"marinates" poems
It comes to you in your darkest days,
disguised in a familiar face,
It whispers words you've waited for,
uttered with eloquence & grace.
It touches your skin, holds your face,
Then consumes your self worth without care.
It hides behind a mask, planning & scheming,
leaving you unaware.
It hugs you as you dry your eyes,
it fills your head & heart with lies.
It utters hollow apologies with no intention of change,
It shouts vulgarities in a crowded coney island,
Filling you with embarrassment & shame.
It fakes compassion as you wait to hear,
whether you may indeed have cancer,
You question why it chose you?
but you never get an answer.
It prays at every meal,
mocking God without fear,
It attacks your reputation, your humanity,
and all that you hold dear.
It hides behinds friends, half truths,
and a sea of endless lies,
It marinates in every excess,
so it never has to open its' eyes.
You cannot give it love, expect empathy, or regret,
It is never satisfied because its true needs are not being met.
I'll never understand the cruelty,
the why or even how,
But some things have no answer,
and it no longer matters now.
Despite what has been DONE TO ME,
This I will always implore,
Evil may destroy this world,
But FAITH, HOPE, & LOVE
WILL win the war.
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 3:06 PM UTC
A surrender to the Supermoon
The larger than life presence
Plucking my heart strings
Got me caught up
In a dark **** fantasy
About a little death and rebirth
If I go down
it better be on the divine mother
Level: Oedipal
Submission towards her power stance
slipping my fingers up Mother Nature's dress
In child's pose
Inhaling her presence
she pulls me to the clouds
to get to the Holy **** of the sky
*To be the ************
Tracing infinity loops with my tongue
trying to see how many licks it takes
to get to the center of innocence
Back to before it all began to end
Flooding the floors
She bathes me in moonlight
The illumination marinates my little transgressions
Drowning out the light pollution
Purifying my mind
with the ***** things she whispers
Swaddled up in a bulletproof aura
Swallowed whole by the void of existence
I've never felt more secure
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 8:16 PM UTC
Repetition of disappointment.
Am I doing something wrong?
I’m perfect in one moment,
But I’m not so perfect for very long.
Maybe you felt like you needed to be lifted
So you grabbed a pretty face
And my emotions shifted
To a more comfortable place.
And when you decided you didn’t need me anymore,
Or maybe you became distracted,
You let our beautiful plans hit the floor
And now my trust is further impacted.
I finally let another one in
But I should have been happy alone
Because they bruise me from under my skin
And now its dark where the sun once shone.
You stole what I thought would be home
But I guess It was never mine, you must have plenty spaces.
I hope you enjoy your stay, wherever you roam,
And take pleasure in the twisting faces.
Lifeless bodies left behind on your trail,
The attention must feel great.
Unfortunately, everything becomes stale
But by then I will be numb, melancholy marinates.
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 11:15 PM UTC
A soft compression to the chest
Marinates the muscles of the breast
Of flesh and blood hearts are brazen
Flush of oxytocin--abrazan.
O tender heart that teeth console
Stab a fork and set it free
Savor the faint beat of dole
Soak in spirits--purity.
Return, the warmth lingering,
This conductor's menagerie
Into the grounding state again
For a woman to hold is dame.
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 4:00 AM UTC
Just between us,
shadows,
you whisper
sounds of regret,
the same way my tongue
marinates in vowels,
and 'my sorry'
lies as heavy and hollow
in my Chevy trunk
among the thousands
that I have kept.
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 11:49 PM UTC
Billions of women
Have known how to prepare a steak.
Libraries of recipes,
A deep glut
Tucked neatly into ancient scrapbooks
Boasting of delicate marinates, spells and
Sleight-of-hand saucery
Like witches hunched over a cauldron
Stirring,
Kneading with the same spoon
That their grandmothers fashioned.
Taste,
True taste, is a subtle dance
Between giving one’s all
(Every fiber, every ingredient)
And knowing the appropriate spice
Ever-proven to suffice
By meticulous, observable
Experimentation.
Billions of women
Have had remarkable taste,
Memorialized and passed down in a scrapbook
Tucked under the cupboard.
There is but one of these
I cared to read.
But it is covered in dirt,
Encased in marble,
And nowhere near the cupboard.
May 16, 2017
May 16, 2017 at 1:10 PM UTC
i'm an exotic spice
you cannot just mix me in any fruit-bowl
or use me liven up a dead dish
listen.
i've been made to salsa with the red peppers
to sizzle with the onions
i'm not a scattering of freaking doughnut sprinkles
oh no
i melt with the honey that marinates your soul
the warmth of cayenne that leaves you craving more
so take that into account the next time you compare
pancakes to paella
Apr 29, 2018
Apr 29, 2018 at 10:29 AM UTC