"paperwork" poems
Dangerous roads
and starless nights
a/c out
and faulty lights
squeaky brakes
a seat that bites
you can take your truck and stuff it
endless circles
lonely bi ways
without a net
on the highway
it's time that i just
did it my way
you can take your truck and stuff it
you can take your truck and stuff it sideways
right there where the sun don't shine
you can take your truck and stuff it sideways
it's not your life that's on the line
you can take your truck and stuff it sideways
right there where the sun don't shine
you can take your truck and stuff it sideways
i'm on my way....and that's just fine
paperwork
time delaying
canvas straps
constantly fraying
you ***** to me
but i hear naying
you can take your truck and stuff it
life's short
i'm not waiting
takes too much
to keep berating
i'm getting *******
and we're not dating
you can take your truck and stuff it
you can take your truck and stuff it sideways
right there where the sun don't shine
you can take your truck and stuff it sideways
it's not your life that's on the line
you can take your truck and stuff it sideways
right there where the sun don't shine
you can take your truck and stuff it sideways
i'm on my way....and that's just fine
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 1:31 PM UTC
you went sledding
with the kids
while I filed the paperwork
and cried
I used to be your lady boy
shining in green pit-bar light
as you kissed me like
the kids were with my mother
stuck at the bottom of the
treehouse slide in a pile
in mud
laughing
when
in reality they were
just budding inside of you
fertilized with apple liquor
and the perfume smoking
from my chest as you
unbuttoned the first few
revealing the scar left by
my brother's first pocket knife
the skin of my young years
the skin I am wearing now
cut by these ******* papers as
you freeze
tearlessly
in a pom pom hat
teaching our babies how to make
the perfect snowball
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 10:18 AM UTC
What do you see, nurse, what's going on?
What are you thinking, when my buzzer turns on? -
desk full of paperwork growing in size?
climbing into bed and closing your eyes?
perhaps you are aching from hours on your feet?
or maybe you're desperate for something to eat?
I'm sure being overworked is something you hate,
but shouldn't you leave that at the hospital gate?
I lay here riddled with cancer, moaning in pain
wondering if you care or if I'm a drain.
I wonder if a kind hand will take mine in care,
or if I will be met with a cold stony glare.
I know you don't have time to sit by me a while,
but would it really be too much to flash me a smile?
When you come with charts and machines to inspect
is it too much to ask that you show me respect?
I know you're all human and that you feel too,
but it isn't my fault you have so much to do.
Please don't excuse yourself with the woes of your day,
I'm scared and I'm hurting as life fades away.
I spent my life teaching with compassion and care,
but this cancer it grips me, I've nothing to spare.
Some of you have the most beautiful of hearts,
but the lottery of care, it tears me apart -
I worry if a smile is the last thing I'll see
or if you'll be looking at your watch, instead of at me.
I'm probably not you're first and I won't be your last,
but I'm the only me, present, future and past.
The life I have lived is fading; death hangs overhead,
Fill my last days with kindness, for soon I'll be dead.
So return to your training, your core values, be aware
are you the nurse with the kind touch or the cold stony glare?
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 5:48 PM UTC
I guess I'm ready for this
Signed the papers with my tears
Didn't think it would hurt
After all these years
Friends now, like we never were
But erasing your name from mine
Even though I'm with someone else
I still think "what if we turned back time?"
