"organ" poems
Sometimes I get stuck in this state of Darkness
where my eyes can see
but it's like my head is just pitch black
and I almost wish I couldn't see anything,
like I wish I could just curl myself into a ball so tightly that I disappear from space for a while
sometimes I get stuck in this space
and I feel like my tears and my thoughts
are climbing up my esophagus and clogging my throat
blocking my airway
suffocating me from the inside
maybe I never told you I was depressed because who wants to relive that moment
that choking hazard moment of cotton ***** in my throat
maybe I never told you I was depressed because there are no words I can use to describe it that don't transform themselves into their meanings
that don't take over my mind
crawl through my head like little worms
eating away at my brain
my thoughts
my skin
have you ever thought of a traumatic experience and then felt those events happening again
felt the dark hole of life-threatening-trauma attack your mind
Shiver through your body
like it was a demon you let in through a memory-
through a word
maybe I didn't tell you I was depressed
because I wasn't strong enough
my depression fills me to the brim
fills my head and my chest
my arms and my fingers
I can feel it moving through my body
I can feel it expanding and engulfing everything inside of me
every last vein, nerve, ***** and tissue
how can you expect me to have the energy to fight
how can you expect me to have the energy to pick up the phone
to open my mouth
how can you expect me to have energy-to have the courage to utter the words of how I feel
I feel so worthless
in those moments I feel like there's this black whole inside me and it's consuming everything
it's taking everything but my skin
and it disgusts me
can you imagine the feeling,
having something so utterly repulsive on your skin you had to scrape it off immediately
It felt like you needed to be cleansed
like you needed a shower
take that feeling
now imagine it being under your skin
imagine, every muscle ***** vein nerve every cell in your body underneath your epidermis disgusts you
imagine all you wanted to do was to
GET
IT
OFF
and you can't
no matter how hard you try
you can't scrape it off
you can't claw It off
imagine you're scared of spiders
now imagine you're covered in spiders
and someone's holding down your arms
so you can't get them off
imagine them walking on your skin
in your mouth
crawling on your open eyes
in your ears
you're cringing at your own skin
You can feel them going down your throat
Their disgusting tickle in the pit of your stomach
in every crevice of your body
their tunneling under your skin
and you can't get them off
what are you supposed to do
but cry
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 11:30 PM UTC
My father walked me down the aisle,
But my mother held my arm.
He went with me,
But we went not towards the altar,
But towards the door.
My father walked me down the aisle,
And the ***** rang through the church,
Humming through the elaborate crown molding,
Carved by my ancestors.
He went,
Not beside me,
But before me,
And I watched,
As he was illuminated by the bright,
Overbearing,
Texas sun.
My father walked me down the aisle,
But I did not wear white.
My father walked me in silence,
And I shed tears not for a man standing at the altar,
But for the one I would never see again.
My father walked me down the aisle,
And no veil obscured my face.
All eyes were upon me, but not for my pristine beauty,
Instead for my clenched jaw and furrowed brow,
Severe and fierce to distract from my glassy eyes.
My father did not leave me at the end of our walk to sit beside my mother.
She clung to me for support and sobbed breathlessly,
Loudly,
Unavoidably,
And I carried her with one hand,
My sister the other,
And walked towards my future.
A future family,
Not one person more,
But one person less.
I walked,
One final time,
With him.
My father walked me down the aisle,
And I will never forget it.
Hundreds of eyes isolating my family from the crowd,
Slow and muffled sounds drowning in the deafening beat of my heart,
Blurred faces staring,
Black heels clacking against the cobbled path from the church,
The anguished wails of my mother,
The whimpering of my sister,
And the wooden box that glided before us,
Pulling,
A string tied to our patriarch,
The pin key of our family,
Pulled taut and then snipped with the slam of the hearse doors.
My father walked me down the aisle,
Before I had a chance to grow up.
He walked me,
Out of the church,
Away from the altar,
Never to be walked again.
