"scoffed" poems
Come spring, she leaped across the grassy dune,
Beaming with sheer joy as she hummed a halcyon tune.
Her beauteous almond eyes- the biggest, the brightest.
A bonnie spotted doe in her warm, homely forest
Come summer, by her gushing little lake she played.
When upon a solitary, pensive buck her eyes she laid.
Eyes met across the smiling lake; too soon gazes parted.
While his eyes curiously lingered, hers wandered on ahead.
Come monsoon, he adored her eyes, her gilded coat, her bushy tail.
The passionate warmth in her eyes with affection made him frail.
Yet, she went on with her blissful life- devoid of any care.
Oblivious of the buck who always stopped to stare.
Come winter, by his side chattering happily she grazed.
Soon, his feelings faded; by almond eyes no longer crazed.
Like currents in the water, apart they drifted and drifted.
New lake. Nonchalant silence. No words were said.
Come fall, she found that he still leaped through her mind.
The emotion she once scoffed in her heart now enshrined.
Eyes met across the smiling lake; too soon gazes parted.
While her dull eyes wistfully lingered, his wandered on ahead.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 10:56 AM UTC
Sweet Butterfly, with wings now dry 'tis time to break away
and light upon the leaves of dawn while weeping willows sway,
not reminisce 'bout chrysalis discarded yesterday,
but treasure life, with colors rife in nature's cabaret.
Sweet Butterfly, you sometimes sigh "terrene so strange and new”,
but take a chance, with winged expanse of fairy-like bijou,
to taste delight in random flight, to drift beyond the blue
and then collect her naked nectar, sipped in morning dew.
Sweet Butterfly, you question why the breeze is seldom soft
when swirling you, your wings askew, while floating free aloft.
Some seem to find their peace of mind believing gods have coughed,
but others, downed, have often found more freedom when they've scoffed.
Sweet Butterfly, you needn't cry, the fields are full of clover,
and meadowlands bare braided strands that winds in waves flow over -
but if you fear that, more than here, another mead is mauver,
just flutter by, beneath the sky, unfettered flitting rover.
Sweet Butterfly, farewell, goodbye, you've left this world behind.
I oft gaze back along the track of flowers that you've mined
recalling days of light sashays and movements unconfined
that complement the firmament where beauty lies enshrined.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 4:23 PM UTC
Night,
dark, soft, alluring,
spinner of dreams I want to be lost in,
is a kindhearted courtesan,
who never demanded anything
for all her loving, that to me
was like a swim in the pool
of "Ananda"* I was searching for.
I climbed her door steps
with the silent footfalls of a cat,
all these years for solace,
when the fair lass ,
regaled by my songs evening after evening,
scoffed and taunted,
when I fell wounded
in duels of life, I was forced to fight
to keep my honor intact.
Once,
seeing me left in the lurch,
blood soaked and badly wounded
she led my tired legs
to her house of magic and secret treasure hunts,
blessed me with oblivion, till I woke up.
Her mansion became
arena of silent dances of wounded memories,
till sun appeared above misty mountains
cheering me up with new promises,
but my thoughts never left her.
I spent my darkest hours
in her house,
thrilled by dreams she induced,
in which under moonbeams
princesses gathered,
bubbling fine wine brimmed
in sparkling glasses,
I felt the most loved man
within her tender arms.
I would wait for the night, my sullied lover,
to arrive with her hands of breeze,
to tousle my hair and caress my face.
Night took away my pains,
her lasciviousness is the only drink,
that makes me ask for more.
She is not only mine,
as a courtesan, she needs to entertain
whoever seeks her,
But when I am with her,
she is all mine.
