"panics" poems
The vulnerability of baring myself fully
clenches the belly
panics the heart
stands my hairs on end.
It is truly the most terrifying thing
to stand in ones authenticity.
And yet. And yet.
The courage it takes.
The great tender strength.
The spine tingling elation.
The heart swells, and magic.
The naked beauty borne, in feeling you have nothing to hide.
The spirit touched ardor of a bare approach to life.
The openings and the mystery.
The expressions: tripping, falling, incomplete, misguided.
The wonderful mistakes, elucidating lessons.
The perfect imperfections.
The easing of honesty.
The engendered humility.
The profundity.
The sense of being touched, touching, and in touch with life.
The unmasked revelations, of full spectral undulation.
The this. The that. The I can accept it all.
The dropping of shame.
The incredible liberation, in shedding that shame.
The finding forgiveness for self, for other.
The quiver of unknowing.
The sweet caress of potential.
The dread. The sorrows. The uncertainties.
All making room for, in their acknowledgement:
Room for what else is there.
Room for laughter, and joy, and luminescence.
Room for flirtation, dancing, spontaneity.
Breaking open.
Melting into Love.
Soaring on the wings of Truth.
The hush, of anxious worry.
The Goodness bestowed.
The empathy.
The compassion.
The connection.
The holy restoration of creative flow.
The fires of real passion.
And everything.
And everything.
And Beauty.
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 12:12 PM UTC
Abortion
A screaming baby yelling
“Mommy! Please don’t let me go!”
All because it wants to see this world
But Mommy happens to have regrets and a mind filled with shame
All because nobody knows about little James or Joyce
Mommy isn’t ready for mistakes to happen
A screaming baby yelling
“Mommy! Please don’t give up on me!”
All because it wants to see Mommy smile
But Mommy happens to head to the clinic
All because she’s thinking about abortion
Mommy isn’t ready for regrets to happen
A screaming baby yelling
“Mommy! Please don’t do this to me!”
All because it wants to see its first birthday
But Mommy happens to grab for the scissors and then panics
All because she finally realizes life’s a blessing
Mommy isn’t ready to fall down the same path as last time
A screaming baby yelling
“Mommy! Please make the right choice!
All because it wants to know its gender
But Mommy happens to suffer from ***
All because she was ***** by a unknown man
Mommy happens to give life to a healthy
James Denzel Roberts
But…
A screaming baby yelling
“Mommy! I thank you!”
All because it misses its mommy
But Mommy happens to give James up for adoption
All because she doesn’t want James to suffer
Mommy happens to die 2 weeks later
As…
A screaming baby yelling
“Mommy! You’ll always be in my heart!”
By Zyanneh Frazier
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 7:14 PM UTC
When you give a girl a dog you give her a best friend
Her hand becomes forever intertwined with a paw
She will rush home for school and run to hug her best friend
As she gets older she will confide in the dog
She will wait for her dog to be next to her before she starts crying
When she cries she will only feel better when her dog rests their head on hers
She will run to the dog whenever she is scared or sick
She will find comfort in the dog when she panics
Her dog will make everything seem better
When the dog begins to get old she will refuse to believe it
She will not accept that she will lose her best friend
Until you come home and tell her she only has one more day
She will cry and sit with the dog for hours
She will spend all her money on treats for the dog the night before
She will become numb to the world around her when she says goodbye
She will want another dog immediately so she can try not to think about it
She will refuse to think about it
Until she calls out for her dog, her baby, her Pepper and does not hear the click of her best friend's nails on the floor
She will wait for the barks that begin at 4:30 every night
She will lay where she used to with the dog
She will cry every time she thinks about her baby
She will yearn for the barks that once annoyed her or the constant barks
She will miss feeding her dog under the table
Or the times when they would dance together
The feeling of her thick fur under her hands
Or the fur that would somehow end up everywhere
She will feel as though there is no light without her dog
But she knows that those 12 years 88 days were the best of her life
She will never want to trade anything for that time
The laughter through the tears when she finds an old photo will change everything
She will remember that she shall reunite with her dog at the Rainbow Bridge
Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 4:10 PM UTC
happiness is fleeting
obsolete
cold like the sleet
it gets
when it wets
and success
comes in a disguise
wearing a dress
dreaming
of happiness
realizing
what it means
to be
not to be brought
or bought
or taken
with a restless mind
it's an image of time
in which relaxation
happens
without the need
of a glass of wine
or a drop of this
hit of that
the happiness to be had
do you think
you deserve all of that
to feel good again
to do something
that makes you feel guilt
something you feel
to be a rude awakening
that keeps you waking
in your sleep
your dream
you thought you had
could come true
unruly
attributes
begin to penetrate
what you had in place
what you wanted
thought you needed
a happy place
you built in your mind
gets crushed
by reality
now you're blind
to what happiness is
but you continue to live
and redefine
shape it
make it
and see
what you can find
is it happiness?
