"lakefront" poems
My heart hurts
And so do my eyes
And what's left of my brain
And my legs ache
It is if as I am running from who I am
All the time.
I love her so much, I cannot even explain how deep
My love for her truly is.
And I cannot imagine my life without her
Because she truly is my light.
But I can't help how afraid I am.
I am not afraid of our beautiful relationship,
But what our relationship might be if
Someone-our school and/or parents- we're to find out.
I can feel tension and anger and sadness swell up inside of my chest
And all I want to do is to protect her.
But how can I do that by hiding all of the time?
We kissed openly yesterday by the lakefront
And my God, I miss the way she looked under that sunset.
I miss the way she tasted with that hint of salt in the air.
I just miss being hers openly.
Sometimes I ask myself and God, why am I gay?
Is there no man who will ever perfectly complete me like
She does? I honestly think not, she truly feels like the only one
Who can know me better than I ever could.
And does any mans lips feel any more truer than when her lips
Are on mine? Everything about me in this moment is a fire that is burning. I am burning and raging against this door because I'm not sure how much longer I can be contained. I simply cannot live in secrecy but if I ever let this flame out then everything would burn. I love her so much and I simply cannot let this flame go because if I did, all hell would break loose and we would both be put to death in the worst manner possible.
I just want to love her the way God meant for it to be, but how can I do that when everyone I've ever loved has told me it is wrong? That it is immoral and disgusting and a sin. I can't believe for a single second that our love could be a sin. Maybe we can't have children and maybe the way we make love is different from the way you do it, but in all honesty, is that what makes a relationship beautiful? I find the way she crinkles her nose to be enough to set a flame in my heart and the way she points her toes when swinging on swings to add to ignition and the way she smiles at me to keep me going forever. I love her so strongly and passionately that maybe I am crazy, but this love can certainly not be immoral. Why would He make me this way? Just to put me in hell? Did Satan indeed win my soul from the moment I was conceived and God just... gave up? No, I cannot believe this for a single second. He loves me and he loves her and he loves us and if you cannot understand how we have maintained this beautiful and loving relationship for so long while staying hidden it is because you do not see the effect that God has on us. I believe that he wants us together, not to eventually cause us pain. I hate lying, and I'm sure God can see it even more easily than my lovely girlfriend does, but maybe He lets me lie because he does not see any other way to let me be with my other half.
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
christmas lights have a smell
as does freedom, hatred, and ugliness of heart
headaches have a smell, clarity has a smell
home smells like new wood and sand,
both growing up and childhood smell like smoke,
fear smells like my sister's old bathroom
sleep smells like my mom's perfume
love is warm and smells like sleep
anxiety smells like Pure Sport Old Spice deodorant,
work smells like a gym,
familiarity smells like the locker room when the trash
hasn't been taken out,
lost love smells like grass on the lakefront,
nostalgia smells like a cappucino,
comfort in isolation smells like the fur of a dog,
purpose smells like a church,
platitudes smell like mildew,
tears smell like rotten wood but joy smells like that too,
jubilation smells like a fire crackling,
discomfort smells like that attic smell
when the Halloween decorations are taken out,
new beginnings as well as things we leave behind
smell like airports and morning dew,
risk smells like a hot tub,
liberty smells like a public pool,
a broken heart smells like the mountains,
but a healed heart smells like them too.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 11:33 PM UTC
The sweet summer sun shines on me
On a quiet bench in the city park
With my guitar and a softened voice
I write a song about a broken heart
And the way home is lit with sunglass eyes
Reflecting back the summer day
All I see is good and bad
Without much else to do or say
Steam rises from a lakefront balcony
And some react to an inside joke
Some days are meant for misery
But today is meant for calm and hope
And my way home is like a picture frame
With kisses on suntanned cheeks
All I hear is my mother's song
On a day when the air is sweet
A patron sells his portrait piece
But he'll paint you for a fee
With a bigger nose and bigger smile
That you can hang up for all to see
And my way home is smooth and still
Like an easy feeling country song
All I know is I am who I am
And you can always ride along
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 11:50 PM UTC
Every Friday night we
hang out and make out.
We talk and listen to music,
and we know the night isn't getting younger.
When you're asleep at my house I always think about sneaking a cigarette,
but I know you can't stand the smell, so I don't.
I end up falling asleep.
Every Saturday morning I awake at your house
and sometimes mine.
You're always the first awake,
playing on your phone.
You lie next to me,
and I put my head on your chest.
I love the sound of your heartbeat.
We eat breakfast, get dressed, and go out sometimes.
By the end of the day, we end up at your house on Saturdays.
We fall asleep like we normally would, cuddling.