You tell me you miss me
But you didn't want me when I was there
The saying is true, "you don't know what you got till it's gone"
Yet back then you couldn't bring yourself to care
Our house just wasn't a home
You were there but I was all alone
You worked all day, then with her all night
You never even answered your phone
Now I'm loved and adored
He holds me every night
Kisses me on my forehead
Tells me everything is all right
As soon as the paperwork is through
I'm marrying him after divorcing you
Love was a game I never thought I'd win-
But I did, and my prize is him.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 10:54 AM UTC
They say that the cities
Are paved with gold
That this is the land
Where dreams are made true
I'll tell you its where they are sold
Only the ruthless can afford
To rise to the top
The cities are nothing but cold
Homeless in doorways
And beggars on corners
A meagre minimum wage income
A damp house to welcome
Indirect subtle insults
Discrimination and accusation
Faulted into submission
One size fits all
Well it better fit you
Or you're just another number
Database, forms and paperwork
Lost in the system
Nine to five
Or the underworld shift
Borrow from Peter to give to Paul
Man made traps
Crime is always at an all time high
Theft, **** fraud, ******
Delinquency
Occurring frequently
I read the news
And it starts my day off miserably
Concrete jungle
Where have you gone simple things
If you have a minute
Tell me about the other side
The place I want to go
Acres of playground fun
I want to hear about the trees
The earth beneath your feet
Do you sit by the river
And feel complete
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 5:46 PM UTC
I'm the paper man
I witnessed you drop your papers
And refused to help
Because I'm a rolling paper
I'm never stationary
When I float in paper planes
My life starts tearing
When your presence equals pain
For I only saw you
With my paper view
We couldn't be two
When you're pay-per-view
I live a paper life
When the date never leaves the calendar
And people enjoy the satisfaction of cutting me
Like I'm construction paper
So I build to block them away
My face becomes paper mache
Searching for another way
I found relief in a bottle in a paper bag
It wasn't long until I saw the red flags
In the government serving me my papers
Even though I denounced them as takers
They kept pushing paper
My life regimented by municipalities
Burying me in paperwork
Like the employment I attained
To make my life spill off the page
And bleed into your's
Otherwise
Life's a paper chore
And the pirates keep stealing papyrus
That's alright
I've become the paper King Midas
Sep 22, 2017
Sep 22, 2017 at 5:10 AM UTC
You are going to die
before me.
I already know this.
You are going to get fat
and go completely blind
and probably,
eventually, they will
cut some parts off.
You are going to fall apart
in front of me.
I know this.
I still choose to stay.
I will be there
through all the appointments,
the stickings and pokings and cuttings and bleedings.
I have only wiped
a few *****
in my life.
Mine,
my son's,
a few babies
of friends.
I already plan on wiping yours
when you cannot.
I will draw
little sugar skulls
on your prosthetic feet.
I will make sure you always have enough medicine and it is always refrigerated.
I will help you
in and out
of the bathtub.
I will massage your legs
and arms
and back
and head
and neck,
every day.
I will make our boys breakfast
and walk the dogs
and make sure everything
goes back in the
same exact spot
and keep a file with all the pertinent medical information
so I can fill out all the paperwork.
I will take you to
all those folk rock shows you love so much
and describe the singers to you.
We will still garden together.
I can see you in a chair,
barking out questions
about our harvest and me,
going back and forth,
bringing you the biggest squash
to hold.
You see, I have given up thinking
I am ever going to
give myself to anyone else.
It is you and you alone.
So, when you start to fall apart,
and you will fall apart,
don't worry baby.
I am going to be there to wipe your ***
May 28, 2012
May 28, 2012 at 6:13 PM UTC
*Snap,
Shuffle,
Paper,*
Flick
Nurse,
Next surgery if you please.
*Gloves,
Tools,
Paperwork,*
Fly
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 5:54 PM UTC
Fever-flushed children and
Broken bodies
Litter hospital halls like so much
Human refuse
….Wondering why
their need for care is treated so tepidly by a
Society which worships
Profits
Power and
Prestige
….Waiting while
they wallow in anguish as
Privacy
Paperwork and
Payment are
Debated by bureaucrats in cubicles
….Wanting to be refreshed and
restored to some measure of usefulness
….But
Free to Pursue Life on their terms in exchange for
Silence
Acceptance and
Despair
Huddling for warmth and in
Fear of discovery
they assemble in rag-tag formation
having scaled formidable fences
Seeking freedom from
Poverty and oppression
Searching for work of any sort
….No matter how
Humiliating or
Hard
….No matter the
Cost or
Conditions
Disparaged and despised they labor
in hope that their children will have a chance for success
instead of suffering a similar fate
…..But
Free to Pursue Liberty
in a land where their presence is
Ignored if not Denied
Unkempt in camouflage
One-legged and
Vacant-eyed
he rolls his rickety wheelchair along grassy median with muted effort
displaying cardboard sign
childishly scripted
in one weather-worn and gnarled hand
while clutching a decapitated jug in the other
Forgotten
Forlorn, and
Discarded veteran
Victimized far more by country than foe
….But
Free to Pursue Happiness while
Begging on street corners as
Upright citizens dispense
Unwelcome opinions or
Pocket change with equal
Self-righteousness
Life
Liberty and the
Pursuit of happiness….
