"renamed" poems
There are over a million things
To do in the name of pleasure.
Over a million more that involves
Company.
The person I could be,
The person I’d love to be,
Over a million things that could go wrong.
This thought a wave pattern found
In an ocean of sheets,
The shore of the mattress bare.
The meeting of my fingers interlocked
With yours,
The earth rotates & bends sideways.
Without hesitation we are poured
Up down left & right,
Over a million things that could go wrong.
Lost at sea in complete darkness
I cling to you to keep warm.
Lost in the earth, you blush morning.
Shedding light to infinity.
Your face a cathedral of a million things
That could go right.
Smushed & paused in excitement.
Finally.
A religion that doesn’t require
A curriculum.
The earth rotates & bends,
I am baptized in the liquid from
Your lips & like a fish I am alive,
& like a fish I can breathe without fear
That you’d be stolen & renamed
Without fear that you’d be stolen & renamed.
Robbed of over a million things
That could go right,
Between the sheets we hide.
I cling to you to keep warm, lost in the earth
You blush morning.
Shedding light to infinity.
Finally.
A religion that doesn’t require
A curriculum.
The person I could be,
The person I’d love to be,
Without fear.
I wander you freely
Jun 29, 2021
Jun 29, 2021 at 11:24 AM UTC
6:30 PM 15/10/18 slam poem
"What's her name?" An excited voice whispered.
My benchmate asked me,
Just as the new girl entered,
With all her glowing ebony beauty.
I thought about something,
Ignored him and simply so,
Continuing my reading of the drama.
He prodded on like a nagging child,
*"Tell me, Atul, what's her name?
Who's that **** girl?"*
His whisper was loud enough now,
The girl heard it as she climbed,
Climbed higher on the back seats and how.
I glared at my benchmate,
In disappointment & disgust,
It was him who I had befriended.
'Him! I befriended him!! Out of them all!!!'
I thought about my vulnerability in our society,
But I did not react to him out of that anger.
I just said, "What's in a name?"
He raised his eyebrows and moaned, "Huh?"
I said with mirth, "Yes! Someone like you will get her renamed!"
7:00 PM
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 6:20 AM UTC
and as the wilderness song
turns (and loveliness)
we are gathered
we
by the spirit
we
we in the wilderness
........
dabbled sky song she
she
who remains
free
.....
remain free
.......
love!
......
love!
......
......
remaining
renamed
"seed"
we
remain in purity
in the wilderness
we sing
of
all possibilities
......
we are strong
.......
Aug 24, 2011
Aug 24, 2011 at 7:20 PM UTC
I’ll have you know that this started out
as a love poem
but then I got lazy
and distracted when the dog started biting my leg
and I decided that this process wasn’t
worth it all together
and went outside for a smoke
that’s when I tried to call you
but you didn’t answer
I guess it’s Valentine’s Day
and you’re probably
with some other guy who’s more
sensitive than me
but can he smoke as **** as me?
or cough as loud?
or breathe as heavy?
well probably ******* not
and maybe that’s a good thing
that he’s healthy
and doesn’t smell like the inside of a Texas Roadhouse
before they decided that smoking killed everyone
and no one could do it there
no
not even the good looking people
you always said I was good looking
well
above average
and I cooked good too
and that one Valentine’s Day you said
If you asked me to marry you right now, I’d say yes
that was after I killed the bat in the attic
bought you a bouquet of bleeding hearts and
brought home the puppy
since then
my typewriter has busted
and you have left
P.S.