On Sunday we wake up,
the normal routine.
We always eat waffles or pancakes with your mom, dad, sometimes your brother and ALWAYS Gary.
We always go somewhere on Sundays,
whether it be New Orleans, the Mall, or the lakefront.
By the end of the day, we go to our separate homes,
and Monday comes.
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 9:22 PM UTC
(AP) Chicago vicinity hit hard yesterday by fierce bracing winds approximating unmanned chainsaws violently cutting across streets sidewalks heavy lakefront blizzard icy snow resembling slivers of broken glass slashing stinging skin news alert of return of dreaded snow worms attacking women and children technically known as Kinorhynchan Oligochaetes Nemertines these deadly transparent parasitic creatures slither slightly ticklish creep inside boots preferring hairless legs of children slimy vipers dig between toes devouring traces of toe jam then gnawing toenails until they reach foot bed where they fester in bitter dark brown green milky juices crippling little boys and girls in shaven women the elongated legless carnivorous ice worms disguised as mere icicle drippings climb up calf knee thigh ****** ****** ovaries feasting on female eggs their favorite food many northern women choose not to shave during winter season so as not to fall victim to the snow worms
Feb 2, 2011
Feb 2, 2011 at 9:16 AM UTC
I've always aspired to be a little bit of everything
Try everything once, give everyone a second chance
I dreamt of making mountains from milwaukee's molehills
And find prosperity and pleasure in the potholes
Ask not what your city can do for you but what you can do for your city
And I'll give my city a little bit of everything
Befriend a little bit of everyone
Some see my city as small, but it gives birth to such big dreams such high hopes
A state that has given birth to my state of creativity
A city that has certified that anything can happen
At any second
My city is a little bit of everything
Dangerous like the streets as the numbers get lower
Rambunctious like the fireworks at the lakefront on the 3rd of July
Still like the suburbs of Wauwatosa all the way to Muskego
Freezing like Madison mid January
Scorching like the city during summertime
My city has made me as
Poetic as Maya Angelou
Brave as Martin Luther King
Intelligent as Thurgood Marshall
Soulful as that lady that sung the blues
**** as Dorothy Dandridge in her red dress
Delicate as Diana before she met the Wiz
Quiet as Celie
Sweet as Suga
Arrogant as Ali
Humble as Halle
Milwaukee, the city that made my dreams.
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 3:13 PM UTC
dead soldiers swing from the tree branches behind my house
and i can hear crevices of ice being formed on the lakefront
as the ice cracks in the agonizing cackle and slow mournful croon of a dying animal or a small child
romance me around the tables and kiss me between the bars
hide all the ******* in the keyholes and don't let me forget this keycard
i told you, officer
she went to get ice for some drinks and when i woke up she wasn't here
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 2:58 AM UTC
I’m watching my roommate come to terms with the fact that he actually likes a girl here who likes him back, and in the darkness of the dance floor, a smile curves across my face like his arm around her. They are happy.
I turn and scan the room for a broken bird, a wing clipped by circumstance and bathroom mirrors.
I find her.
Feathers furled, perched on a chair, her presence is threadlike, the stray ones pulled from shirt sleeves, I hold her between my index and thumb and I feel nothing but air between my fingers.
It’s a beautiful kind of lightness. She is a beautiful kind of lightness. Her hair caresses the air around her like satin.
Her eyes wide, sometimes I think it’s from fear, but sometimes it’s from the shadows of happiness that she allows to step on her heels from time to time.
They are amber. I see crystal histories, lattice lines of the past I wish I could know, but she keeps her stories locked in her stunning amber prisons.
I fled from her tonight. In the darkness of the dance floor there was no light to reflect from her amber eyes, so the grip of my insecurities around my neck tightened, and I left.
I wanted to walk to the lakefront. Clamor down the rocks to let the moon lap the water into mist upon my slacks, I could picture my silver tie reflecting the moon back at itself, drifting in the waves before the saturation of obsession dragged it to the bottom of Lake Michigan.
I couldn’t stand the thought of my tie not reflecting your eyes, the gray circle at the edge of your irises like the edge of a stormfront,
Transient thunder could lie behind the next whisper of your voice or closing of your eyes.
I couldn’t stand the thought of never reflecting your light, so I only walked a few blocks. I kept looking to my sides, reminding myself that the moon, and you, were still with me.
My dear, like the moon, our time is waning.
But my dear, like the moon, your amber eyes are waxing, lunar storms always on the horizon.
How I long for the fall of rain.
