"razorblade" poems
The Insecurities are flourishing,
A gorgeous garden is my mind—
But the weeds keep growing in.
Media like kryptonite—weakening my self esteem.
—Thoughts of a young child never knowing what to believe.
I lie awake in bed at night staring at the ceiling.
If only the notion could suffice in finding the words—
For the void I'm feeling in my life,
But it isn't simple.
Pure corruption of my mind,
Perfect pictures,
Flawless figures,
The images I can't erase.
Uncomfortable in my own skin—
What do I do to feel safe?
Do I drown myself in ink—to cover up the imperfections?
Instead of talking—walk and let my skin scream the self-expression?
Or do I return to the blank stare in the mirror?
The words are on repeat.
Who am I to think I’m beautiful—when I myself can’t see?
Who am I to think I'm valuable—when there is no self-confidence there?
Who am I to think I'm worthy—when I myself don't feel?
The insecurities keep flourishing.
A gorgeous garden was my mind,
But the weeds kept growing in.
Media like kryptonite—weakening my self esteem.
Thoughts of a young child,
--Never knowing what to believe.
One night as I lie awake—I hear my subconscious scream out to me.
The most attractive people do the ugliest of things,
The true beauty you want is what’s imprisoned within.
Why stop your happiness to return to a place—
—A place where you feel so alone?
Why do the tears flow?
You're killing yourself—
And you fail to realize
Your own self-doubt is the knife!
Pessimism,
The negative thoughts building inside—
They’re just as bad as the razorblade that kisses your skin as you sit in silence...
Why are you hurting yourself?
Temporary pain is only a distraction,
You were blessed and shaped by the hands of God.
What more could you possibly ask for?
Appearance is not everything.—
Stop the self-consciousness and live your life.
—acknowledge that you —are your worst —enemy...
I open my eyes.
The cries have ceased,
I return to the blank stare in the mirror.
The words are on repeat.
Who am I to think I’m beautiful—when I myself can’t see?
Who am I to think I'm valuable—when there is no self-confidence there?
Who am I to think I'm worthy—when I myself don't feel?
But it’s different this time,
My reflection speaks.
Saying no—
Who are you not to?
Your imperfections are beautiful.
Beautiful enough for the heart that is meant to love you,
Believe in yourself.
No more self doubt,
No more lost soul.
—No more insecurities flourishing,
A gorgeous garden is my mind.
No more weeds keep growing in,
Media is not my kryptonite,
No more weakening of my self esteem,
Thoughts of a young child finally unshackled —and free.
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 5:58 PM UTC
Is it acceptable to **** anyone and everyone you want,
Be mysteriously exposed in your photographs,
Act carelessly with people and friends drunk and drugged and dicked out of your mind,
Forget the hurtful and blissful past for a reputation,
Exist in a way the girl you were never thought you could be the girl you are,
Because you’re in your 20s?
You remind me of the characters Greta Gerwig plays in some of her films,
But not Gerwig herself,
Although you do look an awful like her Hispanic version if there was one;
I guess that’s you.
I bet when I was placing the edge of the razorblade against my wrist,
You were getting penetrated and plowed by a **** between the legs.
Your innocence was smothered by your lust and
Our history got erased by your fears and flaws.
I just wanted you,
But then again, everyone already had you,
And it was not my fault;
It was your choice.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 3:02 AM UTC
Between your poisonous smiles,
Your heartless jokes and your
Razorblade Smile, I fell for the
Person I thought I saw:
The One
The cuts made, still hurt
They haven't closed up yet
Just flesh wounds but they,
They sting. They burn. It's
Been a day and that thin red
Line, the mark of your possession
Is still on me, marking me for
The world to see. You're my
Obsession, the world's Pariah
But they all bow before you
Wouldn't dare say a word in
Your presence, except to beg
At your feet for your cruel
Double-edged mercy. A day more
You reward them. Throughout
Eternity, you taunt them. The
Price is so heavy, yet they pay up
They can hardly resist. The price
Of Humanity, of Greed is fatal indeed.
The unchanging constant wherever
I may go. The Universe itself is
Undefined, except for you and your
Kin: Change. Time wasn't ever as
Constant as you; its fickle nature
Is as legendary as your promptness
Change was never as evident as you;
Its subtlety as infamous as the
Pungent, dark
Air you leave behind
In the lives of humans and animals alike.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 1:22 AM UTC
"I'm fine," she says with a halfhearted grin.
