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hkr Mar 2016
how i like my people emotionally unavailable. how much trouble they are. how much trouble i am. how i’m not trying to be difficult, i’m trying to look out for myself, because nobody else is going to except, maybe, my mother, but she can’t really do anything for me. how she asked if i was drinking because i was sad and i said no (i don’t know what i am. the drinking is coincidental.) how i’ve felt 21 since i was ******* 14. that time my friend said “i used to be a person” and i said “me, too.” how procedurals take advantage of people who don’t know any better, how they use them to explain things. the girl who had chad’s baby. diego && all the other names i love but can never use. feeling like someone’s inverse. intelligence. how tired i am; too tired to do this, to do anything. how to tell someone i’ve been preparing from/recovering from monday for whole days and i’m still not ready. how there has to be more than this, there has to be more than this, there has to be, there has to. my happiest moment, my saddest moment, the worst act of violence i have ever witnessed: katie in the bathroom with the butcher knife. a day i would live over and over again if i could (i don’t know what day. not today.) the word no. no, no, no. how that is the only word i can manage now. no, i didn’t sleep. no, i didn’t do anything. no, i didn’t get out of bed today. no. blow. a metaphor about my ribs turning into seatbelts. that time cameron drove without a license. something a man says in the street “she was young, wasn’t shah?” how he wanted my body so badly he took it from me. this sentence:

baby, you can get it back.
i'll update this when my class gives me feedback in two weeks (fml.)
Deyer Mar 2017
A car speeds down the highway;
an aching heart beats on despite constant
complaints. The car veers left on a straight road, tires spinning on gravel;
the heart housed in, surrounded by
disease. Slow, plodding, it beats a little slower
with every passing day. Momentum
carries the car, spinning then rolling,
bits and pieces flying in all directions; the heart grows weaker still, others keep coming because a dying heart shouldn't beat alone. The car takes one final flip,
settling upside down, glass broken, seatbelts still in place, dents, scratches, scrapes and newfound bruises; the heart is slower still,
pained peace settling until, veins showing, baggy eyes, wrinkled hands, it stops. The car, leaving black marks on straight highway; the heart leaving a slightly different imprint. It all
stops,
In the event of an emergency
Please fasten your seatbelts
And attempt to remain calm
Breathe easy and prepare for the thrill
Ladies and gentlemen, this is going to be one hell of a ride
Docile, like sheep, you expect us to remain
In the face of our impending doom
Draw in deeply from the mask that’s fallen in front of you
Pure oxygen so that we may become euphoric
Before plummeting into land or sea
Now let’s not forget that life vest too
So strap up ladies and gentlemen,
This is going to be one hell of a ride
As engines three and four shut down
There is little noise to drown out the screaming
Families and loved ones clamoring to say goodbye
Funny how in the moments just before the end
We all want to make amends
The cabin’s losing pressure now
And our fall starts to speed
Over the intercom the captain shouts out
Altitudes, allowing us to pinpoint the exact
Moment that we will all likely die
I breathe in filling my lungs with something pure
Euphoria, eyes seal shut
In just moments it’s all over and I
Begin to fly right back up
Calm and collected as could be
We’re onto the next journey of life, or death
Ladies and gentlemen fasten your seatbelts
This is going to be one hell of a ride
Simpleton Jul 2014
Believers vs believers
A sign of judgement day
Spilling the blood of mankind
That is what the Lord forbade

The one being slaughtered
Is clueless as to why
A brother is taking his life
And the murderer also does not know the reason for picking up a knife

The state of mankind
Is beyond ******* up to be repaired
Long gone are the times when strangers cared
Every night is in competition with another to becomes the darkest and wildest

Next of kin worried about inheritance
And spouses taking out life insurance claims
The soul is bruised
But on a shell is placed a band aid

Fine wining and dining
Abundance leftovers in the bin
Whilst the neighbour starves
As people frolic in sin

Slaves giving birth to masters
Power in the hands of wrong
And those buried six foot under
Are suddenly the lucky one's

Knowledge decreasing
And ignorance on the rise
We compete in the construction of the tallest building
And mothers abandon their children

Beauty pageants
And *** selling cars
The ship of the world sinks
In broad daylight

Yet we un-fasten our seatbelts
And live by ride or die
Yolo people
Get an intoxicated high on a traitorous life

