"mildly" poems
i hope you get into medical school
so all i have to do is eat an apple everyday
i hope you always have money to buy extra bread-sticks
but never the self control stop eating them
i hope your 15 seconds of fame falls on daylight savings
i hope you never avoid movie or tv spoilers
i hope your children are loved and cared for
but have their hearts broken by mine
i hope you always anticipate a surprise birthday party
i hope you always wake well rested
3 hours late for work
i hope you dance in the metaphoric rain
and catch metaphoric pneumonia
i hope your next thanksgiving is spent in an airport
i hope you are mildly inconvenienced every morning
i hope all your book pages stick together
i hope that you always will question if you left your oven on
i hope your future roommates always use all the hot water
i hope you always find the words to say
but never the right time to say them
i hope you never figure out how to pick a ripe avocado
i hope all your dinners are directly impacted
by the fickle nature of a toaster oven
i hope your curiosity gets the better of you
and you find out what cat food tastes like
i hope your favorite band breaks up
and you miss their kick *** reunion tour
i hope you watch an unhealthy amount of daytime tv
i hope you outlive me on the off chance that your paper boy will miraculously skip your house on the day my obituary is printed
because nothing would make my ghost happier to know
that you were forced to find out after literally everyone else that
i passed away in my sleep surrounded by people who loved me
while you sat in your house old grey never thinking of me until you
read some 50 words in a newspaper and even if its for a second i want you to wonder what kind of life i had because you will have had no part in it.
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 11:25 AM UTC
Wife,
That’s a term I have been waiting to use for my entire life. I wasn’t always the best at searching for you. I was young and mildly ambitious growing up; other things got in the way because I never knew how much I could love you.
If only I had known.
I’ve told you most of my stories: my days playing sports, the endless reading list I had at my bedside table, and the sleepless nights thinking I would never find you.
I’m eternally grateful that God allowed our paths to cross at that bookstore – how ironic that I was looking for books about love and I found you.
My life taught me to question and second-guess many things: marriage, relationships, and the future.
I had let my doubts and expectations reach into my pockets of hope and faith, stealing my motivation to succeed.
Some would say I was justified in being a stoic.
Not you.
Before I met you, I was full of silly ideas and visions of how the world was. Those things – doubt, disappointment, failure – may be in the world, but they don’t define the world.
Or me.
I’m glad I questioned what was shinning so bright in a dimly lit bookstore. I’m glad I saw you.
Holding a flashlight.
Always,
Yours
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 5:57 PM UTC
I've spent a really miserable month.
I told the wife we'd go out to a nice restaurant
On her fiftieth birthday,
Which naturally led to happy anticipation.
So, the evening before she asked me,
"Where are you going to take me on my birthday, dear?"
And I replied, quick as a flash, *"Up the ********
The silly ***** seemed to have suffered
A major sense of humour failure;
Surely my prezzie would be a sure fire winner,
Certain to restore bonking privileges.
But when she unwrapped it and saw
A giant green ******** to get her in the mood,
She turned quite nasty on me, to put it mildly.
So I slapped her one in the ******* kisser.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 12:32 PM UTC
*Into the night, hundreds of galaxies sparkle,
Secretly engaging, like a child's game of hide-n-seek,
Surrounded by soft puffs of snow,
In the warmth of the summer breeze.
And unfurl,
Into the tropical seas,
As waves mildly splash,
Upon a bed of sand, creating a feeling of peace.
When light whispers,
Vanish upon native shores,
And relive in my heart,
Forever and ever more....*
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 2:24 PM UTC
I'm a realist, mildly an idealist.
My ideas create a mindset that allows me to express feelings
But I built up a wall, high as a skyscraper..I stand, as a realist I know if I jump, I'm bound to meet my maker. I don't think idealist are weak.
I just think they escape the honesty they seek.
You don't walk a straight line in order for you to finally reach your peak.
Obstacles come and go, water is a need if you want to grow, you can't have a lightbulb without an idea and expect it to magically glow.
I know every action I do and especially when I am wrong but, I just won't rewrite all my wrongs, they inspire all of my greatest songs.
Optimistic that I'll make it, I just need more effort than 50 percent
because you get what you put in, as a realist I know if you put in half, half back is all you will ever get.
People remember your mistakes, the heroics they just simply forget.