I still have the dog and
I renamed him Juniper
because that’s what happens when you’re
drunk
and sad
and alone
but now I’m happy
smoking a cigarette
listening to my neighbor’s massive wind chime
conk and sway in the crosswind
and I feel as alive as ever
knowing that you’re
wiping off that red lipstick with a poem I wrote you
because your date just got done
and he’s not sleeping over
and you’re just about to
walk to the back patio
and smoke a cigarette
because you want to die
just as bad as I do
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 5:36 PM UTC
Timbeck Tyu, Timbeck Tyu
Great City Timbeck Tyu
Coloured Walls Nicely Painted
Arts and Drawing Everywhere
Artifacts on every crossing
People's representatives feel like king
Magnificient buildings here and there
Bridges and flyover everywhere
Toll tax booth here and there
Statues standing everywhere
Banners hanging here and there
Hoardings, posters everywhere
Malls and Hotels here and there
Dance Bars and Casinos everywhere
Citizens always in Crisis
Struggling with poverty
Economical condition bad
Politicians has gone mad
Nationalism in Slogans
Here and there hooligans
Real nationalist are renamed
They are called anti-nationals
Corruption is on the peak
You need license to speak
Crowd imposes censorship
System respects the crowd
Mouse catches the Crow
Everything on the show
Real news not covered
Real issues are untouched
Fake news are implanted
Press and Media on sale
Laws are being twisted
Burden of proof shifted
Culprits are honoured
Innocents are hanged
Farmers are in debts
Their families are starving
They can't even pay their loans
Neither Principal nor interest
They either commit suicide
or land in jail for not paying loans
Hospital competing with hotels
Doctors busy in making money
Patients treatment is on Sale
Get cured only if you pay
Stray Animals on the rise
What you can do if you cry?
Black money in circulation
White money is called pollution
Rapes, Murders and theft on rise
Law and order is on the papers
Lawyers are with Politicians
Politicians are with Criminals
Criminals are with the Police
Police is with the Capitalists
Only the God is with the victims
That too only, if he really exists
Population almost exploding
Environment full of pollution
Fights and quarrels here and there
Religion and faith always on stake
Caste and Classes everywhere
Race and Religion everywhere
Common people struggling for food
Saints consuming wine and drugs
Rallies and protests uprising
The system has turned deaf
Goddess of law weeping and bleeding
Judges busy in process law and rules
Timbeck Tyu, Timbeck Tyu
Such a great city Timbeck Tyu
Have you liked Timbeck Tyu?
Want to live in Timbeck Tyu?
If you liked, Timbeck Tyu
Want to live in Timbeck Tyu
First apply for passport in your country
Then apply for visa from Timbeck Tyu
Hurry Up, Hurry Up, don't be late
Visa's are limited so take care
May 16, 2019
May 16, 2019 at 6:28 AM UTC
Let my words trace your silhouette,
a phantom’s caress, lingering yet.
Each syllable a brush of desire,
kindling sparks, igniting fire.
Lines flow like molten gold,
writing secrets your skin won’t withhold.
Every curve, every plane,
etched in whispers that call your name.
They cascade down, slow and sure,
filling spaces you long to endure.
A tempest builds, fierce and untamed,
branding softly, your soul renamed.
Breathless heat, a searing tide,
our untold story where passions collide.
My words, a map, a lover’s art,
binding you fast, heart to heart.
Jan 21, 2025
Jan 21, 2025 at 3:41 PM UTC
**The allure of everything bad
The allure of vices that nullify circumstances which make living seem sad
The 'Hollywood' cigarette, the hard liquor... ******* crystal ****
All very romanticized but in reality, isn't that really just a self-induced slow death?
We don't talk about it, until we watch from the sidelines
If only for a second
When partaking one repeats quotes like 'it is what it is'
'I am not a quitter'
You've built up a tolerance for one, so you beckon
The bartender to pour you a second
Social trend like a hot topic on twitter
So now you want more
You ignorantly jab the needle inside you like you don't know what your signing up for
In a sense you don't, for you choose not to
Addiction entraps... but who?
Not you
And the moment you decide to go cold turkey
It appears more enticing in another movie, or in the hands of a fellow druggie
Impossible to reject
Relapse... rubber band effect
Yet even he that doesn't use gets a little curious
One day the stress becomes too much to handle, he's peeved
He's furious
He's heard of pills sold over the counter, and also of those available from dusty cobwebbed shelves
By dealers with hollowed out eyes, ghosts of their former selves
In an alternate reality
Where 'it's all good'
It's all about finding solace in one happy, high family... 'It's all hood'
A distorted image of zoned out smiling faces
Floating around in temporary elation
These vices have comforted and haunted many, way before our so called 'X-rated generation'
The druggie, the alcoholic or the *** addict you see... could be your's or someone else's dad
Or it could very well be you or me
Seduced by the allure of everything bad
I write this expecting it to be misunderstood by many...