A year passes like a month
And a month like a week
Nothing remains but a name
Humans who massacred humanity
fray narte Jul 2019
and i sat for many years
on the passenger seat
of our ford ranger,
letting tears fall
down on the pillow
of silence and sadness,
of swears and talking downs.

and i sat for many years
on the passenger seat
of our ford ranger
waiting for it to crash —
wondering if i would crash it
or drive off a cliff
had i been the one driving.

and i sat for many years
on the passenger seat
of our ford ranger
disregarding seatbelts,
and wishing it was
the very last ride.

and i sat for many years
on the passenger seat
of our ford ranger,
you, meeting the snow storm, head-on
headlights fading
or maybe it was the last of bits light
ensnared by
the crashes and the blood
and the cars burning
on the side of the road.

and i sat on our
passenger seat
for the last time, dad.

and not anymore.
A M Ryder Jun 2019
I've never wanted to be the hero
And surely I know
You were never any damsel in distress

So leave saving mankind
To the chumps in tights
We wear leather *****
And no seatbelts when we ride

Take the sands of time
And diamonds in our minds
Slinging silver and silk
In a world we've defined
Johnnie Rae Apr 2016
I want to write you a trilogy on the stages
in which our relationship formed.
The first book would be solely based on the day
that I stopped treating your text messages
like active landmines. Stopped tiptoeing.
No longer being afraid of what your affection
would do to me once I submit to it.
It would be based on the first step I took to
stop being so **** afraid. From that very day
you've helped me in ways I'll never be able to fully explain.
Helped me let go of fear and trepidation, and open
my heart to the greatest thing in the world; your love.

The second would revolve around the first time you kissed me.
I don't know if you noticed, but my knees buckled
like seatbelts and I shook like glass window panes in torrential rain.
That day you awoke something inside me that I didn't know existed
but I'm so glad you found it. Like a stray kitten I was lost
and you brought me back home without questioning where I'd been,
and I'll never fully understand why, but I guess it doesn't matter.
You've taught me not to overthink things, to just revel in the moment.

The third would be set in here and now. Every forehead kiss
and stolen glance sums up to another page, every loving gesture
is another chapter. We are creating something people wish they
could create for themselves. A love that belongs in museums
to teach the world what it really means to give yourself to someone,
with no fear, and not a single ounce of regret.  To say that you changed
my life is an understatement. You altered my way of thinking.
Took a broken thing and made it new again. Made me, new again.

And with every word that slips from your lips I am reborn.
ahmo Sep 2016
i'm not inspired to smoke cigarettes because i'm always trying to get in shape but every finger i lift is a freighter's worth of dead weight.

i envy their lack of conscious thought;
i **** them in my mind for the disparity between their capability for labor and apathy towards the thought of an imaginary savior.

faith means believing what isn't there. you held me tighter when i told you that i don't wear seatbelts because i'm always dreaming of dethroning lamposts and kissing trees on the side of the Pike. foliage is far more gregarious without all of the gore but you said that you'd stay forever and your ghost sits on my shoulders like a dump truck full of ashes.

i don't know if i've ever written a full paragraph without dreaming of this pen sprinting through my chest, blood like nectar.

drink me and feel your potential dissipate like dust bunnies.

you would have stayed forever.

lie to me again and tell me that i'll wear my seatbelt someday.
Jim Bob Aug 2014
Woke up early like I always do, no matter what I'm going through I sit and contemplate my present situation, like is this life worth living or am I wasting it, I got plans for myself but with what I know, I know there's a possibility of removing it from the shelf of possibilities, sometimes I can't control myself, so I get ******* let some shots off and restock, my life is just a ramble that needs to be reshocked like defibrillators to your live stock, cause global warming turned to climate change and they make it seem it's not an issue by keeping your mind invisibly encaged and your nose in the tissue, I've been changing, so when it comes to blaming there's no one to blame but the cats who put our work to shame, **** the industry it's why I live in infamy like the US has for practically an entire century, continuing forensically but fail to catch their own trace of criminology, instead blaming you for your ideology passed down from generations along with theology, some things are more believable like the inconceivable evil that's injected inside the bloodstreams of my people, makin them turn from people to machines, **** that I'd rather be trapped in Saturn's rings but sometimes it's hard to stop some things

- This world has been ruled, dominated, and conquered for thousands of years.. I think it's about time to let that **** lay to rest -

