"scoffs" poems
With heavy hearts the lightened feet march up on Whitehall
take a peek,
then down below the trenches go
light up a woodbine,
'dontya know this is the show that we'll be late for', Says Scouse.
'Gor blimey mate' says cockney Joe, 'let's have a look at all them toffs'
and ups the periscope as scouse scoffs bully beef.
Thiefs of body, thiefs of friends,thiefs of time and there is a belief in some older men,
that this is a time when we remember 'them'
No words need be conveyed
no tears for what they gave
just a sober, sombre silence
like when the guns fell silent
one hundred years ago.
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 5:39 AM UTC
I buried him somewhere…
When I go to bed at night,
I checked the closet and he’s not there,
I tried under my bed and he’s not there.
Surely he’s dead for I buried him somewhere,
I am a woman now and not a frantic child,
It’s been a long while since I have not visited his grave,
Pray then, why must he appear now?
I tried hard to move on with life,
I persevered to love and accept myself,
I opened my heart to forgive my own,
My being is as wide as the skies.
I found solace in the plateau of my existence,
Why must he visit now?
Truly, I buried him somewhere,
And I swore he’ll never see me again.
He’s there trying to taunt and torture me,
He’s the one who mocks me,
He scoffs me when I search for happiness,
He laughs when I try beating myself.
Nightmares haunt me even at day,
He was the devil himself,
He, a vile and a disgusting man,
Who touched and fondled me in my innocent years.
He violated my freshness to rotten,
And it took me years to pick up the pieces,
Now that I’m almost whole I couldn’t understand,
Why must he resurrect in my dreams?
I am a woman and I still live,
Yet fear still envelopes my being,
I can never forgive and I will never forget,
But surely, I buried him somewhere…
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 1:42 AM UTC
Stink up the beer house with unadorned putrid self-thoughts.
Poppy-eyed and hating others is easy for blue bottled buggers.
A sweet thing for you!
A growing circle of six-legged empty.
Filled to the brim with puffed up space. A white brim with a shiny red exoskeleton.
Oh, what a dreadful sight!
Hair strewn across a face and hooked into the teeth of the blushy lullabied insect screech.
Clear liquid not blood, but blood all the same on an empty stomach with full vein-shot bones.
Not milky bones with calcium-love..
A dead, deficient, cracked, neglected, insufficient skeletal frame, limp.
Yellowed with hate-smoke and old book notes.
Splintered, crazed and buzzed through the gridded bulging eye-window of every single one of those insect like Self-Loathers.
Chosen out of pure sympathy "We should talk more"
.......To the sun, the moon and the stars?
Every star mocks,
Every beam scoffs
and every moon likes to deride on the pain that hides beneath the lies of human bug eyes.
A simply formed pound of vertebrate flesh leaks soft plasma on the scaly moth floor.
Oh how we are dusty and unsure!
Forestry consisting of a Sitka Spruce and of a Japanese Larch was a claim I made from the start.
Over gardens of attention arachnid lurking selfish bugs and even those half winged "friend people".
The bell has rung the scariest of chimes and with every soul wrenching 'ding' a furry fang digs at the blotchy eyed, softly fleshed girl.
Oh such a sweet thing to be surrounded by selfish bugs who spin webs with tear stained tissues!
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 2:19 PM UTC
clanking clank slurp, ka-boom
the slop runs down a throat
merrily merrily terribly chilled
the gunk rolls down a throat.
the
forks spoons knives
plates salts salads
and wines
ding and echo like
soft butterfly tea parties
all gone rabid.
throughout the walls of pictures of food
and the butterfly echos echo
and dinging cups splash
and forks click and clock
(and and,..and!)
hold my breath.
clanking cubes of ice
bing against one another
Gluttonous Pig slobs them down with
a spoonful of spicy French soup
Pigman talks to Pigwoman; spittle flying out of
his piggy chops.
he stares at my forehead
they see my odd selection
she's laughing insanely at a joke
I'm holding my eyes inside my head
while
all on my plate sit the legs
of baby spiders
all on my dish are darting
sow eyeballs
pitcher plant garnish
and frozen grey custard for dessert; (echos still in the restaurant)
I gag outloud
the Fat Pigman scoffs at this
my heart pops inside its cage
and the waiter rolls his eyes at the mess.
