"mentalist" poems
I heard we
ran out of papers
so you ran up
around the walls
of this house-
thoughts scribbling
on them like the paint
we could not decide upon;
like a troubled mentalist
looking for solace
the sound of your pen
against the walls-
how they went from
flowing to screeching-
hands now bleeding
blue
heart; you reached the
porch where you underlined
your first steps and her last;
the bedroom a serenade
between the sheets some-
times a lie tucked away
underneath;
there are fractured stories
in the woodwork finally
seeping out.
You are making the
ceiling cry in the eulogic living room; the kitchen
is a mess of lonely dinners.
You left the library for the last.
This was where you began a
passion never ending
fantasy; open up
the curtains.
The world will one day
listen to the way
a little scribble went
to a house
and came back
a masterpiece.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 12:26 AM UTC
I've spent too many hours trying tower my accomplishments
I stole this art, replaced my heart with everything that's opposite
reverse the hearse, this inner peace is quite a compliant
my yin and yang are but centerpieces upon a ledge
if they fall off, these elements will simply crush a head
solar optimist, a bi-polar writer with floppy-disk
decoded so you can't comprehend
no counter weight for this heavyweight of a mentalist
as I pick up the pen you can see that a flame was lit
since this is my movie, let's keep it groovy and toss the script
I can't wait to show the world what the **** monumental is!
this flow is brilliant to extravagant
I guess what I'm feeling is happiness?
no resilience happening?
Still, don't know who my pappy is
happy pieces of laughy taffy
enough motion from the potion
will have a girl callin me pappy quick
I stay railing like locomotives
the motive is, I'm to motived and focus with all this poetry
unleash my inner locust, then leap on to new pageantry
I'm well adapted like strangers blending into scenes
I gave her the wood in return we nurtured a tree
its double sided girl this **** isn't ever free
If you don't like the price
there's the door you can leave
but look
I know I don't have a car
but soon I will buy a Toyota
pick you up so you can sleepover
I have a super cobra that shots like a super soaker
whenever you're doing yoga
Hulu view for the two,
Youtube view interlude
Netflix an Chill for the mood
Tv on dimmest setting
an inner room lit like the moon
smoking **** watching views
give me snack like I'm scooby do
I just want to lay with you
I picked you out of the many few
from the ocean of this social media stew
girl, what would you like me to do?
November 22, 2016 / Tuesday 1:37 PM
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 1:38 PM UTC
I'm just trying to find my purpose
Isn't that the theory behind what our time here is?
And when I leave here let it be with no fear.
Not on my knees begging please,
But on my feet like a beast!
This is me. Here I am. Hear me ROAR.
Watch me soar. See me fly. Or pass me by.
I don't have time for the negative,
It's draining mental sedative.
I need that progressive ****
Sapiosexual. Heavy Mentalist.
Learn not to speak when you should listen
Like when your creep'n at the corner
and your mom's in the kitchen.
Drop'n that real knowledge
The kinda stuff they didn't teach in college.
Facts I'll keep with me for life
Because somehow I didn't know what she ment
but I knew she was right.
Yeah yeah, mom was right.
She said **** ain't easy and **** gets tight.
You gottah learn to roll with the punches
Follow your hunches.
Do what make you happy
even if that means excessive fat jeans. (Eat, eat)
Let them call your hair *****
Because little do they know tangled in these curls
Is a good *** leave in conditioner,
And the heart of a girl
Who's as strong as her locs
Who just doesn't know when to stop.
Who isn't afraid to top rock, knock down her obstacles.
Hulk ****** clear vision
Though I'll be honest,
Sometimes I don't know what to seek
It always seems to be hiding.
But I know, what ever it is I'll be sure to find it.
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 6:08 PM UTC
I don't want to be rich,
I don't want to be famous,
I want to be crazy, and I want a fine *****
You can't blame us-
Me and these voices inside my head.