I can't stand when people think it's okay to live a life without any regrets.
*Sure things happen for a reason and karma "may" have your enemies morally bleeding, but your ideology sounds misguiding and thought process misleading. Karma is an excuse to allow a higher calling contribute to your spiteful abuse, you don't want the crime on your soul so you allow the angels to fatally shoot. It's fine, before we die, we all commit a crime.
Women **** men steal, just being in love should require you to do time.*
Born a realist sinner...far from an idealist winner
Success doesn't come over night
The sweet life doesn't come until after you've made your dinner..and cleaned the plate, but we're never satisfied...nah, we going to probably eat again late.
Work hard for the dream, don't just rely on faith.
A realist knows she may not show up, even when you scheduled a date.
It's all love to the victims, stuck in a fiction. If you hate this piece...your ignorance got you unable to listen.
Not my problem though. I'm speaking without any permission! I like that idea...oh **** wait...I think I just become my own contradiction?
...forget it, I'm healing, my words and unpredictable wisdom, I am still dealing.
Insanity is a fear that is expressed towards you when others have confusion
A realist, an idealist..no one is right...our concepts to each other seem all an illusion.
-Dougie simps
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 11:13 AM UTC
we ate government cheese
that came in a dull brown box
we were too young
to understand what welfare
and food stamps meant,
our empty bellies never protested
at the salty orange blocks
in front of the bodega,
we saw a woman introduce a hammer
to a drunk tyrant’s skull
his blood pooling on the streets
was too red for new eyes
we watched hypodermic needles
bloom on stoops
cling to life on curbs
the graffiti on abandoned buildings
was our Louvre, our Salon de Paris
sweltering streets our baseball diamonds
prostitutes, black or brown or both
mothered us between shifts
we grew up in projects,
that sheltered drab lives
and senseless brutalities
gunfire, sharp and immutable
punctured lullabies
we were small boys
watching life unfold
the way one stares at an accident
detached and mildly curious
eyeing cooly the despair
and impossible hopelessness
of growing up poor
in Brooklyn
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 10:40 PM UTC
God smelled something foul
in the garden & thinking the
man had discovered manure,
god came down & found Adam
fast asleep w/ **** all over his face;
What have u been eating? shouted
the Lord, shaking the trees;
Adam awakened startled,
seeing god's fury: have u eaten
of the Tree of the Knowledge
of Good & Evil?
No! Lord, no! cried Adam,
It was the woman! she made
chocolate lava cake & I ate it,
whined the trembling
creature, face to the ground in
fear & awe; god walking
away shaking his head & saying,
put some clothes on, *******
what are clothes? called Adam;
god sitting down on a rock to
think things over was only mildly
surprised when Eve, bare skin
ethereal as summer rain came
& sat beside him; not exactly what u
had in mind, is he? she asked,
wrinkling her freckled pug nose;
nope, not at all, said god, but it's alright;
my kid's a carpenter; I'll get him down
here to patch things up; Eve stood
abruptly to her feet, heatedly wagging
pert ****** ***** A carpenter!
she hollered; well, I hope he learned
carpentry in medical school, she sniped,
marching into the brush & returning w/
a bowl of fresh fruit: hungry? she said;
| I could eat - - oh-ho-o! so,
u're the smart one!
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 7:07 PM UTC
Take a peak inside that stormy dome,
see if you can't find yourself
a semi-peaceful slice of mind that you can call your own
Tie a leash around its neck,
try to walk that creature home,
Show it to your mom and pops
“look guys, look what I found roaming around my teenage mind?
This is the friend I was telling you about
I know he’s kind of ugly, shaggy and unkempt.
His looks are mildly incestual
But I love him all the same
Do you mind if I sit him right there next to you?
Maybe the three of you could exchange some words
He knows the same ones I do
Even those nasty slurs
I don’t exactly understand him
No one else does either
Everyone knows him,
But few seem to remember
Don’t go looking for him on your own
He tends to get real shy, sometimes reclusive
He’ll dive down deep into his subconscious home,
Forged of past memories, images and emotions
The ones that I dare not touch like the middle of the ocean
I wait by the shoreline, drifting in and out of consciousness
Anxiously awaiting,
the lumber that he’s plundered
from my stormy subconscious.
Then again,
maybe this time will be just like the rest.