Man I've been living for quite some time, and all I've seen is the world go from a bright shine to a darkened shrine, but I guess that's what will happen when you're born into a world that's already fastened their seatbelts for a global blastin, end the nukes end the fed end the ******* who will leave us for dead while they happily sit in bed waiting for their master Satan to come in faster, the worlds a disaster but it can be fixed if everyone pitches in to dethrone their "masters", mathematical factors plotting out disasters cause they're done on purpose like previous stories remastered, some will ridicule me but it won't matter when they realize the truth that's been hidden educationally generationally, you're serviceably useful to the machine aka the system, but the system needs you, you don't need to listen
I realize not all disasters are done on purpose, but a good portion of well-known disasters have been done on purpose, and if you don't believe that just do your own research instead of letting some poet on the internet inform you.
Redshift Apr 2013
queasy
upset stomach
shaky knees
spill out of a packed van
with choking seatbelts.
feet that are tired of wearing shoes
and sitting
for houuuuuuurrrrs
hit the hot concrete...
foreign land:
gas station.
dad tells me to run around a bit
stretch my legs
mom sits in the car
pregnant
fanning herself
smiling
at me
out the open
window
i smile back.
i'm wearing the white shirt
with the blue trim
that mom made me
special
for our trip
it has a silly sun
with sunglasses and a crinkly smile
that she embroidered on it
it is
my favorite...
i smell the acrid gasoline
look around
the first time
i've been
anywhere
i am only eight
dad comes out of the store
his hands full
of funny little cardboard boats
me and my sister
run up to him
he hands me
a chili dog
with onions...
first bite....
burst of onion
spice of chili
sweetness of bread
orange
mouths
i look at my sister
she points to my shirt
shows me the chili stain
against the perfect white
i
cry
Job
The day begins before it should,
and every minute is squandered,
before I jump into the car,
spilling hot coffee in my haste.

Then the rushing wind blows past me,
running through my hair in the dark;
headlights keep up with the sharp turns,
and the thumping stereo lifts me.

Parking, on time, walking briskly
to ensure the grandest entrance
to give a formal impression.
My echoed greeting meets my ears.

Hello, goodbye, I take over,
holding my vigilant station
as I toast bagels with butter
and wait for them to call me up.

"Ashley!" comes the petulant cry
and I manage to answer her.
"Coming!" And I take a slow sip
before heading up creaky stairs.

They want me to pick out their clothes.
They want me to help them get dressed.
I say, "You can do that yourself,
I'm here to do hard things, like cook."

Teasing, admonishing, waiting
for children to do what I asked;
I take one more sip of coffee
and the cup is gone far too soon.

Soon, they are eating their breakfast,
and I'm prepping backpacks and coats.
Something spills, and I clean it up;
then she says she forgot her shoes.

I tell her sister to get them,
but she won't go up there alone.
So we three climb the creaky stairs,
and come back with their socks and shoes.

We run out the door, lock the garage,
and jump in my car for a ride.
"Seatbelts?" I ask before leaving,
and they both ask me for tic-tacs.

A minute away, and I park.
They jump out and both wave goodbye.
I smile and wait for the school bus.
I drive to my next job, next door.
Work as a nanny, it's not for everyone, but I love my girls.
louise Feb 2018
there is no home for us,
only the presence of a fleeting feeling
forever sewn in airplane seatbelts
painted on windows of moving cars
present in vacant seats of trains

instead of warm welcoming arms
there are only faint figures blurring
as we speed away
only blank faces remain in restless crowds
and their cold empty stares

absent gentle reminders,
voices are blaring on the intercom
dictating where and when to go
as if leaving is the easiest task
at least it is assumed as

I have gone a hundred pages deep
perpetually filling silences with scribbles
I have leafed through many paper cuts and stories
futile attempts to overpower the will to quit
it is nothing but a wild goose chase