I don't want to **** a skinny magazine-cover model,
I just want the girl next door to get in my bed,
I want to drink wine from the bottle
And **** on a water fountain.
I want a girl with little make up and more substance,
But then,
The girl next door's nice too, and see she lives right over that fence,
I want to go back home so I can drive my car
And race with my friends, and maybe die on one of those sharp bends,
But if not, I want to stargaze with my mom, show her my favourite star,
I want a girl to ride with me in a drop-top Benz,
And if she'd let her hair down, I'd let the top down,
I want to teach my little brother how to drive,
I want to see a fish that has drowned,
I want something nice in my life,
I want to drink a beer with a homeless person while discussing politics,
I want some spice in my life,
I want brand new Nike kicks,
I want to pay a ho'
For just a hug,
I want to grow a huge fro,
I want to drink beer from a jug,
I want to spit on a green self-righteous eco-mentalist,
I want to write a poem that inspires a soul,
I want to skip school to watch House and The Mentalist,
I want to get lost in a black hole,
I want to teach my little brother how to sail,
I don't want to have *** on the beach ever again, ever, ever!
I don't want to go to jail,
I want to meet a hipster who's funny and clever,
I want to learn how to love,
I want something witty to be written on my tombstone,
I want to some day believe in the great power above,
I want to enter a no-go zone,
I want a girl who appreciates the simpler things of this world,
I want to punch Bush and Obama in the face,
I want to tongue kiss that American Apparel girl,
I want to look my mom in the face
And tell her how much I appreciate her-
How many of you have done that before?
I don't want a coat made of fur,
I want to write a hell of a lot more,
I want to have a baby, preferably a daughter,
And I'd prefer it if she were lesbian, I dont want her dating guys like me,
I want a glass of water
And two pills, or maybe three,
I want to live far from all my exes,
I want to write a book one day
About the two sexes,
I want to wake up dead someday
Satisfied with how I lived.
Dec 9, 2011
Dec 9, 2011 at 3:38 PM UTC
It’s like being let down all over again, don’t know who to call anymore,
They just want to sit around and push pens, Like they’re bored.
I don’t know who to turn to what number to call,
How do I trust you? I would rather trust the wall.
Back and forth the system of pinball,
Mental health system is the mentalist of all.
So I give up even talking about myself,
Because no one gives a **** unless its coming from their own mouth.
I call my dealer before you, if my mood turns sour.
Because I give up on you, just as you do to me, who has the power.
All your ******** is not wisdom; you want me to waste another hour.
I’d rather carve chunks out of myself and find a high tower.
My decision is simple, you’re not included in this,
So stop reading now, think about your own ****
Right now I am contemplating abyss.
Disturb me now you will get my fist.
Mental mentalist do you want my list of ****
Mums bipolar, I’m borderline, alcoholic with PTSD,
She’s an alcoholic; I replace that need with ****
Stuck in a system, not getting the help I need.
Giving up on me must be a disease.
On my knees again, crawl to the depths,
No energy left to climb lifes steps,
Look back and it’s just crap and regret.
Memories you wanna remember replaced by the ones you wanna forget.
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 11:17 AM UTC
Dear Father in Heaven
I have been the unsuccessful idealist
a muted convoluted mentalist.
Sincerely,
May this open prayer
Transcend through fear--
Dear Father in Heaven
Don't take them away from me
Why did you abandon me?!
Thus this body is now an empty shell
No spirit to dwell
Dear Father in Heaven
You said let there be light
I may be blinded by your light
but
my soul as a whole
warped into black hole
Dear Father in Heaven
Give me reprieve
Please spare me the grief,
My wounds! They bleed tears--
Rip my heart open with shears.
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 12:43 PM UTC
Love is the first time you sleep with a face full of hair, and don't care,
you're just grateful she's there.
It's all the emotion you're able to bear, so beware;
nobody said it was graceful or fair.
Love is unprepared to be rushed, but a touch is barely enough,
and since you don't dare to give up, there is the rub.
