"rollie" poems
All I have is skin,
I am missing the tobacco and filter
which you desperately need.
You can't make a rollie
and have a decent smoke
with just skins
Why do I only have the component
that everybody else has?
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 9:41 AM UTC
maybe it's because you're older,
older men draw me in like some sort of musk
a scent, a magnet that i follow
craving more every step i take closer.
it's your eyes that really tell me
-green and lazy, almost dreamy without the fantasy-
they follow and i watch,
and sometimes i imagine they're directed my way
but it's like trying to make out truck headlights from
miles off
i can't tell if their coming or going.
you have lips that i imagine are soft
gentle enough to balance
a tobacco rollie on their shoulders perfectly
yet strong enough to form around words,
singing into a night already full with
your strums.
i ache to be strings
to have your fingers spread over me,
plucking my edges and
making a lullaby out of my limbs--
you speak foreign things
arabic and soft,
and i want you to explain what you mean
into my mouth with your hands
gentle around my waist.
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 1:23 AM UTC
You want me to
write my heart out on my sleeve,
then pull the thread,
unravel it,
patch it up,
then again,
then cut that arm off
and burn it.
Shovel my thoughts
into tidy piles,
then spill the milk
and muddle them up
then sop 'em up and
mop 'em up
'til I'm left with blurred lines.
Stuff my feelings in a jar,
toss them with ingredients
that don't mix
rollie pollie
with a dab of Ranch
and it's all ****** up.
Y'all want the key
to my mind -
an old closet that leads to
a tunnel that leads to
the grave of my buried thoughts.
I opened the door
and I was pushed from behind
then told to "lead the way".
To "find the truth
in all your ways" -
one arm out
reaching in the dark;
a girl on a mission,
searching for her heart...
I fell in a hole.
Ashes to ashes,
dust to dust.
It started to rain,
I was surrounded by mud.
The door closed.
Which one of you all
care to open it again?
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 12:37 PM UTC
Bells chime, ding ****
Cue the long run.
Rumbling empty belly
of a concrete anthill.
The same faces, same routines
same air, same space to fill.
Run, children, run!
Two hundred green pullovers
move in unison.
And the beautiful ones detach themselves
with heavy lungs
they inhale the fresh air
stamp out rollie butts.
Nobody cares.
Eat, sleep, bleat.
Two hundred green and grey sheep.
Day in, day out.
Repeat, repeat, repeat.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 5:00 PM UTC
when i was a child
i drew an outline
of my future
with broken chalk
across the side
of a road that
no longer exists
you see
when the eyes
persist
they reimagine
the past as some
kind of bad joke,
or a science
experiment
when i was a child
i was forced to make
love to people
who didn't deserve
it;
i guess asking
for permission
didn't exist back
then
or were we all too
scrambled in our brains
to get our bodies
to do what we say?
instead they just gave
into their instincts
and impulses
our tiny naked bodies
under ***** blankets;
tightened fists, kicking legs
and strained muscles
the trees outside
still swayed as though
they never had mouths
to feed, as though
they weren't desperate
to think, feel, or be
free
it all came so naturally...
when i was a child
i broke twigs in two,
kicked empty beer
cans, and poked
rollie pollies
in their bellies
until they got
sick and threw up
i laughed, cried
and wished that
i could die
i did this well
into my late
twenties
until i realized
i was going to live
for a long time
then i said **** it,
**** the world,
**** the creator
he, or she
doesn't exist
they were never
there to stop
my father
from his routine
abandonment
they were never
there to stop
my mother
from withholding
nourishment
sometimes
there aren't enough
words and wishes
to conceal the truth
from it's own existence
it has to live
in order for
me to die
perhaps, it's been a joke
all this time and i've
been to stuck up
to spare a laugh
or two
i smile more
than i often believe
i should
but at least
i know my body
is strong enough
to rebel against my fate
when my mind is
too afraid to make
the change
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 2:24 AM UTC
I haven't smoked once today
for the first time in weeks.
Dear God - please,
give me a cigarette. Please
give me a line or a drag
of a joint, or a glass of wine
or a hug or some sunlight.
Work in seven
hours and I've been crying all evening.
But why? For no
**** reason. Paid tomorrow,
and I might
spend it all on drugs or a tattoo,
or tobacco or I wonder
could I pay someone
to love me.
I'm trapped
in an I'm-not-OK-hole—
in a ********
In a thousand-of-miles-from-the-city hole.
I'm a session moth.
Wake up like a ****** rollie
on the bedside locker.
Not knowing where I am
or how I got there. Jump
into the nearest car and just say
"drive"
and eat nothing but still look fat.
This morning I was suicidal,
I nearly walked out in front of a truck.
But it was alright,
I remembered
I hadn't taken my pill in a day or two,
stopped crying and
went back to work.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 8:19 PM UTC
When I was five,
I filled my doll house with almost
a hundred rollie polies
(Trust me, I counted)
Simply because I wanted them to have
A nice home.
Dirt wedged under the nails
Of eager hands that hunted.
The small bugs curled into
Little planets
As they rolled to the center of my palm.
One by one,
They went into the worn, plastic, cup.
I peered closely at them in sheer admiration,
As though they were the equivalent
Of a puppy underneath a Christmas tree.
They were taken to the room of
Bunny rabbit wallpaper and afternoon naps.
Each one placed after
Careful deliberation
Into the room it would like the best.
Then, a blur:
The shrieks of my parents,
A hurried search party,
And the heart-sinking disappointment
That the humble earth-dwellers
Had not appreciated
My generous mansion.
How fragile dreams are.
For two seconds of joy,
There was half an hour of pure chaos.
Oh, isn’t that just how some things go?
The expectation is better.
(a.g.)
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 3:20 PM UTC
He could pack his whole life into a guitar case
because there was no guitar in it.
I was there on the day it broke -
smashed against the wall
all wood and pointless strings
destroyed like forgotten dreams.
The bottle of whiskey on the dresser
was the only thing that made it real
the bottles cool touch
to sooth the burn as he drank it
hot and cold - familiar turmoil.
I sat on his bed
wearing only his jumper,
it smelled like an ashtray
that was gifted with him
He saw straight through me
the world now a different place
It's harshness had peaked
and life a disgrace
So he made a quick rollie
and packed up his life
walked straight from that room
and away from his life.
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 10:50 AM UTC
the serial monogamist
constantly looking for your next hit
whether it be meeting a new face, a rollie
an argument
instant gratification is your currency
and You worry that you're a fraud
I don't know if i'm the only one who knows
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 7:45 PM UTC
Have you heard the little bird wistle your daddy problems are sickening and you couldn't handle how I made you rarely rock my rollie. That's a funky **** pipe that ***** not cool duude, that's **** doodoo. Dozing off.
Jun 10, 2019
Jun 10, 2019 at 5:10 PM UTC
she breathed in tar
and exhaled something marred
inhaling nicotine and exhaling carbon monoxide
looks like she's gonna suicide
- 2 -
she attacc (herself)
she protecc (her cigarettes)
most of all she defecc (tobacco lobbyists/industry)
and she also a defecc (anxiety disorder)
-3-
looks like denise isn't a very nice niece after all
her aunt said "tar reminds me of fond memories"
denise thought she meant the "la brea tar pits"
now she knows..... it's the Philip Morris/British American Tobacco pits in the alveoli
ravioli ravioli give me the rollie.
Aug 16, 2017
Aug 16, 2017 at 2:24 PM UTC