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 6:43 PM UTC
Is my city the city of angels or demons
Thats a stupid question you heathen for a very odd reason because my my city is filled with the broken and the scheming no reason to question
Why the hell is my identity is so wrapped on those concrete streets and graffiti murals that white red and blue flag with stars in a plural
because through life's many hurdles this place while it changed has always been the same
A bright smile crosses my face as i look at the skyline and whisper her name from the Lakefront movers and shakers to the K town killers and the south side bakers chicago is my home and that will never change
Nov 17, 2016
Nov 17, 2016 at 12:52 AM UTC
I often think of the swimming body,
arms unfurling the rough afternoon lake
into smooth planks while stretching
through the catch,
carving mosaic reflections into
shapes reflecting glimpses of the sun
before strewn onto the surface like
broken pearl necklaces.
It was in this practice I learned patience,
in the process of the crossing
and perfection of glide,
the conclave with the lake and flow of
language between body and water
the dialogue of the skimming, rotating torso,
forehead below surface line, chin down
consummation of movement.
The body suspended
above the muddy bottom,
stretching through the round shoulder,
the square shape of the hand
with fingers slightly apart coiffing
currents,
surging naked anatomy forward.
In Autumn, the buoy clangs louder
conversing through fog
of the changing season
to lake swimmers, row on row,
blinded at their bow
reminding them of the turn,
the edge of the precipice
before cavernous depths
pilfer reason,
those masters of rhythm
turn attention to stroke of arms
away from blackness beyond sight,
where creatures dwell.
Pivoting parallel to the lakefront,
elongated through the feet,
into the legs, along the chest,
barren ******* cutting waters
connecting one shore to the next,
before absolute zero of winter sets in
the vein splitting East-West coursing
between inlets, skirting islands
and birch skinned canoes
dancing atop foamy plumes,
It was in this practice I learned patience,
when all thoughts are flex of body,
the slight curve of torso
and abdominal reach toward shore unseen
through glistening sheets of
morning’s mosaic surface
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 10:47 AM UTC
I often think of the swimming body,
arms unfurling the rough afternoon lake
into smooth planks while stretching
through the catch,
carving mosaic reflections into
shapes reflecting glimpses of the sun
before strewn onto the surface like
broken pearl necklaces.
It was in this practice I learned patience,
in the process of the crossing
and perfection of glide,
the conclave with the lake and flow of
language between body and water
the dialogue of the skimming, rotating torso,
forehead below surface line, chin down
consummation of movement.
The body suspended
above the muddy bottom,
stretching through the round shoulder,
the square shape of the hand
with fingers slightly apart coiffing
currents,
surging naked anatomy forward.
In Autumn, the buoy clangs louder
conversing through fog
of the changing season
to lake swimmers, row on row,
blinded at their bow
reminding them of the turn,
the edge of the precipice
before cavernous depths
pilfer reason,
those masters of rhythm
turn attention to stroke of arms
away from blackness beyond sight,
where creatures dwell.
Pivoting parallel to the lakefront,
elongated through the feet,
into the legs, along the chest,
barren ******* cutting waters
connecting one shore to the next,
before absolute zero of winter sets in
the vein splitting East-West coursing
between inlets, skirting islands
and birch skinned canoes
dancing atop foamy plumes,
It was in this practice I learned patience,
when all thoughts are flex of body,
the slight curve of torso
and abdominal reach toward shore unseen
through glistening sheets of
morning’s mosaic surface
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 9:50 AM UTC
In the past 2 months, I've been asked the same question over and over: "How did you date her for so long?".
Usually, my response is "I have no ******* clue". And sometimes, I really don't. You'll do ****** up stuff, like trying to build a relationship with one of our good friends, and I'm back to square one and that question. How did I date you for so long? I think back on some of our "dates". The tea room, the lakefront, the floor of my bedroom. Those were the good times and I cherish them. But then I remember the not so good times. The pain of June, the heartbreak of July, the tears of February -- times when I thought neither of us would make it out alive. And we didn't, did we? Not in the end. We both came out with scrapes and bruises to our bodies, minds, and souls. People told me in July to end what we had, but they didn't understand my love for you. You made me so happy and I you. How could I end that? What would have happened to you if I had said "No more"? I know how depressed I would have been. How was I to walk in darkness without my single light? I'm sure I would've built the walls again, brick by cracked brick, but I wouldn't have been the same. Things would be much different. We would be much different... So I'm back to the question. "How did you date her for so long?"
Truthfully, I still don't know.
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 1:19 PM UTC
as yesteryears
wake up
on track
though a
pamphlet of
Commonsense is
here someday
in Hollywood
and dire
amnesty wanes
on highway
stripes along
the east
coast of
Maine the
superior judge
of delphinium
Sep 30, 2020
Sep 30, 2020 at 12:31 PM UTC
I want to debouch in open country, where maidens wear fine dresses, where debarrasing is new and the old is the opposite!