"I'm fine," she says again, waving away a helpful hand.
"I'm fine," she says to herself, several minutes later.
"I'm fine," she whispers, wiping her face.
She's not fine.
"I'm fine," she says moments after the cry leaves her lips.
"I'm fine," she says to herself, sinking to the floor.
"I'm fine," she tells herself, shaking in a ball.
"I'm fine," she repeats, picking up the razorblade.
She's not fine.
"I'm fine," she says to her concerned family.
"I'm fine," she insists as those who love her worry.
"I'm fine," she says to anyone who listens.
"I'm fine," she lies as she slices her wrists.
She's not fine.
"I'm fine," she cries, sobbing on the bathroom floor.
"I'm fine," she wails, but only in a whisper.
"I'm fine," she mutters, watching the blood leave her wrist.
"I'm fine," she practices, stepping from the room.
She's not fine.
"I'm fine," she assures the world outside.
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 8:34 PM UTC
I could hold it in a breath,
bury it inside my chest,
watch the cilia react,
a current sent with each contact;
alas, I cannot keep it in
considering the broken skin;
with crimson ink, this razorblade’s
a fountain pen, I scrawl away:
“Hear me now, in sight of God,
first all is still, then comes the flood.”
The little blackbird hushed her song—
she could sense something was wrong—
pitchforked lightning bent the trees
and fireworks consumed the leaves
where my better angels hanged—
this, the Province of the ******
If you were kept inside my chest,
you’d have slipped out with the rest,
while the vultures had their fill
picking piece by piece until
I’m left bone-bleached in the sun—
all the others turned to run;
but you were steadfast through it all,
from the spire to the fall.
The willow whispers from outside
where my history resides,
ghosts of angels hide beneath
the wilted branches of that tree—
I still catch glimpses of the scythe
from the corner of my eye,
but morning’s come, I cannot sleep here
in the shadow of the Reaper.
Apr 11, 2018
Apr 11, 2018 at 1:01 AM UTC
Few freaks
have such impeccable taste,
Singing Pagliacci, smoking a Cuban cigar,
And sipping L'Essence de Courvoisier,
As he lowers you into the shark tank,
To feed his hungry pet.
Forget appearances
He cloaks himself in affectations,
And feigned cordiality
But he will take you down at the knees,
And kick your face until he can hide his shoe in your skull
Or put a bullet through your brain,
Before you can ask why he has an umbrella
When the weatherman said
No rain
Cobblepot
A name as Gotham
As Chapman and Wayne
Always dressed to the nines
He drinks the finest wines
But he can humiliate four thugs
Who try to mug him
In an alley
Cut the fools down in a fury
Steel shod umbrella,
Razorblade shoes,
And a gun up his sleeve
Appearances deceive
The definition of The Penguin
Aug 18, 2012
Aug 18, 2012 at 8:17 AM UTC
Suicidal Thoughts
She happens to have those thoughts all because
She happens to be suffering on the inside
Nobody seems to understand this young lady
All because they happen to not care about her feelings
They happen to call her out her name just to put a smile on their faces
While she runs away with tears going down her face
And a broken heart that can’t seem to get fixed
So all she happens to have are these
Suicidal Thoughts
She happens to have those thoughts all because
She always looking at herself in the mirror
All because she doesn’t thinks she as beautiful as them
The girls who happens to call her ugly
When they are just trying to make themselves feel better
All because they don’t have the looks and style as this young lady
So they are willing to bring her down just to make themselves feel so much better
So all she happens to have are these
Suicidal Thoughts
She happens to have those thoughts all because
Boys never approach her as a man
They happen to make her feel uncomfortable
And unwanted all because she isn’t the girl they thought she would be
They use her as a toy
They happen to play with her mind and emotions
They use her as a game
They happen to hit it and quit it
They use her as a dog
They happen to make her do as they say
So all she happens to have are these
Suicidal Thoughts
She happens to have those thoughts all because
She is wondering who her real friends are
Which happens to be this razorblade and this bottle filled with pills
Please help her before it’s too LATE!
By Zyanneh Frazier
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 5:18 PM UTC
Justice is a *****
With claws
Miles and miles and miles
Guillotine jaws
And when she throws the book at you
It's 1000 pounds
With a curse in every clause.