She'll put her hair in a bun and rip the air from your lungs,
Until you feel your blood pumping, like the snare and the drum.
Love is it all, the bricks in the wall,
The stick and the ball, the listen and call,
The dismissal of any and all critical thought, but what is it overall?
A bridge metaphor and a physical fall.
Love is a quest to the farthest of lands, mountains, marshes and sands,
it's artistry, grand, heart swelling as large as it can,
hearing your arteries bang,
and being there to hold the cane inside the palm of her hand.
Ask any men, they will say that it led them astray,
from the gentlest phrase to the mentalist, caged,
Love is the first time you sleep with a face full of hair and don't care,
you're just grateful he's there,
It's all the emotion you're able to bear, so beware:
Nobody said it was graceful or fair.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 6:15 PM UTC
Statements proceed much further
(Further)
then a wicked wind does blow
(ya know that)
Penitence abounds as speech,
unmindful leaves ones soul
Utterances pierce tongues of few
(yet)
thrills a myriad
(no matter)
Be it ended with a question mark,
a dash or period.
Formulate all that you crave
(Crave)
within thine own confines
(you know that)
Utterance views not through ears
to slip free from the mind.
Remember, once a phrase takes flight
(And flies)
it can not be retrieved
(Can it?)
Unless you’re faced with a Mentalist,
conversing as they read.
Jun 10, 2010
Jun 10, 2010 at 12:59 PM UTC
Non descript hedge rows sculpted into
ornamental animal via botanical artist
wielding pruning shears and chain saw
carved, limned and sculpted with wrist
wrought voila uber prestidigitatiously
head turning botanical picturesque Sun
kist animals at an exhibition transformed
miraculously via Te Deum divine fist ***
ping, whence realistic fauna burst alive
with an explosion of colorful twist and
shout of foliage, where scalloped super
flu us detritus manna for naturalist de
cid Jew us detritus capacious carpet boar
animation punk chew waiting groundswell
Liszt ghost would arise from the grave to pro
deuce magnum opus without a beat missed
such shrubbery mimicking the likeness, sans
glistening fleshy sin yew, and gist about ready
to become bone a fide (green behind the ears)
thriving vox populist, per species and genus
wrought thrashing into birth as delicate crafts
man promised to imbue life, liberty and pursuit
of happiness whittling away leavings, thus did
exist the nascent then omnipresent visible entity
emerging from cocoon an herbalist meta morph
hosed from imagination of skilled, practiced and
mentalist conniver viz extracting the initially
obscure blessed beast, where with august magic
wielding tools of this specialty vis a vis bringing
breathing manifest destiny ala Pinocchio (trans
formed from wood to flesh), whereby finest
dexterous chiseling blistering hands baffle on
lookers as coterie of topiary harvest breaths mind
bogglingly astoundingly authentic rooted ready
to frolic in the grass menagerie a gamesome group
of linkedin live progeny, the MichelAngelo of
dirtiest canvass, an earthen tabula rasa of sorts
where application threshing re: electric cool laid
ahs hid test brings out chlorophyll doppelganger
green hued key luster.