Apr 25, 2012
Apr 25, 2012 at 11:59 PM UTC
The Boxer stands in the ring,
A man who used to be King.
Across stands The Young Lion,
A man who will be a King.
The Boxer shakes his aged head,
A man who had fists of lead.
Across scoffs The Young Lion,
A man who has fists of lead.
The Boxer sighs, his last fight,
A man who has lost his light.
Across strides The Young Lion,
A man who gleams with light.
The bell rings, and the fight begins.
The Boxer strikes, though he won’t win.
The Lion roars, winning in ten.
The Boxer slumps to the floor,
A man who can take no more.
Above smiles The Young Lion,
A man who only wants more.
The Boxer smirks as he lay,
A man who knows the way.
Above stands The Young Lion,
A man who knows not the way.
The Boxer leaves, knowing this one thing.
There is always a new and waiting King.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 2:11 AM UTC
The first burnt burst of roasting beans brings sorrow
All at once memories of yesterday outweigh residual wonderment at tomorrow
The troubles of people who may be countries away slink over individual concerns.
Without being able to help it the world is suddenly covered with shadow
Dark oily patches blocking out early morning sunshine
The reasonable you scoffs, the sensitive you sighs.
The carton of eggs isn't the right combination of
free range organic fed lies, the toast is enriched and bleached
And you're eating it anyway.
Even the soy milk you pour into your coffee
because the right kind of milk isn't cruelty free
Caused deforestation somewhere miles across a sea.
You don't even want to think about the morality of the crispy bacon
And suddenly your morning is a dilemma of humanity.
But **** all you wanted was a simple cup of coffee.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 3:55 PM UTC
There's a virulent disease
inside him. It pervades every
where. It invades him. The
toxic cells exist in every nook
and crevice. He starts wondering
whether his soul and body will
suffice and live through the
brutal treatments that await.
Radiotherapy or chemo. A
part of himself could be lost in the
pomposity and elaborateness
of the machines used to do so.
He lies on the bed, surrounded
by the ostensibly loved ones
who mourn now and who hated
him once. He looks back at
his life and feels that getting
back to his healthy, strong self
is a chimera. Days pass and his
bed is his sanctuary. The reports
from the doctors arrive and he is
all but stationary. He finds the
concept of reports funny. They
determine life and death in a
second and after that, life could
be jubilant or miry with hopelessness.
The reports clearly indicate that
"cancer was not detected". He
scoffs at the elaborate medical
language and sits back and
relaxes, concluding his close
call with death and an emotional mess.
Not letting the intimidation and
sinister nature of the diseases get to him.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 4:41 PM UTC
Society scoffs when a man
holds hands with a man. Shakes
their head at a woman kissing
another woman. For-fidelity to them
is between the opposite. When
it's between love and love
Rainbows are for the outcasts
of society. Yet for innocent
children Where same genders
holds hands with out a problem
These colors represent a place
where a pot of gold exists
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 3:45 PM UTC
I just sent an email to my Mom.
Part of me feels it
Part of me wonders if I'm overdramatic
I feel like ****
Like, I feel different than when I felt depressed
But this is still not a place I want to be
Consistent
Draining
I never feel ok anymore.
I'm not even sure what ok feels like.
I keep wanting to drink for all the wrong reasons
I never get drunk
But I always want to reach that happy nirvana
That "tipsy enough to forget all your worries" place
There's something seriously wrong with me
I haven't actually talked to my family in AZ for over a month
I schedule skype dates with a woman I'll probably never see again
More than I do with my own father.
What type of **** is that?
I looked at **** I ****** myself today.
I feel like the biggest piece of **** this planet has seen.
I also lack self forgiveness.
I got an email back from a priest today.
I told him I'd be interested in joining the priesthood
I realized I might have been lying,
But honestly,
I don't even know!
