"rockstars" poems
Garments stripped from worn bones and weary mind
Feet dragged on tile; hands grasp plastic veil
Stepping into a tub; near swoon divine
A pure, naked self emancipation,
before the squeaking running metalware
that erases the daily equation.
Dancing, singing tunes of own devices:
Cupid, Shooting Star, Sister Golden Hair
Rocky Mountain High, American Pie
****** bosses gonna kiss ***** here
Astronauts, cowboys, and rockstars meet here
Best yet, the individual is here
Although merely hidden by a curtain,
all for your view is but a damp shadow.
Jun 16, 2018
Jun 16, 2018 at 4:46 PM UTC
I get accused of a lot of things at first glance
"You're simplistic, you're hiding something
You have no convictions, you don't think deeply"
Usually by those who I consider to be on intellectual crutches
If you're gonna come up to talk to me from a religious context
from a spiritual context
from a hierarchical, metaphysical, eat this **** popsicle mindset
Don't expect me to swallow
Don't expect me to talk
You won't like what I have to say
Because really you just want me to agree with you
If you want me to respect your framework
When you have nothing but the claims of quacks
and the feelings you gleaned from your last psychedelic trip
to back you up
While I have to sit back and listen to how I'm close minded
Close minded for wanting some real truth in this universe
unfiltered, raw, verifiable, and in my hand
and that anything other than that is a spray paint over
my true awakening
Then I guess I'll just have to be that *******
to die for these intellectual sins
The Eldest Son of Matt, hater of pretense
Hypocrite to the highest level
Build me up into a figure of idolatry
Just like you do with the rest of your ego cases
Priests, Gurus, Rabbis, Rockstars, Poet sensations
Tell me how wonderful it is to listen to them
Tell me how I should be more in touch with a tree
Tell me how I don't dream
When all my life is but that
Tell me how I'm not deep when you make no attempt to learn
Who I am, and where I have come from
Misinterpret my teachings, and claim me to feel
As if I was the newest son of god
When all I want is for people to get beyond blinders
and love each other, and to get beyond the metaphysical rat race
Tell me that I'm supposed to live and let live
While you jam your beliefs down my throat
and expect me to respect getting philosophically tea bagged
Tied up to the crucifix
and asking me to repent for my search for truth
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 1:02 PM UTC
it were the city nights I fell for, the cheap parfume you smelled like
if life was for the living and living was for the dead
than what is the space inbetween.. hate and love are not the same thing
and maybe a long time ago someone should have told me that
feeling like an outcast was like sitting in a train with no destination
you always felt useless, rain was falling that day, like it always did
the times when she was sad, she was so miserable, she felt nothing.
the childeren of the light always were afraid of the darkness
we were never afraid of the darkness because so far as we knew
we were the dark, the kids to be afraid of, the bad youth, the wolves
nobody ever wanted us and thats why all we ever had was each other
and the rockstars who sang along the broken words of songs with us
the tragic melodies were the only sort of comfort I found at night..
when you my bestfriend just as wasted as I am was sleeping..
I needed them, my idols, their voices, the music, to keep me breathing
and maybe we lost her that night for a reason wait no many reasons
it was all meant to be, the shouting and crying, the need to die..
it was a bigger part of our lives, all of that than she will ever be
the girls who had to much alcohol in their blood at night, to much fun
were also the girls who cried to many tears at daylight, to much sadness
we never knew how to handle ourselves, just seeking for aception..
a person who would give a **** about us, someone who would care
life was sad darling, you were so sad, I was so sad, everything was sad
but all the sadness never stopped us from having an amazing time
we needed each other to be happy, I needed you so much..
now it is just us again, you and me against the world
and I think it will always be just you and me, just us
and for me that is okay
because I wouldn't want to make all these memories, these adventures
with anybody else but you, my bestfriend, my sister, my everything.