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 11:04 PM UTC
**Mastering the whole range of bleats with meanings-
made him think his command of 'goat lingo' was perfect,
But a cheeky Anglo-Nubian goat wasn't impressed by his fluency so remarkable,
"Vocabulary is not all, my dear Sir" she bleated back " your accent is singularly atrocious"**
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 12:35 PM UTC
I thought I might be a musician
Mom couldn’t afford my lessons
My eyesight wasn’t great
I couldn’t read notes fast enough
Practicing annoyed the family
I only managed last chair, 2nd violins
But still
I got to play in High School concerts
In shiny dresses with glitter in my hair
However
I haven’t held a violin in years
I loaned mine to a Bluegrass band
The leader died - and it was gone
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
I thought I might become a dancer
But my fingers can not touch the floor
I couldn’t kick much higher than my waist
Choreography was hard for me to learn
I had the stamina if not the skill
My partner wanted someone else
But still
I danced on stage in a college play
And Morris Danced at the Old Globe Theatre
However
I’ve forgotten how to keep the beat
And all the dance floor moves I made
I’m too self conscious now to try
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
I fancied I could be a singer
I knew the words to all the songs
And I could keep the melody in tune
But I had a voice with no vibrato
And the quality was thin
My range was very limited
But still
I sang Blueberry Hill at a talent show
In a black lame’ dress and surprised a few
However
I couldn’t get the hang of harmony
And found I fit best in a choir
My family wouldn’t hear my solos
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
I thought that I was born an actress
I practically got that one right
I had a lead in an Ibsen play
And toured the state with Macbeth
But Hollywood was one big casting couch
And I could see no way around it
But still
I got to be on TV shows
Winning games and merchandise
However
I sold the Firebird Convertible I won
I needed rent money more than a car
And rules allow you only three shows in a lifetime
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
I always thought I was a poet
I started young and never stopped
But family ignored and scoffed
Then I got trapped inside my mirror
And only wrote when all was beak
Somebody said my stuff was dreary
But still
I stumbled on the HP website
And found a group who like the words I write
However
When I read the others’ writes
I realize how limited my skills
And fight the need to run away and hide.
∞
It seems I dabbled in all the arts
Looking for the one that fit me
And finding they all needed alteration
And I never had the proper needle
∞
Still, a moment in the sun
Is better than a lifetime in the shade
I had a taste of everything
Though the banquet was not mine.
ljm
Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 12:24 PM UTC
Corruption and Seduction, twins living in discordant harmony.
Firstly, Corruption lives in a crowded home, in the lamplit living rooms and in the starched collars and sore legged dining halls.
Seduction lives in the attic, and ghosts from room to room, leaning on others as it passes, like an injured soldier.
Guiding into places seldom spoken of and rarely trod.
She asked him how he could change his mind so quickly.
I think his mind was never made in the first place.
Be it Corruption or Seduction, they live as synonyms and antonyms.
A promise broken, words thrown aside or forgotten, a trust crumbling to dust.
Credit this, not to one or the other, but to both, working for each other to accomplish the objectives laid at their feet by the gods.
Moments of weakness, burdened with fear and doubt, belong to this indecent pair.
Scoffed by most, yet intimately known to all, Corruption and Seduction manipulate and corrugate.
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 1:23 PM UTC
If you were to ask me what boredom was, I’d tell you were boring and to stop asking stupid questions, but if you really persisted, I would tell you boredom is the tick tock on the white clock on the white wall of our English classroom.
it’s the thrill of seeing how many dried crackers you can cram into your mouth before your mouth becomes a cracked and dried desert. Boredom is
making up haikus,
Alone but not quite knowing,
How many syllables go on each line
Boredom is haikus.
Boredom is
the decapitation of innocent
grass blades as you listen to an unenthused sports teacher
the blood of your unwitting enemies splattered on your fingers.
Boredom is this boring poem
Now you were never one for boredom;
you enjoyed sitting on the grass, getting a soggy ***
you enjoyed the crunch of crackers snapping on your tongue,
you really enjoyed
and I still do not know why
making up haikus
you enjoyed the long languorous spaces between lines...
and I guess that really was just you.
But recently the silence has been getting short its rudely interrupted
by forced laughs and nervous glances from eyes that recently went shopping
You jump at every crunch or crack, scared of well…
I don’t know .