Maybe this time all I get,
Is that hollowed out feeling in my chest
Suddenly,
He surfaces for air
And there he is
Speaking to me of sufferings and joys
My very own melodrama and vanity
He even touches on insecurity.
Things I never knew I tried so hard to hide
How did he find it all?
In that underwater den,
Where all these things reside.
“If you don’t come home with me, all this beauty may be forever lost”
I told him.
So that’s why I brought him home
I call him creativity
Could you watch him,
I need to be alone?
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 11:40 PM UTC
1– Most people try to avoid eye contact at all costs.
2– Most people either do not say "thank you" or mumble it as if it doesn't mean anything.
3– Most people act out of either self-interest or custom.
4– In most people, the maternal instinct is dead or at least deadened.
5– Most people don’t know how to control their child without using impact to the head or behind.
6– Children outnumber adults, and 20+ year-old children exist.
7– Most people will look for a scapegoat in even a mildly adverse situation, even if one doesn’t exist.
8– Most people have no sense of respect and are therefore not deserving of respect.
9– Most people do not recognize the humanity of others. (See Nos. 1-5, 8)
10– Most people have lost their humanity, also known as their soul.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 12:43 AM UTC
I like mandarin oranges
I like the way they taste
I like they way they look
I like how they fit in pockets
I like their straightforwardness
I like that they are easily segmented
I like how easily shared they are with others
I like how I can hold a few in my hand at once
I like the feeling when I peel it all in one long peel
I like running my thumb under the skin as I peel it
I like the way they make my hands smell afterwards, orange-y
I like how people seem mildly impressed when I am finished peeling
I like folding the skin back into its original sphere like I never peeled it at all
I like when people play along when I give it to them even though they know it’s just skin
I like putting the peel on my head like hat or fake hair and pretending it’s normal
I like pinching the peel and looking at the little spray of citrus
I like ripping the peel up into little, tiny, itty-bitty pieces
I like having that little orange pile on my desk
I like knocking the little green ****** off
I like chewing on the big pieces of pith
I like looking at the word pith
I like saying pith, pith, pith
I like mandarin oranges
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 6:03 PM UTC
Spring blossoms gentle acceptance
Of vagaries of desperation
Like variegated autumnal leaves
From the core of the stone of floods
Undeclared truths
Affirmative requests
There is chaos as a whole
In the expanse of the unending.
Fear fades mystically.
Death and boredom leave your lungs ...
There. Exists
Justice and pleasure... .
.... thoughts of living, laugh in the face of Death.
all the thoughts of failures
Conglomerate and are cast away
Into a deep trench
the soothing currents lull
Sinking green verdure.
Embraced by the biosphere
And forming a reef,
Thereby even your failures succeed.
Even now your image is being painted on the dull white canvas of my love.
Violent storms may rend the world
scattering lesser unions,
There is endurance in our madness...
Laughter, the golden bird, with bejewelled feathers,
Leads to the oasis of truth, in this desert of deceit
Reciprocation of sensation
Every intention to remain
And the rapidly ascending choir of broken angels sing the song which massacres despair.
And the body I wish to settle
Caressed by the deepest dark of night
Birth of the morning
The genesis of pleasant daydreams
Calm, hope ...
..... And a sense of success
Blue morning justice cascades
With dispelled illusions, and realized wishes.
Everyday upon wakening
I discard hate
As love, is mildly colored supple flesh
Withdrawn and plunged, into the crack of a stoney heart
Space infinitum opens before us,
On the petals of the lotus
Space through which two beings connect
No matter the distance.
We know that beneath this dull white nightmare
Dwells a vibrant black dream,
That is neither evil or good,
But just is.
On the workbench of despair,
Disassembled hearts are heaped.
In this pile I dwelled for an age of pain,
Until you plucked me from the pile
And made me whole again.
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 6:14 AM UTC
"You're not one of them", he says
"I can tell, I got this GIFT, see?"
The relief clear on his animated face
Too twitchy, too... off
"They watch us, you know?
They got those satellites and ****
They'll read your ID through your pocket
Then they gotcha!"
I nod, only mildly alarmed
And throw down my smoke.
Step on it to make sure it's out
"Only you can prevent forest fires"
A childhood echo
He picks it up
Looks wildly around
"Your DNA is on that! Epithelials!