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 5:17 PM UTC
lady craighead played the blues
on a stand-up samick
in the ***** room
along side the parsons project
and squabbling dogs
and night moves
stairs creek
up the mezzanine trek
wool sheets slide
on finished floors
little angels
play late into the seventh
(a closing match nearing
the midnight hour)
croaking toads and cicada
sing in the blue moon
musty smells and mothballs
settle deep in the vault
the kettle boils
and cat coils
as the pump house rolls
its heavy drawl
the red phone rings
and bird clock sings
(behind the ruddy stall)
a sleeman variation of the ruy lopez
employed heartily
by the incomparable master jack
marble toast burning
wringer wash churning
chris craft running
near the old carp canoe
rooster calls
and west wind squalls
rustle through the porch screen door
chicken *** pies
and rogue flies linger
a rocker chair placed
near the sepia face
(softened by the intricate frame)
donkey in tow
(with a fastened ***
maggie in her dreams
of green tambourines
the nocturnes
reflections
and whispering gospel bells
tractors pull on
the grinder stone
horses lay still
in the mid-day sun
a trump card is fingered
at the furnace click
(crosswords and puzzles are next!)
while the sparrow
*and that **** rabid fox*
are drowning
deep in castles well
Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 10:20 PM UTC
i must give you a full physical exam
to fully grasp my prognosis and plan
of treatment for you... dont be afraid
i feel confident, no need to debate
i can satisfy
and gratify
your pre-dic-ament
in the richest succulent
as a specialist, to some degree
my healing hands work expertly
but to receive full and complete treatment
you must partake my honey rather frequent
for a better plan of action
i require a full body transfusion
a chemical mixture of center fuses
a delicate blending of our juices
this may require several procedures
over time it provides many features
healing properties of your most vital *****
however worth it, even if, it cost a fortune
to this a can guarantee success
but first you must fully undress
i work with energy transference
your help required for successful convergence
of the best possible results
between two consenting adults
bartering is certainly a viable option
for your long term medical condition
providing equal services for each other
helps maintain balance to one another
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 1:01 AM UTC
To realize, your malice intent,
and power hungry destruction of my
most hidden and vulnerable *****
I am relieved to be free of your
vindictive and spiteful soul;
everything about you is abrasive,
brooding and angry, vicious and ugly
That person, so gentle and endearing
is lost, I am not so sure he even exists,
just one of your many disorderly personas
And to think of my pain,
self-mutilating thoughts and attempts
to make sense of the shock
trying to free myself from your lock of
enamoring lies. I could feel the
end when we had just sprouted,
battling my intuition with a fawn dawn heart-
with you, I finally felt full after some empty time.
But upon reflection of your undeniable misogyny,
I thank you! I could not be more thankful for you exiting my life,
the confirmation of this delusion we called love,
I am so thankful I was tricked, you see,
without honesty, I could only give you so much, and
only that much, is what you could take away from me-
Leaving behind such vitality and adventurous expression,
Charm, wits and sentiment for living
the performer in me you never could accept,
Merely shaking the strength only a woman could have.