And your poetry,
Well, you barely write anymore because you just can’t seem to muster up the energy and you’re just tired and its nothing to worry about and it doesn’t matter anyway because you have an English essay due tomorrow yeah-
And the grass misses your ***
And I miss you
And there’s someone in your place, a lethargic parody, too frightened to pick up the phone, frightened by nothing at all
There’s a black hole in the shape of a friend
hidden behind the comets of comedy and asteroids of avoidance there’s a small hole
I reach in… grasping for a hand,
I catch glimpses. tufts of hair. old coffee smiles
but… nothing
so, I try again
I reach in, grasping for a hand, or even a bone
I catch glimpses of skin, hair, teeth, bone. Nothing
and each time I throw myself into the silent abyss,
batter past the comets and asteroids and reach into that dark expanse I find less and less,
I miss you
I am right outside,
whenever you’re ready to,
we can talk a bit
I’m trying my best ,
and I really care for you ,
but haikus are dumb
accept it, it’s true.
The spot of grass is waiting right where you left off,
the crackers in the tin are there just waiting to be scoffed.
if ever in that silence
you feel yourself alone
just know that in my house,
you’ve found yourself a home.
Feb 25, 2021
Feb 25, 2021 at 3:53 PM UTC
I scoffed at my minor cough
Until I was immobile as a sloth
I had to press pause on my life's tale
After I became a beached whale
And my body turned frail
In my illness jail
My stoic resolve tested
My pain threshold crested
The way I act is antisocial
The way I feel is anti-hopeful
For I treat others poorly
When I'm hurting sorely
In sickness for health
I give away my wealth
To feel one hundred percent
That's the physician's intent
To make me experience drainage
But I need the healing medicine
So I can practice the discipline
Of removing my diseased shark's fin
Ramses II, known as Ramesses the Great
Had a permanently fractured finger
And his teeth were significantly rotten
The pharaoh's excruciating pain
Must have effected his reign
A massive amount of men slain
Is discomfort what's to blame?
When there's no pain relief
We give each other grief
And there's a lion with a thorn stuck in its paw
Eventually that simple thorn becomes a claw
Nov 6, 2017
Nov 6, 2017 at 9:25 AM UTC
Brackets
Your mum picked you up in daddy’s BMW,
we had to wait an hour while they scrubbed the brains of another son off the roof of the 125
(Why they built a multi storey car park on top of the bus station is a mystery to me.)
You carefully colour coordinated your files and scrutinized your revision schedules,
we watched nicked CCTV footage of two blokes smoking crack and burning down the bowling pavilion next door
(the old boys never did raise enough to repair it.)
You snubbed each other because of different tastes in jumpers,
we watched acid casualties talk politics with football hooligans
(a hastily rolled joint bridged the obvious gap.)
You lounged in the common room in your study periods,
our lesson got cancelled because John had been smashed in the face with a fire extinguisher
(and our tutor used to be a lifeguard.)
You worried about fashion and discussed the injustice of last night’s X Factor result,
we watched Neil’s head crash into his keyboard after he’d scoffed all his methadone in one go
(again.)
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 4:56 PM UTC
What I managed to regrow,
You stomped on.
You waltzed into my garden
Like you had grown the whole place yourself,
Your nose in the air.
You looked at my carrots and scoffed,
My cucumbers you mocked
And you thought my garden gnomes were ******
And I let you,
Because you acted like you knew so much about gardening
You said the caterpillars would help my leaves
And the crows would **** out my rotten veggies
But those cruel birds have just been eating away at my prize-winning squash,
and the tomato worms....well, they ate all my ripe tomatoes.
You said you'd help me tend to my garden
But you rarely make it over
And when you do, you throw a shovel in my face
And tell me to get on my knees.
You watch while I ****
And talk about the grandeur of the flowers next door.
And I wonder as I wipe my brow,
What I ever thought I needed you for?
And why you ever came over in the first place,
Since you obviously prefer pretty colors to nutrition
And you must have had some notion that I would one day realize,
That you've never kept anything alive in your life,
And you don't even have a yard.
Nov 9, 2010
Nov 9, 2010 at 6:55 PM UTC
?
Ten days of silence
Then you whisper a word
A single puzzle piece
Is all that is heard
So cryptic, so soft
And what does it mean
When ciphers are scoffed
And wisdom obscene
?