I feel like I'm sitting on my thumb,
Trying to figure out the world as it
Races by me,
Unwilling to stop and allow me to catch my breath
Or read the signs or understand a **** shred of anything
This is what I'm talking about
Part of me feels this,
And the other part just scoffs, and says I'm melodramatic
*Pick yourself up
Dust yourself off and figure out
what the hell you're doing*
I feel so alone anymore.
Like, if there's not someone by my side
I somehow lack basic humanity.
Like I need someone to be there
If they aren't, I'm obviously not worth much
I closed the blinds four different times today.
I didn't want the neighbors to see my actions.
After a certain point, I closed them to watch a movie
And I haven't opened them back up,
even though
it would probably cheer me up a great deal
This is probably one of the longest "poems"
I've ever written.
It's not poetry, it's freestyle
Not like it matters,
It's like an art major defining the different strokes that an artist used in a painting
Like I give a ****
It's still a painting
Lent is one of the hardest times of the year.
I feel it with every fiber of my being.
Nothing about this situation makes me feel ok.
I feel out of body, out of mind, out of soul.
I'm pretty sure, at this point, St. Peter wouldn't let me in.
In my heart of hearts I want it desperately, but
The rest of me still says no.
I'm so messed up it's ridiculous.
And I sent an email to my mom chronicling her son's failures
Her son's issues,
And why,
Her son
Needs to go back to a counselor
Because I'll be ****** if he's not "fixed" yet.
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 6:15 PM UTC
Rays set to illuminate her left
Making her form a black silhouette
As she twirls with ribbons in her hair
The sun gives her gold curls a halo
Giving her sea eyes more life to drown you
She turns and flashes you a last smile
Night wind blows her redolence toward you
Wrapping you in living desire
As she dances into the darkness
The moon scoffs at your loss your impulse
Passion to rage as you’ve lost her again
You storm out of the moons mocking light
Laughter sets way to the teasing sun
Seething with angst, desire for dusk
Racing to the cliff waiting for her
The sun setting behind the sea line
Then fireflies light your bitter green eyes
As they linger on the clear cold sky
Waves jump to kiss the maiden goodnight
Blushing the azure sky fire red
Out of the sun she appears dancing
She smiles, laughs and winds around you
Lingering behind you taunting you
Tying, lashing your stomach in knots
Sun reflects her alabaster skin
Fair with alive eyes and honey curls
Alluring, will crushing temptation
The sun is fading below the sea
Turning seizing her delicate arms
Only to have her slip through in fear
The waves reach wash away the left light
Cast an abhor glance atop bare skin
As she danced into the darkness
Fireflies shed more light than the sun
Cast long shadows of her fading shape
You lunge after her, reaching her hand
The suns slow evanescence over
The moon beamed at the failed attempt
Laughter rang with you into the sea
Nov 21, 2011
Nov 21, 2011 at 1:32 AM UTC
The owl-car clatters along, dogged by the echo
From building and battered paving-stone.
The headlight scoffs at the mist,
And fixes its yellow rays in the cold slow rain;
Against a pane I press my forehead
And drowsily look on the walls and sidewalks.
The headlight finds the way
And life is gone from the wet and the welter--
Only an old woman, bloated, disheveled and bleared.
Far-wandered waif of other days,
Huddles for sleep in a doorway,
Homeless.
2.3k
Here is some water for the dead tree,
Beauty I found in its imperfections.
A dark-haired girl appears and looks at me,
Seen in the tarnished water's reflection.
"How foolish," she scoffs, and narrows brown eyes.
"You're wasting time on this tree, it's hopeless."
I look up to the sorry, laughing sky,
Turning to her moonlit face. "I confess..."
"It's gone now, and though I shouldn't linger,
The living memory I can't betray."
She plucked a branch with delicate fingers
Carelessly dropped it, and then walked away.
Your tree creaks in empty winds. This is me,
Without you, watering a long-dead tree.