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 6:45 PM UTC
I remember when MTV was in its prime,
A new voice to represent the new boom
Babies growing up since the 80s
Louder still through the troubling decades
(Maxed out credit no head room)
After —the punks in nirvana and rapping clergy
It was the only channel on
Youthful rebel yell —honest news
I remember it pretty well
Shaping us generation x y and Personal Jesus
New wave good bye to when
Childhood then without pain of malnourished
Africa or nukes threatening our
Cruel summers
Were we happier then?
So what happens to the music
Rockstars rip van wrinkle
Geriatric hall of fame
(No one lives forever
Reruns with the ****** & mr. Ed
Now that old neighbor’s dead)
Television
Nowadays
Seem more gangster
School shootings terrorists
On the train, kamikaze planes,
It’s all the same ole
Bling kablam oh bits
******* please
Redirecting our attention
To WMD
***
Where the hells are we?
I remember back then
On MTV —Nicki Minaj says
Between the hysterics of police brutality
She said Happiness is living your life
Without struggle,
That stuck with me
Because we all watch the tube
We all search for meaning
Sadly defining what happiness
May look like
Real World and paradoxical reality
TV
Para socially defunct
Clarity
Conditioned to continuously
Stay tuned
Brief message of empty
Hypnosis a pure form of business
Wall Street
Boulevard of broken dreams
I want my
Happy. What do I mean
To be?
Life ***** lately
The human condition
Talking too much
Refusing to see
No more talking heads too much
Bla bla ********
I want my
MTV . Happy .
My generation
We are the world
freedom And yes, Peace.
Man kindly as one
Symphony
And street, a melting ***
Of diversity
I remember the music
The future
I had hope to see
Behind the shades
Circa 80s 90s
(Fossils)
What time is it then?
When will we
Begin
Again
Don’t worry be happy
Run Forest run!
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 11:55 PM UTC
During my second trimester I felt like getting some fresh air.
I went out cycling through town in the warm sunny day.
Observing the comings and goings of people all around.
The flower cart on the corner, lent a lovely lilac scent to the air.
The street preacher was shouting out his testimonials,
trying to recruit believers to his cause.
Further on as my pedaling took me, I saw a group of boys.
They were pantomiming their favorite rockstars.
Strumming the air for all they were worth and
Jamming to the silent music in their heads.
Down the block past the Bakery, smelling of cinnamon buns,
was the museum. My favorite place to stroll on a quiet day.
The gregarious doorman always wished me "A fine day, Madam!",
as he ushered me into the foyer. He always wore that silly hat that makes me smile.
And, of course, he kept an eye on my red bicycle by the door.
Making my way through the corridors, observing the sculptures, paintings and artifacts.
Wondering at the archaeologists dinosaur finds, mounted above and behind the glass.
Finally, on to see Pandora and her ill-fated decision to open the box.
Letting forth into the world all manner of toxicity. And then, again, opening the box
she set Hope free so we could cope in this danger-laden world.
Ending my museum tour, I contemplated my coming child
and what he would find to make him cry or hope or love
in this world, as I slowly pedaled through the spring infused day.
Feb 4, 2011
Feb 4, 2011 at 6:27 AM UTC
somewhere in hollywood along route 66
stood a cheap motel—
an asylum
for rockstars and their groupies,
artists and and poets and strangelings alike.
the morning only saw its residents,
drunken and drowsy,
and its black-tiled pools as dark as the night;
yet the nights were its prime
when the artists would gather
in the name of music, dance, recklessness.
the syringes would pierce their skin
and the alcohol like ocean waves
washed out the most of them,
and events too unspeakable were the norm.
the motel never attained 5-star ratings,
but it become the playground
for fleeting moments, wild nights,
brewing grounds for creation.
these nights were so loud and colorful,
but only remembered in hazy visions
and muffled sounds.
and so all those nights end here, today:
at the south of The Strip
where some modern, ordinary hotel now stands
once used to be the mess
that the likes of Jim Morrison
and Tom Waits called home.
its guests would have burnt it down,
but they would've wasted their money,
and who has the time anyway?
ladies and gentlemen, the tropicana motel—
a stop over where
wild minds and wild hearts would meet
and eventually go their way,
the place where these legends
of music and madness
came to play.