!
Just hold it and wait
You’ll see one fine day
A lightbulb will light
You will see the way
Things fit in place
In crystalline form
The sear of that face
And the dust, and the worm
!
.
The art can get wet
And the artist can see
If the hand can forget
That the master is free
When playing the part
Of the folks in his game
With sight for the blind
New strength for the lame
.
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 2:33 PM UTC
I know why Vincent Van Gogh Cut off his own ear
We are a mad bunch, you see
Poets and painters and playwrights
On the prowl for something to
jump start our perpetual yearnings,
our keen senses and cravings,
on the quest for so much more
than the status quo,
of merely checking off just another day
from our calendars
We are those kinds of people
Who wish to reinvent the world
Often cursing at our failings and insecurites
While obsessively working to shape and sculpt
our view of this planet
To fit our own brand of imagination
To satisfy our starving hopes
and desperate dreams
To foster vivid visions
from the views that are vague
And to wipe away
The nightmares of old
that cry out in us
We believe in make-believe
We who are misfits to "normalcy"
We rarely seem to fit into
The "real world"
Yet we know that this world is
Pure insanity
Stark madness
Sheer perplexion
Yet we are the ones
suffering for the sake
of our art
Often misunderstood
Many times branded as "weirdos"
I can understand the pain
Of not getting my art right
Of not seeing its worth
Because someone sniffed at it
Or scoffed at it
Or blindly passed it by
Many times, we want to break through
And join the world of our works of art
But we can't
We're stuck in the middle of its beauty
And nothingness
Yes
I know why Vincent Van Gogh cut off his own ear
Sep 29, 2011
Sep 29, 2011 at 8:04 PM UTC
When I saw her for the first time it wasn't admiration
It was awe mixed with a twinge of jealousy
Her perfection and her confidence intimidated me
When I first befriended her it wasn't just adoration
It was an obsession and a fixation
To be like her in thought and action
Till I learnt to be better than her without being enough
That was when the insecurity started
'Will I ever be enough?'
I wasn't enough at home, not fair enough or smart enough
I wasn't witty or flirtatious enough
I lacked guts and I lacked the temperament
Of a proper twelve-year-old.
I was a doormat and a pushover
Already coming undone at my seams
Trying to emulate perfection through blinded eyes
Every day I scoffed and surrendered to my picture of admiration
Trying to secure her own admission
'Will I ever be enough?'
Then she left me battling my own wars
Hers was to conquer new turfs.
I waited for a while, finally realizing
I was a ship without a captain, left to wander evermore.
I caught a new captain in a bystander who counted his lucky stars
I admired him for being there for me when I never was.
I tried to hold on to an unconsolidated bond of friendship
With a raging doubt piercing through my heart
'Will I ever be enough?'
Many came telling me my worth.
Many left ravaging my already battered heart
Many drank my colourless lifeless blood
Many left a wretched bluish mark
I shrivelled from the inside out
Bloating in the nausea of my being
Every day trying to put me together
Every day losing instead of winning.
One day finally I reached out
Knowing my salvation lies
I put everything behind me and cried out
Only to be put on the side.
That day I realized my worth
When she was hurt by my rejection
When she refused to give me a chance
When I had never received any ever.
My insecurities still lingered
But they were a part of me now
And I did not know how to do without.
I picked up the pieces that meant something to me
Even though she was no more there to see
Yet I knew that she was never enough
Never my horizon, never my turf
I had wings to reach farther
And my flight has thus
Now begun without her.
(c) Anavah 2018
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 7:18 AM UTC
I am thankful for another day of breath,
Another day to get up, stretch my arms, and grab a pen,
Jot down a thought, a mismatched feeling, a strange sensation,
Pluck a note or two on the guitar, hammer a chord on the piano,
Sketch a funky thing on a piece of paper,
Talk to my family, reach out to a stranger,
Add a gift of hope, listen to some sound the wind carries,
Love like the next move the clock makes will be to run me through.
I am thankful to run here, there, dream mad, crazy, absurd things,
Conjure childish, stupid goals, reach for them, and hopefully catch them,
And praise even as I grab palm fulls of empty air.
