"puked" poems
Our love was a roller coaster.
It had ups and downs and I sat real close to her.
It had a real slow climb and a real quick drop.
I screamed "faster" and she begged it to stop.
I put up my hands and she held on tight.
Not a second of boredom on our rickety flight.
And when it came to a stop at that first safer place,
I said, "Let's do it again," and she puked in my face.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 4:57 PM UTC
Your seething tides churn in my mind
As my shaky hands subside
And though love can be caustic,
You are sweet-tempered.
Your voice could calm even the roughest storms.
I wish I had enough time in the day to tell you of how many times you've kept my heart beating
Or of all of the times you've interrupted the steady streams of woe escaping my bloodshot eyes
All without even trying.
I wish I could thank you for holding my hand while I puked up roses, and drying my eyes when I choked on the thorns.
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 8:55 PM UTC
Dear Lesley,
I'm sorry to have to do this through a letter, but
last time your crying just humiliated
the other couples in your group session.
Although, this might save embarrassment,
and make me look better, now that we are
both sleeping with other people. (If you
can call conjugal visits to your ex-husband people.)
This letter may well be the last memory
you will have of me, if your social worker
lets you keep it as a memento anyway.
I am leaving, and I won't be looking back either.
I am sure you won't be surprised or terribly upset.
It is completely your fault, no doubt about it!
Mainly, it is your long history with lying problems,
even more than your alcoholism, that keeps me
from being even remotely interested in continuing
this relationship with you. (I told you I forgave
you for sleeping with your boss, but I guess I
never really did.)
You would be so much better off finding someone
that can accept the emotional baggage that
you carry around, the ones with the orange tags.
Maybe your analyst can explain that to you better
than I can. I must say, I will miss some of the exciting
times we had together. Like when you got so drunk
and flirted with my father at our family Christmas
dinner. My mom has still not gotten the red wine stain
out of the tablecloth where you puked on it.
I'm glad this is finally done and we can go our
separate ways. I think you will find someone else
with whom to have an unhealthy relationship based
on physical attraction and a passion for strip-club bars.
Hopefully, this will happen incredibly far away.
Good riddance, and Happy New Year.
PS Maybe you should just go back to being a lesbian.
PPS I have no idea where you parked your car.
Jan 12, 2012
Jan 12, 2012 at 2:23 PM UTC
Calories.
When I was 6 years old,
my mother told me I would consume
too many calories.
I would consume them by the hundreds,
by the thousands.
I was Godzilla and they were the people I dominated.
When my parents left one another
I had to fill myself with some other source of affection.
And the insulin rushes were tremendous.
When I was 11,
I had to see the doctor to be in fear of getting Diabetes,
and being grossly overweight.
At at age of 15, I was over 280 pounds
of walking disappointments.
I had always believed my stomach carried my happiness
and the fat under my chin kept my head high.
But after being rejected for so long,
I snapped.
I always had an attachment to food,
a sort of inseperable bond.
But I remember looking at myself in the mirror one night,
completely disgusted, tears welling in my eyes,
and I puked from the anger I felt inside of me.
So don't tell me the calories I consume today
don't burn more
than the bleach Amanda Todd drank,
or that the more hollow my stomach becomes,
I am not able to better hide my sorrows.
Do not dare tell me eat something,
because I've craved biting the bullet for the past 8
******* years, and carbohydrates
has caused more sadness in my heart than anything else.
Do not tell me other teenagers do not cut open their arms,
to let calories out,
because they are scared to Christ that someone may judge them,
if they eat an apple.
Because the first woman that ate an apple, ****** humankind.
And by having a sip of your Iced Tea,
or a french fry, might just dissolve the earth from beneath us.
Why we hide from nutrition labels,
and run from anything with a number greater than
ZERO
on it.
I was taught that happiness comes from a nutrition label,
and how many servings one consumes,
not the smile on ones face,
or the good in one's heart.
