"ricochet" poems
load your bullets
in the firing chamber
and they'll fly
from your lips,
ricochet and lodge
past the scarce armor
of my ribcage
into this glass heart of mine
*let my insecurities bleed out
don't staunch the flow*
pierce my skin
with the shards of my heart
end my misery,
squeeze the trigger
with practiced ease
*breathe in,
breathe out
breathe in,
breathe out*
*(you'll find another victim
downrange of you)*
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
Sometimes, I am in love with myself.
I force them to witness my love for my melanin
because they would love for me to hate my melanin.
I know that I am seen, but I want to be heard,
The first amendment allows me to speak, but they refused to hear a word-
that comes from my mouth.
My lips stereotyped as too black.
My diction too proper to act like this,
yet my slang is too ghetto to act like that...
Sometimes, I wonder what it's like to be white.
I hate being stared at when I speak in Spanish.
I never know if it's in disgust or in comfort,
because the sound of the double "r" rolling off of my tongue
sounds like the ricochet of the bullets they fire from their guns.
Since they no longer can enslave us like animals, they slaughter us
because, "if I can't have you no one can."
I refuse to be put down.
I refuse to shutdown.
My brown skin threatens,
and you all should be afraid.
Because I will banish your negativity with my Latin American flow,
speaking in Spanish with the Bachata tempo filling my veins.
My Ebonics is iconic,
and I refuse to be put in a box when the world is a sphere.
I... am more... than this.
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 2:16 AM UTC
Nine years and still
we cradle our grief
carefully close,
like groceries
in paper bags.
Eventually the milk
will make its way
into the refrigerator;
the canned goods
will find their home
on pantry shelves.
Most things find
their proper place.
Eventually the hummingbirds
will ricochet against scorched air,
their delicate beaks stabbing
like needles into the feeder filled
with red nectar on the back porch.
Eventually our child
will make her way
back to us. Perhaps.
But I’ve heard
that shooting
****** feels
like being
buried under
an avalanche
of cotton *****
For now it’s another
week, another month,
another trip to Safeway.
We drive home and wonder
why it is always snowing.
Behind a curtain of snow,
brake lights pulse, turning
the color of cotton candy,
dissolving into ghosts.
And with each turn,
the groceries shift
in the seat behind us.
From the spot where
our daughter used to sit,
there is a rustling sound—
a murmur of words
crossed off yet another list,
a language we’ve budgeted
for but cannot afford to hear.
Mar 10, 2017
Mar 10, 2017 at 10:04 AM UTC
*Chorus of morning leaves
Paint trees deeper in happy green.
Sunrays ricochet
From your eyes to my lips.
Maybe we are dying
For heaven has stepped down between us.
Heartbeat resonates
All over the sky
Carried by the wild wings of
White doves.*
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 11:26 AM UTC
There are differences
in the weight of our bones
in the curve of our jaw lines
in the pattern of the skin’s stretch marks.
Rule: Everyone will laugh at your differences.
There are differences in how badly your gums bleed
and how they ricochet teeth ‘round the mouth.
between swallowing your tongue
and choking on it.
Rule: Differences are descendants of pain.
There are differences
in the heart’s traffic patterns
the way all your blood looks at a stand still
and how the flow can be a pile up
on Fridays at 5.
Rule: Differences can only be explained through **** metaphors.
There are differences
your hair stacks in one way, and gravity says you go you left
And that’s that.
Your feet and legs will be too scared to disobey
So they don’t.
Rule: Do not mistake differences for instinct.
There are differences
between a shoulder
and a knife.
One is a knife and
the other is a stab wound.
Rule: I didn’t say the differences would be labeled.
There are differences
between a feeling
feeling the feeling
and the feeling of feeling a feeling
And every single one that you have is wrong.
Rule: You should be ashamed of all your differences.
There are differences
that you think are unique and cute
But differences will make you
different
And everyone on the earth or in the ground is
different.
So everyone on the earth or in the ground is not
different.
Rule: Differences make no difference.
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 6:36 AM UTC
Raindrops ricochet off my umbrella, sounding like muffled applause; Mother Nature is clapping, amused by the fact that people are hiding from her marvelous creation.
~~a.s.f.
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 7:01 PM UTC
In comes one every week,
tracking into my home the filth of the streets:
some are patterned like cows,
some wear tuxedos,
some have turtle shells on their backs.
One looks like a whole spice rack spilled out on him.
Barn cats, alley cats, stray cats, exotic cats—
she says no to none of them.
This home is wild and foolish like her mind.
That compassion pours out like acid on my bones.
Then I’m forced to shoot her down
with words that fly out like bullets,
and more mouthfuls
and more mouthfuls of bullets
that all but ricochet off her iron clad will.
You turn so perfectly
down your roads of passion.