For a judgement between bad and good
I myself could be affiliated to one of these vices... or many
Someone reading this may have already renamed it 'The allure of everything good'.**
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 4:01 AM UTC
*This poem is dedicated to the memory of Admiral Albert ***** Potter who displayed amazing bravery by wearing full drag through several major sea battles. He was cashiered for insisting the Admiralty rename his ship HMS Butch instead of HMS Fearless. In fact the vessel was eventually renamed HMS Damp **** because it was full of ******
A life on the ocean wave, **
In the olden days of sail
When England's ships were proud and brave
And their crews were very male.
The Captain stood upon his bridge
Looking smart and flash;
But below the decks, the orders were
*** and *** and the lash.
The bosun went to the main gunroom,
**** Deadeye at the ready;
Initiation time had come
For little midshipman Freddy.
"Strap him o'er that cannon, lads!"
Roared the hirsute fellow,
"Gag his mouth securely, lads,
In case he tries to bellow!"
The sailors did as he had bid -
Refused and they'd be punished -
And they knew their turn would come
After the bosun had finished.
The bosun went up the poor young lad
And soon was going strong;
Midshipman Fred looked rather pained -
The Bosun was THICK and LONG.
Then came the turn of the other men
And they set to with a will;
Little Fred could not say no
Until they'd had their fill.
What a life our sailors had then,
Always singing shanties;
When men were men and big and butch
And cabin boys wore silk *******
A life on the ocean wave, **
With the rolling sea and the spray.
Sinking the Frogs and murdering Wogs
Kept England's sailors so gay.
OLÉ! OLÉ! OLÉ! OLÉ! OLÉ! OLÉ!
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 6:37 PM UTC
Some say, we don't need black history month.
When in truth we do.
Would the contribution of African American be taught truthfully.
If we had to depend on you know who?
Obviously, they very unaware of several successful black that contributed to America's greatness.
We, very well aware they edited down facts to be turn into fiction.
Like that president that chopped down that cherry tree.
Many doesn't know the plight of Washington, Dubois, Carver.
Let alone know their first name.
It's hardly taught, if it's about us.
George Franklin, Grant-dentist
Ernest Everett, Just.-Scientist
Josh Gibson, one of the greatest baseball player.
We know very well about George, Thomas and James and John Q.
Some say, we all Americans
And in truth, they completely right.
But for reasons very well known.
We are not all equal in sights of others.
When needed, they call upon us to join in.
Some still, say-why do Black history month exist?
But all cultures knows none was eliminated through times.
Than those captured to come here and renamed after their masters.
And facts be told, this cultures lives to embrace into their children's if nothing is ever mention by certain teachers about their cultures.
Than they will keep it before them.
Matthew Alexander, Henson-Explorer
Billie Holiday-singer
Duke Ellington and Count Basie and Cab Calloway.
Greatness, we can't let fade.
Vernon Jordan
Shirley Chilsom
And hosts of present days teachers that push the issues to educate.
Those that say, we don't need Black History months.
Be crying , if we try to eliminate theirs.
Cause that's all they ever known.
Howard University.
Tennessee State and Fisk and various others came to be because of discrimination.
And has turned out some brilliant African Americans.
So our history is needed.
Cause it's about us.
Like Latin History and various others is about other cultures.
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 10:12 AM UTC
I was on bed then clueless about my life.
I remember three years ago, it was a strife.
I was made to realize by pain of being alive.
The procedure of tracheotomy was done.
The other nose was cut into my windpipe.
The lower end of my throat was bandaged.
The two navels are located on my stomach.
The second navel was gained at the hospital.
The upper navel is not always here to be seen.
Blankly I stared at the world in front of me.
Bluntly I stared at a big wall in front of me.
Bleakly I stared at people coming to see me.
They would come few in numbers initially.
That time is something I can't recall clearly.