sadness
and gladness
and manics
panics
attacks
angry outbursts
not being able
to relax
has its way
into your life
how do you make
happiness
the number one
most felt
feelings
that you normally
feel
how do you make that real
that happiness
how do you not conceal
your happiness
without letting
the people around you
clown you
down you
try to put you in a place
where they are
which isn't at
the same spot
you're trying to be
the happiness
as it fleets
and you grasp
at your bed sheets
satin
slips away
through your fingers
give it time and let linger
feel breathe
get happiness
and when you see someone who needs it
and you still have some that lasts
go from within
and give it right back
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 3:57 AM UTC
He topped coffee with melanin
as if there wasn’t even blackness
set in rigid processes and routines
days in and out of smoking
numbed his brain to senseless cells
and he dreamt of dreams I never hold
poetry was just pretentious to him
a narration of my soul and heart
every word I wrote to him was a spell
the curse of his native Englishness
every adjective was a clocked tense
and he never understood my words
nor heard my melodies and rhythms
and as he rode, sure it was like a dog
lost in sense, an escapism of reality
the puffs turned to paranoid tales
those sudden withdrawal and panics
drove me away to the deepest forest
and my very bones felt his distaste
collapsed in manipulation and new age
his push always became my push
and the pulls up became my polar
Such a little boy with no ultimate direction
Locked in the abyss of the faded memories
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 4:00 PM UTC
Never once had I played the cello.
I thought the violin sounded much more lovely.
And then I saw you.
No... I heard you.
Such a mysterious sound.
Inviting.
You drew me in with your tunes of promise.
You tempted my loneliness with a single flick of a string.
When I cried... your music was my lullaby.
The sound of your tune, no matter how made up it was...
For one meaningless moment, I was safe.
And even in this crowded world.
The busy streets, and the panics of my heart..
You wrapped yourself around me.
You became so much more than just strings.
I noticed how smooth your body was.
And what I thought was a hollow inside, held a heart.
And as I listened to it beating, I knew that's when it would all fall apart.
Because a cello, it has to put on a show.
A cello requires an audience, not one person alone.
So the music that quickly became home to me, could never be mine you know.
The cello it now haunts me.
It sounds sad and brings tears to my eyes.
The strings, they now feel lonely.
The sound, I almost despise.
But the music my cello played for me...
I'll try not to let it tear me apart.
I may not know what love is,
But music is a piece of art.
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 1:26 AM UTC
Patterned dots, existence connects
An anther to a stigma, reproduction
The pollen withers, pollution subsides
Colonies of bees vanish in the wind
Toxic genetic food wins in binge
Mother earth cries in pain, an ail
Food chains and supplies cut short
Globalised mass production of poison
Supermarkets stocking “all season”
Consumerism monopolies swell
The environment abused and misused
Plastic bottles displaced, a chemical sludge
The haunted “great pacific garbage patch”
Littered garbage, debris and chemical sludge
Humanity displaced, dissociated and divided
Ruining sea waters , floating landfill fueled
Probability of heightened population
Global panics, mimicked maniacs
Reductions of resources to feed all
Unsustainable long windy farms
Big roads, buried bills, stingy reality
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 6:43 PM UTC
there she stands in a skirt and heels
pretty little wallflower
a sheepish grin and a request
he smiles his twisted smile
and winks "no problem"
and they walk and they talk and
hours pass
happy little wallflower
she says excuse me but
he knows her too well already
her quietest struggle revealed
no choice but to trust
silly little wallflower
days pass and they're together
deeper and deeper she falls
one night she panics and he turns away
more days pass without a word
a passive moment, now her life
simply passes by
stupid little wallflower
she sees him with other girls
he doesn't stop to think
and weeks have gone
she's almost moved on
another man approaches
fickle little wallflower
sweet manners, kind gestures, he's
genuine, friendly, she wouldn't mind
giving it a try so she goes to visit
and the first is there
pleading "stay with me"
pitiful little wallflower
her foolishness her downfall
she recedes from each
the wallflower all again
minutes pass and she finds herself alone
with him a curtain's breadth from humanity
heedless little wallflower
he calls to her, she stays reserved
he calls again and she has no hope. she is his
they lie together, she is only content
even knowing it can never last
pathetic little wallflower
every moment put to memory
he walks away without a goodbye
and still she smiles
her pretty little wallflower smile
Mar 27, 2010
Mar 27, 2010 at 12:15 AM UTC
The world was never going to end
in fire.
