"overexposure" poems
i know what newton tells us
i know countries and continents and cities
i know the planets and their moons
but i did not know the galaxy of my body the planets that are my organs or the nebula of my mind
until you showed me
you taught me and showed me and led me with coarse hands and eyes deeper than any space i have ever traveled. you caught me in your gravity when you showed me ribosomes and platelets and when you traced my veins like they were a map you needed to follow without even knowing where it would take you. you told me the cosmos are forever but the body dies and that is far more beautiful than any atmosphere or supernova. i want to chart the stars on your skin with my mouth and i want to show you the taste of an atom and i want to teach you what overexposure to your radiation does to me but you are already laughing and telling me that something as small as you does not deserve the attention of the universe.
when i said i wish i had never met you
i told the truth
the universe was easier to comprehend
when it was only dead stars
instead of the way you look at me
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 10:23 PM UTC
Need drugs for my composure just can't seem to stay sober
Need closure to stay sober oh what overexposure
Dilated pupils and blood shot eyes the voices are mean she calls out and cries
Bars of white powder, crisp and cut clean
Coated with fentanyl just not for the eye to see
A band-aid with a bow tie or a fix with a twist
I can't count the days sober
Oh what overexposure
(C)
Jun 16, 2018
Jun 16, 2018 at 7:20 AM UTC
It's been a bit jarring, this stumble into symmetry,
my good senses
gluing themselves intact
like an eleventh-hour craft project.
No string sections swelling for this comeback kid--
the just desserts, in this case,
arrive in the form
of a steady hum
that breezes the past away
with the ease of a loose eyelash
flying in a tropical storm.
It took years to embody this equilibrium,
to approach the mid-morning sun
and not recoil from overexposure,
no longer draped in the sweat-soaked robes
of secrecy. I have tripped upon a biome
of bravery, fallen into the measurements
that require no prickly tampering
from the rusty, dulled needle
of a fraudulent tailor.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 9:21 PM UTC
I don't get angry with the sun
For being what it is
Or doing what it does
When my skin burns
From overexposure
I just become disappointed
With myself
You were no different
I just wanted you to be
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 9:29 AM UTC
It has been so long since I last heard my name out of your mouth that this time, it takes me by shock. I’m standing in the shadows, mouth agape, and you’re illuminated by the sun rays, blinding smile on your face. It’s funny, I note as a passing thought; we’ve been the light and dark of each other for as long as I can remember. You pull me out of my stupor, eyes finding mine and as always it feels like returning home.
"Are you coming?"
I shake my head, the weather is searing and my health is frail. The sun has never been a sanctuary for me like it has been for you, hair a faded brown and skin tanned from overexposure to the day. I pale in comparison, thriving in the moonlight and the shadows, at night and in the cold.
To my surprise, you don’t push any further. The briefest shock in your expression lingers before realisation sets in, and the corners of your lips turn up. It then occurs to me that you remember all that I have told you before, years ago when I thought you weren’t listening. I suppose you have been, all this while. A small spark of hope ignites somewhere deep inside my lungs.
"Tsk."
You truly smile by this time, fondness embedded in your gaze and the hints of affection in the tilt of your head. I return the gesture, a nervous, happy laugh escaping even before I can stop it. The moment is a giddy whirlwind of emotions; I have never been able to control myself around you.
-
I never notice until much later, but I spend the rest of the day away from the shade and under the sunlight; transfixed by your stare.
In these moments I can only think of how much I love you.
(A.H.Z)
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 11:24 AM UTC
From sands I arise,
to the faded skies over,
these hardened eyes,
and overexposure.
The bone-dry plains,
and arid weather,
have crackled my skin.
this sun-baked nether.
Drain on morale,
and eroder of soul,
nothing left now,
so I dig my last hole.
the yellow-white sea,
it stretches on.
it thirsts for me.
I am--long gone.
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 1:30 AM UTC
over and far away
across the sea
the ghosts i see
they see through me
silent mockery casts
around my steel composure
decays my hope by
truth's overexposure
i seek shelter
in my contradictions
i seek power
in my prided perceptions
raindrops on starboard recall
beat me to mud
i am blinded by
what is misunderstood
they hold me to every word relayed
always remind me with a nod
that i'm always searching
for those lost at sea
always returning
to my journey
to the dead
they're comprehendible
never moving
never touching
just between
real love
and imperfection
i coast these waters
at my own self speed
i long for something
which doesn't exist
Dec 11, 2009
Dec 11, 2009 at 7:50 PM UTC
Peace on your head,
Brother
I Love you.
We Love you.
PEACE
YOU HEARD WHAT I SAID.
WITHOUT HIM I WOULD BE DEAD
nah
No im not deaf
Place treble cleff
Im not the best but one day I hope to be the best that I can be. That we can be, be free. NO SEE we are one and of one blood you YOU HERE ME SON said we are one we ONE STAR the son we need the blood I see the son BLINDING EYES im fighting lies
inside my mind i hide the blind. Like playing poker but the river is only mine imtryin to find;
A doubtfull shadow in a drought over overexposure in a year boutes
ROUND 1
HERE ME CLEARY MY SON
ears and eyes can be numb
Steady ******* my thumb
Heres the truck and it runs
Spill my ill from this quill bleed a vision
Instill?