Then I was home worriedly waiting for him.
The eternal-seeming torture period started then.
The dreaded physiotherapist used to come then.
The kind man was renamed ***physio the ******
He caused me great pain, I was like a 3-year old.
He saw me writhe in pain & I begged for mercy.
He continued coming & I remained terrorized.
I used to ask my parents if they're actually mine.
I was made to disbelieve in them as my parents.
I took numbing pills directly into my stomach.
I used to remain in sheer terror all day long.
I took offence at the sound of the doorbell itself.
I was asking my parents if someone would come.
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 8:37 AM UTC
*if charles chooses a coronation name that isn't his baptismal name, he'll be ****** after all: we need that name for a hope of patronage and idiocy when politicising saudi arabia as a "reliable" ally.*
why is it that
cats love listening to handel?
well, when
active during charles ii's
reign he was the cream
of the crop, and a cherry on top;
the cats say: handel over bach
any daydream to come!
they should have never
renamed big ben (after benjamin
disraeali) as the queen elizabeth tower...
she's got the ****** bridge
at dartford!
what's next, Lizzy of Stonehenge?!
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 10:47 PM UTC
Composing Hallelujah
Fractious lines crack,
holiday decorate the spirit inferior,
while each note upon the priest's guitar
penetrates the aspirin roughened interior,
face slaps me, daggers and accuses,
you're not composing hallelujah.
So I mislead, big deal,
composing the anti-hallelujah,
yeah, I was ******** with you,
as you sit across from me electronically
pretending, me to you, you to me.
Lie to each other with smiling faces,
you too have reaped,
been emotionally *****
by what our minds see and sow,
scowls and howls,
we've both grown our own demons.
My secrets, maybe are all there,
maybe, writ loud and clear,
in the songs I choose to share,
and in the unrevealed ones,
buried alive, held in reserve,
but not, for your average, rainy day,
could be today, you have no say.
Are we not all veterans of a kind,
don't we all have ribbons on our chest,
stripes and stars on our khaki blouse,
a record of our own great campaigns,
including the war to end all wars,
the never ending one,
the one the psycho-historians renamed,
"The 24/7 Year Conflagration"?
It used to be just my secret, no more
don't need a cartoonist to tell me that's
the enemy is us, and there are moles, traitors,
hidden deep in our intelligence organization,
planting seeds, urges, pushing to
out the identity of our communist friend,
Depression
I don't mean the ordinary, garden variety,
a mere moody blues recession,
when funk is sourced from gray clouds,
served up proper, cold and wet,
then travels on when sun warmth
clarifies temporarily, the aspirin kicking in.
So I misled,
composing the anti-hallelujah,
yeah, I was ******** with you,
sit across from me and lie to me,
lie to each other with smiling faces
we reap what we own,
scowls and howls.
A chorus of harmonious poseurs
inside your own City Center,
vocalize the lyrics of the anti-hallelujah,
a composition of questions directed at
whomever in tonight's audience deserves it,
asking, nerving, to sing too loud, at decibel speed:
Are these verses, curses
about D,
our mutual acquaintance,
or just research notes for further followup,
part two of a pas de deux, and,
did you go this time, too far,
or still not far enough?
-
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 7:29 PM UTC
how i forget to cherish
these little moments
of our togetherness;
making an early meal
of sauteed vegetables
and eggs, "froached"
like i used to call them
when i was your little
chef and would bring
you breakfast on
special occasions,
and sometimes on
sundays, just because
it was sunday and dad
didn't have to leave
for work long before
the crack of dawn
even set its alarm.
we'd all sit in bed
together, squished
into sharing a cozy
comfort, sandwiched
between you two
and my old buddy
gladly the bear who
still sits on your bed
upstairs in his pink-
and-green striped
shirt.
but then i guess
somewhere along
the way i grew up;
the move happened--
i didn't visit gladly
anymore, or you
for that matter.
today you asked
me to get the big
jar -- the carnation
(top)
jar, from the
shelf of the kitchen
cabinet while i
explained my
oddly convoluted
thought process,
and we talked
about how my
granddad danced
you down the aisle
to django on a whim
of a kooky family friend,
and how i finally
realized how little
i actually know of you--
but that's normal.