I praise God Almighty especially as I grab palms full of empty air.
I am thankful for the moments of sitting across from Russian girls and not understanding them,
Admiring their beauty as they talk, one singing Madonna, the other speaking quickly,
And I am thankful for the moments of making a fool of myself and stubbing my toes as I walked away.
I am thankful for the audiences played for so infinitely much, the cheers, the times I was and am admired,
And I am thankful for the times I have been scoffed at, the times I was and am afraid.
I am thankful to God, dearly and bountifully, Lord knows, for everything and all things.
Things I don't deserve, things I shouldn't see or have, but things I cherish,
And things that I know are divine,
And in heaven, I owe God all things, but I want to have a hug.
From my Father in heaven, I want most of all, a hug.
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 1:36 PM UTC
The sun hides behind the clouds
but I see feet beneath those curtains
on a Sunday a girl with short hair and lesbianism smiles at me
You shouldn't mix plaid with stripes
that's like fashion 101
so I walked down the street
buttoning my plaid shirt up
when I fell down a man hole
and a mole man said to me
you shouldn't buy those Adidas shoes
they treat the workers horribly
so I took them off
and cut my naked feet on rust ladder rungs
I went to the top floor
they told my I shouldn't wear my jeans so creased
they scoffed at the words denim
so I took my pants off and made them into a sail
I went to the mirror
and it told me I should fit a size bigger
and that I should probably work out some more
I tore muscular and skeleton systems from the pages of biology text books
and used it for kindling
to warm my cold shoulders
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 3:58 PM UTC
When I was young
I learned how to dive into my emotions
I learned how to wrap myself
in my regret and fill myself
with relics of isolation,
I learned that my tears
were to be compared to the bottom of the ocean
for both the saltiness
and the amount of them.
I learned how to cheat my way
into straight A's
because suddenly I wasn't at the top of the class
I was diving to the bottom,
with the druggies and the criminals.
I learned how to move my fingers
along the fret board of another man's "love"
and how to make him sing louder than a microphone
would ever allow for
I learned to dive into what most would consider immorality.
I learned to inhale whatever I could,
tobacco, *** and whatever lingered in the oxygen in between
and I learned to dive through the labyrinth of smoke
that it would produce.
I learned to steal for what I needed
because I didn't have the money to eat lunch
or for new clothes
I learned to dive into the world that I'd scoffed at
a year ago
the world of the beggars and the choosers
the stealers and the 'losers'
called out by self-proclaimed winners.
I learned to trace raindrops on a window
and recite my dreams in the form of broken hearts
and song lyrics
I learned to dive into myself.
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 8:29 PM UTC
"A vice grinds hard in the gut..."
Began a poem from decades past.
From one hard lover, now a ghost,
Whose words have long since passed.
She scoffed at love and poured another,
Drunk, to dull the pain,
Sober, I held her in my arms,
On guard against the flames.
But love grew, still, within the dark,
Inside her body, bourbon-tied.
Unseen to me, there was a spark,
And the gates below blew open wide.
Discarding friends and lovers, too,
She ****** them for their care.
Believing this was what to do,
Her love became a dare.
She sang her wrath in poetry,
Self-loathing, hatred, blame.
The gilded coach that had to be,
A vehicle of pain.
I made farewells once she was gone,
They formed inside of sighs.
I gathered up the rhyming note,
And kissed her peaceful eyes.
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 9:38 AM UTC
I've experienced the exuberance of youth.
Through endless summer days, of blissful childhood ignorance.
I have drempt the most glorious dreams. The ability to soar with the eagles was mine, most any night. I was to live, forever.
I have know the delirious intoxication, of boyish infatuation.
And to such a degree, I have tasted the bitterness of rejection.
I have lived amid nonconformists. I shared in their ideological beliefs. Old Guard be ******
I have witnessed the gatherings of idealists, who's main purpose
was to spread their premise of the brotherhood of man.
I have seen them chained and gagged. Beaten for their beliefs. Shot down in their youth, by those who's superficial dogmas kept them from the truth.