It was never thought to.
Now. Thunder comes on.
The raincoat boleros around the street.
Momentous,
One two slow slow one two. Earth splits
/ an avocado, molten core discarded.
In the southern hemisphere they are waving flags.
Complimentary colors crawl up the sky tiding in.
They are dancing.
Ba-cha
-ta,
Me-ren-gue.
Their hemisphere Charybidises,
trees genuflected.
Quiet. The puddles are sleeping.
In the north. The hemisphere has run aground.
It capsizes. All the bands are going
down playing.
Rain panics off the timpani
prisming.
The brass cherubs in the clouds.
The strings red shift.
At the equator,
an umbrella floats:
1 bird inside it.
She prays in single syllables. Help.
Please.
Quack!
Feb 22, 2011
Feb 22, 2011 at 3:10 PM UTC
Booming Rhetorics (Spoken Word- Freestyle-Dramatics)
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
==Booming Rhetorics ==
by
Checkered Darks
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
(Copy the link below to your browser)
https://soundcloud.com/user-367453778/boomingrhetorics
Human nature itself is a smash of contractual responsibility. A splash of rights afloat as we sink in our psychological rooted moral panics. All I see is a cascading titanic of ventures our mislaid adventures one after another. The criss cross of chains, we bonded in tax measures, reserve treasures...... It's not my leisure I beg you don't make your pleasure.
I sink in pressure, resolving Karl Mark ideology of conflicted power. Is it our born nature or nurture to live in a world of social polarisation. A pole to pole, a tug of war. Each owning and holding a rope.Is it our task to cage in boxes, fencing notions of inequalities within our society. Is it our right this notion Bourgeoisie and Proletariat.
Help me out as as I wade in the swampy lowland. Treading through and through, head afloat, the submerging walk me to the shores..... Help me find my way through this dark tunnel. Help me see the light, let the sun ray penetrate my blight.
In our dichotomy of democracy we have made it right. A rolling ball of ........
1. Stock them high sell them cheap is the order of the day.
2. Social warehousing of merging demand and supply chain.
3. A disintegration of socialist entrepreneurship.
4. Re-distribution of Export Production Zones in marginalised countries.
5. A surge of capitalism on this patch we call the universe.
6.Conortions of monopoly colluding sustainability.
I pass this ball to you. As the industrial revolution fades and debates of "STEEL" revolves.
My Speech is a mere consideration, our contradiction. The contractual complications that we have grounded and granted ourselves as humanity. My voice is an exchange, my gift, a cloud of thoughts, an arousing hope our haunting costs.
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 6:19 AM UTC
Revving up the engine
of the gleaming funky machine
before zooming around, gave her
such an Adrenalin high, nonperil.
The constant ****** no guy ever could
promise, this act gives her.
She is pleased for that moment,
gets ready for the ****** rigmarole,
the very next second.
She gets jealous of her
own story, ever heard of that?
On the race course and the spread bed
alike her ebullience creates
tsunami waves,broke long standing records.
When you run fast enough
there comes a moment,when
there is no record left to break!
and the beds, you guessed right,
all are broken, made redundant.
And then the inevitable happens,
she smells leaking gas, panics,
freezes on the track, shuddering,
switches off quickly the engine
of her dream machine,her heartbeat,
makes the final escape,spontaneously,
without delay, decides to renounce
worldly pleasures altogether,
up to the Himalayas goes by foot, seeking
that thing which in life she missed all along,
Finds silver light's play on ice caps, and realize this:
she was walking through a dark, dark tunnel ,
of self-deception,"Affluenza" was indeed her affliction.
The Himalayan snow cap, loomed large as an attraction,
in her dreams once, now seemed less formidable, at arm's length,
"What a Guru,who looked timelessly ancient,
jokingly predicted once, comes true here"she muses.
Her trek upwards resumes with a vengeance.
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 6:08 AM UTC
Like a patterned rug
Beaten to be rid of dust and
Flopped over a balcony railing, a leopard
Hangs her hefty hands beneath a bough.
Head lolling lazily, she awakens.
Fingers like silent meteorites dig
Craters in the loose, dry earth.