You could never break me, although you tried-
and in that I find pity, that you feel so small
You seek power in destroying a lover
like breaking a heart is a triumph,
You are no huntsman and I am not your doe
I refuse to be your object for show
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 12:55 AM UTC
I will tell you a story
In all its glory
Explaining the
****** *****
Creating much more than
The eye can see
Its a story about a vibrant flower
So beautiful it needs to be to attract the buzzing honey bees
The story goes some thing like this
So you can see the flowers multiply through the years
Make two
Four and many more
The bee
flys along and sees so many Beautiful flowers
Longing to devour
But which one
So many colours
Shapes
Sizes
Flowers cascading
Parading
So shameless
Stands still
Wow
Striking
Its a big bright pink one
Circular in shape
Bold
Beautiful
Its the one
Open, with so many soft small petals
Glistening with the rain drops
Shining in the sun
Sparkling with beauty from within
Makes the bee meander to thee
The bee needs to reproduce
Suduced
Stops and fills
Spreads the seeds
Allowed to please
Pollunates
Impregnates
Recreates
What you dont see is the story
Combined with the
True glory
Of the extra ordinary *****
The beauty
Of the buzzing bee
Combined
With the gold assigned
Inside
So free
Flying
Trying
Frantically to find the
The hive
Taking nectar
Making honey, wax, all kind of f
Fascinating lines
Made from hexagon
They divide into the lines
They are full with precious delights
The story continues
The more you learn
The more you yearn
To see a honey bee
Together the bee and the ****** *****
make harmony
The vibrant flower allowed to duplicate
More beauty for all to see
For all to feel
The special honey bee procreate and makes
Wax
creating ambiance
Such a clever bee
A savont; such a worker
Magical tyrant
Buzzing madly yearning to create
the sweetest honey
A honey bee can make
Its like you to me
You're the combination
Make migrations in me
Spreading beauty from within
To others to proceed
And begin
I feel it with you;
Vibrant flower
Honey bee
Coming together
Creating so much sweet honey in me
It's a wonderful story to me
You see
The story of the flower and the honey bee
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 8:18 PM UTC
The Heart is Selfless.
Literally.
When the human body gets hurt,
And life seems to be bleeding out,
It knows.
It pumps out more blood,
Stops itself from taking any of it.
Just to keep our brain, lungs, and kidneys working.
It doesn't think really think of itself,
It thinks of the needs of others.
Shouldn't love be like that too?
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 9:42 PM UTC
The blunt surface and wooden *****
Confined within impenetrable walls
However reverb dangerously.
Numbers reappeared to disorientate me.
It was the lion I sought advice from
For a dove that had been travelling with a rose
With a weight as heavy as its wings
Against the torrent of winds and sky.
I counted the time as if I were a clock.
Gently did it leave while I was not looking,
Its music turned down by long fingers
That lightly grazed the glasses
Like tracing back the steps that I at first hastened.
Never again will I see with my lashes curled by
Its own Evening Dew.
I only pray that the silver soldier marches
Next to me with armor close to my chest
Close to my eyes so no gaze could ever penetrate.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 11:47 AM UTC
Off the train I hit the streets
and start laughing. This is ridiculous,
incomprehensible. How can innumerable bipeds
have individual inner lives. Why are they doing
what they’re doing? I have no answer
New York City but to also go about my business
in this case prepare for surgery, survival.
But why survive with so many exact replicas
to replace me? A swarm of ants or hive of bees,
social organisms they’re called, climbing
over each other, avoiding bumping and amazingly
making way, anticipating the sudden turns
and straight paths of others, strangers but brothers,
sisters incubating, the cells of a small
***** nodes of a single semi-conscious organism.
The concept of a higher power that cares
for me is also risible yet how else
can I explain the surgeon and his team,
robots and magnetic resonance imaging machines,
all primed and trained to save my life.
They are not particularly interested in what
I do with my time. I am immediately
in love with the Irish brogue of the head nurse,
the Indian skin of the physician’s assistant.
The long extraordinarily thin
fingers of the famous surgeon. All
mine to savor (and the other cancer patients).
Despair, lose all hope
that’s what the sign says at the gates of hell
and at the Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center the sign says
Be kind to our customers who are waiting and suffering.
Yesterday’s suicidal thoughts: the mind
is a clever servant, insufferable master. Therefore,
meditate on this: absolute need, dependence on the Other.
I still like Hombre, The Shootist and Ulzana’s Raid
but realize those dead heroes
were subordinate to society: the gun manufacturers who armed them.
Thus, I go for cancer tests, accepting, not predicting results.
Hero accepting help.
A torrential rain following five days of flooding,
tornadoes out west busting up wooden towns
all because too many of us are hoarding plastic, herding electrons.