Calories have ruined my life,
and I will never forgive any nutrition label for that.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 2:57 AM UTC
one time mary lambert told me that i am a ******* tree stump so i went outside to absorb the earth
always take time out of every day to go out without shoes on
feel the grass beneath your feet and between your toes
go out in public without shoes as well
do not be self-conscious
do not blush and curl in your toes when people stare
always remember that feet are weird anyway
always be proud of your weird parts
one time i did dxm and almost puked
laying in the cool dewy grass made me feel better though
i couldn't fathom how beautiful everything was in that moment
(i do not condone the use of drugs)
one time there was a time when i didn't need nicotine or drugs to feel better about myself
i miss that, that time in my life
i'm getting better though
i hope you are too
i hope you get completely naked before a shower and while the water's heating up i hope you look at yourself and touch all of you and i hope you slide your hands down your ribs and hips and think ******* i am one **** fuckable ************
because that's exactly what you are
i don't want this to be a cliche "u r beautiful" thing but i think that's what it's turning into
a cool thing about life is that when you cry your cheeks get stained with black but it always goes back to normal
your skin, that is
a cool thing about you is that you are like your skin
a cool thing about your skin is that it's always changing, always shedding, always growing
what i'm trying to say is that nothing is permanent
that you aren't always gonna be stuck in this **** hole
that you'll always find a way to resurface
that you aren't just a crack in the cement, you're the whole ******* city
haha, i love you you stupid head
a lot of people do
be kind to others because we're all just dumb beautiful walking flesh things
smile at every stranger and love like plants do
i don't care what you say, you are someone's sun
so shut up with all that "i'm worthless no one will ever love me" crap
be a conceded ********
love yourself
disregard rude remarks
basically be like kanye
u do u booboo
keep all of this in mind the next time you're afraid to go out in a certain outfit or to change your hair or to wear lots of makeup or no makeup or eat or any ******** nonsense you wanna do. please just do it. dont be a *****
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 11:46 PM UTC
I used to be unique.
Kool-Aid hair dye and all.
Boys wrote my name on bathrooms stalls.
I swore at teachers.
I drank ***** behind the bleachers.
I puked at football games on cheerleaders.
I had black eyes and cigarette burns and soccer thighs.
I used to wear my shirt undone.
I used to have fun.
Now I own a 6-room house,
a 4-door car,
a water-dispensing fridge,
bell jars.
Also, religion,
caffeine addiction,
magazine subscriptions,
diazepam prescriptions,
goldfish,
900 pairs of shoes,
PVA glue,
a self-inflicted curfew,
sexually transmitted virtue,
and many, many cats.
All this between walls painted in 6 muted shades of deja-vu
from whence I commence my pin-cushion voodoo.
I sleep in pajamas.
I set an alarm clock and my snooze allowance never exceeds 4 minutes.
I spend my mornings yawning
through thick oatmeal,
********** in the dark.
I work in a bank
in an office
on a phone,
making friends with dead ends.
I come home to wash, rinse, and repeat,
undress in the dark,
and brush away the question marks
of hair in the bathtub.
Sep 17, 2012
Sep 17, 2012 at 7:49 AM UTC
I walked into a high school,
with one friend,
the only friend I made in elementary school,
who stayed my friend.
My mommy Doesn't like her,
I walked into a high school,
and my only friends older sister,
who felt like my sister too,
Passed away,
the school didn't care that we all cried,
I walked into a high school,
and I tried to make other friends,
and a kid got ******
and he stole my phone,
the police did nothing to him like the school and he later ***** a girl,
I walked into a high school,
going into a program with high hopes,
only for them to get shattered by those who didn't wanna deal with me,
because people didn't get things related to ADHD,
and I wanted to drop out,
I walked into high school,
and skipped the class,
after the one where the teacher and students all harrassed,
me,
because when I reported it, it was their word against mine,
I walked into high school,
and I talked to the teacher who would harass me,
and tried to make him understand me,
understand how I can't do things like everyone else can,
and he made me head banana masher and then I puked,
I walked into high school,
and Skipped that class for the first time ever,
because the teacher made me *****
be he was absent that day,
and I got in trouble for skipping and "lying about the incidence"
I walked into high school,
and skipped my classes,
and cried in the bathroom,
and cut myself,
because I couldn't handle my panic attacks,
I walked into high school,
trying so hard to make some sort of friends,
and they yelled at me every time I ******* smiled,
because they didn't want to allow me to be happy,
The school wouldn't let me have friends,
I walked into high school,
and tried to hangout with people after school,
and they just yelled at me,
made up lie about where I was supposed to be,
They tried to get more mom mad at me,
I walked into high school,
oblivious to what love,
***
or abuse was,
and the boy I was seeing ***** me,
I walked into high school,
on the final day of freshman year,
to take my final so i could get the **** out of there,
and they harassed me the entire exam period.
they said things of confidentiality,
I walked into high school,
and everyday I left in tear,
with a scarred body,
and nothing but fear,
and they expect me to wanna come back the following year?