From the grasses emerge many warm black eyes, unseen
And vicious: floral pockmarks on
Her carpeted exterior: cruel camouflage.
Deftly lugging her **** back
Into the branches to feed on its flesh:
Patterned rug stained.
Ears ***** and whiskers twitch
As boughs creak and twigtips reach
For the ground: the impala’s weight
Has weakened her arboreal home.
She panics not.
She slinks softly back into
The grasses: better to sidle away unscathed
From immediate danger.
Pride and body intact, she will **** again
Elsewhere.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 4:50 PM UTC
Sitting on the bus:
A sudden chill down her leg
She panics
for a moment
before realizing
it's summer
And more importantly
the liquid pouch
is in her backpack.
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 11:26 AM UTC
She paints herself, to better blend in;
She pampers and softens,
she plans all the right moves.
She frets, ruffling her dusty feathers,
so battered and dull, the sheen lost
to empty restless nights alone;
alone and growing cold in the night.
She panics, blood rushing in waves,
crashing against her organs,
breath blown like strong wind.
She picks her clothes,
covers herself in shrouds;
she knows you will be looking.
She knows you will map her out;
the rivers and channels that create her landscape.
She paces, wondering if she will be
enough for you.
She only wants to be what you desire.
She wants to be the last thing you see
before you fall into sleep;
the memory you search for in your dreams.
She only yearns to have you coming back;
wishing to see more of her.
Be with her.
Love her.
Is this what we must do?
Morph into another, less wholesome,
creation of ourselves
to secure love and emotion?
How many forms can we take?
Is this just going to be a
battle;
a raging brutal clash of
shape-shifting and anxiety?
Are we just going to tally
the numbers of different self
we can create walking out
of bloodied bedrooms?
The scars of each transformation
hiding on secret patches of skin.
I’m running out of choices…
Aug 3, 2016
Aug 3, 2016 at 6:09 AM UTC
This ship is sinking
Ever so slowly
Nobody realizes the cracks
Hemorrhaging water
This ship is sinking
Faster by the second
Everybody panics
Salt water crashing through
The gashes in the hull
The blue abyss below
Its' mouth wide open
Waiting for another crew of victims
Poor souls cast away into the unknown
Nov 7, 2021
Nov 7, 2021 at 5:13 PM UTC
someday, you'll understand. the way you don't know how to brush your teeth anymore, or when it's time to bathe. they way you look at others and they seem too fast, their clocks running on fresh batteries. the way you have to psych yourself up for days to mop the floor, or how you need a day or two of rest after 'changes in plans'. the way normal noise seems hap-hazardous and it panics you, heart hammers, teeth grit, and you rocking, murmur ssssssshhh... as if this house was a baby too big to soothe; you standing on the edge of that wavering lip, saying ssssh into that dark expanse of empty, needing mouth: it's hollering and doesn't hear you, doesn't hear you but hears the torment of a needing stomach. You: you stand there with your ******* not big enough to nurse, too empty to satisfy....
....someday you'll understand.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 3:55 PM UTC
The light
Above me is on
And I'm lonely
Outside a plastic bag
Blows in a hard wind
Like an empty hand waving at me
And I'm lonely
Once there were names
That meant something more
Than their names
And I think of this
And I'm lonely
I see the hallway light flash on
As a passerby walks down the hallway stairs
Wondering where they're going
And I'm lonely
I push the button
It takes me downstairs
I lift the glass
It takes me - for a moment - away from here
And the stars burn out
And I'm lonely
Seven lights hover outside my window in squares
One goes out
Another turns on
And I'm lonely
Poorly painted golden window latches
React to the warm wind outside the same as I
A sense that all will be changing soon
And I'm lonely
Where do the lonely go, when there is truly no one?