None of us know how it will end, what the outcome will be
(of our surgery). The best that can be said
is Don’t forget to breathe. And you might
as well believe in that higher power.
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 6:00 AM UTC
I speak in praise of the ******** yes,
and as a male, I decline to be clandestine about this.
The reason I so admire the ******** is that it's the female's key
to being multiply ******** and frankly, I'm in awe of this.
You see, the male ***** can't compare
because, of course, it has a dual purpose.
It wasn't put there just for bliss,
which is the only purpose of the ********
Males must just resign
themselves to their dangling ganglia, the ****
which is so easy to malign compared to the delicate paradigm
of the **** and its remarkable economy of design.
Now I realize that females may be suspicious
of my focus on their ********
but actually, I think it’s ingenious.
My own discovery of this was serendipitous and propitious.
You see? Really, I’m envious of the ********
because it's indefatigable and delectable,
(I think she likes a little nibble),
and anyway, there’s not much point in trying to distinguish
between *********** and the ********
So there's my poem to the little ****
with admiration and respect.
I speak in praise of the ********
Truly. A gift for all of us.
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 4:47 PM UTC
We are the girls who walk around with little bird bones,
rib cages ready to snap when we spread our wings and
fly away
and for my next act,
I shall disappear little by little until I am ash.
I’m not eating for four days or until
I can feel the ***** that is my stomach start to shrink
I used to refuse food for weeks
it amazes me how self-indulgent I have become
I am ready to eat spoonfuls of air
spin my hair into a models top knot and
know that water is a privilege not a right
a million screaming girls saying
“but im not hungry”
while a tiger flays their insides open at night
Kate Moss said "nothing tastes as good as skinny feels"
and I suppose she is correct
What happens when you learn the tongue is a muscle not to be used
What happens when sustenance is no longer needed
When the mind decides
the very thing that keeps the body alive is a punishment
What happens when you refuse a necessity of being human
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 9:57 AM UTC
;heart made of metal, you're too hard to soothe
as an iron ***** you coldly shine smooth.
n head full of ember, your trickily burnt fire-
With its heat licks my lips, scolding hot with desire.
And then
Voice made of water,
may you speak of unknown
rivers lakes- oceans blue
Typhoon and cyclone.
And soul made of moonstone- may
outwardly you shine,
Dance, scintillating- a
pure serpentine.
Jul 7, 2018
Jul 7, 2018 at 6:32 AM UTC
Me, I play the piano
said one
me, I play the violin
said another
me the harp, me the banjo
me the cello
me the bagpipes, me the flute
and me, a rattle.
And they talked talked
talked about what they played.
No music was heard
everyone talked
talked talked
and no one played
but in a corner one man remained silent:
"And you, Sir, who remain silent and say nothing,
what instrument do you play?"
the musicians asked him.
"Me, I play the barrel *****
and I also play the knife,"
said the man who until now
had said absolutely nothing
and then he advanced knife in hand
and killed all the musicians
and played the barrel *****
and his music was so true
and so lively and so pretty
that the daughter of the house’s owner
came out from under the piano
where she lay bored to sleep
and said:
"Me, I played hoop
ball, chase
I played hopscotch
I played with a pail
I played with a shovel
I played house
I played tag
I played with my dolls
I played with a parasol
I played with my little brother
with my little sister
I played cops
and robbers
but that’s over over over
I want to play assassin
I want to play the barrel *****
And the man took the little girl by the hand
and they went into towns
into houses, into gardens
and killed as many people as possible
after which they married
and had many children.
But
the oldest learned piano
the second, violin
the third, harp
the fourth, the rattle
the fifth, cello
and they all took to talking talking
talking talking talking
so that no more music was heard
and all was set to begin again!