we are told to watch out for incoming headlights
shut the door as we step inside
settle safely in temporary comfort
oblivious to what we leave behind
never regretting what we could not lose
-W.
she wrote on airplanes and fell asleep on hotel floors loljk
It is ok to be
not
what you are
still
becoming. She said
"you're not special." Grinding teeth and sodden rails. My car is exhausted--
downwind, held in the air like branches of birches and pines
humming with each blatant engine-stroke
which fall onto that bleakening
icedock and curl-- culled passengers tossed to sea;
unavoidably
sharp veer left, beyond surreptitious and frantic spectators
and through a once-pearl snowdrift straying into my mind.
M
C
M
L
V
Turtlenecks can't keep us warm and soup can't clear my throat.
I choke on
sliced rubber, seatbelts cut halfway-- from
Spring. pluck us like cattails
amongst my marshy solubles.
Exposes my larynx she-- ubiquitous sonnet spews forth.
What contrite aberration, wears Kalapodi temple dress
made of rose petals blown in beneath love's column
and presses with her thighs my vision?
There is nothing more to say-- meals served
raw on Winter holidays. Steaming
spoonfuls dried up on her palate--
Special in the way I left you there.
Special in being the same as I should have been.
And I, no-- I!
I can not talk any longer! The clouds I thought to taste
won't allow me to
rain
be-- once dangling from the ceiling, my dripping prevented
with a pale, cotton daub.
You see
the paramedics
even as they sheath my torso
and hold your head with thorped sieves:
The driver steered his vessel wrong
an action which robbed his passenger's breath.
MMXI

...Before
Melody Goodner Jul 2014
much like an airplane,
crashing and burning
is inevitable for me
i guess when you fly that high
you forget not to look down
Kim Jong Il Apr 2013
I smell Motherland in the corridor
She crept up on me with her soap, drunken men and things I’d rather forget
I was thinking about death since I was 10.
.
The plane gets up,
Chicken soup is served.
Here are your nuts.
Have this lolly, the tension is getting
Higher
Higher
And higher
I cannot hear anything.
.
We are now in a very neat place
Incheon, South Korea
Fancy, shiny, pricey
Another plane, bigger
Higher
Higher
Higher
Yoghurt and cheesecake
I like this food better.
.
We get off, and even the ground shines
The air is very different
For the first day I smell this country it does has a specific smell
And after 5 years
You creep up on me, my love.
.
MsAmendable Jul 2015
Long car trips
Crowded with junk
And cramping legs
Flashing light streaming through the window
Into the muggy car air,
A trapped fly banging on the glass,
Low rumbling like gravel thunder
And bursts of shaking
Rattling teeth and seatbelts
When you roll over stones
Wisps of vented air
Curling around your naked toes,
And sweaty, rumpled clothes.
Skin sticking to fake leather seats
The slight sifting sick in your belly
Sitting fat like a toad,
And hoping the stuff in the back
Isn't shaking or breaking apart
From the crunching washboard gravel,
And drowsy eyes, tired from endless trees
Slowly drift until you arrive in the dark
Carlo C Gomez Apr 2023
Today, my train of thought
Is a bit off track.
It's a dark and confusing smokestack.
You see, questions abound.
So buckle in as I go to town.

Which cider you on?
Apple or hard?
If a tree falls on a copier
And no one is around to see it,
Does it make a forest?
I'm rooting for yes; but quite unsure.

How many coins can a fountain hold?
I wish I knew.
Is Paul dead or the walrus?
Is Paul dead AND the walrus?
Coo coo ca choo.

What's the beef about red meat?
It fills but kills? It sells but fells?
Who knows!
The proof is in the pudding.
All other desserts are unsubstantiated,
I suppose.

If peanut butter leaves Los Angeles
Traveling east at 100 miles per hour,
And jelly leaves New York
Traveling west twice as fast,
Will they become a sandwich when they meet?
What a treat if they did.

Maybe one day these
Universal questions will be solved.
But for now, I'm quite dizzy
From all the lunacy involved.

Catch you later...
Larry B Apr 2010
A runaway from the age of fourteen
For three long years she's been alone
One bad decision after another
Has forced her to make it on her own

Wise to the ways of the world
Still, a piece of her is missing
Homesick for what she left behind
A memory, she just keeps dismissing

A little sister, waiting at home
She hasn't seen now in years
The thought of never seeing her again
Suddenly brings her to tears

She had to leave, she had no choice
For she was pregnant, with her first child
Her father just wouldn't understand
A daughter who had been defiled

She couldn't survive with a baby
So she had to give it away
Adopted to a loving family
She hopes to see him someday

She sells all of her belongings
For a ticket to go back home
She's a little apprehensive
For it's the first time she's ever flown

She just can't wait to see her sister
And tell her she's okay
It was time for the plane to leave
She'd be home that very day

Thirty thousand feet in the air
Out her window, she sees a flash
The pilot comes over the intercom
"Buckle your seatbelts, we're going to crash"

She bows her head and says a prayer
As the tears fill up her eyes
The plane comes down in the middle of a forest
Everybody dies
First some dots,
Then some roads
That form a knot.
I watch above
A lush green spot,
A modest farmer’s plot.