Some go mad with work, drink, ****** and drugs
Other's with family, social circles, and religion
I outside the hyena's circle who are devouring the decayed
And I'm lonely
Funds for overseas prose panics me
I see no end for I have experienced no beginning
Allow me to view the rules
Digest them and give me time to recover
Noon strikes a silent chord prickling the hair upon my arm
And I'm lonely
There are four lights on now outside my window
One with the blinds drawn
The other lit only by the grey blue glare of a television set
Meeting midnight brings me none of the old
Feelings of dusty comradery or delinquent joy
And I'm lonely
Three more lights
There is hope
They are gone after only a shutter of a tease
Back to the comfortable four
The death of a Winter spent in discontent
And I'm lonely
On a hillside I rested
Alone with thoughts of her
What I knew then
I know now
Some days are meant for rain
And I'm lonely
Parted by facts dealing with science and faith
Love became an issue immediately
There are only two rules in Love
One does or one does not
And I'm lonely
The night is neither setting nor rising
The moon hovers over me like a noose
Like a scythe
Like an ancient medieval axe
And I'm lonely
Only a single light on now
At the very top almost past my view
The wind is still blowing
The bag still waving
And all I am
Is lonely
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 4:32 PM UTC
Where's that girl,
Sweetheart of mine,
Young poetess of Amritsar,
The very same who trusts me,
Yes she loves me for lifelong,
She won't ever forget my love,
I won't forget that to her I belong,
She won't forget it either, or will she?
She won't ever forget, that I am hers,
I won't myself or let her let it slip,
She panics about future a lot,
Yes night-out will be rainy,
This night won't be alone,
Youthfully we will share it,
So close it seems I say,
Was it yesterday?
She will ask me when,
I'll tell her with a smile,
'Back at that time when you were doubtful,'
I'll just be hugging her,
She will blush purple.
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 5:55 AM UTC
You deserve so much better.
Better than a girl who panics
Who says the wrong things.
Better than me.
You deserve the world
And all it has to offer.
All the good and the kindness
That is better than me.
You deserve the best.
Because that's what you are
Pure perfection.
You deserve better than me.
Apr 10, 2012
Apr 10, 2012 at 7:20 AM UTC
Dear abuser,
Because of you I shake at night
I see so many deadly frights
My arms quiver with needles bleeding
I can't beleive I didn't think you affected me
Every night I come home
I shower and cry about my life
Every person I talk to I distrust
I know suffering is a must
There is no silence
I only hear my weeping
And your yelling echoing through
I have new triggers I don't understand
Was this always your plan?
I yell and scream at things I love
I can't beleive in any God above
My heart panics if anyone's upset
My breath is stolen like I'm in a corset
I can't stand to be alone
But I can't stand to be too close
I'm afraid of anyone's touch
Every problem is just too much
I can't have a good day
Anything good changes and rots
Into the memory and fear
I hate myself if that wasn't clear
No matter how much I build myself up
How strong I may become
I feel so weak and alone
I feel like I'll never find my home
I stay up and ponder if I ever could
Tell everyone about the hell you gave me
Maybe that would help me
Or maybe they'd just laugh at me
I rip my flesh open
I bruise and hurt my own heart
I give so much of myself to everyone else
Because of the guilt I feel
Cause it was all my fault
I black out and forget things
My stomach twist and turns and stings
I have no energy to enjoy anything
Nothing in life is a blessing
I've emptied my body of any emotion
Because whenever I have any
It's endless crying and falling apart
Noone can break this ******* shattered heart
I'm afriad someone's behind my back
I'm afriad they're ready to attack
I'm afraid all I ever do is lack
I'm afraid of every ******* thing even a tack
I can feel you
I can hear you
Needling through my skin
Piercing my head with sin
Burning my body
Every night I relive it
All the pain I'm feeling I can't quite explain
Because at this point I consider it normal
Everything is quite plain
I'm tired of the pain I sustain
I'll never have kids because of you
I don't deserve love becuase of you
I can't see anything but pain
I can't enjoy anyone's touch
I know it'll never be love
Just let them all **** me
And I'll call it enough
Except I'm not enough
I'm disgusting and damaged
My skin is peeled and broken
Scarred and red
Too many tears I've shed
I'm labeled a freak and crazy
Life is kinda hazy
Am I real?
Can I ever heal?
I don't think so
I just want you to please go
All three of you
I see all of you In everyone I meet
The yeller the ********* and the molester
You're in the eyes of every person
I can't find comfort
Because you'll always find me first
Aug 12, 2019
Aug 12, 2019 at 3:52 AM UTC
M - moaning. What Monday was created for. To moan. Dragging
ones weary bones out of bed. Washing, brushing then rushing.. Then we smile when the day is over. Instead roll in lavender clover.
O - the shape depicted on our face from lips acting surprised! The
realisation the weekend has slipped to history panics us. But it comes again.
N - nothing is quite right on Monday. The traffic is a nightmare, the wristwatch plays games with our mind. Do not get me started on the buttons on my jacket that dropped off at the glorious moment we needed perfection. Oh no drop off they did. Then hid.
D - **** this, **** that. It is Monday - need I say more.
A - at last. We say this at the appropriate times, whenever they are.