Ideals that slowly incinerate on the
Altar of Capitalism
….Songs forever lost in the
Cacophony now
Played on the
Instrument of Politics
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 7:17 PM UTC
It had been one of those enervating days,
when officialdom and red tape paperwork
had ****** the yolk and marrow leaving only
a dullness that yawed the ghost ship of her frame.
She decided not to cook, as much as
payback for her ordeal by proper channels.
And so to the "Toilet Bar", cafe of choice
for malicious villagers, though rarely women.
The men folk hardly stared upon her entrance,
by now they knew those leopard skin boots,
that packed a wallop they grudgingly took
stock of, then returned to their cheese and wine.
This was her quarter of salt cod with cream,
prepared by owner Paula and daughter Carolina,
the only other women tolerated amongst the chairs,
that smelled of tar and testosterone.
Lacking collars three tumbled to the stony street,
drunken mechanic, one armed plumber, peg-legged sailor,
the kerfuffle amusing her, their wicked aunt.
Another Lagoan night that shimmered out to sea.
Oct 19, 2012
Oct 19, 2012 at 5:54 PM UTC
Grinding....
Leaving it silenced, drawn and quartered
Clawing for the scraps left over
Predicament I found myself in
Or, towards the end of it
Slipping from the edges
Forager focused on finding any way back home
Sidetracked by some apparition left crying
Alone, in the corner
Grinding...
Paused, with rain drops weighted, heavy sense in the air
I can feel my lips turning blue and
Twitching
It's more literal than I would dare dream in a waking nightmare
The smell of every molecule tantamount to another realm
Hangs motionless in the air
The stone transposed becomes a rooftop asylum, overlooking such uncouth misanthropic parcels, self absorbed in this grotesque imagery, a veritable wall of self hate puzzle pieces
Grinding...
Low, on an almost ominous note, still grows colder in my ears
Blowing on winds filled with the spite and righteous
Anti holy
Fully rupturing sound of far off laughter of the
New root
My lips still moving
No sound produced
And my mind
Grinding...
I still pray to god for you
Beset on all sides by the same wickedness
Still afflicted by myself
Argue for arguments sake
****** up on the uptake
I thought that you might want it
I guess I forgot all the subtle ways
The fires spring to life at night
Arguably the wrong choice is
Looking at him
I try not to
Catch that glimpse in his eye
Already my mind races
And my bones are shivering
At the thought alone
Brickwork backing
Still swells maggots
And filing paperwork
For entrapment habits
Grinding
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 4:56 PM UTC
June 1st, 1998.
A child born,
A boy,
With a mop of brown hair,
And complications.
Pulse weak,
Not getting enough oxygen...
But the complications?
They were handled.
June 1st, 2003.
Blowing out your candles,
Looking forward to things to come.
Like being the ring bearer in your parents' wedding.
June 1st, 2005.
Forfeiting your birthday wish,
Because your wish is coming true.
Your brother is born July 26th.
June 1st, 2012.
Looking back on middle school,
And ahead on the monster known as high school.
June 1st, 2013.
Looking back on freshman year,
And celebrating 6 months with the first girl you ever loved.
You're positive she's the one.
June 1st, 2014.
Looking back on sophomore year,
Relishing the thought of being an upperclassman,
Yet still mourning the loss of your first love almost a year before, on June 26th.
June 1st, 2016.
Going to the meeting and signing the paperwork.