Piledrive at the mill
Robots is Optomis drilled
Pills and pharmacists ****
Im just a kid when it comes to this
But poetry is this is
Hope you dont miss this
TWIST IT UP IF YOU WANT
To do it thru it we **** hate
And Love is my median
No not a comedian
Just meditate
I see a dream and it's color blind
I said the gun is thiers and im right
We SOLD YOU RIGHT!?
IM COLD AS ICE.
but hold it tight.
I speak too boldy right.
Seams white is not the light?
Mold me and soul the frieght
GHOST IS A SOLDIER NIGHT
hahha ^-^
hahha love ya Brother
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 3:09 AM UTC
The plaintive surround can rinse
the deep space crush of Hubble's
score.
A fast-paced bandit's sable cloth
homing the absurdum of a priceless
presentation...eyes unawares wending
brilliant ways abruptly announced.
The common Light is not passable--
but is in love with eyes...the holy of
holies--rarefied districts commencing
willful overexposure.
Dec 24, 2012
Dec 24, 2012 at 3:16 AM UTC
He’s journeyed many a treacherous route, scuttled ancient-ships,
ridden the skyscraper-troughs of crystal-seas, hunted enemies,
alone.
He’s guided by the lamps of the Heavens, the countless stars,
the sun and the moon, calculated the astrolabe,
alone.
He’s braved hurricane winds, the triangles of Bermuda, windless days,
leviathans & squids, scavenging whites and other such hungry things,
alone.
He’s got the strength of a Goliath, keeps his tenderness guarded under lock and skeleton-key,
his wounds bleed forever in the brokenness of a self-induced solitary confinement,
alone.
He’s the truest mariner, fights black-tempests within, protects himself from overexposure,
from another broken heart,
alone.
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 1:55 PM UTC
Tearing through bodies to refresh one...
a raw timetable end to end.
Verily said unto--
sleeper-words activated as
healing agents.
The milky bulbs of elbows
protract, as hands cradle
the back of a head.
The newfangled dreamer
has caught a way.
Somehow has given him/her
someway--an incendiary
stronghold lives to praise this:
one-more-time.
The menagerie of him/her is
rounded up and rounded off...
their flickering numbers profess
animalia half to hell, half to heaven.
A tilt to left or right to actuate
more or less of.
As in so being lorded over by
what passes their perimeters...
hands a hell, a hell--a heaven,
a heaven.
For what's astray passes through
itself in stages...tearing through
bodies to refresh one...a raw timetable
end to end.
Moment of overexposure compounded...
the sleek pulp draped over the
shoulder of night and day.
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 11:42 AM UTC
Eh, I'm not too concerned,
But trust me that behavior is learned,
Maybe it's just overexposure,
That I'm not looking over my shoulder
For the grim reaper to get me,
Even though I can feel the heat
From his breath
On the back of my neck,
While his skeleton feet are always in check
With the tracks of my boots,
And it's not that the danger doesnt compute,
People often stop us and ask
If we all just put on masks,
But the truth is not a lie,
Everyday I wake up prepared to die,
Because if I have to meet my maker today,
I know exactly what He'll say,
That the firefighter infront of him,
Risked everything when chances were slim
To save a life I didnt know,
And for that my wings will always glow,
So to you death is the word,
That breaks your heart and makes you sob,
But to me, it's all just part of the job.
Jul 22, 2011
Jul 22, 2011 at 8:42 AM UTC
there's no couching this effort...
celluloid film jitteriness of memory...
akin to a centipede thrumming
about a dank cellar.
i can not vacuum this stead...
with mind over matter...you
are It...the holy of holies afforded me.
noteworthy, and uncelebrated...we are--
as far's love's itemized.
incommunicado, and legendary--
our poetic licenses bestowed upon
one another...years would go where they
go...and concerned parties would head-butt
the genesis/apocalypse of our Go...minus been.
my love's no recourse to lovelessness...
(for you...that is) for...i'm drawn to a
picture, picturing overexposure.
Hardening, hard, and harder times felled
atop us...now help me lift.
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 2:13 AM UTC
A fizzle.
A fury.
The rabbit and the hole.
Like puzzle pieces left out in the rain.
Overexposure,
White hot.
Ex-communication leads to excommunication.
This is your brain on drugs.
Intravenous lover,
**** the marrow dry.
White hot.
blistering
Pustules darling!
Transgress,
then offer a pause,
as though we had ever begun to play.
Like a claustrophobic *********
leasing out a shoebox.
I want in for good.
I want out for life.
Lets play hide,
all the seekers are dead.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 9:53 PM UTC
John Doe died this morning,
a man of indeterminate age
They found him in an alleyway,
a blanket of newspaper lining his cage
They said it was overexposure,
hypothermia and bad luck.
He was pronounced, tagged, thrown in a bag,
and loaded onto the truck.
John Doe had lived in that same spot
for fifteen haggard years.
Yet nobody knew his real name,
or listened to his tears.
Was he once a father? Or
was he always just a punk?