Y - you are home. Candles around the bath, to contact undesirable
spirits when privacy is paramount. Nobody likes a ghost spying on our moments. Yes, yes, yes Monday is over.
But today is a holiday. Bring out the wine, chocolates, let us party.
Pack your troubles away, stay in the zone. You are home.
Party it is Monday and dare I say "Yes!"
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 2:55 AM UTC
The puppeteer is the fool,
delivering drugs like a mule,
unaware of his crime,
he will pay a price of time.
The puppeteer approaches his boss,
in a room with some moss.
A man with two tears tattooed on his face,
holds out the his gross overpay and hands him mace.
The Puppeteer walks with what he believes is just cheats,
not hearing the sound of foot beats.
to late to block,
he is clocked.
The puppeteer protects what is his,
the boy beats him without a single miss,
out comes his hero in a baseball cap,
threatening the boy he tries to leave the map.
The puppeteers pride is damaged,
and takes the bat hitting his atter leaving him in bandages.
paying off the right people the man with tear tattoo's
make all the charges become taboo.
The puppeteer reads the news,
the boy he attacked might be set a new,
sitting by the rail on valentines day,
his friend approaches with a blush like a bae.
The puppeteer hears the boy say love,
he pushes his into the wall not wanting to be his dove,
though secretly he feels different,
and his hero can tell and kisses him not ashamed he is indifferent.
The puppeteer panics he is set a miss
for he never expected to receive a kiss,
he shoves him off and yells queer,
his heart is set with fear.
The puppeteer sees him sit down next to him,
his girlfriend near he won't mention it Kim,
looking for justice an older brother show up,
though he is ignored as his opponent sips from a cup.
The puppeteer hears a shot be fired,
he realises he is deaths desire,
when all went black,
his eyes open to see the gunman be pushed a back.
The puppeteer smiles for he has won,
till his hand touched someone,
looking to the side their lies the hero,
and the puppeteers sanity hits zero.
Complete our dream that is his last call,
before the hero's eyes will fall.
an unmarked grave is mentioned through my rhyme,
nothing can heal the heart not even time.
One goal is set in mind,
and he will accomplish it in do time,
to become an artist of the written word,
only then can the puppeteer become a bird.
The puppeteer lives no more,
for now he closes the past's door.
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 2:40 PM UTC
The hollow Moon awaits
shadows quicken alongside
the sandy loam.
Golden boughed elms
beyond the Saxon mound
shake their autumnal cloak
in reckoning.
The dawn already sated
panics the Wood Nymphs ,
hedges no longer linear
disjoint their passage.
They spittle like bugs traversed
one strange illusion after another
will see their wings mottled.
May 2, 2012
May 2, 2012 at 10:34 AM UTC
My heart is a hurricane yet my blood is the bay,
My mind tells me to run but all I want is to stay.
Suddenly within these puzzle pieces, denatured with time,
Confused emotion has made them align.
I’m terrified to be caught in the headlights,
Red-handed with love in the dead of night.
(I’m waiting for the tide to come in.)
My mind panics but my whole body just slips,
Melting into this ******** ****** drip.
Blue veins fast stained bright red, emptiness to too much,
My skin cells breathing so deeply with just the slightest touch.
Driving with the windows open as winter wind slaps me,
I think of all the questions that I wish you’d ask me.
(Because I won’t talk unless you want to listen.)
God’s a sick magician, playing silly tricks,
While I’m withdrawing, slowly hurting, waiting for my fix.
I’ve been given so much, much more than I need,
But your skin is my religion in the temple between sheets.
Like a fire I keep on feeding, because I love the warmth,
I know that it could hurt me but still I want for more.
(Besides, I like the sparks that scare me.)
The darkest part is I don’t care, in the night I miss your voice,
But my guilt is all washed out by satisfied white noise.
And I try to keep the storm stitched up together in my soul,
But it feels so good to have my hands full inside of filling in a hole.
And with just a moment, I’m unzipped and it all falls out,
My dam’s wide open, so is yours, an estuary full of doubt.
(Salt water is all we are, hurricanes and bays.)
As the clock ticks and the scales tip, I feel something is coming,
And I’m not sure, fight or flight, to stand still or start running.
My gut is screaming, joining the club of head and heart,
No one ever said it would be this hard, oh, take me back to the start.
I stare at God’s hands as he holds the cards, hoping for some cures,
But, worse, he just slides the deck to me and says “the choice is yours.”
(And that scares me.)
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 12:49 AM UTC