Creep on through the stop signs I put up
and mount on my head the horns,
the ones we pretend we can’t see,
the ones that let the bullets soar,
bullets to **** you again,
horns to undress your sister.
Feb 5, 2011
Feb 5, 2011 at 4:37 PM UTC
One is seemingly more impressed
by the less endowed or blessed
when somewhat incapacitated
and borderline inebriated;
the monstrous unconscious
disregards the likelihood
of fathomless undergarments
in other dubious departments.
Disregard the random blotches
or the involuntary discharges
instead revel in model tonsils
and almond shaped parcels
the comets of multi-notches
like a strange attraction
for disheveled carpets.
The blossoms of toxins
a libation ensemble
almost near horizontal
each movement a bent nozzle
like a prehistoric Narwhal
dancing like a jackhammer
with the elegance of a cement mixer
a broken leaking fissure
seeping vapid glamour
and indecipherable grammar.
The paraphrased clichés
and communiques of praise
like lost prophets put on display
caught in the ricochet of overplay
making an exit with the grace
of a stumbling ballet
down a poorly-lit
nightclub passageway.
Ultimately this can only lead to
the face-plant moment-of-tomorrow
the flooded memory of the-night-before
feeling utterly spent
hungover and hollow
with ill conceived consent.
The: Oh. My. God!
The: ***** is still here,
what do I say?
Hoping inexorably
they would just get up
and silently fade away.
Beer Goggles:
remember to drink sensibly,
or run the risk of
nasty STD's
or unwanted pregnancy
or breathless infidelity
or reckless insincerity
or if you're really lucky,
just another
session in therapy.
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 9:17 AM UTC
I'm made of cobwebs, shaded grays,
echos faded by the murky streetlight;
Festive blobs signal the holidays -
and ricochet off me into the night.
.
A thick, dull fog 'tween me and them,
a brick wall no one can see;
seamless weights in my hem,
and dust inside what used to be me.
.
And then there's you, a year away,
wasted tears, and prayers null;
an end thought for each void day,
a whisper-scratch in my old hull.
.
The words avoid me, skittish things,
like birds that flutter fragile wings;
the right ones are only fledglings,
too young for new beginnings.
.
And I wish that I could care for cold,
worn out flat 'tween mortar and pestle,
a forlorn growth ring in a tree of old,
trapped inside a rotting vessel.
.
.
Dec 17, 2024
Dec 17, 2024 at 12:54 PM UTC
Polar opposites, polar opposites, polar opposites.
The words ricochet around in my head, repeating as I try to parse out their meaning.
Yes, different, our shared thread the secret sign language of the unhappy.
But there are other things for me.
Aren’t there for you?
I love your dumb differences, what you are.
And me? Is what I am not enough when it’s so contrary?
Should we die then?
Accept defeat as inevitable when we are impossible?
Do we attract, volatile and painful and strong while we last?
I have always known this would end badly for me.
You are worth the risk, worth the pain.
I knew this too, instantly.
Didn’t you?
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 12:18 PM UTC
on the night train to Vienna I dreamt
as the soft tangerine light bled into the windows,
tumbling down infinities of Italian countryside
absorbing into my retinas in summer shades
of dusk-colored haze
entranced I was--
a nervous girl of sixteen years,
uncharted valleys sprawling ceaselessly
at the beds of my fingers,
love languages my tongue could not yet
stretch its fibers around
freedom forming its hunched silhouette
just outside of thin glass windows
cooled by the night’s apprehensive breeze
endless, it seemed
the rumbling blur of possibilities--
my hands sedated for the first time in years.
quietly existing in the jolt of a moving cab,
the subtle ricochet through the faint lamppost glow
of fragile Austrian dreams.
home-- four thousand and forever miles away
and yet here was fine, just fine
a girl with stringy hair and a steaming cup
of midnight European tea
as her mother sighed to herself in the
peak of her American afternoon,
wondering whether her baby had found sleep
in someone else’s morning.
Nov 2, 2016
Nov 2, 2016 at 9:22 PM UTC
Echoes and re-echoes
Lost in translation
What I say
Ricochet’s from walls
Shriller to the ear
My own voice
Comes back to me
As a big blow
It’s never-ending
My voices do not travel
Beyond the stony resilience
Maybe one day
My words will carry
Enough weight
To crack this resistance
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 10:37 AM UTC
It has been a couple of weeks
since the rigor of being McGregor
boiled down to nothing,
and Mayweather
had an Irma of punches
ricochet off of him.
I recollect this seemingly regular
pre-big-match rumor,
that the game was arranged.
These verdicters
pronounced a loss for Conor.
If so, Mc. man there
took way too many hits for the money.
Now that McGregor is left for dead,
and verily, Floyd
may or may not have added
a few more Lamborghinis
from the Billion bucks prize !!!