Jan 2, 2010
Jan 2, 2010 at 12:08 PM UTC
The blue honda pulls up to the curb. A strange lingering fog is tinged purple. He steps out of the car, and looks around. His phone buzzes in his pocket, but he ignores it in a moment of awe. What meets his bleared city eyes is a sight like no other. Looming in front of him is green woods, seemingly taking shallow breaths in the mist. Then, shadowy swirls form into tentacle-like wraiths. He stood frozen for what seemed like forever. Then a shadow slowly crawled onwards him, slithering on the gravel. It tentatively touches the tip of his shoe and he scrambles back into his car and locks the door, trying to steady himself. After telling himself repeatedly that it was just his imagination. Not real. Not real. Not real. Feeling better, he picks up his phone and calls his wife back. The phone rings, and the normal sound brings him back to the present. He looks towards the woods. He quietly scoffs to himself, what an idiot he was, it was only his imagination. Something catches his eye.He doesn’t see anything. Looking towards his phone something catches his eye again. Upon a second inspection he looks and finds nothing. He looks down on his phone, why can’t his wife pick up already? Something catches his eye a third time and he looks, there is no mistaking the shadows leaking towards his car. he hangs up desperately and attempts to call again.It rings once and the shadows seem to leak into his car, it rings twice, and the shadows seep into the open window, it rings four times, and she finally picks up.
Her lone voice rings out
Hello?
…
Are you there?
…
Honey, are you ok?
...
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 3:23 PM UTC
you’ve changed, says tinkerbell
as she strokes peter’s tanned face
was that wrinkle there before?
she pokes it, her tiny finger
getting engulfed in the folds of skin
did you dye your hair? i like the colour
you’ve grown taller too, and i
suppose your shoulders have become
b r o a d e r
peter flicks tinkerbell away
and absentmindedly uses his hands
to sweep the dust off his new
leather jacket and levi’s jeans
peter tells tinkerbell that the
five years he spent in the real world
was infinitely better than being cooped
up in neverland, and that he found a new
girl to replace wendy, her name’s hannah
peter says he might leave forever
tinkerbell buzzes around anxiously
why? she asks peter
what about me and the lost boys?
we can’t all stay young forever, peter
scoffs as he ties the laces of his new
converse sneakers, a gift from hannah for
their second anniversary
peter kicks up sand as he walks away
we all have to grow up one day
we can’t stay here forever in a fairytale
remaining as stagnant characters
who only know happy endings
follow me tinkerbell, and we can learn
about the harsh realities of life and
bear the scars which indicate our
brush with the cruel and painful
truths outside of our little bubble
tinkerbell disagrees, i don’t want to
grow up, we’ve always been fine here
why do you want to change now?
i don’t want to leave this fairytale behind
i like it here with you, i like it here where
everything has an happy ending
are you leaving me because
you found someone better to
spend your days with? is that it,
that i’m not good enough for you anymore?
peter shakes his head no, that’s not it
tinkerbell, you know very well i still
cherish you, but i want to live now,
live a life of ups and downs, and grow
up and learn as i fall and get up again
it’s a special experience, and avoiding it
gets you nowhere, like how we are now
farewell, tinkerbell, i shall leave now
everyone has to grow up someday,
and it’s time for me to do so
tinkerbell watches as peter leaves
for the final time, and her heart sinks
maybe peter was right, he did make sense
even a little fairy has to grow up too
but growing up is scary, and tinkerbell is scared
it’s a scary place out there, she thinks
a miniscule being can’t possibly survive there
tinkerbell flies back home in the heart of neverland
to safety and security, to where she could remain
young, forever
((growing up was always a terrifying concept too foreign for tinkerbell to grasp))
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 2:20 PM UTC
I have half-written confessions about you
And all of them are simultaneously as weak and gauche as the struggling flight of a butterfly with half its wings ripped off.
I have no coordination when it comes to dancing, Darling, and it's probably becoming more and more prevalent as you catch me tripping around my declarations
Because I am filled with so much self-doubt, but I can't help it that this new piece of my life has me second-guessing the placement of my feet and the rhythm I'm swaying to.
And with you being so honest from the dawn of our affair, it's made me guilty for doubting anything at all.
But I can't help it that you're a natural dancer and I'm just a mess.
I felt that the strength in my emotions were something to be ashamed of and in turn I've put them on display
A lewd circus performance to weigh the mass of my words and predict the approximate level they could wriggle down beneath your skin
Because I can deal with the stern looks and careless scoffs from sporadic digital strangers,
It's just that you aren't one and that means your opinion counts most of all.