7.2k
devil time
and Pyrex pipe
whatever will you find
so late on a weeknight
that is not found
every other night of every other week
Pyrex pipe
and devil time
margaritas, marijuana,
everything i need
and eye drops in the morning
my favorite gypsy
first cut
early take
quit while you're ahead
but you never do
that hammond *****
really shining something through
my favorite gypsy
don't get too friendly
but you never do
Pyrex pipe
and devil time
i was just a star
i meant for you to name
nothing more than that
you were just the devil
if the devil's name was music
and he still stayed up late
writing songs for everyone
takes all kinds
to give power to the name
Pyrex pipe
and devil time
my favorite gypsy
stays up all night
devil's got a lot of songs to write
that hammond *****
really shining something through
if you could hear it as clearly as i do
but you never do
Jul 2, 2017
Jul 2, 2017 at 1:07 AM UTC
If I were a witch; I'd cast a spell,
And put an end to lies men tell.
I wouldn't enchant their ****** nose,
But the place from where ***** flows.
I'd raise my wand, purse my lips,
And call the World to witness this,
*"When men lie without a flinch
Their ***** shall shorten by an inch
And if they try to spin a tale
Their ***** shall, decrease in scale
And if they raise a deceitful stink
Lo and behold, their **** will shrink
Every time they make up lies
Their ***** will contract in size"*
Making a molehill out of a mountain,
Will affect their natural fountain.
And planet Venus in the sky will look bigger than the ***** in their fly.
They will have to altogether give up lying if they don’t want their manhood dying
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 3:45 AM UTC
*Babe I hate to even think soon I'll be long gone
that destiny's a painter and the art is bold drawn
it hurts we have to part now that we're all grown
it's a sting we waited for this moment only for I to leave town
hurts that I can't change it, cuts I needs a bandage
***** harder than ******* cause I know that you won't manage
our happy song's now a dirge, unreal like a mirage
who'll get me to my feet when am parting with my clutch
me frowned at the news but none could listen to my views
guess I'll always end up trapped in a wrong place
always emerge a victor in a wrong race
I tried to appeal but karma won the case
what else will be scenic like dawn clutching to your dress
I hate to lose that smile cause it's a milli not a mile
and*
**I'm aware....
when life takes me away...
Tears may come your way...
Babe hope you know I pray...
That you don't cry for me...
Please don't cry for me...**
*I pray you find warmth in some other way
Can't promise we'll still feel us from a million miles away
but I think I'll think about you every other day
never doubting your love, that I totally swear
I'll be present in every moment albeit I won't be there
when your skies are clear and when the skies are grey
I'll be the silhouette somewhere twixt your heart and soul melting
the snow of your confusion and fears to keep your existence at bay
Please don't cry, please try...
try to think about us without a tear
try to plough your way through the fear
don't be lost in the Sea of loneliness
Hope are the sails, life's a boat to steer
Am not saying you should bottle up the melancholy
it's alright to breakdown at such doldrums, it's okay
I just wish sadness was food that you'd ship for me
or an ***** I'd mute the speakers, or stop to play
I wish life was a symphony, so that we choose harmony
I hate that the sad song of our looming reality is in production
and that it will soon be ready for karma to play, with such affection
I loathe that you're bound to listen when we're missing
I hate that I carry this worry to the hay role right from kissing
and this affection's starting to feel more of a curse than a blessing*
**Cause I'm aware...
when life takes me away...
Tears may come your way...
Babe hope you know I pray...
That you don't cry for me...
Please don't cry for me...**
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 8:46 AM UTC
I imagine myself
A few gentle decades older.
Finally grasping the cusp
Of success.
Living in my own apartment
In New York City, nonetheless.
Wearing an Armani coat
(Whatever those look like.)
Walking idly yet prestigiously
Through winter in the city.
Taking care not to laugh too loud,
Talk to myself, smile too much.
A small, attractive female
Has to be serious to get ahead.
Customers will buy from a happy girl
Only if she is early 20's, at most.
That is Marketing 101.
I am a small fish in a large sea;
The principles of Darwinism
Still apply to me.
I've learned long ago to succeed,
I must stifle the welcoming smile.