And when those swords
Turn in on you
It's miles and miles of claws
To wring you out
In a razorblade chokehold you won't ever
forget.
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 4:22 AM UTC
A man poses at a dimly lit table,
a light hangs directly overhead
with a cobweb ribbon-wrapped around
the steel wire escaping the ceiling.
An inverted roulette table,
a man betting against the house:
It is always this way.
Light flickers, flipped on,
and off, and on,
without a switch
with which to assert control.
He is alone in the squeaking chair,
sipping tea and dipping his crumb-covered
hands into the napkin-covered basket
of water crackers and salted peanuts.
Sitting, he poses for practice, but for now,
he practices for no one.
The house is empty.
In the back of his mind, there is no worry
of what one will find upon entering
the kitchen: A scarecrow at a table,
full of straw and teeth dulled down
from night grinding,
sitting in, what could be mistaken
as, a pensive position.
The scavenger hand makes him look wanting.
It's partner is propped on chin,
accompanied by his half-sculpted smile
and the dark-light contrast of his hair and eyes
with yellow shining off of his two front teeth.
The color is not the fault of stumbling home
too late to care for the mouth, but of the old
incandescent staring him down
and the obsessively clean, marble surface
at which he puckers his face.
A tapping in the hall stirs his bones
and his body darts up.
A crow, it seems, with small grey beak
has wandered in from the overgrown fields,
the fields that haven't been tended to
since this boy began taking himself too seriously.
The both of them with stilts for legs
and no breeze of running feet
from scream to sway the pair of pairs.
Their eyes connect and neither moves.
Who should place the first bet,
black or red,
and who will set the ball in motion?
The light goes off.
Denoument is a bad time
for a bulb to die.
As calm as a hand
with razorblade against skin,
the scarecrow sits down once again
and poses.
The bird observes his motion,
calls, and waits,
but the man moves no more,
overjoyed with an invisible audience,
a full stomach.
Aug 16, 2012
Aug 16, 2012 at 3:05 AM UTC
Hay bud
roofies
razorblade coochies
Bubble gum
glue sniff
spare change electric
automatic blue cheese.
Marked for death
dont forget
to lay off the wet ****
unless you like the handcuff
kickin and screamin.
I want to smoke your ****
and smoke a jay
Hay bud
tell me
You got somethin to say?
Jun 10, 2012
Jun 10, 2012 at 9:01 AM UTC
The cactus ate the moon;
a cosmic starflower;
a cyanide razorblade.
You ate your way through the mouse droppings
in the cereal bowl
and look at me through lens-less everythings.
The sun took the moon
to his midnight hideaway
and she was absent that night.
Beneath the artificial breeze
blowing noisily, raucous;
birds in a tree eating acorns like squirrels do.
I never gave you hope;
I never gave you nothing;
I never gave you what you deserved.
Senseless, mindless, wandering wanderlust
wonderlust
you're keeping yourself company tonight.
Ha! playing with yourself again, I see.
Picking your nose and rubbing your toes
in the sandy sandy dandy boy beaches.
Friendly, never ceasing.
Repeating repeating repeating lines
repeating repeating repeating signs
repeating repeating relocating lies
Nice to just let go
no reality
no gravity.
But I'm not defying, no
nor scrying, oh
but lying, go.
She gave me her hand
and expected me to restitch the fibres
as if I were ever so good a tailor.
Surgeon.
Nevermind.
Jul 7, 2011
Jul 7, 2011 at 7:44 PM UTC
Dinosaur bones, discovered under an overturned rock. Dust-covered and forgotten photos in the attic. The rug pulled out from under us. Highway patrol of a distant creature. I woke up on the wrong side of a very terrible generation. Just when I thought all was good, it wasn’t. Giant ego ruined their reputation. Lost on the beaten path. My faith smells like ***** dishes. Heroes come and go; villains will always be. Dramatization of the fire. It’s up, up and away with a feeling of mutilated pasts. A young woman in a bad man’s dream. Keep a cool head while we enter the jungle. Booby-trapped instincts. This plan was doomed from the start. Let’s go back while we still have two of our appendages. The dog stares at the door, waiting for a Drunk. We both drink, but we’re not arrogant ****** The love I have for a friend of true nature. What’s that in the shadow of the empire? A rebellion. Smoke out the rat. The back door is a fire lane. A simply-put puzzle. Razorblade Cake-Mix. The sound scared the children. Candy from a stranger, candy from a friend, both will likely **** you in the terms of very end. I’ll stand on the first fallen soldier. He doesn’t know me in the meantime. A happy face for all those once told to forget it. My dignity in a department store lost-and-found. Jump for joy, parade for unemployed. A long line of henchmen waiting to be sidekicks. Watch where your education gets you when us dropouts change our pace. You’re better than no one, we’re better than no one, but we faced the facts about this a long time ago. Convincing isn’t working. A dark hole in the bottom of the bird-feeder. No more nourishment for your ill-advised brain.
Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 6:17 PM UTC
Rose as red
As the crimson
Blood within.
Petals fall
One by one.
Stem as bright
As a healthy
Green hill.
Thorn as sharp
As a razorblade.
Brown and yellow
Slowly encases
The one true
Rose.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 9:24 PM UTC
To the girls who think they're nothing;
no matter what they say, you're worth something,
there are many people out there, who will miss you when you're gone,
this earth is where you belong,
do not convince yourself otherwise,
no matter how bad it seems, its always possible to pull through,
so do not sulk, with a razorblade to your ever so pale wrist,
do not make things worse, by hurting yourself,
this isnt what you really need,
To the girls who put these kind of people down;
Grow the **** up,
respect the people around you, if you have any class,
to be honest, I hope you fall on you're fat ***
on the way up to success,
no need to be so rude though,
there is one thing I do know,
no matter what you tell them, they'll always be worth more than every single ******* one of you put together,
it doesnt matter, you chose the wrong path, always being the bad girl,
step into the victims shoes,
feel the hurt they felt,
when you put them down,
Here's to the girls who feel like nothing;
Buck up,
swallow you're pride,
accept the things you cannot change, and change the things you can,
theres no shame in putting on a fake smile, and not letting others suffer,
stay away from drugs, they'll only give you more time to think,
when a boy wants to have *** in an alley, make sure you don't lay in glass,
and make sure the son of a ***** doesnt leave you, with a kid in your arms,
no matter what you may believe, you're worth something,
no matter what any one says, I'm always gonna love you,
its not what they say thats important, its important we all know its a lie,
so be strong, and tell everyone you've never felt better,
but if someone asks you whats wrong, don't be afraid to pour your fragile heart out,
to the ones who love you, because they're there to listen, and they want you to feel better,
So here's to the girls,
who suffer, but with a brave face,
Here's to the girls,
Like me.
Aug 17, 2012
Aug 17, 2012 at 10:45 PM UTC
when i was little,
i cried because i wanted It.
It being the crisp sound of fulfillment
that keeps the black hole in the middle of my body quite.
i wanted, i needed It.
sometimes the black hole
would turn red as lava
and it would feel like a volcano
wanting to erupt
but the thing is,
it doesn't have anything to force out.
and i do not like the feeling.
i woke up today
and my mind was a shade of blue.
i don't quite remember
drinking 10 bottles of anesthesia
to feel this pale.
every crack on the pavement
looks like a long razorblade
that would cut my foot if i step on it.
here comes the habit of right first then left,
counting the leaves of my neighbor's bush,
and the amount of C's i swallow
because everything should be even.
2,4,6,8
only that to relieve the ache
because you are what you eat
and who wants to be odd?
there in my bed,
i wonder if the rain is infused with anesthetics
and the black hole erupting
is the only pain i am feeling.
and i like the feeling.
now im older,
i cried because i do not want It.
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 5:08 AM UTC
It’s 1:02 p.m.
on a Wednesday
I am waiting to take a test
1:03 p.m.
and I am willing
to test my willingness
to stay here
in a town that moves
on the back
of a razorblade.
They never say
what we are waiting for
here
in the quiet
resistance
like the eye of the storm
on the softest sheets.
I have become an antique,
a collectible,
a hollow instrument
used for my city’s defense.
I have begun
to move backwards,
erasing time
in a land where
clocks don’t tick
and lights don’t blink.
Love
here
always moves like the weather –
moving
churning
spilling
breathing
forcing
uncompromising
is the love of Mother Nature.
If I had met you
before the government won
or after my mind
became a gun
I would love you
I would love you
I would love you
better.