I seen it! I seen it on that CSI!"
I mumble something
His eyes narrow. He laughs too hard.
"Kidding man, I'm just kidding"
He skitters off, like an ant missing 4 legs
I look up, and nod to the ****** on the roof.
~JNc
9-15
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 1:49 AM UTC
You know how you know the moon's name, but it doesn't know yours?
feels like being sidetracked
How its light beams mildly to your eyes, but yours, just irrelevant
Cold breeze makes you shiver
but the night takes no effect from you
_It's nothing like your touch,_
You touch me like a cotton ball,
carelessly, effortlessly gives a sign of relief
A sigh of affirmation,
of how this spot is reserved for only me
and your hands are designed to remember every edge of my body
and how you say my name,
like its the only thing that matters
and how your gaze sends electric signals as you utter words, so gently.
I feel my knees melting
_No, I can't feel them anymore_
And I feel like I'm _floating_
The night, once against me, has become my fortress, our fortress.
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 8:57 AM UTC
There are so many sides to me...
A perplexing mixed identity...
A spliced yet whole menagerie...
Of characters...
To meet each one...is to be undone...
Touched...without flesh...
I am Vesuvius...just below the surface...
Molten malice merging...swirling...
The narrow Nile...
Meandering mildly...coaxing vexing perplexing...wildly...
A temptress...a child...a bitter diatribe...holding...no...unfolding...
This story...non-benign...
And this is where you come in...
Tumultuous tide...your raging winds...
A course-less calamity...to pursue...
That is not me...THAT...is you...
Unbridled...and unabashed...
Alas our toxic story line...how well embittered did entwine...our love...
Dangerous pursuit...then...you took root...
Off with the loot...
Of my misfortune...
I attempt to fold...
Forfeit my resentment...discontentment...
My own deliverance from you...
You disappear...no...transform
Retreat...from your chaotic norm...
Another type of magic trick...to capture my bewilderment....
Fully...
Fooly...
Folly...
Tears tremble on edge...carried swiftly from ledge...where they teeter...
Behind each one...is held an ocean...
A watery well...
Endless emotion...
Navigating features...dodging dignities plea...
WE...
Toss the currency of love into the depths...
Whisper wishes on the wind...
The downward dance...a wishes chance...
The murky bottom is but wishful thinking...
I should be rich off the wonder...
That put asunder...Our love...
I am Vesuvius...
Just below the surface...
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 12:50 PM UTC
Exposed and bare
Standing there
Following your demands
Your treasured possession
Object of obsession
Waiting for your commands
A slave for my master
A beautiful disaster
Submissive, wanting to obey
Torment and tease or
Worship and please
I'm yours in every way
You start off slow,
From my head to my toes
Covering my body with kisses
Working wonders with your mouth
Lingering as your lips go south
"Mmmmmm you taste delicious"
My hands are bound behind my back
You give my *** a nice hard smack
Whispering in my ear "you're mine"
You place a blindfold over my eyes
Your fingers slip between my thighs
Oh god sir, I'm on cloud nine!
Your cat of nine tails across my ****
"On your knees you ***** ****
My eyes light up when he greets me
He's like a rock,
Your big, beautiful ****
I take him in my mouth completely
My tongue dances wildly
To put it mildly
He is glistening from my spit
Enclosed in my lips,
Your hands on my hips
You signal for me to quit
He's throbbing, she's aching
You make me start begging
"Please sir, I need him now!"
"Bend over and take him *****
As you ****** I start to twitch
Oh. My. God. Sir. Wow!
"Please don't stop sir! Harder! Faster"
"Wait for it ***** *** with your master"
Exploding like dynamite, we succumb
To feelings of ******
Our mutual fantasy,
Into pure oblivion
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 4:41 PM UTC
Stealing away from the noise and glare
I paced the aisles of an ancient library
Being worn and tired, indisposed to read
I sat in a corner, lost in half reverie
Around me were books stacked end on end
In safely locked glass and wooden shelves
And sectioned into different genres
Fiction, non- fiction, verse et al, in thinly layered leaves
I felt lost in this vast continent of erudite friends
Poet, scholar, philosopher and sage, each sat quiet
But those silent souls seemed to crave for human touch
Waiting to serve anytime learning’s lovesome diet
Closely sheltered from the tumult of the world
The place, though serene had an eerie air
And books like so many beauties in a harem
Were kept away in seclusion just to admire
The lifeless air and the long deserted look
Mildly disturbed my inner calm
Couldn’t digest man’s total disregard of books
Which for long, to many a lonely soul, served as balm
Sitting amid those gallant souls
I thought over the relentless efforts of sage like men
Who in the stillness of the night, in their cloistured cells
Plunged into research and meditative reflection
What knowledge is garnered in these tomes!