So along the familiar concrete
I stride,
Carefully manicured hands
In pockets.
The Filipinos know better
Than to rush on the hands
Of a businesswoman caressing
A successful career.
She tips well and lives well.
I walk along with cool calm
And feminine grace.
I have regained the safety
To be feminine once again.
The criminals know better
Than to infiltrate
The Business district
And cause trouble
To working professionals
In Armani coats.
I imagine myself a few decades older.
Kissing snowflakes unenthusiastically.
Yes, I marvel in poetry, in Nature,
But I have matured
Much like the snowflakes themselves.
At the end of a cycle,
No matter how beautiful.
My actions flow gracefully and delicately.
I melt into New York City
Like a cell in a body.
Pumping fuel into the *****
To sustain the mass.
A tumor.
I smile subtly as I slosh along.
I recall, once upon a time,
On my lower-class youth.
***** jokes, crude dancing,
And cluttered apartments.
I approach the high-rise building
I call home and greet the doorman
With the obligatory disregard
For his innermost being.
Poetry truly is in the strangest of places.
Even in an enigma like me.
I enter the marble floors,
Wiping my feet,
My rent as sky-high as
The building itself.
Elevator. Comforting motion sickness.
This is success.
The pit of my stomach sinks.
I tell myself it's the motion sickness.
I return to my apartment,
With its symmetrical details.
My thoughts return to you.
You've never stepped foot in my home,
But you've always been here with me.
I get dinner started.
I set out the extra glass, like always.
Rituals like these serve
As my Sunday mass.
I drink your glass with my evening medication.
Dare I say like always?
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 6:09 AM UTC
There’s a copper covered floor
swept in by father’s hand.
And a sweet scent dwelling in the thick air
of mother’s sigh.
Streams leak into the sills
upon my face.
And a blindfold
drapes the *****
A mesmerizing buzz
echoes within.
And irrationality
fills my presence.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 12:23 AM UTC
My heart bleeds tears
So yours doesn't have to.
It opens right up to every piece of joy
and sadness and injustice and inspiration.
Gushing tears....flood waters for the dramatic.
No use in trying to hold them back.
They burst all barriers and reinforcements.
My heart beats pain....thump thump...thump thump
Louder now. THUMP THUMP....THUMP THUMP
Innocent children destroyed in all corners of society.
Pump. Pump. Pump.
Poisoned by our own government with lies
Imprinted at a young age and we believed them. For a while.
Pump. Pump. Pump.
An aorta so large that tears mainline my existence.
It bleeds for you, your children, me, my children, our animals, our planet.
Some days it stops all together in a moment of silence for the ethereal
shedding their tears as rain on us all.
No tourniquet could stop the strength of my pulsing heart
My forceful, stubborn tears.
As I bleed out
these tears nourish
the ugliness around my shell.
Souls who are born with a heart like mine
encase an ***** strong enough to hold, release and replenish
tears of pain and joy over and over again.
It allows us to not just see beauty but breathe it.
It allows us to feel love so intensely
that our teary reservoirs are life forces beating Universally.
My heart bleeds tears so yours doesn't have to.
Apply pressure with an embrace or your own beaming light so my heart beats in unison with yours.
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 8:55 PM UTC
At a very small age, much too young
to know what a true love felt like,
I learned that I’d never be the
special girl in your life.
I could see from the distance already
wedged between us that there would
always be a much larger section
of your heart that I’d never be
good enough to fill.
I was only a very small part of
your world, taking up a tiny section
of your heart like a sliver wedged
deep inside the membrane of your
greatest ***** like a paper cut to the
side of your finger; so small just to push
aside but too much pain to forget completely.
I was the mistake you were trying to
move on from, to put behind you,
to forget about me as if I never existed.
Even from a modest age, I knew how
to long after a man who barely knew that
I belonged to him.
You were out of my league;
in a total different game.
I could hang on to someone like they were
the air I needed inside my lungs to breathe.
But you only ever wanted to be let go.