The community just passed him by
To them he was nothing but a drunk.
Whether or not John Doe had seen
better times seemed irrelevant.
Legally, John wasn't a human being
just a negative urban element.
His last words were "Spare some change
for coffee and hot bread?"
But nobody could spare the time,
and left John Doe for dead.
I wonder how long John sat dead
before anybody saw or cared.
I wonder how many handfuls of change
really could have been spared.
A little bit of warmth and hope
Were all that he desired;
But John Doe never saw a break,
until his time expired.
Old John was unidentified,
no license or social security;
no family reported him missing,
see, John was just an "impurity".
The mortician took his organs out
and stitched him up with wire.
Threw him on the metal table
and slid him in the fire.
John Doe was disposed of
in accordance with local code
Then they cleaned up the alleyway
He lived and died in, his abode.
John Doe is dead and gone now,
but I guess it's all the same.
John had never really lived
since the world forgot he had a name.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 7:02 AM UTC
Warning, take care
Hazardous to the health,
Caution, be careful
Take care of yourself.
No one warned me abut you
I circled around you for months
No one told me to keep my distance,
Told me to run, run, run
But I see it now, oh, I understand
I should have known you were dangerous.
I realize now that I've dug this hole myself
**And I ******* adore it.**
"Caution," label for that voice
I can't remember what I said.
Overexposure, could've ran
But you always get into my head.
"Hazardous Materials," for the the words you say
I'm tripping into walls when I remember
Under my skin, in my head
You send me reeling, the world's a blur.
"Warning," for your smile
It keeps me up at night
When I've turned off every light
But you're still so ******* bright.
"Careful," for your laugh
My face aches from smiling so often
It's contagious, your happiness,
Warmer than the ******* sun.
Where's the warning label on you?
Because I'm worried for my health.
I thought I was safer than anyone
But good god, you make me melt.
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 11:01 AM UTC
Let me show you to that burrowed house
up on the hill, it's ages old!
Come, let us shuffle through its memories
and see what is to unfold.
Faded are the shingles
with windows yellowed and stale,
through overexposure to the sun
all of the paint is flecked and pale.
Tattered is the rosy wallpaper
stained are the wooden floors,
and all of the hardened, crusty carpets
are discolored with ancient molds.
Winds howl through the hallways
yet are too damp in the midst of heat,
not to mention winters' frigidness seeping in
not one table can stand, their legs too weak.
Grass has sprung up through the floorboards
pipes are rusted and they leak.
Every bulb is dead, the curtains are shreds;
both groupings are now just clouded and meek.
But glance upon these remains once more,
see what they have to hide-
for not until you know there's gold
would you look for a treasured chest to peek inside.
All lights and curtains are worn down with fingerprints;
these rooms must have been quite used.
Not often such delicacy can be found, seeing
floors and pipes both falling to nature's muse.
Tables' legs are old and tired of standing,
why not let them sit a while?
Yet no matter what weather it shall be exposed to
this home, to its fate, has reconciled.
Carpets all were once soft and
scrunched between our children's toes,
how beatiful these floors and wallpaper must've been.
How beautiful? Only us aged would know.
The paint was once pungently new
it gleamed in softened sunlight,
while the windows acted as doors to dream's ways
and the shingles kept out the night.
Let me show you to that burrowed house
what memories it holds of ours, my dear
Come, lay here with me in this bed we shared
for now, in looking back, we hold no fear.
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 3:15 PM UTC
We're in a battlefield that most can't understand; others have their own opinion about this no man's land.
There are even those who won't accept the unseen reality because their morality shifts their mentality so they view spirituality as an abnormality.
Negative forces are all around taking on various disguises to bound, drown and break us down below the ground.
At war with our guardian angels for our soul, they'll use anything that can benefit towards their control to bring us down into their hell hole.
Though the battle may not be seen as many may depict, the wicked will pick out the weak and restrict them of anything that may conflict them from turning us into victims or resist them from becoming a convict, addict or being tricked by them.
So it is crucial to know how to handle such a menacing foe that'll have us undergo a life filled with misery and woe if we should want to throw in the towel, let go and allow them to grab a hold of our soul.
Whether you think it's spiritual or not, we all have a belief that there are forces out there that can cause to feel grief or relief and we all choose a side to receive an increase in extreme self-esteem that advocates in the defeat of deceit, disease and all the mean things.
So it may be spiritual or materialistic, however you may see out whether you're Catholic or atheistic, there are sadistic and twisted spirits out there creating more statistics right now as I speak about it.
Stand strong like a soldier, tough like a boulder and be the beholder of a more powerful enforcer right by your shoulder to help maintain your composure in the midst of overexposure to spiritual torture; this is war.
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 9:07 PM UTC
it came into the world itching to have one of your panic attacks. your father
with his overexposure
to abandonment
called its body
bottled water from the town of torn muscles.
fear was a cigarette case and fear was also a lunchbox. teeth
were part of a shadow
census
operating
in a flood
of milk.
it cheered horribly. it cheered and a bug bite became a birthmark.
Dec 30, 2015
Dec 30, 2015 at 10:37 AM UTC