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 7:11 PM UTC
Overview:
-Birthday: ∞
-Studied everything at The School of...
-Lives in ∞
-Gender: Seriously?
-Religious Views: Tolerant Chaos
-Political Views: Ambivalently Apathetic Anarchy
Family And Relationships:
-Relationship: It's complicated
-Family Members: Everyone Ever
Details About You:
*I am. We are. It is. Impossible to forget but hard to remember. Remember that time you found some money on the ground? That was me. Remember that time you got so sick you thought you puked your actual brains out? Sorry about that.
I love you go to hell.
To be honest I'm still surprised I'm alive after all the crazy **** I've done to myself over the years from nuclear ****** bombs to snorting the ground up bones of warring people and all that jazz. Oh yeah, not to mention those times I've caught asteroids with my face.*
Favorite Quotes:
Wind, Farts, ******* Laughter.
Life Events:
Shit...where do I start?
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 3:26 PM UTC
While sleeping and holding Shadow Queen tight Shadow King slowly began to feel his body being puked away from her, like it (or something else) didn't want him close to her. He caught himself and fought the urge to let her go and stayed where he was. Then he felt it again and heard a voice inside his head telling him to let her go. He fought back once more and this time held her tighter. Then in his mind he saw a creature dark red with glowing red eyes pop into his mind it began to pull his Shadow Wolf spirit. The more it pulled the more his body tried to pull from Shadow Queen. It seemed as tho his Shadow Wolf was almost helpless when it came to this daemon so he fought back. Soon both Shadow King and his Shadow Wolf were fighting this creature. They finally destroyed it, tho it was not easy. Shadow King was finally free to hold his queen tight all through the night. The next morning Shadow King felt something strange...it was happiness, pure happiness. He had not felt this in a long time, might never really have felt it. There was no longer anything holding him back from loving his queen with everything he had. They're lives were so much better simply bcs they were finally happy together. <3
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 12:36 AM UTC
He is a wringer
snapper of neck, diseased infested bird.
Dancing ***** strippers
pieces of puked up poultry.
Laugh when the sun is up
during the night you are real
when the clowns come out to tease and ****
haunted by their giggles
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 10:19 PM UTC
There is no shame, in moving back with your parents.
To them you still smell of diapers and the time you puked jelly beans all over the back of the car after you tilt-a-whirled your “I’m a big girl” attitude into giggles.
Around them you still clumsily tip over you own puberty when they ask you to clean your room.
You’re still in college. And that diploma on your wall is still less of an accomplishment, than when you suddenly discovered your thumbs.
So, how do you cope with the baby talk condescension scribbled over directions to empty a dishwasher properly?
1) Realize this is just temporary. You have till you’re at least 40 to fix this.
2) Clean your room of all the embarrassing childish evidence (i.e. N’Synch Posters, Pokemon Cards, Ect) . When CSI comes in they will just assume you were visiting.
3) Take long, long walks far, far away from your residence. Preferably the woods, so you may not run into any high school nemeses.
4) Pray you can get laid by someone, your age. Preferably someone you have not had any prepubescent encounters with already.
5) Eat all the free food you can.
With theses steps you can safely avoid pulling out your own fingernails with the self-loathing hiding under your bed.
Do not let it fill your Pog champion hands with delusions that you have failed to tie your own shoes, let alone pay your own taxes or get married.
Might as well give up those big girl pants and open lid cups and go back to Sesame Street and ******** in your own pants.
This…
Is only temporary.
You must say.
A temporary walk through the woods. Praying to lay down relax, and enjoy the air you are still eating.