I want to dazzle you with crazy dance moves like the Charlie Brown or Jitterbug or even twerk a couple of times because I can't impress with my mastering of the Hokey Pokey and the Cha Cha Slide
But I digress;
It just seems that all I can talk about when you're not around is how swell it'd be if you were.
And making our sweet dancing anything but comprised of candlelight and champagne and red roses just insults the beautiful parts of myself I want to so desperately share with you.
I'm no poet, dude,
And I've got no graces in dance,
But I'll rearrange the constellations in the sky to help better express myself if it meant figuring out how I managed to fall in love
With you
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 7:44 AM UTC
He captains the ship
with a grin
You’re all in
Hoist the sail
Climb the rigging
Settle down in the cabin
Close that door in behind,
You want to go live in
His life, your life, his wife
You say
He scoffs at the crew
But not you
You’re the maiden
He’ll find treasure to hide
In you he’ll confide
And provide
The answers you desired
He knows best
You say
When seas are rough
And he’s had enough
Surrounding ships wreck
All are affected
Once important neglected
It can’t go undetected, surely,
As he undresses you
with his insults
Addresses all your faults
He’s just stressed
You say.
Your attempts to rekindle
Throw you overboard
His words
undercurrents,
that drag you beneath.
Used to swim
Now amongst the weeds
Can’t help but concede
He needs me
You say
You struggle
You had learnt to blow bubbles
But now you’re in trouble
A muddle
Confuddled
That’s typical for you
He says
You plead to be rescued
Lock eyes with the crew
But they’re through
So washed ashore
Bedraggled and torn
He picks you up
Keeps you safe,
Loved
And warm
You say
Dec 2, 2023
Dec 2, 2023 at 3:34 AM UTC
I never thought the two of us would be on this plane
Here we are, diving headfirst into a charade done in vain
Loosely tidying up encounters we remark back on with scoffs
Fun times they were, those sudden acts of lust
If this be another, you will have demolished the last of my trust
There’s nothing worse than the feeling of being used
Manipulate me again, I’ll find another muse
And what we have just done will be another addition to our plain of “fun”
Something consistent is all I desire
Even consistently fondling carries some kind of longing acquired over time
To be longed for, to be desired…
I’m oh so tired of being devoid of the wondrous sensation that fills one with absolute joy…
to where one cannot think straight or hold responsible their foolish acts because it’s all in the name of love
That single word holds so much power, so much meaning, yet is tossed around left and right by those who deserve nothing of it and leave those who possess sincerity to suffer
But there is a lesser form of love; an equally complicated form that has touched me often, yet leaves the ground beneath my feet shaken only temporarily
… except for those Irish eyes…
Now, you have been here before, capturing my eye
Bluntly you can see the spark, yet I’m amazed to know you noticed and didn’t completely fade from my sight
I seem to humor you with my timid presence while you humor me with your strange persona
Typically not a perfect pair, but ultimately compatible
You never cease to amaze me
The words that drip from the ink you hold
to the beautiful arrangements of notes your fingers unfold
Your passion for such an art that moves others in various ways intrigues me
I’m a bit envious, really
I wish I could possess the commitment for something I adored
And the way you convey your thoughts on paper sends shivers down my spine
You were always someone I admired, though I never imagined you wanted to chance your time
Things have changed, we too have evolved
Maybe now nature will make the call
And set the sword in stone for the two of us to pull free
You seem careless now, but what does it hurt to try?
Try me.
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 4:01 PM UTC
i.
I am a short, stout girl in the corner of the room
my arms were much smaller last June
I search for reasons not to relapse in shadows like corpses
they're all dead, anyway
because my roommate is obsessed with the gym
because my best friend is obsessed with fad diets
even though I have at least fifty pounds on both of them.
ii.
I am forcing myself to use recovery speech
because it gets me through therapy more effectively
"fat is not a feeling"
my mind scoffs as I speak
every word copied and pasted from someone else's recovery blog
but my recovery is not avocados and yoga mats and veganism
it is complicated
it is painful.
iii.