Nov 1, 2017
Nov 1, 2017 at 1:19 PM UTC
on her wrist they lie
even on her thighs
razorblade scars
the scars that i made
i suffocated her burdens
i drowned her screams
i relieved her pain
but the price was her heart
razorblade scars
now dress her dollish figure
threatening to extinguish
the embers of her life
i dried her tears
i conquered her fears
i sheltered her from the rain
but the price was her soul
razorblade scars
still bleeding her out
her viens will run cold
for all i did was hurt her more
i crushed her dreams
i obliterated her walls
i stitched her wounds
just to make more
razorblade scars
now dress her lifeless body
as two on her wrist
sill bleed out her sorrow
i would take it all back
i would give it all back
just to see her smile once more
but the razorblade scars keep that from me
Jun 19, 2012
Jun 19, 2012 at 7:54 PM UTC
You mad genius, Hep cat with the small change jinglin’ in your pocket and razorblade at your throat
Jagged gravel voice crooning love songs about the Apocalypse and the gritty city streets
Crazy angel talking to God and dealing with the devil; raconteur to both
Dig that broken glass cry deep down inside rising out of your ragged mouth
Piano playing jazz, muddy beatbox boomin’, guitar wailin’ in the back alley
Car alarms and the thump thrump thump of the bass, city life and high nights
Crank up the noise and blow that sax, got Ol’ Scratch on your back and death hitchin’ a ride
Ya gotta keep the fire burnin’ ‘til the snake oil salesman slither on home to his whiskey bottle
Lyin’ with your dreams on, just keep playing that late night street corner diner song ‘til I’m gone
‘Til I’m dead, far, and gone
Sep 17, 2011
Sep 17, 2011 at 7:13 AM UTC
It was before me
Yelling no screaming blood curdling wails
I should have never done it
I should have never walked hand in hand with my heart
It's too small
We never see eye to eye
Always on the opposite side of the train tracks
I'm the fool not my heart
I was the idiot stupid enough to think
This relationship would ever go anywhere
Was I ready?
Why did I try?
My mother was right
I am a pathtetic excuse of life
A waste of talent
A rotting corpse of emotions
Left deaf dumb blind and lost in this grave
Wondering when the sky will decide to fall
And show me
Show the world
I was always the fool
My heart was the one I blamed
I'm too weak to continue fighting
Yet I'm still clutching this sword
Like I know I'll win
Would I be the fool to let go and die
Let the anger decapitate me
Or would I be a fool
For not forgiving my own stupidity
Say I'm sorry
Hope you'll still love me the same
I know I'm the fool not my heart
But what should I think with
When both my heart and mind know
We'll both end up getting hurt
Should I think with my ****
Say I love you only when I'm trying to get in your pants
Should I think random
Start talking about the stars and say I love you out of nowhere
Should I think without thinking
Shut the **** up and be the pet
I don't want to be the fool anymore
I don't want to be domesticated
When I'll always have the instinct to hunt
The pain I feel in my chest
Every time we argue
With the razorblade you wish I would get rid of
I'm the fool not my heart
So when you break up with me
Don't target my heart
I'm the one responisble for all of this
Take aim at my forehead
My heart has seen the worst
It has the most scars
So this time I'll make my body and mind
Take the blunt force of your punches
I'm the fool
Always was and always will be
Not my heart
Never was
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 2:47 PM UTC
I ride the wave of life,
But at some point
I schools learn to swim.
I kick and kick and kick
I float then my friends pull me under.
My best friend is my Razorblade.
He’s the reason I’m like this.
The demons follow me around,
Always behind me but like always
I’m the one in last place.
By brain is melting from the drugs.
Pulling at my strains chains
I’m still not going anywhere.
I sit and wait for death to get me.
When he finally does,
It’s down to hell for me I go.
I see my mistakes.
Hurting others was never my goal.
I’m still not sorry for what I said.
I’m still not sorry for what I said.
Not even for the blood you caused.
At the end it’s down to Hell I go.
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 12:29 PM UTC
Terminally upset,
terminally emotional.
Plagued with multiple personalities,
Plagued with a desire to maintain
my last clutches of scarce sanity.
Brushes with a simple reclusive state,
Slowly but surely morph into
brushes with a razorblade.
Trying to escape myself,
Trying to find a safe haven.
Breaking out of my façade,
Breaking out of the asylum.
Screaming loud, with everything left in me,
Screaming loud, but I know
No one can hear me.
Crying out for her,
Crying out for help.
Falling out of my sorrows,
Falling out of tomorrow.