i might be growing
up now, and i
might not visit
that little bear
anymore, but
what i never
really told you,
or anyone,
is that i have
my own now,
a blue one who
used to be called
blueberry, renamed
as joseph stalin,
because i'm a
big boy now,
and my sense
of humor dried
out long ago.
i may not be
your little chef
anymore, but
i can still make
you breakfast,
and bring it
to your bed on
sundays, and
sit with gladly,
and quietly chat
until late morning
like we used to
(never) do.
Dec 8, 2012
Dec 8, 2012 at 6:01 PM UTC
Everybody knows of Istanbul in Turkey,
This poem will only lay some light on it,
Through the history & mankind's irony.
Istanbul was settled as a Greek colonial city,
'Twas named Byzantium after a Greek king,
And the Old Greek king's name was Byzas.
The Romans under Constantine won over it,
Now it was their turn to rename the city,
After the emperor as Constantinople.
The great Turks captured it in 1453 AD lastly,
The fabulous fortress was renamed yet again,
The present name Istanbul descended in 1923.
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 2:15 AM UTC
Peace draws itself out...leaving an
informed emptiness in its wake.
As light leaves room for everything...
what is let be, comes to itself.
Peaces draws itself out...leaving an
informed emptiness in its wake--
a flowering beyond namesake.
As anything can be renamed, any
shape altered...light...in peace, transfigures.
Dormancy's wayshowing can not be
filled with anything but itself...peace
beyond body and mind.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
aggression must be denied.
****** Pol *** The Duke,
Kim Jong, Mugabe, Fidel Castro,
Saparmurat Niyazov,
the living bad the dead.
XiJinping
proudly announces in
November 2013,
the year of our lord,
they are doing away with
labor camps in China.
******** total,
renamed them
drug rehabilitation centers.
evil must be refuted.
who will call them out?
not us.
coming home from the opera,
some big **** SUV,
played chicken
with me.
I refused to let
him cut in the line.
He followed me
for ten blocks,
honking his *******
till he quit,
cause I would not give
the satisfaction of letting him
spit and sputter.
Took the woman home.
Went out looking for him.
searched hundred blocks.
found him, took out my jack.
(trust me I did not key his car).
when he saw what I had done,
I quoted him Verdi's Rigoletto:
He is crime, I am punishment.
you see opera ain't for *******
aggression must be denied
locally, before it becomes
a national treasure.
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 4:23 AM UTC
sweeping over, under
streams me into humble yearning me you me
cosmic accident renamed
in fullness found, an instant birth rebirth along excitement's wonderment
why is it that those lines you share exact
the very beat my being was before i knew it as it is?
those words are tender arrows
painful tips of beauty shone
these lips have given that eternal kiss before
your instep scent instilled from lung to spinal arch
roots can spiral chaos of this love for all
i care, there is no end to order forming you me you
a bright flame to crystallize in time, shatter lust beneath our nails
endless endless vibrant moan, i hear you once again
beneath the grass the union hums
a sameness of delight in sameness seeded by another unknown love
when perhaps we were of other forms
and spiraled in a sun akin to throbbing star remembered there
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 12:07 PM UTC
before~after / conception~completion (my coordinates)
<•>
for the caretakers of the next generation
<•>
comes the everyday, the mundane,
the profane, meeting at
the X,Y ordinates of
ordinary sweat and struggling tears
oh! this stuff of life,
makes me groan and wonder out load,
what is the purpose beyond the
existence of being a
constantly in need of maintenance,
sustenance machine
then I hear but do not see
the hallway pitter patter,
the thrumming of purposed
direction certain,
four little feet
who between them don't posses
even a decade yet
on their way to the
sunroom, now renamed,
the playroom,
expropriated by their toys of eminent domain,
on their way to the life between the
before~after / conception~completion
and this point,
of a single moment,
an invisible sound,
of this particular life,
this extraordinary ordinate,
this X,Y locus,
this precision perceived location of something real,
it is a realized abstraction,
the exact point,
where my coordinates are
harmonized
9/2/17
5:11am
SI
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 5:21 AM UTC
They tried to bury Yahushua Alef Tav
behind a nice Platonic, less Jewish facade
Renamed Him Jesus the Alpha Omega
and chanted many HEP HEP Hoorahs
... beside His feminist-friendly god/mother
to the tune of many hail Marys
even freed Him from His own Torah
despite "think not I came to replace it"
But see, He's risen now
from every holy papal place
from every charismatic falsity
that preached pew-warming prosperity
He's restoring Israel
not gentiledom...