When seatbelts click,
I feel the drop.
My stomach sinks,
Completely fraught,
From the futile battle
With luke-warm Fresca,
My bursting bladder
Is quite distraught.

We go down,
Then there’s a stop,
Through a gust of air
That is hot, we walk.
With movements like, a robot.
We take wing again,
And turn back the clock.
My headache is gone,
But my ears have popped,

This is a red-eye plane.
“LLLAAATIES & GENTLEmen, this is your captain speaking.
There is a teency weency storm that is abrewing around us – ‘tis but a trifling, little thing - so I ask that you please remain calm.”

The curious passengers crowded to look out their windows.  
Ominous clouds brigaded the skies with enormously vibrant, sharpened zigzag knives, cutting through the air with thunderous taps against the windows.  
The travelers went into a frenzy as one-by-one, each fell victim to the terror of the roaring victory cries.
As a crazed, indecisive pendulum shouts order of formation – back forth, back forth – the travelers scurried into the aisle, bumping into one another like panicked ants dodging magnified beams of light.

Suddenly the chaos had ceased.

In the very front of the aisle stood two of the most spellbinding flight attendants that had ever been seen. They brought peace amongst the fury inside the cabin without uttering a word.  

“LLLLAATIES & GENTLEmen, this is your captain speaking.
I apologize for the brief disruption; however,
we have a show for you his evening.
A lovely show it is indeed.
Please hand over your tickets, for at the end of the show there will be a special prize awaiting the lucky winner who is reunited with this item of admission.
Oh, and might I suggest, everyone quick look over to your right; there is a canyon to be seen. It’s a large one, in fact.
Ain’t it GRAND???
So fasten those seatbelts, and enjoy your ride.
Ta-Ta.”

The passengers began to do as they were instructed.  Along with the refreshments of soda pops and pretzels bites, the angelic flight attendants placed out black velvet hats and black sticks with white tips, centering them on the empty laps of those preparing for the delightful evening event. When all of the hats had been properly placed, the attendants returned to their stations.

“LLLAATIES & GENTLEmen, this is your captain speaking.
Please take note of the hats that rest upon your laps.
Seek and you shall find that your tickets have been placed inside.
For if they are not, you will be deprived of your surprise.
Ta-Ta.”

The puzzled passengers obeyed, and perching their heads forth, they looked down into the blackened velvet hats… A wave of surprise quickly spread throughout the cabin, for every person was the winner!  

“LLLAATIES & GENTLEmen this is your captain speaking.  Please tap your hats.
After doing so your prize will appear inside.”  The excited passengers reached for their blackened sticks with the white tips and gently tapped the brims.

KAAAABOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!­

A thundering crash accompanied a blinding slash. For a brief moment I could no longer hear nor see anything.  I patiently waited to regain my senses.  I slowly started to hear an orchestrated, harmonic beat hitting the ceiling.  The white light that momentarily blinded me started to dissipate like an early morning fog.

What was the image that slowly appeared before my curious eyes?  A crimson ceiling it was.  It had everything a ******* painting deserved.  I was ecstatic.  I had completed a true masterpiece!  My personal contribution to our youth.  

As I sat in the last row admiring my work of art, a lonely tear trickled down my face.  My lovely acquaintance wiped away my tear and smiled at me.  “BRAVO! – BRAVO! It is simply exquisite!”

The heads were placed in the allotted location as requested.

I sat there with the deepest satisfaction twisting the upward curve of my mustache.  I felt the gentle touch of my delightful assistant slowly running her fingers through my hair.  The other softly placed her hand upon my shoulder and asked, “What next?”  I humbly replied, “We’re going to donate them to the toy store.  There they will be placed in wonderfully colored boxes that will play lovely music when the handles are cranked in a circular motion until the heads pop out!”

The flight attendant looked at me with great wonder, “Captain, you’re truly a remarkable man.”
Thank you for reading.  Ta- Ta!
Stephen E Yocum Jan 2014
To Salinas we had come,
Over a hundred miles from home,
The smell of turned earth and crops in the fields.
To the wedding of my cousin two days hence,
She was a lovely girl and I was very fond of her.
She was Mom’s oldest brothers’ only daughter.
All Mom’s family had come to attend the event.