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 8:03 PM UTC
Night alone my mind starts to roam
Leave me alone I'm not answering my phone
Writing gets me in the zone
I say what I think in words
Don't care for confrontation get out of my face
Talk about me behind my face you disgrace
Pain in my heart the mean things provoked to say
You made me go there that's not fair
You don't care how I feel mean mugging cold stare
My fun ruined I can't complain waste of my time
I'm not who you make me out to be
I break free stand up to your terror mentalist
Rebel in protest you can't judge me
Your dead to me get out of my head
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 6:16 AM UTC
Non descript hedge rows sculpted into ornamental animal
via botanical artist wielding pruning shears and chain saw
carved, limned and sculpted with wrist wrought voila uber
prestidigitatiously head turning botanical picturesque Sun
kist animals at an exhibition transformed miraculously via
Te Deum divine fist bumping, whence realistic fauna burst
alive with an explosion of colorful twist and shout of foliage,
where scalloped superfluous detritus manna for naturalist
deciduous detritus capacious carpet boar animation punk
chew waiting groundswell Liszt ghost would arise from the
grave to produce magnum opus without a beat missed such
shrubbery mimicking likeness sans glistening fleshy sin
yew, and gist about ready to become bone a fide (green be
hind ears) thriving vox populist, per species and genus
wrought thrashing into birth as delicate craftsman promised
to imbue life, liberty and pursuit of happiness whittling away
leavings, thus did exist the nascent then omnipresent visible
entity emerging from cocoon an herbalist metamorphosed
from the imagination of a skilled, practiced and mentalist
conniver viz extracting the initially obscure blessed beast,
where with august magic wielding tools of this specialty vis
a vis bringing breathing manifest destiny ala Pinocchio (trans
formed from wood to flesh), whereby finest dexterous
chiseling blistering hands baffle onlookers as coterie of
topiary harvest breaths mind bogglingly astoundingly
authentic rooted ready to frolic in grass menagerie,
a gamesome group of linkedin live progeny, the Michel
Angelo of dirtiest canvass, an earthen tabula rasa of sorts
where application threshing re: electric cool laid ahs hid
test brings out chlorophyll doppelganger green hued key luster.
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 1:41 AM UTC
The fraud bourgeoisie
mobsters and hoods contract
chiller cinema screening terror vision
gutter psychology of the henchmen dopes
presenting the locusts and ants thriller invasion
the throngs underfed
issuing permits and warrants
reprobates, thugs and con-artists do apply
at the Bastille on the Victorian embankment
bring your disorders of crimson and singe the blues
The zen mentalist of Zenda dribbles rut
the guillotine feeders sharpen dirges blades
pale cowards party in full swing and checks abound
call the pirates of red sea and the mob to share the spoils
no coronation for a sun king a jealous mandate thus declared
the pepper-less hordes of lames
find El Dorado in a mirage in lies of bandits
Scipio Africanus in great and graceful throes incarnate
made thousands ploys and cuts anthems of craven imbeciles
wayward profligates who mired their obsolesces in parable David
And he stood a Colossus edified
braving contract of thieves, ghouls, thugs and recreants
apostates of truths, corrupters of the just pilgrims' progress
burn in shame, reveling in asinine boast of personal fallibility
requiem for dregs, requiem for the humanization of the toxic heathens
Sep 8, 2019
Sep 8, 2019 at 5:27 AM UTC
When my poor head is wet, grandma is gay
Tacit engagement stractics
Crisping over the plains
Gloria
I’m no scented mentalist.
Scream and slide
Where did
It go
It is impossible
The fan
He makes
Too many good points
I have a visitor with a golden eye
Standing in the street
Open to anything
Such as:
Drifting white on the millsap sockways
Tempted by the crew of another
Oh so you’re the seventh advanced skeleton now?
Clorder:Title
Titke
There’s a buidle
Dancing around with the same colored eagle
Take it off
With a chance
To the world
Esta
blish
trust
a) white inside
b) dead inside
You look like you should be short but when you stand up you are going to be really tall. I am the opposite.
Lose the grass in your bones and be here tomorrow
Vandal vandal candle future
Sep 2, 2019
Sep 2, 2019 at 5:14 PM UTC
I was a restless teenage mentalist
always searching the airwaves
trying to find something new. Pirate
stations would sometimes emerge
from thin slices of the dial
For a few days one played
*** Bomb by Flipper countless times
and it made quite an impression
on my bubbly fudge mind
All these years later I still get a mighty
kick out of listening to this
absurd joyous splurge
every few weeks
which may be
a tragic or magnificent
state of affairs it's
really not for me to decide
Sep 8, 2025
Sep 8, 2025 at 6:26 PM UTC