The world growing increasingly violent,
The world growing eerily silent.
Seeing the cruelness in my last breaths,
Seeing the shards of pain in the shattered mirror.
Suddenly, a pale hand zips the body bag that holds me,
Suddenly, my vision fades to white.
Gently, the music of mourning begins to play,
Gently, my coffin in lowered into the ground.
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 12:16 PM UTC
ashes fell like snow
drifting down aimlessly
silently one landed in her hair
but her eyes were fixed on the fire
a great rushing crackling tortured sound
as the building burned
we could only stand and watch
can still feel its heat on my face
years pass
with the seasons laying a great drift
of leaves and tangle of vines on the ruins
sticking up out of the rough sea of dead debris
the twisted remains of a child's school desk
the frame of it jutting out of the snow
melting in the spring breeze
a muted shout of metal
the jungle gym overtaken by weeds
and the swings just a rusted frame
i clamber up the top to see the vista
but only gain another perplexing view of ashen earth
we walk down the broken path
to the small house
its broken window a haven for a thrush
and nestled in its brick doorway
a rusty clowns head
battered and leaning over
the grin lost in reddish decay
we sit in the room we love
in the small broken house
really no more than a child's playhouse
while the summer air gathers in close to us
thick and filled with heavy summer scents
the sun piercing the room like a hot razorblade
she wont look at me
only sits mumbling a song unrecognized
till the words slip clear of old nursery rhyme
i fear for her fragile sanity's
she unbuttons her shirt
sweat pours from her like spring rain
she finally looks at me
and with a vacant diabolical tone
tells me she wants to hurt me in ways
no-one else can
unhinged
as dusk litters the field
we come to stand where we stood that night
come to relive once more our thoughts
and words
as we watched it burn
symbolically i place a small grey paper in her hair
for the ashes that fell like tears
symbolically she raises a single forlorn cry
asking that i save someone
but there is no one to be saved
we are a lifetime too late
symbolically we weep
the twisted iron
in the rubble rebuffs our desire for comfort
the leaden sky
denies our desire to close this terrible thing
leave it behind
as nights restless hand pushes us
back to the small house
she takes my hand
silently forgiving us both
for having only been children
when our world burned to the ground
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 1:09 PM UTC
being called the good guy
the nice guy
should be a compliment
when really it's a polite way
of saying you're not good enough
you're not the best looking
you don't walk the fine line
of bad boy and *******
you're swimming in a sea of sharks
always stuck in second place
but the girls like you
they like your sensitivity, your compassion
though a perfect personality can't compete
with a cocky smile
or razorblade lips
after all someone has to be the friend
gay or not you're at a comfortable distance
at the edges of arm's length
locked in a window
waiting forever to come in from the cold
to take off your boots and
dry your skin by the fire
to say "this is where I belong"
your shoulders don't carry the alpha weight
never mustering enough masculinity
but one day you'll be the catch
father of the next year
husband material
not appropriate for a boyfriend
you'll age like fine wine
in some time foreign to now
in the mean time what should you do?
stand on the sidelines
while her heart gets beaten to death
endless brutality when she's had enough
only to say it isn't enough?
it's never enough
but keep yourself good
the world could use fewer ********
eventually someone will see you
for who you are
and that'll be beautiful
one day
no matter what you should always be yourself
it's the best you can do
it's the only honest thing to do
extend your arms with sincerity
some day someone will walk into them
and realize all that you are
which is simply not good enough
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 12:38 PM UTC
Does a human being have razorblade claws or gunmetal teeth
Does a human being have the grizzly bear hide
or the exotic suction cups?
Then what has kept it alive all these millions of years
What protects it from all predators
Even those it cannot see
Those it cannot physically defeat
What lets it defy Nature herself
None, but the mind
And the proper body to wield it
Will we soon get a peek under the dress?
So why didn’t my mother name me Kevin?
Because sometimes the middle name is really what you want to name your kid
But you think another is more pragmatic
Either because the middle is too wild
Or, in my mother’s case
It was more important to do honor to her recently dead husband
Than to pick the name she had always
Dreamed
Of naming a child
But that’s where I get stuck
Why is my first name his middle name?
Jul 2, 2010
Jul 2, 2010 at 5:19 PM UTC
I've never seen someone
who is laughing
their *** off,
pick up a ****** needle,
or a razorblade.
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 4:08 PM UTC