What all charms, encased in these pages!
To what magic lands they can carry us
Sharing with us the accumulated wisdom of ages
With the profusion of electronic gadgets
And information, readily available by a finger hit
Books no more are given a venerable treat
And fated to be stashed away in corners unlit
Heavy with the time tested wisdom of the wise
They sit huddled together in damp corners
Longing to get a little human warmth
But sadly neglected like rusted burners
After an hour’s enervating reprieve
While I was leaving that dumb world
In my ears, fell a faint sound
Of the agonizing cry of the Printed Word!
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 8:58 AM UTC
This is a formal complaint to one Cupid
on behalf of the population of earth.
We find that you've become somewhat,
how can we put it mildly....
unsavory
ever since you started drinking. We've
found that you have not been taking
your job seriously at all since that time
We were understanding at first. Your
job? It's not an easy one. It tolerates
almost no failure, and requires both
physical and mental capacity that is
beyond what most of us can spare.
However...we feel that the alcohol is
affecting your judgement and character
in a way that we can no longer accept.
Below, we've listed the particularly
heinous abuses of your power
1. Taking bets on what you can make people fall in love with. John is now smitten with a cactus while Jenny can't stay away from the inflatable Santa Claus on the Morgans' lawn.
2. Having very attractive women fall in love for your...erm...personal pleasure. That's just offensive
3. Having members of the same family fall in love. The vulgarity of it all is just appalling! It's an ****** epidemic!
4. Shooting your arrows at Rhinoceroses and then laughing as they charge a poor unsuspecting person is not funny.
5. Likewise, shooting an unsuspecting person and having them fall in love with a Rhinoceros who doesn't reciprocate is equally unfunny
6. Last, but not least...Please fix the Republican Candidates. Mitt Romney and Rick ******** are trying to get married next week. While I'm happy that they are now "for" gay marriage, this cannot be tolerated.
So? Do you have anything to say for
yourself? Is that alcohol I smell on your
breath? You don't even care, do you?
Well...we have no choice but to revok---OW!
Oh dear.
Feb 14, 2012
Feb 14, 2012 at 10:02 PM UTC
Remember when you told me you loved me and that without me you had nothing?
Well now it looks like you have nothing but a crippling sense of self-importance and a surprising lack of guilt.
Remember when you asked me to give up my future; almost all my money, my plans, my friends, all for you. You demanded it. Threatened to lock me in your room to keep me from leaving.
Remember when I would say no to something you would make me feel like the worst person on earth? As if I had personally attacked you; that I should beg for your forgiveness, for your love. Your love was conditional: do what I say, give me what I want and I will show you affection. But what I gave you was unconditional, regardless of day, or night, or every text you responded to with “k”.
Remember when you would feel bad and make me feel bad too? All those cold nights sat on cold benches with you being cold towards me. I set myself on fire to keep you mildly warm. You just watched and asked me to do more for you.
Remember every second day you mentioned the word ‘Canada’ and said how much I had hurt you by following my dreams?
Remember when you said you didn’t want to see one of my closest friends again? Or that you didn’t like my parents who welcomed you into our home with open arms and warm smiles.
Remember when you told me being gay was a sin? That I’m going to hell?
Remember when I helped you write those ******* assignments?
What did you do for me?
I remember everything I did for you; all those lies and excuses I told to my friends, my family, myself just so I could make you happy. And what did you want? More.
More *** more time, more company, more affection, more help, more reassurance, more ******* therapy from me.
You took all my energy, my patience, my love and what happened? You wanted more.
You see at the end of the day you didn’t love me, you loved the way I made you feel. I treated you like a god. You treated me like a *** toy, a counsellor, an emotional punching bag.
I see you writing things now, making yourself out to be the victim of some cruel liar who betrayed your trust. I broke your heart once. You broke mine a hundred times and would have done it a hundred times more just to get what you wanted.