This is only temporary.
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 11:14 PM UTC
****
Went to the toilet and saw a floating ****
not flushing is so **** absurd.
Pushed the handle and found out why,
what happened next made me cry.
Brown water coming to the top,
tried everything but it wouldn't stop.
Water and turds all over the floor,
this is something, I didn't ask for.
Squeezed my nose and grabbed a plunger,
it's a good thing I used to be a plumber.
I can feel the turds oozing through my toes,
man this **** really blows.
Finally I got the water to go down,
the once white tile is now covered brown.
Smells so bad, I started to gag,
got some paper towels, a mop and a bag.
Sprayed Fabreze as much as I could,
puked on the floor where I stood.
Took an hour, but the bathroom is clean,
never have I seen something so obscene.
Jumped myself in the shower,
gave myself one hell of a scour.
Suddenly up from the drain,
another **** I couldn't detain.
There it was laughing at me,
this **** is ****** up, wouldn't you agree.
Maybe this is the famous Mr. Hankey,
this South Park character is making me cranky.
Everywhere I looked, all day I saw ****
it was like a nightmarish continuous loop.
Just couldn't get turds off my mind,
for the first time in my life, I wish to be blind.
For now on my bathroom is the back yard,
who would have thought turds would leave me scarred.
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 10:17 AM UTC
Truth is you
weren't blameless
I saw your eyes
flash red that night
the fire in your palms
wouldn't burn out.
Together we were
a suicide pact,
there was something
about the drug in
each others eyes
that made us want
to overdose.
We itched like
razor blades
on each others skin,
our tongues a noose,
heartbeats fast,
furious.
My hands bled love
my knuckles
bruised like skies
I puked up every word
until I could finally
say goodbye.
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 1:12 PM UTC
I oathed that I will not think of you.
Like, every oath,
After a while
… One gentle breeze ruffled
through me.
It pauses and paints itself with your face.
How can I ignore your lovely eyes, whatever may have become now.
I leave everything and grab it, the wind.
Then gently …
the breeze starts a rollercoaster
From
All the way up above the sky.
Everything,
all over again.
I hope what they talk about time is true.
That, with time I will no longer remember that feeling when you held me safe in your malnourished arms
And made me dream of your home in Thiruvananthapuram,
That someday I’d felt invincible holding your nimble hands.
That unforeseen, yet delicious kiss that once you took from me, just after your puked.
And, how I remember that as the best kiss of my life.
I wonder,
If you ever felt the way I did.
The rollercoaster landed with a thud.
And I grabbed the good ol’e breeze that reminds me that, I am delusional just as I was after I met you and before I met you.
And
Gone are the days that you're welcome back.
Au revoir!
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 3:14 PM UTC
Out Behind the Barn
me and Jimmy Dickens
were in the barnyard feeding chickens
we were both 11 about that time
when up the road came Susie Kasper
with her cousins Ted and Jasper
a couple of teens headed for a life of crime
they signaled out to us
I could hear Teddy cuss
they walked up and whipped out a couple of butts
they said here take a puff
if you like this I got better stuff
so I did just like a dumb old klutz
I coughed and I wheezed
I farted and then I sneezed
my eyes were leaking like a sieve
Jimmy was smarter I guess
but he too finally said yes
took a hit and felt the burn of a shiv
we both puked as they laughed
it was there very special craft
they always managed to make you look like a fool
but they patted us on the backs
said boys now just relax
you won't learn a lesson like this in no school
then Susie gave me a big wet kiss
wow sure wasn't expecting this
I was in a trance until I heard this horn
it was my mom back from the store
she yelled someone help me with this door
but I was busy gettin educated out behind the barn
Gomer LePoet....
Sep 20, 2011
Sep 20, 2011 at 3:44 PM UTC
How to start off this poem?
The words they don’t come easy,
Nothing sounds quite right.
I've done so many terrible things,
How can I possibly expect you to relate?
It is impossible it's a dream, but here we go anyways.
I believe this to be my destiny, my fate,
Even though every action is mine.
So when I tell you this story, please try to understand…
That you can’t.
Beginning under a starless sky,
With the orange glow man creates for night.