Many fortunes have changed.
I've fallen deep down
into this cemetery
where my thoughts lay dead,
and from the abyss sprout up a paradox
that stands for all fortunes:
We all fish in the same waters;
if one stirs a ripple,
driving the fishes away,
another is gifted a school without much labor.
Sep 15, 2017
Sep 15, 2017 at 8:58 PM UTC
put all the words
in the world
in my two hands,
each a microscopic dot
of near invisible,
teeming, heaping,
ricochet intersecting
colliding,
cell splendid splitting
leaping,
until they,
wordlessly forming
a sign inquiring,
in neon flashing:
“What did I demand of them?”
”New combinations,” my reply.
how we
laughed together...
as they procreated
My Happy Request*
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 4:55 PM UTC
sara left me on the 14th of may,
while my mentor laid dying,
while my debt went unpaid.
over routine coffee and cigarette,
she watched the flimsy fabric
of my flesh
catch flame.
she floated away
to ricochet off summer lions,
whose pride lies between their
worn thighs.
i planted heavy.
aged a century in a week of
wine, infomercials, and hospital
calls.
every mutual friend i asked
about sara's condition,
told me to leave her be,
cast me in creep status.
my beard grows gnarly.
my smoldered remnants
held together by cobwebs.
and everything i ever loved
is on its deathbed.
Jul 7, 2010
Jul 7, 2010 at 11:33 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
girls in purple dresses,
swimming in the pond,
sure would be good,
if they didnt have anything on,
but thats the thing with lust,
in god we trust,
get the scars off your back,
telling him to save us,
i know the cause,
of destruction and the devastation,
i loved her impatiently,
so that caused her to break in pieces like animation,
my life is a spin cycle,
filled with suicidal teens,
waiting for their moment to shine,
recklessness by all means,
we rise the goonies,
you fall like who were they,
Leaf tops of the nearest trees,
dont let your doubts ricochet,
i think maybe you should check yourself,
before any doubt could be reached,
and for that you need extra help,
for the hell water you drink,
too many conflicts have happened,
making you sane,
imagining you still sang,
purple rain,
i say,
too many conflicts have happened,
making you sane,
imaging you still sang,
purple rain.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC
my yellow eyes roll
as salt slides from the sides
of yours.
these sobs,
these sobs are familar
to me.
clearly etched into my memory.
it was the same with She,
that red-headed *********
it was the same with Nature's Criminal,
and every pore of her persian skin.
my yellow eyes return,
and my stomach turns,
and my muscles tighten,
and my smile lightens,
and my burden builds,
all the while,
your limbs twitch,
your lips stitch,
and your eyes run scared.
all the while,
my cancerous tongue lay still.
as your accusations
ricochet and fall flimsily all
around me.
i sharpen my teeth on the notches
of your spine.
remind you,
you were once wholly mine.
silence the cries.
tell you everything is fine.
your blood begins to flow.
the worst of me you get to know.
i'm a monster.
i'm a ******
i'm a plaster cast
of your prince charming.
let the yellow eyes roll.
May 3, 2010
May 3, 2010 at 1:53 PM UTC
The sinking has returned too fast.
I knew sanity wouldn't last -
but madness is here much too soon.
Electric amnesia returns to me.
Cacophonous thoughts breaking free
tear my feet from trembling ground.
My contradictory conscience
********** utter nonsense
across the face of my clean slate.
Peel back my shimmering rib cage,
see insomnia's grip of rage
still my dark heart into hurting.
Plunge me into freezing waters
where caught apathetic breath blurs
treading to sinking to drowning.
And I'm caught in the crawl spaces
between the in between places -
wretch to my opprobrious mind.
Not if but when sayeth the doc
to the tune of the ticking clock
willing me to wave the white flag
Madness is a graceless game.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 4:01 PM UTC
I once had a small purple vase.
It was almost a year old.
But I remembered how my ex and I blundered
And all of his things had to go.
I gave away his sweatshirt
His shorts and shirts got burned
And the teddy bear he gave me
Was torn apart by the people who mean most to me.
He gave me a purple vase.
