, hunching armour
his grief in buckets
MChallis © 2015
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 9:53 PM UTC
I still think about that boy sometimes
in the same way that someone who breaks their kneecap
gets a ***** put in it to hold their bones together
but they are only reminded of it
when they are at the airport and they
have to walk through a metal detector
-
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 2:01 AM UTC
I can't even begin to know where to start about life.
The depth of beauty and intricacy is this great big incredible- an infinite, infinite, infinite incredible. Sitting alone at home on my computer, trying to strike inspiration from one place or another, I always end up with a coffee in one hand contemplating how beautiful the wine glass to the left of my kneecap looks in the hue of light beaming in from the rainy grey bright- or I gaze outside and contemplate my warm protection from the cold and wet outside, wondering what would truly be better- this warmth? or the thrill of living and forced recognition of every step given by the airy forecast of the clouds wisping from my breath, breaching me from the shoe of my pants and the kneck of my shirt to caress the bare-skin of my spine and the calfs of my bony ankles?
and it's as if I have to choose, but I laugh when I realize they're both great big incredibles in themselves- the fluff of a book in my hand and a hot drink at my side as the floating water decides to come back to Earth- the melancholy of still-in-my-pajamas-and-this-is-one-of-only-two-days-off; the poetry of love and the poetry of loss and the poetry of all I desire to do but hold back- all of this brings me a comforting sadness. Life, life, life, life, life... thank you for loving me.
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 12:25 AM UTC
i guess when you're pretty, you can be androgynous,
and that's hardly the worry for the next skin head kid of
great Ormond St. -kneecap feeling of guilt - but hell,
i'd rather **** "Nicole" Maines than his twin
(wortschatz von herrzensor) -
pretty face akin to the river of binging
on looking at philippe i, fluke of orléans
******* it off while ensuring his wife
entertained a brother's calm to juxtapose
figurines worth a thousand souls
akin to blowing out of candles -
so why bother dreaming a coercion for
fakes and faeces into supposed applause,
that those nearest to you cannot afford your company,
yet afford it by being affording debt?
no smaller duty over a dress at court,
than it should be relative to the least exercise of power
undressed, and un-courted, to be anticipated courting,
given one's personal allowance as having wavered the king
toward crown and gravity, rather than anointment
and god... how thus disguise a caricature of
one's former serious argumentation for competing
sentences that disallowed sentencing via treason
thus, years later, allowed? is the crown
the joke? the king? or god? or maybe it is
man's laws that are the donkey's tail being pinned,
as forever in lover's jest best exemplified:
a man of actions will never be a man of words -
hence muscular actions gratifying easiest
leverage of the abomination of lexicon lost,
impede quickest and most versatile as those replacing
a forgotten heart, best kept secret between
however disgraceful the ******* of brotherhood
is given toward worship for a Narcissus not smashing
a kindred resemblance, instilled the widower swan
the blackened pupil with vigorous rubric:
repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat... only a conquered
woman is comforted - a freely reigning woman
ought be sacrificed with her belief of interpretation:
thus crucified; well, she damns the brothel,
but she isn't crucified enough to encourage
love freely born; but born under torture.
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 10:33 PM UTC
i want to perform an exorcism on myself
bite into candles so rough
wax’ll become sewn to my mouth
and i forget how to
flick my tongue to form your name.
i must be as close to you as my thighs
are when i sit down,
mature inward upon ourselves
like legs crossing, calves behind kneecap.
count the number of girls
who pretend to be someone else
during ***
then count the number of girls who say
softer softer softer please
and i’m sorry, i promise the first will win
because chilly air can make us
light-headed and nauseous;
harder harder always just distracts.
i want to swallow guns and swords, then
tell my friends the bruises
came from you – they kind of did.
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 6:40 PM UTC
"Why do we fall?
So we can learn to pick ourselves up."
Ive fallen more times than there are stars. I have more scars than there are sand particles on the beach.
Brought up in a world
Only knowing punishment and attitude ajustment.
I was killed by a look.
Well, that and the sharp pain in my ribs.
Forced into insanity
Only hope being prosperity.
I thought of suicide more times than a pencil breaks in a school year.
Where is justice?
Where is hope anymore.
Because depression moved into my life with a title wave
Crashing into my soul with an intensity
That overtook my prosperity.
Torture.
Yes
A word
All too true for me.
Two by four with nails sticking out below my knees
They punctured just below my kneecap.
Still got the scar.
All i was able to do was whimper.
Ooh how fun that was BELIEVE ME
I did survive.
Only a sophomore now.
With gunpowder scent for a hint
Of whats next from my dad and his game.
I can expect
Nothing but death
To float me away.
Only to float
Float
Float
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 12:17 AM UTC
i watch you counting yourself out
courting little pets of body-parts
putting pennies on the trinket shelf
talking with wending wordage
about those gruff fellows
who've been pig-holing about your dwelling
that day you manage a back window
and escape
masquerade yourself as a gentleman
but they sniff at your aromas
these men in crude season
they circle you hinge-hipping
as you fleet the roads and fields
and evade into the dappling woods
"come on out we have you surrounded"
(you say they say)
you stay crossed legged a monk among trees
(these pleasing defenders)
you take off your dress and string it
from one of these trees
you dole yourself out
little pets for the undergrowth
you offer a curled shrew
from the space your kneecap once
occupied
you droop your warm left breast
and drop a beast from that cove
(a plump vole clambers fresh and
disorientated)
you plug one arm into loose soil
and the fingers snake root
separation at the elbow
and branches sprig out
both your thighs animate as fox cubs
your ***** leaves from between
and slinks under some ivy
your hair fiddles loose and travels off
in currents of breeze
before flitting into little finches
your back crumples with fungal looseness
your head weighs low
and the jaw lumps off
shuffling undecided on its form
your forehead bows to kiss the earth
and your face scatters a gaiety of insects and spores
all arts patterned about
your pile continues in this mattering manner
collapsing efficiently
you've canonized in nature
now you’re abroad mature and freed
to tell your friend this story
a spirit without brag of these neat powers
one with mother glory
May 13, 2025
May 13, 2025 at 3:39 PM UTC