I fly on the wings of the innocent,
The blood and tears of those who… have died.
They fuel me, and feed me. With their pain, with their face.
I walked down that road,
On the wings of a satan.
And all those around me,
Smiled and puked.
And oh, the terror in her eyes,
When at last my journey reached its conclusion.
My eyes, although they are not quite eyes,
Bored deeply into hers,
And the pools of water parted for just a second,
And I could see my own reflection.
So… intense. So… lost.
I’ve been in snowstorms at sub-zero,
With more warmth than those not quite eyes.
Every beat of my heart, and every breath I took,
Implored me not to think,
But to **** in my just agony,
But think of the lies that would create.
I had been looking so long, so hard,
Just to **** the one thing I want to save.
This woman, in her intelligent innocence,
Pure as the blackest coal,
Born for me, as I was her.
Who challenged me at last, at first,
Not to slay, not to slaughter.
At first I laughed, in a bitter theatric…
But as it settled and tears created disaster…
She held me there, in her hairless arms,
Cooing and creating a space for banter.
I am almost as confused as you are.
Speaking so honestly…
I didn’t know what to do then or now either.
But I will say one last thing,
Something you may not want to hear.
On that cool winter night, I ate her.
Apr 1, 2010
Apr 1, 2010 at 4:36 PM UTC
All of the pencils in the drawer are broken
Friday Night I'm sick of being alone
Hopping off the curb in search of the killer
Sniffing out the house parties
They like the bass loud and it swells
******* us inside past ten parked cars
They freestyle about
Gun fire and blood on concrete
He said I didn't believe him
Cracked out beyond repair
He shows me the scythe and hammer tattoo on his left breast
I laugh with the proletariat
Cheers and some soul passes me the bottle
Cigarette smoke contained by plaster walls
I'm eight days sober
Don't tread on me
Says a ***** blond next to me on the couch
All strung out she is searching
Searching for a bent spoon and needle in the tall grass
Back yard a bonfire
Walking barefoot on broken
Heineken bottles strewn in the shadows
Popping molly and sweating
She called me a hick
Her dopamine receptors
Rubbed flat by heavy grade sandpaper
I called her nothing
I was too busy watching
The rats scurry against the wall
To their safe warm nest
In the insulation
A hand around my wrist
Milk white incubus
With breath like puked whiskey
I escaped through a hole in the couch
I fell between the cracked leather cushions
And slept with the rats in piles of pink
Fiberglass insulation scratching at the flesh
I slip outside through the cracked window
A woman stands at a console
Turning dials that cause the streetlights to dim
And bleed storefront windows fractals of neon
She asks me what else I would like to know about the world.
Someone tells me to get in and the door shuts
A sound like gunfire I perspire sweat with cough
Syrup scent peaking on the dark road to Okeechobee
I should **** myself or run barefoot again through your head
Where the forest floor is warm and the trees are alive always with birdsong
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 4:14 AM UTC
Dumb *** *****
I laugh at your misery.
Subtle is not your style.
I look in your stupid eyes and see you are up to no good.
You're a wild *****
Misunderstood by the world? Hardly!
Try sleeping around you when I was tired.
You blew your snotty nose on my pillow case.
Your ***** smelled like nasty perfume.
like the scent of a dead tuna fish.
My nose smelled you nasty *****
When I smelled your rotting *****
I puked for days.
Take a bath you nasty stinking *****
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 12:54 PM UTC
as the coffee cup is rinsed,
the filthy little ******* lands
on the counter to my right.
immediately,
seeking a bludgeon,
his demise is envisioned.
however,
this housefly stays in
my periphery
for just a moment
longer
and
I cannot help but notice
his tiny little mitts, working
and fretting.
imagining the tiniest string
of rosary beads wrapped
around his housefly fists,
it occurs to me that he
might be making his peace
with God.
offering up his little housefly
benedictions, contritions;
apologies for all the sugar bowls,
he’s puked in during his
miniscule little life,
all the little maggots that
he might have fathered
and subsequently abandoned.
I think, without thinking really,
to chide my little countertop
cohort, saying:
“Ah, give it up little one, He isn’t there, He never was,
and if He is, He doesn’t give a second’s thought to the
likes of us.”
the housefly looks at me;
still furiously working his
unseen beads.