Redisposistioning!!!
I need a renewal, where none are cruel and none shall scorn me..
No false lovers to burn me, but to float on our own cloud nine!
A well of wine....
Hyaline wings to rasp me in molecule air's, where people can care and give and forgive all in one seeming.
An angelic meaning!!!
Our horoscope's to guide our way, as god enchants and breaks the day, as in night time comes strange creatures!!
Iconograph teachers!!!
Candles to burn their wax, poor to live in mansions, and the rich to shacks , yet all are still so equal living as one!!!
Idiomorphic suds!!!
No inurbane gesture's, only our kudos to make preachers, from the divine and sovereign the high one calls us!!
Lakefront musk!!!
The landscape is marvelous in this place with no time, no watches, no keeping of minutes that don't matter, no heart to get shattered...
No abuse, none battered!!!!
Just landlords who grow all things naturally, as striking beasts, in primal form!!!
Enwomb me envoy ive not seen, epatant dream,
For when shall someone show me all I wrote??
False hopes? Or fatalist blur?
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 6:58 PM UTC
my first kiss was in a skating rink
with an older boy I barely knew
and my inexperienced tongue
being used to learn a new language.
his kiss made me realize that I might not
be all that straight.
I wasn't ready yet.
my second kiss was in a bathroom at school
my freshman year.
she looked at me as I nervously tried to
kiss her. I wanted it to be perfect, but
I wasn't sure how to do it correctly,
so she stopped me and guided me.
I fell in love with her then.
my third kiss was full of lust.
she and I were both sad for different reasons
and we couldn't stop ourselves.
I was too depressed to care and
God only knows what she wanted to
stop thinking about.
"terrible timing," she said.
I agreed.
my fourth kiss was a boy in a game.
his hands touched all over and I thought
I enjoyed it.
I was wrong.
my fifth kiss was with a girl whom I had been
waiting to kiss for several years.
I snuck her into my house and we talked till
everything went silent and
I knew it was finally time for our
lips to meet.
her lips were soft, and I never properly
thanked her for that kiss.
I was happy.
my sixth kiss was with a boy who stole my heart.
It was on accident, of course.
Not the kiss though, that was completely on purpose.
We technically had two first kisses, I suppose.
The first was in his house and we had
gone upstairs to look at his collection of movies
and then he said something dorky and I said,
"Oh shut up!" And he said, "Make me."
So I did, and I looked at him and I slowly made my
way towards his lips and when our lips met
I had felt something that I had never felt before.
Our second first kiss was in the rain on
the lakefront later that day and
I can't even begin to describe how
kissing him felt in that moment.
It was absolutely beautiful.
He was beautiful.
I was beautiful.
I just wish he'd give me my heart back now,
I miss him and
I am in pain.
To all the people I've kissed before,
I am so sorry.
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 11:14 AM UTC
Wash my face with cold spring water
and my hair still smells like your cigarettes
sleeping under moon and alder
for once, I have no regrets.
Caught you in summer
by fall I'll be ready for the chase once more.
For now, let's just be gentle with one another
let us play upon the lakefront shore.
The sky and the expanse of a reservoir
reflections of a perfect sunset, lilac hue
it's hurts, it's true
in the end
I'm always coming back for you.
Fire ignites where it wills
fighting against the black of night
wrap yourself around me
take away my chills
be my burning light.
Dark and amber bottle
makes this twilight seem all the longer
we reach out for what we can still see
and in the dark we wander.
May 18, 2025
May 18, 2025 at 11:55 PM UTC
Oh what a day and night I've had
With twists and turns galore
My blisters burn,
And sure, I'm sore,
From walking where the shore...
Had been before.
The water level's rising
And all the advertising says
It's controlled and this was planned
...For the shore to take the land?
No more walks on the sand
"No Swimming" signs now pollute the scene
And the swell, it looks a brownish green
The old blue's a hundred yards out!
...Why, if I had any clout...
I'd tell the string-pullers to straighten up
And keep the waters from filling this cup
Eroding away the lakefront lawns
From folks that dine on perch and prawns
And dandelion greens and wine
And now they'll have no funds to dine
Way on high the adjusters sit
Deciding where to close the gap
Don't give me that conservation ****
And this tax season you'll get the crap
Kicked out of you
It's sad but true
Someone was chided
And it was decided
And now there's nothing that you can do
But bite your nails and be part of the stew
Jul 18, 2017
Jul 18, 2017 at 5:54 PM UTC