Life isn’t fair. Maybe you don’t deserve to feel how you do now but I didn’t deserve to go through what you put me through. Grow the **** up.
I hope you see what you did. I really don’t think you’ll ever understand.
I only see now because I have met someone who is everything you are not; loving, kind, supportive, a gentleman. I know what real love feels like now, not just the idea of it. It feels nothing like what you gave me.
You did so much damage to my self esteem. You made me feel like I had done some unimaginable horror by living my own life. But now I’m better. I realise you don’t deserve to breathe the same ******* air as me. Choke.
Move the **** on.
All you’ve got now is memories, but not true ones. Maybe I lied to you but at least I’m not lying to myself.
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 1:21 PM UTC
As virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say
The breath goes now, and some say, No:
So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move,
’Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.
Moving of th’ earth brings harms and fears,
Men reckon what it did and meant,
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.
Dull sublunary lovers’ love
(Whose soul is sense) cannot admit
Absence, because it doth remove
Those things which elemented it.
But we by a love so much refined
That our selves know not what it is,
Inter-assurèd of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss.
Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to aery thinness beat.
If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two;
Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th’ other do.
And though it in the centre sit,
Yet when the other far doth roam,
It leans and hearkens after it,
And grows ***** as that comes home.
Such wilt thou be to me, who must
Like th’ other foot, obliquely run;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun.
2.7k
It was on Hallowe'en when we said we'd meet;
as we thought it might be romantically spooky;
and I trotted gaily along the pathway
through the dimly-lit park
where the predator gay *** maniacs roamed
hoping for a bit of backdoor action
and my excited little heart went
"YI YI YI YI YI YAAAAARRRGGGHHH!"
with eager anticipation
of a hot new nymphomaniac date.
We had been a-texting with
ever-increasing frankness
for several weeks and I was beginning
to get tired of wiping the keyboard clean
after each bout of frenzied
manual self-stimulation
which she had boldly urged me to
and the built-in camera was out of order
because of the damp ***** build-up.
I found the pictures she sent me
stimulating to say the very least
especially the one with the melon
peeping out from between her legs
and I found her blood-red eyes
rather exciting really
once I got used to them;
and I was quite looking forward
to the love bites she promised me
which was why I had washed my neck
with particular attention to the blackheads.
Promptly at the stroke of midnight
my putative mistress arrived
with a ******* great clap of thunder
and to say I was surprised by her sulphurous breath
would be putting it mildly
and the fifty-five inch waist
was a bit of a disappointment,
and I honestly and truly think
she might have mentioned
the suppurating scabs
and oozing boils
or at least hinted at them.
As I fought the ravening hell-bitch off
with the hatchet I had wisely brought
in my briefcase as a safety precaution
once more I rued my innocence:
how many times have I been let down
after such high hopes from internet dating
and yet - trusting soul that I am -
I had again let my heart go astray.
Once it was all over
and I gazed down at her hideous
and mutilated corpse bleeding
and twitching on the ****** bitumen,
I lifted up her skirt
just to check the melon photo
hadn't been a fake;
and although there was no large
piece of fruit in situ at the time
I could see it had always
been a very real possibility.
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 12:22 PM UTC
- - - there are the days when
i savor my isolation,
i savor my freedom.
in this state is when
Urania came forth
to lift my chin,
to lift my gaze
from finite walking-path
unto Eternity of existence.
She placated me, brought me
to surrender of my Self.
and i lay staring at the ceiling,
longing for a little rest knowing
i did this to myself, and
i don’t complain to you.
- - - there came a conclusion of
self-destruction as
the only thing to depend on.
and i destroy myself
through entertainment
while
fighting tooth and nail to survive.
- - - Sunday 5.30ante.
began Friday 9.30post,
Saturday 9.30post is twenty-four.
i am four short of thirty-six.
and my turbulent stomach awaits
the imbibement of a hard benzo –
(shorten’d word to be hip.
[also the reason i used an infinitive])
by this point i am deranged
and trace mildly. not just
a fancied flight alongside a reality
my mind deceives me of. not
just an insaned delirium
i perpetrate. maintain. sustain.
disdain.
space to insure emphasis,
- - - have i been outward too long.
i sweat naked in the snow thanking,
no Deity,
but instead handful of
multi-color’d, shaped, strength downers.
and i smell’d on death
perfume of flowers as
its figure look’d me over –
naked freezing wretch –
and extend’d claw with
rotting flesh no where
in pace with this vessel’s.
i began to blue, and the
shadow of my end
falter’d in my mind.
lungs, in impulse,
heaved air within themselves.
stretching frozen sternum.
