"roleplaying" poems
Surely these surly bits
Must be burrs caught up in my
Makeup -
Making up reasons for
Why my spit was accidental.
I done been through a
Rough patch or two -
Crawling with these
Thorns in my knees
Across funky plateaus
That poke their chests out
In their scouts
For sunnier flora.
Though,
I assume their search
Didn't go over so well.
'cause these scabbings won't heal
Like I want them to,
Buried under gobs of
Ointment
That was supposed to take care of it
(And
One more bandage
Just in case).
I'm just moseying on through,
With my feelers out,
Making sure you're someone
I have to know.
In and on my way
Somewhere
In this crazy field,
Waiting for sunflowers
To bless my prayers
While I continue to
Make room for myself to
Slip past
Without being noticed.
I'm smiling so hard
To keep the soft-hearted
At bay -
Trying to avoid being forced
Into pinpoint relations
With clueless drifters
Who refuse to stay on their side.
They only mean well -
I know this,
I do.
But, the simple has yet to escape me.
Send your
Sympathies
To the weak ones,
Roleplaying
Alongside the meek,
For these are the creed
Who,
Without giving heed,
Deliver their lives
To bliss.
Sep 7, 2011
Sep 7, 2011 at 11:02 AM UTC
I was chatting in an adult chat
As I often do
Jerking off
As no woman wants to touch me
Sad but true
I like to pretend to be a mean beautiful woman there
Stroking happily without a care
30f4insecurefem my screen name reads
Who knows where the next chat will lead
I started talking to a woman who was insecure
She had some emotional baggage, that's for sure
I invited her to a private chat with my friend Jen
Gorgeous girls we are
I had pictures to prove it
We are both 10s
I encouraged Alyssa to not give up
To put down the oreos and maintain a strict diet
She thanked us and seemed happy
But Jen my friend (I was typing as Jen too)
She is the bad part of me and you
She told Alyssa to state her weight
A couple of times
5'4 171
Alyssa told us
Alyssa was quiet
I have a feeling she did not feel that great
Why was I first kind and supportive
And then mean?
Roleplaying as these women
Strange it seems
In the end Alyssa I'm just like you
Inside a body I cannot change
Painful but true
I lifted weights my whole life
Never got big or strong!
Still a lanky guy
What I said to Alyssa was wrong
But she messaged me
She wanted to chat
I asked her if she was looking at the oreo again
Please stop eating
It's a terrible sin
I told her she was a good person
When I was young I wanted to be strong
Lifted weights constantly all day long
Ended up damaging the muscle tissue some
I don't think a woman will ever want to see me ***
Now I can't be big or strong
No matter much I lift
Still a lanky guy
**** ****
I just want to meet some women or have a good time
But the only way I can talk to women is online
So be strong Alyssa
You have to be
I was cruel, but the world has been cruel to me
Say a prayer you'll be okay
And go on to fight another day
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 4:37 PM UTC
At the age of 10, I had a conversation with a woman.
I remember asking her what games her many children played.
Did they play as I play?
She told me they enjoyed roleplaying games, and I asked what she meant.
Dress up, she elaborated. Acting, make-believe, telling stories.
I remember telling her that I felt I had wasted my youth, my childhood, and this, as if I had forgotten I was 10.
There was a seriousness to my tone, stoic-like, and a mighty dignification must have kept that woman from chuckling.
That conversation was closer to half my life ago, and I still meet with that same unrelenting sadness every other morning and every other night.
I remember the half-dreaded birthdays that followed, the recent ones the worst.
And every year that passes merely confirms the suspicion that I’ll live with that yearn for the rest of my life regardless of what else happens.
Yearning and I. Whose to say we don’t have 10, 20, 30 more years together?
But it’s nothing to worry over in the end.
I’ve turned into a person who has high-highs and low-lows,
And I’ve found that the highs are worth going down under for every once in a while.
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 7:45 AM UTC
We live gas station to gas station. Motel to motel. Roleplaying different stories. Living out the bohemian fantasies of a teenage reverie. So when we check out the next morning all these little lives are left behind to exist in the folds where reality meets lazy Sunny D daydreams. And when we are old and grey and return one day to these places in holy reminiscence, our nerves will be pricked with a kaleidoscope of memory jolting sensations. I’ll turn to you and say, “Don’t you remember, my dear?” The honeydew perfume on my wrist as you kissed me up and down like a cartoon in the kitchen of the Sandman Motel? Or the feel of the unpolished, terrazzo floor in the Sunny Moon dining room with my right hand in yours and the other clutching a stolen bottle of my Father’s Aberlour? I’ll remember the times when I didn’t mind the 7/11 taquitos and you didn’t mind getting up early to watch the “Hot Donut’s” sign light in the the Krispy Kreme’s front window. Fresh baked pastries and gasoline and turquoise curtains from the seventies blowing in the hot summer seabreeze. Getting lost in milky sheets. We were a sitcom. We were romance. We were tragedy a la mode with guitar strings built out of rawhide and teeth made of ***** pearls tangled in conspiracy. These are the things I’ll smell, I’ll see, and I will remember when it was just you and me, pretty baby. Just you and me and the ******* Dream, traveling from sea to shining sea, living cheap and easy and utterly free.
May 7, 2019
May 7, 2019 at 7:07 PM UTC
I would like to be home by midnight.
She paused, no longer so sure about the fit
of that crystal slipper on my hairy foot.
Not to worry, my dear. Just make sure to close
the closet door when you leave.
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 10:56 PM UTC