Feeling more pride than ever in your life.
You leave for basic training in August.
Little do you know, you will be medically discharged in November of the next year.
June 1st, 2018.
I will look back on all I have done.
My failures most of all.
Because they're all I have.
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 10:45 AM UTC
Hunger and Desire grew
'til bellies everywhere were
ruined for sustenance,
so in went the troops to wage
war against ideas and
when they arrived there were no
soldiers to speak of
so they set up tents
and didn't go away
they sang drunken war-songs
until the moan of starvation bellies
sang louder and more terribly
"That must have been them
the whole time!" they said, and
suited up for the charge.
So they trained their shells at the city
excited to see if target practice
had done them any good
but all they did was mortar themselves to bits
squadrons of video-game experts
sent drones overhead to drop
Hallmark cards titled "Why it's your fault"
and coupon booklets for American
chain shopping outlets to come
but they only marginalized
and condescended themselves
"Bring in the reinforcements!"
they cried, even conscripting
their hapless targets. This mob,
too, was a hungry belly
bellowing for satisfaction,
a cannibal ***
simmering
So they set up tables and stacked
boring paperwork, filing away
spirits broken by shrapnel and white
phosphorus
but they only resigned themselves
to imaginary lines and the plunder
of Control, insensibly
****** themselves to death
while they watched,
perplexed.
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 12:29 PM UTC
Why be a Counselor?
“Why be a counselor?” People often ask of me.
“The pay isn’t high, and the paperwork is beyond belief.
The stress you must have, dealing with people’s problems all day”.
So, I look at them, and I try, my best to explain.
“The pay won’t make me rich, you are right about that.
The paperwork's insane, and we always need more staff.
Yes, people come to me with a lot to explain.
From broken homes, trauma, and unimaginable pain.
But you asked, “Why be a Counselor?” so let me share with you.
Why I continue, to do what I do.
It’s the light in people’s eyes, when they first find that hope.
When they empower themselves, and finally learn to cope.
It’s watching them find a new life, one they actually want to live.
It’s the joy of the families, as they reunite and forgive.
It’s that one day you wonder, “am I really making a difference in what I do?”
Then your email reads; “I am happy and well, and I want to thank you.”
“That’s when you know…” I say with a tear…
“There could not be, a more rewarding career”.
-Monique Renee Smith
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 2:31 PM UTC
Which face will I wear today
The face I wear at work
Cheerful member of the staff
Underpaid - unappreciated
Tiny office with no window
Paperwork nobody looks at
Rules just for the sake of rules
Which face will I wear today
The face I wear at home
Always tired, depressed, besieged
by a thousand minor ailments
All the things I'd like to do
crowded out by other things
I have to do that are no fun.
Which face will I wear today
The face that sports a poet's cap
Gel filled quill pen clutched in hand
Trying every format I can learn
Gleaning from the published experts
Writing happy after years of sad
Finding sunshine in the shadows that I live in
Which face will I wear today
The face above the helping hands
that reach for places to be used
That garner joy from mucking in
to smooth the path for others
Seldom thanked - often refused
Bucket goal - to save a life.
Which face will I wear today
The face that looks back from the mirror
Mapping all the tracks of age
Searching for the sparkle in the eyes
that joined hands with my youthful looks
and did a conga-line away
Which face will I wear today
Picasso portrait of them all
Ill and hale - strong and weak - sad and glad
When seen together in the mirror
it's a face I do not know
and someone I don't care to meet
So check the clock and choose a face
Paste it on and smooth it out
Comb hair over all the edges
**** the light and close the door
And take this face out for a walk
See if anybody says hello
ljm
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 1:29 PM UTC
fem in isms,
i imagine Sapphic eyes:
bad *** advert coruscates elite
fairness sensing slavish blind
in gestate calm affirm
in genders More numerous of Windows--
Superior--for Doors--
O harsh judgement foiled,
as a foil, as unknown truth
foil-doubles in the brow,
abject symmetry to systemize
a fertile lack of sterile barrenness,
i am a mediatrix rend,
nirwaan, hijra wonderment aside
from transemotion's ground swells
demeaning to be understood.