It was wrapped pretty in a bow
Once it had living flowers
But now I had to let it go
I went outside with my true family
And recorded my final blow
Of shattering the vase
On the ground below
I felt the ricochet
Of a piece run astray
And my baby exclamed to me
That I cut myself indeed
And thats when I realized
How my last relationship was really through
Because if I cut my head with the other one
He wouldn't have held my hand to help me
He would have let me do it on my own
And not even checked on me
I know this for sure
Because it happened once before
I feel free now for sure
That all his things are out my home
And once I see my baby's things replace them
It becomes the final bow
For once I see no remnance of him
I think I'll truely feel clean
Once my forehead heals
And memories repress
I'll finally be able
To fully put him to rest
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 12:51 AM UTC
child of two moons
the harvest wheat grows
diamonds
on its stalks
daughter of the broken king
your carousel’s chained bears and albino
peacocks scream at night for
their release
lonely lover
the keyhole is rusted since he last
touched you
the oil getting rancid
martyred saint
your doe heart has an arrow of Cupid’s
skewering through a demon’s
confession written in fire
weeping widow
your maid took your cup of tears
to water the lilies giving
root at his grave
sanguine seamstress
do not stitch the bird’s
wing that has bashed
out its brains
non-existent soul mate
your fingerprints stain
my poems
with star grease
lover whose number I lost track of
I feel your footsteps ricochet
within my bones please
stop running I’m trying to sleep
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 7:03 PM UTC
Fresh baked bread
Layered in death and vegetation
My insides burn with withdrawal
It's been almost 24 hours now
How much longer will it take?
To either cave in unwillingly
Or to die painfully slow?
If I had not forgotten my cash
I'd have given in to my survival drives
I'm happy I forgot it
Because I can't stomach the idea of food
Let alone choke down something so revolting
Only because it pulls me further away from death
Instead I flood my veins with nicotine
Desperately trying to curb these cravings
My legs threaten to give out
With each step I take
Even now, scratching this among global fem notes
Dissociated entirely from class
My hands won't stop shaking
Is it nerves?
Or physical deterioration?
Or the panic lying under the surface?
Deafening screams ricochet through my mind
As I try to drown these feelings
But they won't disappear
I've dropped significant weight
And I don't want it back
I don't feel the need to lose more
But still it falls away
And eventually leaves nothing but skin and bones
Fueled by electrifying anxiety
Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 3:14 AM UTC
Thought you found home when you finally anchored your heart to his, but you only found wilderness inside an empty forest lost long time ago.
I met a man while I am moving on from my past. He was moving on also from his own little heartbreak. Whenever I am with him, I taught myself to never love a man's soul while his heart is aching for someone else's. But he taught me the other way, obliviously.
The ricochet comes. He can't love me back when he wants to. He can't take risks the way I do. He can't choose me when the universe give us the chance.
The ricochet hits me and I am supposed to be dead. But no, I was hit but was never putted into death. I was only shattered into pieces.
My little hopes and biggest fears will chase me to dreams and I have no escape. Nightmares will come every sleep and anxiety will attack me every waking up.
I will stare blankly in a dead air that used to give life to my existence before.
I am shredding tears for no certain reason and my heart is pulled down into the bottom of the sea.
I am loss. I am not found. If hope doesn't exist, then there is no chance I will be found deep down here.
I never had a heart, but when I found this empty long lost forest, when I took the risk when he can't, when I love him despite all his insecurities and incertitude, when I choose him when the universe gave me dozens of choices, I don't have a choice but to have one. For him and only for him.
Boy, I only have one heart but it is still hitched to yours and I don't have any plans to unhitch it.
Apr 13, 2019
Apr 13, 2019 at 10:36 AM UTC
I see you in the park.
I want to look at you.
You want to look at me.
Our eyes ricochet
off each other.
I can't catch you
looking at me.
I can’t even give
a smile to you.
You’re Alcatraz and
I’m swimming to your rocks
and when I get there
you'd rather stay in jail,
kissing the walls.
There is no you. There are a thousand yous.
I know no you. I see 30 yous an hour.
Where are you?
Are you out there?
You’ve got to stay away. You get too close
and you crumble,
or I crumble. Gravity sends
two lives shaking into screws, identities
unable to hold.
But I could know how fragile you are.
How you sit on an iron bench and open
your long, dark lens
to the ultraviolet April blooms.
Shamble into my arms.
I won’t laugh. I promise I won’t laugh.
I’ll break your fall.
It’s my mistake to think
that you’re fragile, that
you’re a flower.
You are a flower, but
flowers are only
advertisements
for the tree.
Flowers fall away early
leaving only the wide, armored waist.
It isn’t you that will crumble.
It’s only me.
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 12:21 PM UTC
Loud noises set me off
It's like they ricochet across the room
Echoing off of every single surface
And end by stabbing all the nerves in my body
I try to keep calm through them
But my emotions skip the step
Where my body warns me I'm upset
And suddenly I'm yelling at my cat
Or grabbing him by the scruff
All because he repeatedly paws at his food dish
And I can't handle the sound of the ceramic
As it clangs against the hardwood floor
And just as suddenly as I yelled
An intense hatred toward myself arises
Choking out all of my energy
I collapse back on my bed and wish I were dead
Until the noise starts again
And I'm back to seeing red
Mar 18, 2019
Mar 18, 2019 at 4:14 PM UTC