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 12:59 PM UTC
rockstars break hearts.
they write about feelings
everyone has.
you want so badly to tell them
how much those composed
lyrics mean to you,
but there's so many other innocents
out there who want to do the same.
you want them to really know you.
you want them to know that connection
that you have with them.
the only way you can meet them
is through a stupid meet and greet
where every other "fan"
tells them the same.
all I want to do
is smoke a cigarette with you
and thank you for the lyrics
that saved me.
but I simply can't.
not being able to meet you
simply breaks my own heart.
-KM
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 10:51 PM UTC
Hall of fame
For the poets whom have left and came again, to those who
Write by the wire.
Cell phone
Tablet, computer
Laptop hot shop aquire.
For you who sleep and write
For those that write and fight
For you who are ordinary marksman like me
Hall of fame-your all in it you see.,
And the most incredible thing.
Is how incredible and awesome you all are
Poetry's greats! 2016s rockstars.
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 7:04 PM UTC
There are no teeth in my apple
and my lost love takes pictures
with backgrounds that I spy
saturation in. She misses me, I know it.
The litanies of street performers, and go-go rockstars--she shares the same
plea. But I do not know if she uses the same words.
But I hear their rhythm throughout the film.
Graffiti dollars nestled in the dark of my wallet--preparing for the rocks.
Mar 26, 2013
Mar 26, 2013 at 2:46 PM UTC
Sipping from a glass
wearing a false label -
dining with kings -
but at the wrong table.
It started off holy -
it started off right -
they never noticed
the light fading to night.
Girls in short skirts -
beauty of face,
added to the pride
that seeps in the place.
Take the stage,
forgetting who you are -
just wanna-be rock stars, worshipping guitars.
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 2:36 PM UTC
I never think of you
No, that's not true.
I think of you all the time
When I'm listening to a song
A movie
Or a show
I wonder if you’d like it
When I’m just sitting
Sometimes, I wish
You were there with me
(So I could make you laugh)
When you don’t text for a while
I try not to worry
(it doesn’t work)
And I hope nothing is wrong.
I say I never think of you
Because there are no fantasies
Of us in a movie
As superheroes
Spies
Or rockstars
I don’t dream of what it will be like
In ten years
Fifteen
Or twenty
I am so enamored with
What we are right now
Who you are
How you’re changing
I don’t need what-ifs
Or dream worlds
When what I’m living
Is better than anything
That I could have ever
Made up
In my head
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 1:16 AM UTC
Music books and old guitars lay scattered on the floor
The whiskey bottles empty, you won’t need it anymore
Posters on the wall of rockstars, playing to an empty room
No one lives here anymore in this dark and lonely tomb
Tortured soul, you sold your soul but you felt you had to quit
Why’d you have to ***** the fire of a torch that was barely lit
You know you meant the world to those you left behind
If only you could've talked to them or gave some kind of sign
Your fingers were still calloused cause you practiced every day
You tried to learn all the chords so that you could sing and play
Now silence fills this empty room where the music played before
It’s such a shame you took your life with a rope over the door
Tortured soul, you sold your soul but you felt you to quit
Why’d you have to ***** the fire of a torch that was barely lit
You know you meant the world to those that you left behind
If only you could've talked to them or gave some kind of sign
Your fans will never know how good you could've been
Since you took your life, and put that rope over your chin
You had to see what was on the other side of death
I wonder if you found peace as you took your last breath
There was only one way to end the pain and strife
Now you play to an audience in the eternal afterlife
May 18, 2020
May 18, 2020 at 12:59 PM UTC
We don't talk all that much these days.
In fact, we don't talk at all.
But I'll never forget
When we were kids
And our secret dream,
To run away together.
The dream grew brighter
When it turned into a plan.
We had our bags packed and ready to go.
A pair of jeans and a sweater,
My guitar so we could busk,
One **** dress in case times got hard,
And the money
Your mother hid in her dresser.