one lost sheep at a time
back into twelve chaste tribes
just as she was under Sinai's hupa
before the separation
He's elbowing aside modern pharisees
who refuse to know Moses
and therefore can't know Him
or follow His commandments
who really aren't into feeding lost sheep
Egyptians hate sheep
It reminds them of plagues
Leaven goes better with bacon
Aug 26, 2010
Aug 26, 2010 at 11:54 AM UTC
Shoulda gone sooner,
Mighta helped, he said, it's going to all come down,
ground up. All the concrete and asphalt and plastic,
maybe
even leave a little of that won't hurt, could help
build randomness back in the the path of least resistance
But no bigger than the biggest pieces left at Jerusalem,
fill all the holes.
that was a stutter, that double the there, 3 lines up,
I stutter when I write,
not as bad as
some
But I pretty much tamed spelchek when I renamed her.
She likes being thought of as Spelchek, my servant,
as opposed to evil Spellchick who bewitched by keys,
made my tittalk sound plumb dumb.
So Spelchek respects some of my stutters as honest
ensamples of thinking
wait. What am I saying
Selah
Like the psalmist, right? The the thing is
oddly broken lines are part of the meandering
mode of meaning
being
found under rocks, aha
Sisyphus, we're in your book!, Too cool!
Happy whatever, Jah, you, too.
Back to Cousin Kenny, who went to inspect the city,
seeking some good he might do.
He laughed when he got back,
'said maybe we can find them guys that
let on they was able to levitate the Pentagon,
back then, you know, they was steeped in lies,
and they loved to tell 'em, loved to lie,
prospero, ever **** one
prosperous liars. But, now, their old age,
they coulda stopped believin' some big lies
by now.
Who would know? Any way, the cities, as built,
must be un built,
NOT DESTROYED, those are the good hard labour
of good people, doing the best with what they had,
we take apart mistakes, we destroy lies.
Angelic beings, aliens, without papers, if you
would give us half a chance we could show you
what a good idea possessed human can do…
Trust me,
don' laugh
Close your eyes
How would this world look
if it were designed
for life,
and that, more abundantly.
An idea, not a dogma. Life, have it…
how? Lest, now, now is living, and we can do it better
if we find a reason to hope,
which was why cousin kenny went to the city,
in the first place.
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 5:28 PM UTC
In 1968, she poisoned her father,
1970, her mother-in-law
and 1971, her husband. 1986 was
her boss-turned-lover-turned-boyfriend
and by 1989, her attention was
focused on her second husband.
Exhumation became so common
that the local cemeteries were
renamed as her landfills.
She sits across from me–shoulders
squared and gaze relaxed–waiting
for any question I might come up with.
What ran across your mind the very first time?
Her breath flees from her lips
and she says to me
freedom.
I look her in the eyes–
see a monster.
She looks me in the eyes–
sees herself.
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 3:22 PM UTC
We were never a fan of dialogues.
At the other end of the street I would watch her
Each Monday, carrying a new book every time.
I didn't like to read.
I preferred music, in my opinion
Was the equivalent of a book
Each telling a story.
The cup of coffee in my hand felt as warm as my heart
As I blew the hot liquid from the brim of the cup
And take a picture of her with the smoke that frames her body.
I wrote short poems of how captivating her beauty was
On the greasy table napkins provided for the coffee tables
Producing a different piece each time.
Her mouth would move as she read the words,
Mumbling lines of incoherent sentences I could not decipher.