Sleeping at an Uncles house,
Loud angry voices awakened us.
At only age seven, still a sound sleeper,
The voices actually frightened me awake,
Like a nightmare dream gone wrong.

Cursed shouting and some pushing,
Adults in night dress, robes and slippers.
The brothers and Dad still fully dressed.
In the middle of all that turmoil was my father,
Surrounded by Mom’s three larger brothers.
Dad was not a drinker,
But the Uncles had taken him out,
And drinking was not something new to them.  
One of them was nearly a professional at it.
Some years later he even died of it's effects.
The brothers were not normally mean spirited,
Yet always very protective of their little sister.
Perhaps they thought that,
No man, not even my Father,
Was good enough for their only sister.
A mistaken belief, that lasted for years.

A silly dispute had ensued,
My father’s pride was hurt,
A punch or two was thrown,
Landing where I do not know.  
Now, at two in the morning,
My Dad was ready to go home,
Nothing would stop him doing so.
Had any one tried further,
Someone was bound to get hurt.

My Mother intervened,
The car was hastily loaded,
As Dad sat behind the wheel.

My older brother and I still in our PJs,
Huddled in the back seat of the car,
Our eyes big and scared appearing,
For these were not normal events in our lives,
Before that night or since.

Mom desiring to be calm,
Attempting to reason with her husband,
A man having had too much to drink and
Suffering a bad case of wounded manly pride.
They were not two people used to conflict,
With each other, or anyone else.

The car was going far too fast,
This back in the days before seatbelts,
The fences and power poles were,
Speeding by in a blur of indistinct shapes,
Acted to further the unreality of that night,
Deepening my childish fright.

Suddenly the car swerved to the left,
And Mother screamed something,
The left front wheel struck an immovable object,
Our Chevy bounced into the air,
And my head smacked the ceiling.
The Rear wheel then hit and mounted,
The same hard object and once again,
For a moment I and my brother were in the air.

Our car was brought to a sudden stop half on,
Half off a concrete Traffic Lane Divider,
With three of us in that car, all crying.

I shall never forget the look
On my Father’s face,
As he peered into the back seat,
A truly remarkable expression,
Fear mixed with utter disgrace,
He stared at us for a moment,
Then turned his head forward.

In the rear view mirror,
I could see his eyes,
I watched them, as they turned to liquid.

My mother checked her sons quickly,
And then slid over to my Dad,
She whispered something,
I could not hear.
They sat there silent for a while,
My Father’s head lowered,
My Mom’s arm around his shoulder.

After a few minutes,
Dad opened his door and got out.
Mom leaned over the seat and comforted us.
Then got behind the wheel,
She almost never drove,
But backed the car off the concrete island,
Drove the three of us back to her Brother’s home.
My Dad swallowed up by the blackness of the night.

A few day later we returned to our home,
My Father was there waiting for us.
For the second and only other time in his life,
I saw my Father weep,
As on his knees he held us all tight to him,
He pleaded remorse and for our forgiveness.