Oxygen is nothing that I’ll ever be able to touch.
You taught me what it meant to be temporary
before I would ever know what commitment was
and I learned soon enough that
they didn’t mean the same thing.
I tried and I tried and I tried
to be your girl.
I experienced my first broken heart
when you asked her to marry you.
We never had a relationship
but she became the wedge between
our potential friendship.
I learned what heartbreak felt like by a
man who said he loved me but had
the strangest way of showing it.
I learned that actions spoke louder than words
but sometimes actions didn’t speak at all.
I learned to never believe the truth
because you’d taught me how good a lie
felt within my ears;
like the harmony of an orchestra whose
conductor was blind to the instruments
being played in front of him.
We’ve never known harmony;
always out of tune,
I hated the sound of music.
I loved fairytales but hated Cinderella
and the reality that she brought to my life.
Blood wasn’t thicker;
It meant nothing to be related biologically
when romantic love came into play.
From a young age, I learned the world
was a cruel and unfair place
and I had to fight from my
corner of the ring by myself.
I learned what favoritism meant
and not because you chose me.
I learned temporary,
but never knew commitment.
The ratio of lies to truths was far greater.
After knowing distance,
I knew how to be cautious.
After you broke my heart,
I learned hate.
I knew how it felt to hate before
I would ever know how to love.
I knew it like the back of my hand;
more than I could ever know you.
But it’s time I taught myself something
so I’m learning forgiveness.
I forgive you,
for not knowing what it means
to be a father.
I forgive you for never choosing me
and for always picking her.
I tried and I tried and I tried
to be daddy’s girl,
but you never allowed me that privilege
and your heart was never large enough
for both of us,
so I forgive you for loving her more;
I forgive you for being my dad.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 11:12 PM UTC
i want my poems to have teeth.
i want my words to cut,
to maim, to bleed.
with verses, i will raze
empires. with stanzas,
i will turn thrones to dust.
with nothing but a bit
of silver on my tongue,
i will take the life of god.
i’ll ply that same *****
like honey, taste the sweet
nothings dripping
between knocking knees.
quake and quiver for me,
let me slip, furtive
as nightshade
to sate your curiosity.
feel the weight of veracity
in these fingers patiently
transcribing forgotten melodies,
compressing ivory keys
to sing of all that was lost
and what was gained
from the process.
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 9:48 PM UTC
I met a girl with X-ray vision.
She found herself quite smart.
Yet despite
Her fantastic sight
She couldn't find my heart.
There was an *****
that pumped blood
But surely there was something more.
So she climbed
Into my mind
And opened up a door.
There she found
Things somewhat profound,
But they were not of any interest,
So she rose
And found the words I spoke
In the chasms of my lungs.
She saw debate and
The arguments I fought
She saw what I cared about
But it was still not what she sought
Then she leapt into my hands
And saw all that I wrote
She tried to find double meaning
To the carefully chosen words
But there was no leaning
Or things of note.
So she gave up
But began to fall
For when asked what I cared about
My girl with "X-ray vision"
Knew that she didn't know me at all
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 10:33 PM UTC
A bridge from colloquial to courtly fare
A span where idealism and fantasy pair
A railway to the existential realm; celestial lair
A conduit through which rational discourse can flare
Deep medium to: forage, inculcate, and inform
Broad brush to paint rare beauty; sculpt surrealistic form
Incisive scalpel to surgically alter the societal norm
Delicate utensil to educate on civility and decorum
A literary ***** a prosaic construct
A mechanism our syntax to deconstruct
An analytical tool; an observational viaduct
Introspective milieu to reduct; extrovertive sphere to reconstruct
A semantical edifice that aspiring wit, lofty orations implore
An experimental structure gramatical anomalies to explore
A thematic repository in which concrete ideas, abstract notions to
pour
A vernacular cathedral butressed by an idiomatic core
Jul 25, 2012
Jul 25, 2012 at 6:37 PM UTC