“You fool.” he says.
“God has obviously heard my contrition, my apologies,
and has granted me a reprieve, however brief.”
interrupting his novenas,
the housefly continues:
“You, my friend, are so great,
and I am so small,
yet you’ve heard my voice,
seen my beads,
given me reprieve, however brief.
I had asked God to give to you,
just one golden moment of
true, honest belief.
And, so He has, and now
you understand that
the prayers of a housefly
have stayed your hand.
So, it doesn’t matter how
great or how small,
God listens to each of us,
one and all.”
***
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications; 2016
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 10:38 AM UTC
1.Sight
Beauty looks like protruding bones
Photoshop, and makeup to cover tired eyes
Girls in magazines who emanate elegance
Even though the perfect girls are only a guise
That's what beauty looks like
2. Hearing
Beauty sounds like that girl you hardly know saying *** you've lost so much weight!"
You feel happy for a split second even though you don't see it
It's standing up a little straighter when hearing someone call, "You look really great."
But the voices still say "It's not enough."
That's what beauty sounds like
3. Taste
Beauty tastes like diet coke, since it's the only thing you'll drink
Tastes like bile and the salty tears running down your cheeks
After you just puked
It tastes like binging food that you bought really cheap
That's what beauty tastes like
4. Smell
Beauty smells like febreze mixed with *****
In a pathetic attempt to hide what you just did
It smells like a million foods vying for your attention
But keeping self control even though you want to quit
That's what beauty smells like
5. Touch
Beauty feels like running your hands across your collar bone
Because it gives you the illusion you're thin
It feels like your stomach releasing an overdue groan
Because you've been eating as if there is a famine
It feels like grabbing the fat on your body while your mind complains
Beauty is feeling the knife in your back reminding you
"Beauty is pain."
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 2:15 PM UTC
(I live in Cali, Colombia)
1. My sketchy run-in with the cute gluehead.
2. You say you’re armed, my girlfriend says you can’t have my camera.
3. I guess I’m bilingual, but man do I feel stupid right now.
4. No, coworker, I don’t feel like sharing with you why I’m going hiena in the break room. (culprit)
5. What a pain that I don't remember your name.
6. I ate my brains for breakfast with onion, tomato, and toast.
7. If my daydreams were broad cast right now your boyfriend would probably hurt me.
8. You, my friend, are my friend.
9. Just dropped a drumstick 3 songs into our very first gig.
10. No sir I don’t want to buy that gun...oh...what’s that? You’d like the contents of my pockets?
11. My pleasant walk to wherever.
12. Clandestine house-party tonail clipping session.
13. My beard is doing a fantastic ashtray impersonation.
14. Beérjá vu.
15. “Um...did I really just say that?"
16. Gringo moment #247.
17. Well well welcome to ***** Wonka’s South American silicone factory.
18. Are my neighbors being cold because they know I puked in their front garden?
19. Everyone is staring at me...must be time for a haircut.
20. ”Is this who I’m supposed to be?"
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 3:26 PM UTC
Somewhither, we wilt meet,
Whether afore mine
Ending; maybe in the
Hereafter's passage,
gramercy to god,
babes once again
Reborn in the
Perfection of
Love-
None struggling to
Survive, nor push
And shove; we'll
Be happy to gaze
At the exquisite
shimmer's. Ourn
Thought's wilt
Burst of unearthly
Features. With un-
Earthly teacher's we'll
Meet along the way,
Abraham, Issac and
Jacob; Paul, Daniel,
Ezekiel to. Enoch to
Sit the riverbanks of
Life, whilst the seraph's
Sway to ancient live tunes.
None mockery of yeshua
Christ, inside this holy
Place- many mock him now,
And the Prophet's yell loud,
Though many shut their ear's,
As their fear's they eat on
Dog's puked up plates.
I sayest lift up thy voices
Oracle's, prophesy to the
End's of the gates, the time
Is now, the day of salvation
Is today. Jane, ourn lord
Wilt call, with Gabriel's horn to
Be the precursor; of mankind's
Fate. A heavenly date it shalt be.