I never saw my Father intoxicated again.
And of course we all forgave him.
I had learned something new that day,
My Father was not truly made of steel.  
As no mortal man ever is.
GirlOfTheSky Oct 2014
Why do kids think they are so **** indestructible,
When the whole wide world
Is just waiting to pounce?
My cousin died yesterday, he was only 16
Moonbeam Aug 2016
Days feel hollow
Months get swallowed
Time is moving fast
I don't know how much time has passed
24 has turned into sixteen
I hardly have time to fix me
One day turns to 8
I try to be on time but I'm always late
Time slips right by
No matter how hard I try
The grip is not as tight
We're turning into light
Vibrating at a higher speed
Our physical bodies we'll no longer need
The shift is coming faster and stronger
I just wish my days felt a few hours longer..
Yet it is a sign of the changing times
Let's unbuckle our seatbelts and enjoy the ride
As the shift continues, time is speeding up. 24 hour days now feel like 16. If you feel like you're losing time it is due to this phenomenon.
authentic Nov 2015
Falling in love is like driving without a seatbelt
You are vulnerable to any casualty, fatality, you are unprotected from chaos
I never understood people who drive without seatbelts
I never understood their courage
It must be nice to feel so safe, you have to invent new ways to put yourself in danger
He was thunderstorm
Exciting and powerful yes but violent, unpredictable and ultimately short lived
He would look at me the way a tsunami looks at a beach house
And all the while I am thinking it is a nice day for the beach
I never did see it coming, not that I ever could have
Love blinds you, blurs your vision, it makes you forget to pay attention to the dangers and direct your focus to the wonderful
I only wish I could have heard the sounding of alarms, could have escaped the burning building for I set it on fire
I have found I am quieter now
Not as ambitious, not as outgoing, not as much laugher hangs in the air above me
With him, most days I could grab my voice and swing it like a hammer but now I pick it up like a shard of glass scared of what might happen if I didn't hold onto it carefully
I have recently been asking myself if sorrow is an art we should pride ourselves on sharing
That we should not fear failure of broad shoulders, we should not be afraid of pain
Throw pity parties in collection of bitter humans
The kind of party where no one is close but everyone is friendly tonight
Love ties come under
Romance is not relentless in appearance
A kiss does not last forever
Passion dies down
Jokes stop being funny
Coffee is too strong
Emotion shows little respect to your inner organs
Affection lies down into its grave
Sometimes the things we would die for are the ones that end up killing us
And now, I find myself driving for hours without my seatbelt on, holding on to nothing more than the steering wheel and endless thoughts of you
C S Cizek Dec 2014
Write everyday.
Write everyday no matter what.
Write even at a loss for words.
Write down the sounds.

I make notes of the plane crashes
I've never heard, the brook trout
that never shook pond water
onto the brittle grass when I didn't
catch it, or the thunder cup coil
I keep kneeing trying to give the overcast
over the mountain something to compete
with.

And I'm not sorry.
       I'm not.      I'm not sorry that my
reborn Christian best    friend    has   seen the    light,
and I still scoff when people pray over potatoes.
And I only believe in plastic Polaroid postcards
from last decade timestamped in the white space
with Bic black ink.
I'm not sorry for that.

And truth is, I've never washed this black shirt;
just hung it hoping that moths' would ****
the sweat spots and leave
the fabric.

I clenched the gold cap beneath
my ring finger from the glass green
bottle occupying my lips driving
down the Marsh Creek bridge.
I wanted to relate / to be relatable /
relative to the sedans, and seatbelts
too tight to breathe, passing me.

At the end of the bridge, where there was no chance
of drowning and the road color changed, I parked
in the driveway of a wooden house. Its blinds
were up, shades pulled apart with two hands
like gas station freezer doors, leaving them
vulnerable to the hiss of semi truck tractor
trailer high beams slicing through fifty +
raindrops per second going a few miles shy
of sixty-five, yet the people inside moved so freely.
I  sat Indian-style—a term I learned at four
then learned it to be racist at fourteen—
in their driveway, and ate the gravel
they walked on trying to taste security
because all I'd had in the last few hours
were plates of refried fear.

Fear of audit, of my teeth breaking off,
and of ending up like Eric Garner
when I heard that wailing
Voice of Justice
coming for me in the distance.
Wednesday Feb 2014
Grandmother veins wrapped like seatbelts around necks
Head first through windshields
Arms reaching around their tombstones

Worms playing hide and seek in kidneys
Gutted pigs in slaughter

Faded wreaths
Fake flowers
Streetlights

Disappearing children
We are fading with each step
Dust in the wind
Dissipating

Happy birthday whispered
Baby wings on *******
India ink burned

Who do you belong to
Who gave you the key to unlock your shackles
Fly from the car

Yellow caution tape
Siren anthems
Resounding death rings
Ten of my classmates died this year in car accidents or strange medical mix ups. by the line "who gave you the key to unlock your shackles" I am referencing that none of us are truly free, how did 10 of you get away? I'm not sure if I'm even making sense anymore. Does anyone really read this part anyway?
yo um girlies girlies
come over here
cuz i know ya adorn me og
like birdie above the rims
still rock overrals and black timbs
ask them
whos the best on the mic
no flex no plex
on to the next ***
of another kitten hittin'
n wishin'
for death upon thise foes
who used to doubt us and no shows
now im makin' about two point four
millies a year everybody stood up just to hear
the naughty by nature sound
pound for pound i buck em down
quick to scoop ya out the scene
count my mints fresh green mean and hung n lean
can u see what i mean?
jamboree and everybody celebratin'
so go on with that hatin'
we still.makim'
hits like its 1991 when i first heard my *** weighs a ton
i.understood im public enemy
number one
so here i go here i go
like Mystikal
to break my lyrical enigma
its gonna take a miracle!!