At times I would see a smile break out on her face
And I would find myself consumed in slight envy.
Would she have smiled at the words I've written for her?
She was a song, I was a poem.
She was first written on smooth paper,
A thoughtless idea jotted in messy handwriting
Soon expanding into a verse and chorus
Written over and over again,
Revised by experts, reviewed until perfection,
Interpreted by bassists, guitarists, drummers, and vocalists
Appreciated repeatedly through the stereos of listeners
As they capture each beat and tempo.
She was flawless.
I was a poem.
I was rewritten in a single document copy
Renamed and revised
From the greasy fingers tapping away on keyboards
Typed and deleted,
Typed and deleted.
Frustrating the writer as they could never get an idea out of me
Leaving me in a file hidden in the folders of an old computer
Unfinished and waiting to be opened.
I was a mess in unorganized stanzas of ideas,
Lines which no one will have the audacity to read,
A waste of time,
Flawed.
She was the perfection in every imperfection
An artwork that you could only love through the eyes.
A piece which I
Wanted in my own.
I watched her again silently and wondered
Is it possible to love someone you've only admired from afar?
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 11:02 PM UTC
After all the carnage I did imparte
The gypsies thought I had mastered the dark art
When I left that wretched gypsy caravan
Anyone that had wronged me, their blood spilled on the sand
With their tongues like parchment
They told darkened stories, and I was their target
And as I slowly roamed the land
To seek out about my mother first hand
The villagers seen my burnt skin
And knew I was the one the gypsies said carried great sin
Every human treated me badly, to scared to get close they threw their stones
So I sought out a place where no human ever goes
I found a forest but to sunny for my mood
It had to be darker, it had to be crude
So I started out simple and enchanted the vines
I made them all twist entangle and entwine
next was the trees I made them grow branches to cover the sky
so even from the keen eye of the hawk I could hide
But not done with them yet the bark I made bare
Thorns that would reach out and scratch and tear
The sand I made quiken to entrap in and ensnare
So anyone caught in my wicked trap could no longer breathe the air
My wonderland was soon renamed the Black Forest
all that dared entered claimed they heard the demon's chorus
And so my legend was born
The gypsies through their stories warn
Of a dark hearted witch that the fires couldn't burn
Even though their fires burnd white hot and the coals they churned
That I the black hearted witch had escaped and layed waste
In despite their fear they had given chase
So now alone I roam my beautiful dark place
With the gypsies warning story no one will give chase
But in my roaming before the forest I had heard a great tale
Of a witch who had put her baby under a spell
That upon it was put a curse
That would work in reverse
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 9:40 AM UTC
I discovered roller coasters for the first time after I saw my therapist
She told me I had
OCD, DID, ADD, and an eating
disorder She told me to keep it simple and
stop trying to please others I told her to set herself
on fire I decide to take my damaged ass to an amusement
park and tell the drive I’m allowed I’m 5’4 You’re a ***** I spit
on him and jump into the car I defy gravity by myself on this tipsy turvy
future mobile I go up and into space and ride through clichés until my overalls
Snap off and set me free where I float without medication Snap out of it, you hairy
**** You never know how it feels to lose control until you’ve lost all control She never
Knew With the giant pebbles and water cascading downwards in a freefall And the terrible
feng shui that parts her massive thighs point my eyes into her pant stain while my entire head
falls down for the bottom A sick endless cycle of torture just like
the Mexican chanting annual melodies
…at a Tucson establishment
…sitting on truck tables at the doctor’s office
…cutting off DNA into style
…fighting off fever with drive by flu shots
So I count to 5
while I
make hot cocoa
And tap the doorway
I try on 4 different pairs of pants
eat an entire bag of Cheetos and
throw up
It’s all situational and relative and ridiculous
I don’t care if some 14 year old wears orange lipstick and
***** off her math teacher
Tell me Doctor what’s the diagnosis for my sick bluish foot
Oh you’re right I guess I do need to vacate the premises
The Land of the Lepers exists and we have renamed it “America”
Mar 11, 2010
Mar 11, 2010 at 10:57 AM UTC