I am the small, queer girl in the pew at church
so nervous as the skin around my nails begin to bleed
the scar on my middle finger says **** you"
to American evangelicalism
and yet my lips still sing the loudest
the product of the "moral right"
how lovely it is to pretend to belong.
iv.
I am acting like my body knows what it is doing
as I reach for the hands of my most recent lover
I drop hints to my Republican parents
church members
best friend
but still,
I am struggling.
v.
I am trying to undo the codification of bulimia
from the fibers of my bones
I relearn daily
spun like wool through the continuum
of someone else's broken body
I become a success story
for some
but for others
I am still fat.
vi.
I want my eating disorder
my abuse
my queerness
to look normal
to be typical
some say
assimilation is liberation
so why do I still feel
chained and bound?
why am I still
unfinished?
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 6:52 PM UTC
All I’m beginning to feel is pain. My mind is buzzing and throbbing because I’ve shoved it out of sight. My chest aches from a diet of fried foods and breathing toxic conversation. My ears sting from biting criticisms my parents present of: homosexuals, the homeless, drug addicts, hippies, and myself. Ten days trapped, with no escape but my mind. I should have prepared better; brought armor and weapons, but nothing cuts through the opinions of the ignorant. Nothing can expose the lies they’ve fed themselves.
My mother loves “people watching” she says, but only from a safe distance. Far enough to see the grit, but not the despair.
My father is fickle, brooding and American. He can’t look foreigners in the eye and scoffs at language barriers.
Together they make assumptions: drug addict, idiot, fornicators, harlot, thief, terrorist, local, wealthy, foreign. Maybe they’re right to assume the negative; maybe they’re right when they say all the homeless are drug addicts. I hope not, I maintain faith, faith in the beauty of life, in the inherent differences we all possess, not in a God they say, says no to: liars, and ***** and prostitutes, and druggies, and the tattooed, I run, from them and their prayers, and arrogance and conclusions.
Smite me, parents, your darlingdaughter.
I’ve been all of those.
I lie to you, hide my true self, to spare you.
I’ve smoked ***
I’ve drank underage.
I’ve been a ****
I’ve been called a **********
I’ve loved the idea that love is real, whether you’re gay or straight.
You **** my faith, force in your ideals and chain me to a cross you’ve built yourselves of hypocrisy, of hate, of misunderstanding, of fear, of criticism. I struggle to get free. Defend my principles, play “devil’s advocate,” when you know as well as I, I’m not playing. I’ll prove it, be more than you’ll allow, do more than you want.
I’ll find more love than your Christianity-tainted mind can fathom.
I’ll explore the depths of the mind you’ll never know.
I’ll remember the love you made me forget.
I’ll make love to men without a ring on our fingers, and feel no remorse.
I’ll tattoo my body, to show the world the beauty of my mind.
I’ll buy a Koran because I see its beauty.
I’ll attempt to understand others.
I’ll give to the homeless, even if they’re drug addicts.
I’ll love everyone that’s real, because I can. Because it’s more important than God or war or assumptions or generalizations, or patriotism.
You think I’m rebelling?
No. no. no. I’m just living.
Aug 13, 2010
Aug 13, 2010 at 8:36 PM UTC
the full moon taunts me from above
like a frightened cop's flashlight
blinding, ready to pounce
"alone again, are you?" the moon scoffs
"yes," I reply
"by choice?"
"I'm a bit worn down, moon, to tell you the truth. I don't know if I'm capable of going out and pretending to be something I'm not anymore. I'd rather be by myself, honestly"
the moon pauses
and pauses some more
before it speaks
"then you shall become like me. viewed from another world, trapped in plain sight. although some find you beautiful, they'll never be able to touch you, to know you. I was once like you before I ended up here. it gets cold. enjoy being in the light of others. you don't need to be anything you're not. I sometimes wish I was the sun but there are things we can't become"
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 11:07 PM UTC
A thick veil is sensually wrapped across the face of those presumed intellectual and spiritual insights, and heightens the awareness of your sublime intrigue.