We'd take the train,
Get the hell out of here,
And never look back.
We said I'd cut my hair,
So they would never find us.
We never quite knew
What we were running away to be.
Rockstars, hookers,
Crackheads, or movie stars.
We didn't care.
We were young and wanted an out,
And the city
Was calling our names.
We never did run away.
I guess I knew all along
That we never would.
But I don't regret any of it.
Any of the planning,
Any of the dreaming.
Because that dream,
That hope of an out,
The idea of there being an escape
No doubt kept me going.
I still think about you often,
And our run away dream.
We were dreamers alright.
Or maybe we just hated this town.
Maybe we were just young.
Maybe we read too many books
And watched too many movies.
Or maybe it all goes back
To that same song.
The one where he stands outside
Her bedroom window
And begs her to come outside.
"Come outside,"
He'd say,
"Come outside.
Out the window,
Down the fire escape,
And run away with me."
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 4:30 AM UTC
I am from...
...Endless falling from a sky of no sleep and rockstars.
...Backyard barbucues full of no one i know but everyone i'm supposed to.
...Vast wastelands of metal and glass death traps holding lots for most, but nothing for me.
...Ringing sound waves from a freshly broken wooden spoon from hitting my pan too hard.
I am from...
...The clensing pain of surviving by myself.
...Sock monster fights, ripping, arguing, bruising.
...Shouting, loud, bright spartionan battles.
...Broken guitar strings, strung too tight, couldn't hold under pressure, weak.
I am...
...A broken down car with no hope of ever running again.
...A cat trapping a mouse in a corner, smelling its fear, enjoying the game.
...A stryofoam peanut, stuck to the ones around me, never letting go.
...Fighting for my right to live, sad for when the fight is over.
Jul 4, 2012
Jul 4, 2012 at 4:20 AM UTC
Do I crave stoners...?
the pink hair...black..
weird *** rockstars
?...
it all feels weird
almost facaded...
i feel like anti barbie
fake and miserable yet somewhat alive
...i feel
.......
it feels like....
......
nothing
...but again something
like you were hit
but with nothing
or with something but didnt get hurt
...its like all in my head
its a made up feeling
....but from where i ask
from where i.......
ask
is it insecurity
....is it....
idk....
insecurity it is
is that you...
hiding in that corner
casting a shadow over me
...come out i declare you out from the shadows
....and tell me
....what i did to deserve this crap
....what did an innocent girl like me ******* do....
huh
yu miserable little *****
its like i crave happiness?
but i dont know how to give that to myself truly...
and is it even something you can give to yourself?
because its a state of being...
its a state that comes and goes...
a feeling
not a thought...
yes i have control over my mind
...but my heart man....
a battle
only for God
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 5:39 PM UTC
The world gives birth
to Monks, Locksmiths and
mocked Rockstars…
All live on Earth
to debunk false myths
and cockblockers!
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 7:20 AM UTC
don't you ever wonder about the fact that even rockstars sing about heartbreak?
i realize it now.
it's not so much about who you are or what you can do, it's more that you're human.
so, instead of looking for a nice house, like the one i used to rent, I'm going to settle for a cabin in the woods.
I'm fine with nothing, because with that, I'm guaranteed to keep it.
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 5:27 PM UTC
I received it in a letter
with gold parchment prints
I ink my fingertips just a little longer
To hear divine disciples moking
Chanting raspy chatters for a foul stanger with mistaken steps
Steps that leave prints on blackened sand littered with promises of another scam
I dont believe anything that comes from envelopes
Because return addresses from Hades makes me lose all hope
patience becomes shredded to petty pieces peeked through a microscope
If you look a little closer you'll see this life is quite like a kliedoscope
Because were like rockstars with crucifixes
Just diguised as normal folk
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 12:50 PM UTC
i knew a girl once,
she got a tattoo stenciled “tabula rasa”
and could never see the irony.
irony is cruel, after all, and there’s a lot of things
we chose not to see, obliviously.