I have been among the ranks of the tens of thousands, shouting my incensement's against a failing war. And I have been to the "wall" and wept for my fallen brothers.I have seen the rise of iconic performers. Some who would pay the ultimate price for their notoriety.
I have felt the power of their karma and reveled in their idioms'.
I have witnessed the miraculous wonder of birth. I've had the privilege to hold the embodiment of purity, God's ultimate creation, in the hollow of my arms.
I have walked among the Angels. And I have delved into the pit of my own iniquity's.
I have loved the un-loved, and scoffed at those who would be cherished.
I have lived as if, there were no tomorrow. I have learned there is just today.
I have lived to be a better man than I was. I live to be a better man than I am.
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 5:40 PM UTC
This is the Fisherman's tale
With a rod in hand and live bait in a pale,
Of a day spent out on the beach
And fish just a cast out of reach.
The day started as any fisherman would
Before the sun was up, when the fishing was good.
He hopped on his bike and road the old trail
Till he could smell the tides from the ocean gale.
Today was the day, he could feel it in his bones
He would bring food to his loved ones at home
This was his day, he was so sure,
With a brand new rod and a homemade lure.
Cast after cast, hour by hour
Time moved by until he started to sour
All that time and not a single bite;
Now clouds rolled in, black as night.
The wind started whipping the sand all around
Still the old fisherman stood his ground
The storm was coming, in just a matter of time
"I can't leave" he thought, "until that fish is mine."
As the thunder boomed and lightning crashed,
He decided to give just one more cast
As the rain came down, soaking him through
This was the one, he swore it was true.
Waiting there patiently, slowly he'd reel
Even if his legs he could no longer feel.
When all of a sudden with a great flash
he was able to tell that this was the cast.
The line went tight as he threw back the rod
He was hooking this fish, he thought with a nod.
The battle that followed was one terrible fight
Fish verses man all through the night.
And as the sunlight rose, marking the dawn,
The fisherman still fought as the battle raged on.
He wouldn't give up, he wouldn't let it go
The fish was his, and he would soon let it know.
The fish neared the shore jumping clear through the sky
Only to get robbed off the hook by a seal passing by.
The fisherman stood there, staring in awe
"The seal stole my fish!" He thought dropping his jaw.
"The fish it was huge, six feet at least," he would say
"I fought it all day and night till that beast took it away"
Yet no one believed him, they just called him a goof
And scoffed, "how convenient it is, that you don't have any proof."
Still this is The Fisherman's story
After fishing all day and night on the beach
One filled with unseen glories
How he was one cast away from the catch of the week.
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 12:37 PM UTC
I miss a 16 year old girl
I miss a girl with skin fairer than that ***** snow white
I miss a girl who lips are red like my blood
I miss a girl who's eyes could make me question everything and anything
I miss a girl who scoffed at my compliments
I miss a girl who called me a player
I miss a girl who could write beautifully
I miss a girl who saw more
I miss a girl that blocked all of my compliments
I miss a girl who was shy
I miss a girl who's tears could burn holes in my soul
I miss a girl who loved me
I miss a girl who trusted me
I miss a girl with blond hair
I miss a girl that wore nice earings
I miss a girl that hated herself
I miss a girl with scars on her wrist, bruises around her neck and burn marks on her legs
I miss a girl that could look into a mirror and not like what she saw
I miss a girl who thought she was ugly
I miss a girl ghat thought she was a curse to the world
I miss a girl that wanted to **** herself for most of her life
I miss a girl that drank
I miss a girl that did drugs
I miss a girl who loved the pain
I miss a girl who hated the numbnesa
I miss a girl that put others before herself not because she was kind but because she thought they were better than her
I miss a girl that I abandoned
I miss a girl who trusted me enough to tell me **THAT SHE WAS ******* KILLING HERSELF**
I miss a girl thagtnever showed anyone her tears but she showed me
I miss a girl that never showed anyone her scars but she showed me
I miss a girl that was so delusional that she showed me her trye self
I miss a girl that I hated for one day....I almost killed myself the day after
I miss a girl who had such an impact on me that I still feel her pain floating around in my head....