i celebrate and face the same
to be what paperwork tests being
normal being, freely chosen
atom each belonging moves
an asterisk of paths
of mutate art of nature social darwin maze.
i imagine Sapphic eyes,
ginko soft they pile up all cobble
memories themselves concretely
cloistered fame
spray of salty waves,
macho screams symbol
for dismissal ease
for tearing at an inner unsaid war
with lists offense of proper taste
to what posterity intends
an undulation womblike seeming nourish safety sounds.
i imagine Sapphic eyes
past
debauched
meanderings
where hyster-clarity rejoins its titular
and reliable escapisms curl the lips
of maleness found
here and there smile sneer love
i imagine Sapphic eyes
linguistic pirouettes
congest that wisdom nonetheless
the moment passed on to a
feigning truth in pretty rhyme
ornamenting time with fine meter fine
vernacular chimes peter in
to juggle perspectival paradox,
redichotomize the twilight idols,
resolve the conflict like a dawn
Aurora,
i imagine Sapphic eyes
running plastic with Alaskan wolves,
toga floats to snow
to let us see the purest fairness form
a ****** circle,
Hypatia ascends from tenebrous grave,
Impregnable of Eye is pregnant now
with Wollstonecraft revered
in liberation's fount
families held exemplar gaze of
Taylor, ****** Cady,
Anthony resanctified
to vote entitlement's
empathic origins, waxen mold
of nascent categories,
narrow hands spread wide to panoply anew
the manifest evolve in true unknowns
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 23, 2012 at 11:56 PM UTC
You are going to die
before me.
I already know this.
You are going to get fat
and go completely blind
and probably,
eventually, they will
cut some parts off.
You are going to fall apart
in front of me.
I know this.
I still choose to stay.
I will be there
through all the appointments,
the stickings and pokings and cuttings and bleedings.
I have only wiped
a few *****
in my life.
Mine,
my son's,
a few babies
of friends.
I already plan on wiping yours
when you cannot.
I will draw
little sugar skulls
on your prosthetic feet.
I will make sure you always have enough medicine and it is always refrigerated.
I will help you
in and out
of the bathtub.
I will massage your legs
and arms
and back
and head
and neck,
every day.
I will make our boys breakfast
and walk the dogs
and make sure everything
goes back in the
same exact spot
and keep a file with all the pertinent medical information
so I can fill out all the paperwork.
I will take you to
all those folk rock shows you love so much
and describe the singers to you.
We will still garden together.
I can see you in a chair,
barking out questions
about our harvest and me,
going back and forth,
bringing you the biggest squash
to hold.
You see, I have given up thinking
I am ever going to
give myself to anyone else.
It is you and you alone.
So, when you start to fall apart,
and you will fall apart,
don't worry baby.
I am going to be there to wipe your ***
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 11:48 AM UTC
Ego Eccentric, Collective hysteria
A mind of madness,Compassionately cruel
Do or die
Black or white
Comprised carefully of duality
We are presented a human life
The thinker thinks but will never know
Think as much as you can
As much as you'd like
Ahh a thinker,
For he is one far and few between
He cringes at the tabloids
Glamorized ****** flashes
upon the big screens
Fear mothered slave state
Is where he sighs home
A pattern to repeat
An average man's prison
One of which
He's carefully constructed himself
Barring his own windows
Processing his own food
And his own paperwork
Jail keeper sounds
The morning alarm
"Wake your body!"
Mind stays in slumber
"It's time to make money"
Yet no real wealth
Another day on repeat
Constructing his "self"
Identifying carefully
With devised roles.
The play begins
"Curtain call!"
"Places everyone!"
The lights dim
Going back to pretending again
-KaitValentine
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 2:33 AM UTC
Mam, from the September following Child’s 5th birthday I no longer consider you fit to raise him.
For six hours a day, five-days-a-week-term-time-only Teacher can help.