you can run but ya cant hide
from the lyrical homocide
strikes like ocean tide
split emcees into two
like jekyll and mr hide
oops watch for that slide
upside
ya head ya long dead
so chill out chill out
as we about
to set the record straight
again and again from my  tank goes to ya chin
let the competition begin
we in to win and then
pull out the straps perhaps
you new jacks need to take a nap as i slap
******* rhymes into a snore
ya adore i deserve an encore
gotta every lady makin a reservoir
observe ya curves then i say word
thinkin to myself cant wait to get the burbs
ya know ya cant down or slame me
but i knowi ******* jamboree


now that i got ya jammin
ear drums slamming
pumpin up my ****
like sneaks of a drive by hit
it dont matter where it hits ya
or gets ya im.suppose ta
rock the mic like dougie fresh
n slick rick still poppin demos and **** with my tystick lit
gotta stay higher
than a mountain
catch my fountain
of lyrics as i pour an encore
you know ya in for
this rhyming spree be *******
takin it back to ninety four
when music was real
ya soul could.feel
now adays music doesnt appeal real
fools talkin but scared but soon to be walkin
with the dead from the pump
that went upside ya head
dont play in a grown mans game
if ya feel ashamed
then knuckle up
only to get buckled
up like seatbelts leave welts
on back from my gats
imagine that?
me loosin only amusin
crowds i please old school fans i please
even street OGs
bouncin they heads to these
lyrical content
somethin the fo ya
freeestyle wild soldier that'll fold ya
cuz ya tried to slam me
but like butter i slip easily
into a style but rambling
words i be gambling
feel me now throw ya hands in the air for me
for this gotdamn jamboree
This city with its myriad eyes
watches, waits as petals with their waxen glow
And leaves unfurling
Come, upturned, to the daylight’s harsh glow
This city with its myriad eyes;

This city with its myriad eyes sees all
The rusty blue beetle with chewed out seatbelts
Swerving, screeching. Belonging to the ashes of
This glowering city, watching night and day.

This city with its myriad eyes
Will wait
Rigid, unyielding
As the plebian townspeople scurry like ants
Under their magnificent creations
Condemning you to an unknowing fate
In a glass cage

You say you are innocent, girl?
This errant city has seen you
In the ponds, idly laying beneath the willows
Above the lily pad
And underneath the heavy sky.
This city with its myriad eyes
Has seen you
Trailing your fingers along the river’s lip
Barely leaving dwindling wakes
For trailing frogs behind
This city with its myriad eyes
Knows your innocence is a veil
For your harsh playfulness
Quite the crime, my young girl
Says this city with its myriad eyes.
Morgan Jul 2013
He likes to sleep on the floor. He says the hollow cement against his stomach feels like home. He likes his beer through a straw and his pills in his nose. I found him for the first time smoking a cheap cigarette outside some run down venue in center city. He had dirt under his nails & dry blood on his thighs when I asked him why. He said "I like to watch the cars pass anxiously by with their windshield wipers on high." He doesn't believe in sidewalks or seatbelts and he swears the only place for him is somewhere deep in Hell. He never looks into my eyes, because he's afraid of the love that overflows them. He has track marks all down his forearms and jail style tattoos all down his calves. We don't go swimming because he knows he'll stay underwater until his gentle airways come to a close. Now I'm sitting outside, smoking a cigarette in the rain. I can feel him passing by with his racing mind on high. I swear he tastes just like loneliness & sin but I'd trade every second of this life just to be stitched into the depths of his filthy skin.
Addison René Aug 2014
your hand on my knee, my smile on my lips, the wind in our hair

2. unspoken "i love you"'s, sacharrine sweet kisses and your eyes on fire

3. your fingertips along my skin, the paintings etched on yours, the breeze from the open window and the crests and valleys of your breaths

4. perfect pauses, unbuckled seatbelts, rooms with the A/C cranked up

5. certain uncertainty, a blissful abbyss;
*this is it
hkr Mar 2016
she says report, report, report it
i’m trying to tell her
how difficult it was
to even disclose to her
how my ribs
turned into seatbelts.

— The End —