It truly is a paradise lost, where ancient illusions continue to tickle my raging nostalgia with eager anticipations of forbidden refreshments.
Yet, I am not unaware of the concealment of those predictable and ludicrously mystical allurements, which you so proudly pronounce across those who are deemed to be inferior to your supremacy.
How trivial are your so-called strategies, as you are always captured after an effortless and psychological pursuit.
Therefore, how adept are you, thinkest thou, in your futile system of narcissism?
Vanity is a deplorable emptiness which scoffs at those who are deemed to be subservient to the lofty heights of your utmost divorce from reality.
The definition of a delusion is a fixed and false belief.
We have now constructed a picture where the application of this psychological veil exposes your profound ugliness.
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 10:21 PM UTC
Twisting thoughts into tunnels
Bending memories into mimes
It’s been quite a while
Since the last time I rhymed.
It was in this ancient diary
I found from days of old
Where I dreamt about my dreams
Weaving secrets into gold
Here I wrote of the dying sun
And the afterlife of moons
I tried to rhyme starry-eyed stars
With dusty afternoons
Meter keys are rusty now
Free verse scoffs at these lines
Because it’s been quite a while
Since I tried to rhyme a rhyme.
Remember boundless possibility?
The certainty that life would be
A blade of grass, an open field
A panoramic view of destiny
This wanderlust, like sunray dust
Shines through every cursive line
Between college essays and status updates
I lost that old, elusive rhyme.
Aug 12, 2010
Aug 12, 2010 at 12:41 PM UTC
A tiny devil lands
on my shoulder;
having no counter-
part, she stands
and, as I walk
at rabbit's pace
to the old place
where we used to talk,
she drags from
her cigarette,
flicking it,
hum-drum.
"He ain't comin',"
she says,
and ashes
on my neck.
"Don't need him,"
I lie--should lie
down to die,
but light up instead.
Unconvinced,
she scoffs at me.
"Then what do you need?"
And a dreadful wind
slithers through
the fissure,
icy, bitter.
"I don't need you."
The woods, too
are dead, like us--
a Winter-sheared husk
through and through.
You'll come, I hope,
leaning over
the grove, or
maybe I don't.
You'll come, I hope,
leaning over
the grove, or
maybe you won't.
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 12:22 AM UTC
I'm just gonna be real
And tell you exactly how I feel
This life has been a steal
And so there's not a single emotion I conceal
I mean, what's the deal?
I watch as my friends turn into slippery eels
More and more I being to see what is and what's fake
It's almost more than I can take
When I look to those I love for a break
They just remind me that life is not a piece of cake
It does nothing to help my heart that aches
I feel a sense of despair
I have been betrayed and regarded as thin air
I look for Christ in those who claim to know Him well
And yet it is an act they simply cannot sell
Every piece of my soul moves to yell
It is an act they simply cannot sell
In those I once placed my trust
I now feel regarded with disgust
The world has many things to offer
But one thing it lacks is satisfaction
It scoffs and scorns our every action
All the while giving a false sense of traction
By my friends I have been forsaken
What is this foul path they have taken?
I looked for Christ in those I love
But found Christ only comes from above
It is for the King alone that I will sing
For He surpasses everything
To the King these troubles I will bring
For He alone brings peace to everything
Hope in the world is a hope that is lost
Hope in the King is a hope without cost
I looked for Christ in those I love
But instead found Christ waiting with open arms above
The world will disappoint
But Christ will anoint
I cherish those who seem not to cherish me
Christ cherishes beyond what I can see
I looked for Christ in those I love
But only truly found Christ in the hope above.
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 12:53 PM UTC
this creative sea
you, me, us
a cavalcade of pronouns
dead tigers
swimming and spinning
through cascades of metaphor
and simile maldefined.
so sick of seeking truth
a battle poorly placed
awkward timing
skinny lines
of belief, disbelief and nonparticipation
waiting for clarity
in the waves of obscurity.
“as you know, we’ll never know
and blindly ford the river of paint
horse hair in hand
to an actualized bank.”
scoffs, she does, and moves face and nose to her art
up for air, and down again
actualizing the truth
that was never there, always.
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 4:45 PM UTC