irony is a musician with a deaf daughter, a painter with a blind son.
but this was just a metaphor, what we’re headed for
always heading home in the wrong direction,
but i’m not a suicidal head case,
just a dreamer who got high on outer space
and this was what i wrote for icarus
before he gunned me down out of the sky
i don’t why, but my wings tend to get tangled whenever i try to fly.
typos slip past my copy edit and sometimes i still feel pathetic;
i am a gallery of scars.
if life is performance art then i’m a ******* masterpiece.
it’s all growing pains,
knowing better doesn’t always mean you do better.
so pain is necessary. so pain is unavoidable.
but i don’t wanna to live a life where every single week is
“i just gotta get through this week”
but good things don’t only come from pain
and poetry is not sad by definition.
i know we tend to romanticize the tears in our eyes
but i wanna grit my teeth into a grin,
i wanna know about sinking because i'm learning how to swim.
and gravity was never the enemy,
at least not how i thought it would be.
gravity was just doing its job,
it didn’t know the way it was weighing me down like quicksand
and making it so hard to get up out of bed.
i will never understand
why happiness is so attainable for some
and so unattainable for others.
but maybe that’s just the hairline difference
between happiness and joy --
one is more circumstantial that the other.
lately, my brain’s been stalling like an engine on overdrive,
it wants to die out but somehow the heart’s keeping it alive.
so this is the sound two hearts make when they collide,
we write poems and never talk about it.
i write mile long poems and i’ve got a tongue like a riddle
and love’s just a word, but don’t you dare tell me
that words aren’t important.
you know better.
smashing hearts like hundred dollar guitars,
we all wanna pretend we’re rockstars.
you know, some people get drunk just
so they can see something in the sky.
and i need these lines,
they build up the structure in my spine
i don’t know always who i am
but i know who i haven’t been.
i know who i want to be.
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 10:46 AM UTC
Poets are emotional rockstars
causing rokkus
getting piss-drunk off of anything
that moves them
wrecking rooms
of highs after falling
grabbing the "feels"
and smashing them
on the stage of their life
fearless and loud
Now, that's adrenaline
Jun 10, 2025
Jun 10, 2025 at 4:23 AM UTC
"moving on & moving in"
Charlotte sighed as she looked around her bedroom in the attict. there had been nothing left for her in the small town anymore. nothing but haunting memories, dark and blurry. reminders of her losses. & all of the things that could have been, should have been, and now never would be. memories that she used to treasure, now almost non-existant. & she hadn't been sure if it had been from all of the partying, or if it had been her minds way of trying to protect her from them. charlotte sealed up another box with tape which read "posters". so far charlotte had packed 8 boxes, 6 of which read posters aswell. all four walls had been covered with them, posters of beautiful places, song lyrics, and all of the rockstars that she adored. shaun morgan, kurt cobain, aaron lewis. joey ramone, alice cooper. she had basically spent all of her time there since Charlies death. listening to music, getting lost in the words of her favorite artists and authors. or poems and stories that she would write herself. when charlie died, charlotte checked out. almost as if she had died right along with him.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 4:42 PM UTC
I was recently told
from a credible source
that a famous band wrote a song
about a difficult time in my life
it’s not from the album Dark Horse
but it is a song filled with judgment
defining me as selfish and weak
no love given for my struggles and strife
or painful journey down the Long Road
at first this left me
feeling less than and meek
but then I realized we are not defined
by the perceptions of others
even famous rockstars don’t
have the authority to diminish
our vibrantly true colours
so if someone you trusted
is telling dramatic stories about you
remember the only way
they get power
is Because Of You.
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 9:43 AM UTC
that poets are all but forgotten
but, at the same time it is more
a noble quest I guess
nowadays
poets used to be rockstars
and have all kinds
of money when they got
famous
there is a sad part about all
of it, and a more pure thing
writing just to let all the feelings
out
and looking back, even
those in the past, Longfellow,
Poe, Emily- all had their demons
too
just like us
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 8:55 PM UTC