I miss a beautiful girl
I miss a girl that killed herself and it haunts me everyday
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 4:24 AM UTC
All I can remember is that time in Wal-Mart
when your older sister came to me and asked:
“Is it true that Payton went to the ****** bin?”
I wonder where she heard that lie and how many
more were threaded among Honesdale locals,
weaved into their perceptions of my family--
their shoulders betrayed them when they turned
away as if we were the diseased ones rotting
inside-out--maybe we were, in a way--but at least
swallowing all this salt healed our wounds
faster than your actions would fade from memory.
I punched you the day I found out even as you
scoffed, laughed, you hadn’t ever taken me seriously.
At 17, I had learned not many people would--but
my revenge came after I moved three hours south,
when your father died of cancer, your best friend
crashed your mother’s car, your sister fled
all the way to England to escape the mistakes
eating at her shadow, and I got out of our hellish
town. You became rooted among manure, ***
holes too deep to outgrow--I’m sure you’re choking
on worms by now. And when I finally reach
the lofty sky, I’ll hold the sun between green hands.
I’ll hide its light and warmth from you.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 7:51 PM UTC
he always insisted
i needed something to believe in
yet he scoffed
attempted to laugh it off
when i promised that i built stonehenge
and the great pyramids
ground his teeth as i whispered
that the world found cuneiform by my hands
and he dropped me off
when i elaborated on the day
i walked away from babylon's tower
so
off he galloped forever
destined never to understand the factual weight of one's dreams
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 12:05 AM UTC
At times I’ve believed it
And at other times, scoffed,
One of the oldest of pivotal fears,
Mentioned in scripture and stories and hymns,
The execration is stinging my ears.
And throbbing, echoing, clashing rhythms,
With no beat ...such tension… Distortion’s risings,
A march over mazurka decelerating,
Curious uses for curious things,
Intestinal-pullings, intestinal strings,
Every warping conceived by my kind,
Like tearing of flesh and torture of mind,
Nothing that’s wholesome, nothing that’s good,
The truth bent, the opening crude,
The too-thin passageway out, understood
And my own rotting flesh is my food.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 11:09 PM UTC
Until I met you
I scoffed at cinematic romance
So extra and unrealistic
Utterly improbable
Completely dramatic, unreal
Coincidence is never that perfect
And yet
I met you by accident in empty hallways
I talked to the universe for months
Asking her for the chance to connect
Day after day
I couldn't find the courage to speak
I didn't know you at all
But our souls felt like magnets
Being around you is electric
Paradoxically calming
Falling in love with you was unrealistic
As we were both dating another
And despite the improbability
Polyamory was the wild card
From bridge walks to car talks
This flame burned right through me
From 15-minute cafe conversations
To our first kiss under a bell tower
Our passion raged in waves
Ripping apart everything I thought I knew
An emotional monsoon
I swear this is a love like no other
Kissing in cars and wrestling on hotel beds
I breathe in your love and your light
Cherishing your soft skin against mine
Exhaling gratitude and peace
It's a feeling so surreal
No words feel right to describe it
But I do know it's a blessing
That every single day
I get to fall in love with you all over again
Dec 18, 2021
Dec 18, 2021 at 12:16 AM UTC
I once met a man who read my bellybutton.
He told me that the two horizontal lines
meant I have internal and external insecurities.
I scoffed at the idea that those things
could disappear from mortal souls.
He then pointed to the bottom vertical line,
the most noticeable,
and told me
that meant
my biggest insecurity was my reproductive organs.
I smiled small.
Should I tell him about the dead baby
or instead of the riley women who have male dependency.
I chose the latter,
for Im not sure if the kid is still dead.
I could hear her screams in late night alleys for two years after.
She haunts my horror dreams,
singing we could have lived happily ever after.
Instead, Ill chose the story of my stepfather
who called me a *****
and cried to my mother
that I was trying to ****** him with training bras and black eye liner.
'Did he hurt you?'
'of course,
but so did my mother-
and I've learned to forgive those
who chose life over freedom.'
It's more than I've done.
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 2:32 AM UTC