Unfortunately Teacher takes time off. She needs a break from your little monster-
so during the holiday she gives Child back. Try not to undo the good work that’s been done.
(…Won’t you?…)
If you want to bother Teacher with (daft) questions go ahead.
She’ll rearrange her face into a listening position- And respond with jargon designed to make you feel thick.
Concerns?
Child often exaggerates.
O, I see. 2 adults, 30 children and a bundle of paperwork?
She’s qualified. You’re not.
(…are you? Thought not. And you don’t live in Big House or sound T’s and H’s… So where were we?…)
Nightmares? Bruises? Cuts, scrapes, a black-eye? Low self esteem?
(…so you’re a psychologist now?…)
Child cries? Is unhappy in class?
His fault.
Or yours! Don’t worry. Teacher keeps her eyes open for signs of trouble at home.
Child skips school? Down to you.
(…There will be various consequences, of course. And implications……c-o-n…s-e-qu-e…nce-s…,….i-m-p…l-i-c…a-t…i-on-s… It’s been made clear already: You’re not fit to raise him…)
Pressured? Bored? Judged and ignored? Humiliated? Belittled? Frustrated?
It will lead to what, exactly?
O, when he leaves School! For just a moment there
I was worried.
No, no. Not a problem. Not a problem at all.
Maybe he’ll run with a bad crowd, break a few laws, end up in the gutter?
Yes. Maybe.
But it’s out of my hands.
Aug 15, 2011
Aug 15, 2011 at 4:34 PM UTC
*"For all have sinned
and fall short of
the glory of God..."
Romans 3:23*
Jane woke up
In a strange bed
Liquor on her breath
She lit up a cigarette
She knew that
it was death.
She watched him
Put his pants on
Before he went to work
She thought
He was a loser
She thought
He was a ****
She walked out his doorway
Back out on the street
She now had $60
So she went out to eat
She observed the customers
The waitress and the cook
How could
She keep on living
With the guilt
She felt - the looks?
They all knew her business
Her clothing said it all
So they sat in judgment
Nailed her to the wall.
She left with shame
Surrounding her
There was no disguise
She left with face
A flaming red
Tears burning
In her eyes
She walked by an outreach
Walked in with
Other knaves
She felt she might
Find some help
The sign said, "JESUS SAVES".
Sue woke beside her hubby
In a nice suburban home
She went and made
Him breakfast
He came down
Well groomed.
He went to
Good employment
He had a sterling past
She put on her makeup
And went to Yoga class
Then the doctor's office
Her tests negative again
She filled out the
Paperwork
And thoughtlessly
Took their pen
Then she drove
To Wal-Mart
In a hurry
She was late
For her next appointment
For the lunch
Which her friends ate
She went in to
Meet them
That's when
She saw Jane
She looked with derision.
That ***** ***** again.
She consumed her salad
"The girls" laughter
Met Jane's ears
That's what caused
Her face to blush
That's what
Caused her tears.
Sue drove home.
She cut cars off,
Not thinking it depraved.
Jane walked in the outreach
With the legend
"JESUS SAVES".
Two very different women
Died & went to God
It was then
Something happened...
Definitely odd!
Jane went before
The Father
He looked at her list.
All the things
Which she had done
All the marks she'd missed
But He then
Acquitted her!
He hugged her with love!
For to HIM
Her page was *blank
For He saw JESUS' BLOOD!*
Sue then stood
Before Him
He looked at
Her short note.
All things done
UNKNOWINGLY
Were what
The angels wrote.
How she'd transgressed
Her husband
By taking him
For granted
How she'd taken
The doctor's pen
And other things
She wanted
How she and her friends
Had laughed at
A girl in pain...
That the woman's guilty
That much was
Quite plain...
So Jane was then succored
Sue went on bereft
Jane stood on the right hand
Sue stood to the left.
For Jane was FORGIVEN
Her joy had no end...
Sue eternal torment
Because she was
CONDEMNED.
What's your stance,
My people?
Will you stand or FALL?
For God is always watching
And He judges
US ALL.