- - - let’s take some math,
how about:
zn+1 = zn2 + c
i am patient,
please explain in detail.
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 5:44 AM UTC
I dress
Like a ****
Because that is
Who I am
I act like a thot
Because
I love free
***
And mildly
*****
Doing me
Rough
And sweetly
In that alley.
Sep 29, 2020
Sep 29, 2020 at 5:57 PM UTC
to me
the most attractive
quality one can possibly
possess
is a brilliant
witty
sincere
& even mildly
childish
sense of humor
the Sad Keanu meme will
never not be hilarious
Feb 4, 2012
Feb 4, 2012 at 2:03 PM UTC
The fog here is thick, until you step into it.
The storm rages until you get to its eye.
I wish this same principle could be said of me, too.
But like a gas giant, you could slip right through me with
the smallest amount of pressure.
There is no calming sense of self at the core.
Gravity does not apply to me.
There’s a boat on the lake cutting through the fog. And then nothing.
More waves.
More birds.
The fog covers it all up again.
The sun slinks and the tide comes in, or is it out? Does it matter?
The moon controls it in some way—the push, the pull of the waves.
At least the lake looks blue today,
looks green today.
The geese are in the water now. The families are packing up.
The ice cream shop is closing.
And I do not remember if I was ever here with you.
This, of course, is a collective you.
Could mean you, my reader,
could mean one specific person,
or two
or three
or four;
could be whoever I'm thinking of when I reread this to myself.
That’s the funny thing about the litany of loss.
It all starts to congeal.
Waves crash against the rock. Starts to chip away, create something new.
That’s what memory does.
It’s not permanent. It’s malleable.
Flexible. Bendable. Moldable.
It smells like lakewater. Like
fish and sand and mud and
gulls and rocks and shells and
algae and fog—thick, thick fog.
Smell is supposed to be one of the biggest memory triggers, and yet
I cannot place a single memory of you here.
And that’s mildly crushing.
So I would take you here:
to where I wish the air was
saliter and less earthy.
to where I come sometimes to think.
where the clouds are so thick and puffy and
the setting sun makes them look like cotton candy on the Fourth of July.
where the sun’s reflection on the water
turns the green lake pink.
where the geese are back out of the water and
onto the shore.
I would take you here with me.
Into a new memory.
Homemade. Handmade. DIY.
Aug 24, 2021
Aug 24, 2021 at 12:46 AM UTC
She is salty lipped ocean throat
Warm morning fog
Mixing with her overcast
I want to place my head on her treasure chest
Listen to her wet ruby cascade and thump
A metronome for people who dance lightly
She is a mildly ******** mermaid
Born with the deformity of legs
We were all born a little bit broken
I tell her
I know you’re a body of water I want to drown in
When home feels like it’s so much bigger than these four walls
But not much stronger than the skin I’m in
So here’s to jumping off cliffs
With the hope to land a little painfully
So evolution might give me the wings I was meant to be born with
She walks like a riptide
Often risks drowning in the off chance
Nature might be kind enough to understand
What it really means to have sea legs
This is for the soft shelled crab
Who was tired of the heaviness of home
For the mockingbirds who never studied music
So they copy sound
Sometimes really annoying sound
But they hear the beauty regardless
For the Dumbo Octopus
Who clearly watched too much classic Disney
The beluga whale who can crane its neck
When its sonar song of home is not enough
To know their kids are coming back to them
For the penguins
Who are fine being flightless
Because they’d much rather swim
They didn’t think it was stupid
When they wished they could be different
And she is the ocean
Hips sway like a high tide approaching
Hiding sirens’ secrets
Skeletons in her closet
Lovers who have lost
And drown in her pitch black
She wears the water like a second skin
Smiles like the wind is pressing back her cheeks
She chokes on sea water
Drowns a little
With the hope that this place might feel more like home
Sometimes home is the hardest place to get to
But there’s nothing wrong with going home
May 11, 2012
May 11, 2012 at 3:19 PM UTC