O' a heavenly date;
2016.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Prophetic poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedicated( agapi-mou)
Aug 29, 2016
Aug 29, 2016 at 10:10 PM UTC
Almost every time I ***** I cry. It’s like a habit, a song. Puke, tears. The first time I remember it happening -when I was 9- I sat up straight in bed and vomited all over myself. It stained the mattress and got all over the wall and my bedsheets- projectile stuff. Real nasty. I got out of bed, took off my clothes, went to my mom’s room, and started sobbing. Even at seventeen, I still almost always cry when my stomach betrays me, when the bile mixes with spit and I’m running to the bathroom and seeing stars as I feel pain erupt through my body and out of my mouth and nasal cavity. There’s nothing I can ever do to stop it. And afterwards, I always cry.
Maybe that’s why, when I could tell the friendship was ending, I cried so much that first time. When I could tell we were growing apart and my soul was rejecting you. You were rotten steak and I hadn’t eaten meat in five years. I couldn’t handle you anymore.
Do you ***** when you panic? Is that why there was such an explosion in the middle, bile mixing with bile? You didn’t want me to be mad at you, so you puked on me and gave me a reason to be angry. Yours wasn’t so rotten though, nothing your body couldn’t keep down. Are you bulimic or an emetophobiac? Did it scare you when you couldn’t breathe and you rejected me from your body? Or did you do it on purpose? Afterward, did you cry?
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 12:49 AM UTC
yeah, read an old poem again and remember sitting across a dark sticky table, pitcher of beer to wash down the fear of losing control. the guys told jokes - called them "brain droppings", like intellectual pigeon **** puked on the window - but i was fighting not to get lost in the patterns of condensed water pooling from sides of the pitcher, laughing on cue because it seemed the right thing to do. i counted bright flashes, blue, a neon sign - froggy's bar open - for clarity, my fingers still melting into pencils at fine edges of the discussion. i carried a notebook to write in but nobody noticed. i thought i was a poet.
green sat there, slack jaw acid jockey, dead eyed silent fish out of water. educated somewhere. not here. it was hot. i think he'd had too much magic mushroom or that black sticky stuff we smoked in the bathroom that made me choke like a dying newborn, or maybe the pale colored microdot collage on paper rolls we all shared at a concert hall earlier. the humidity.
cool, man - i quietly pined for some brown-skinned chick away at college, home again but still not calling, so i wanted to forget my own name and split in some dime bag fog when the sugar slipped out over my lips; i spit, he didn't, i drank. green was hungry, brain-fucked, out of time, dreaming about some key lime trees in florida, ogres in fairmount's forests, the dealers from new york who wanted to **** us, then gut laughed at something funny he saw in his sneakers. we hefted him by armpits to the stairs and left him there; it was too hot to walk all the way up to the flat's front door. green **** himself; we left. green, by any other name, got lost like smooth longhairs on motorbikes, that girl, the pretend hit men from uptown, none of whom ever cared who i was, because i wasn't really anywhere. but i didn't realize green could fly. it was a secret he'd left on the pavement outside. i'd wished i could fly like green. but he died. i'm still here, bluffing i'm living.
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 1:03 AM UTC
Out Behind the Barn
me and Jimmy Dickens
were in the barnyard feeding chickens
we were both 11 about that time
when up the road came Susie Kasper
with her cousins Ted and Jasper
a couple of teens headed for a life of crime
they signaled out to us
I could hear Teddy cuss
they walked up and whipped out a couple of butts
they said here take a puff
if you like this I got better stuff
so I did just like a dumb old klutz
I coughed and I wheezed
I farted and then I sneezed
my eyes were leaking like a sieve
Jimmy was smarter I guess
but he too finally said yes
took a hit and felt the burn of a shiv
we both puked as they laughed
it was there very special craft
they always managed to make you look like a fool
but they patted us on the backs
said boys now just relax
you won't learn a lesson like this in no school
then Susie gave me a big wet kiss
wow sure wasn't expecting this
I was in a trance until I heard this horn
it was my mom back from the store
she yelled someone help me with this door
but I was busy gettin educated out behind the barn
Gomer LePoet....
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 9:46 AM UTC