SøułSurvivør
(C) 10/2/2017
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 10:28 AM UTC
Were you alive when the
bricks began to crumble
beneath our hand-held, picket line
across the parking lot in front of some
school that no one bothered to name?
Our exhaustion-mumbled whispers
skipping across lips dropping to the street
that tapered ladders on gargantuan gadflies as the summer heat
etched the tear lines into mud tracks against
our ruddied faces.
Cohorts torn into flip stands
layered toward standing political sores --
tell me how to cross my t’s and fill in scantron circles before
the suits step over brown-bag lunches
to stretch the yawning yellow tape over the students’ lockers.
We were strung up the flag pole, almost posted as decapitated heads for the public.
The political analysts call this “The biggest school closing in decades.”
Under teeming hammer-strikes :
glasses shred to paper-splinters
before a young boy’s diploma
crying white chalk bricks
from university’s doors instead on to
prison yard orange jumpsuits.
Can we call this a school improvement project
or can we call this the Same Salem Witch Hunt
As unwashed teachers and students alike deck the sidewalks like
Either Christmas decorations on Michigan Avenue or
Inmates on the gallows platform
I’m completely unable to read the television marquee that told the neighborhood that City Hall was too stuffed with paperwork to defend the mothers and invisible fathers.
I’m completely unable to write out of respect for these children’s already-carved in stone pathway to the gutter, graveyard, and/or prisons.
In the first wink of dawn
We will all scatter
To our respective positions
Carved out in concrete before the
barricades fall
to flood the street.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 3:52 AM UTC
I wish cancer was a mere zodiac sign that did nothing more then Determine the compatibility of young love and offer cheap pick up lines at crowded bars
Hey, whats your sign?
I wish that love was not just a word, but a fluttering of colors, blinding the brightest of eyes and seeping through every pore of your being,
A word not so easily being abused, used, or broken.
I ACTUALLY love you
I wish that friendship meant once more the pure blissful enjoyment of ones company, never questioning real motives or keeping an all seeing eye taped open
I ACTUALLY trust you...
I wish that the bond between mother and daughter meant more to the mothers and daughters, and that all knowing instinct that all mothers should share, would be voiced to all daughters whether or not they cared
LISTEN TO ME!
I wish that the tie called marriage to most, meant more then the paperwork they sign as a joke, that living together till death do you part meant together forever through the unbearable parts
Redefine Forever
I wish that heaven wasn't so far away, imagine what I'd give to make that trip in a day, stand face to face with all of the greats, the ones whose memories live on every day
They are never really all that far away...
*The beautiful things,
That we embrace,
Pulls themselves closer,
Everyday*
Oct 5, 2011
Oct 5, 2011 at 10:18 PM UTC
You turned me into a paperweight.
Ambling out of your genealogy,
you chiseled me to the marrowbone;
walk tall with your invisible chains.
You turned me into a paperweight
marooned on polished mahogany –
conquered West-Indian trees;
walk tall while your mastery wanes.
You turned me into a paperweight.
From your bottomless, two-ton
tongue came my disfigured heart –
walk tall, you pyrite suzerain.
You turned me into a paperweight,
deserted on paperwork seas,
ball-and-chained to the wooden beach –
walk tall in your insidious vein.
You turned me into a paperweight.
I fell, clutching the snowflakes,
and held your whole ********* useless life together –
walk tall, play that catchpenny game.
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 12:35 PM UTC
I face that mysterious door,
Fighting my way
Step by step
Through mounds of paperwork
And applications to where I suited.
All for that intangible future
More fresh and striking than anything here
“I will go.”
My future is manifesting itself slowly,
Inexorably and inexplicably before me.
I choose to gaze at my future as infinite opportunity,
Infinite joy spread over infinite possibilities.
As that joy becomes tangible,
It also becomes more finite.
But from where I stand
I see everything ahead.
I can finally leave
Everything I’ve been tied to
And prove to myself, “I am myself.”
(3/21/14 @xirlleelang)
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 12:43 AM UTC