"sheetrock" poems
I was driving through Washington yesterday,
we started our trip in Renton and made our way
down to Moses Lake; and in the process,
we had to pass through the Cascades on our way there.
As we drove, I watched as the exits flew past:
Newcastle, Wenatchee, Snoqualmie, Ellensburg,
and as we sped past each of these, Mt. Rainier
loomed in the distance; her snow-capped peak
standing tall and piercing through clouds,
as the winding road passed through hills and valleys.
As I gazed upon the jagged sheetrock
towering all around me, I could not help but feel small.
We've been told our whole lives just how big the world is
and how much bigger the universe is in comparison
But I've always had a hard time conceptualizing
how infinitesimal and insignificant my existence is.
So to be surrounded by thousands upon thousands
of rock and stone that have withstood
floods and storms and winds for millennia
and still stand strong, well into the stratosphere,
is nothing less than humbling.
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 5:33 PM UTC
In tedium bindings,
And air so confining,
I'm glad for the collar you gave.
A sheetrock, a permit,
A dark-haloed hermit.
I thought I played well as a slave.
but,
My history lesson,
For Mistress, the crescent,
As Moon, you wrenched me to life.
now,
My submission as passing,
Left a Dominant standing,
Shall we play catch with this two sided knife?
Aug 30, 2010
Aug 30, 2010 at 11:21 PM UTC
we are mice.
we live in holes we scrape out of sheetrock.
we are cattails;
the tails of cats destined to be
chimney-sweeps when we die.
we are only people,
you and i;
only people destined to be
chimney-ashes when we die.
Dec 1, 2011
Dec 1, 2011 at 10:53 AM UTC
I’ve been around long enough
to know these wounds don’t heal.
I will wake up tomorrow
and put down half a bottle
of hydrogen peroxide,
hoping the void inside
my chest won’t get infected.
This ribcage is missing
more than just bones.
The black hole I met
in my living room
decided to stay for dinner.
He said you’re doing great.
I poured another glass
of regret and told him
that’s ironic.
I’ve realized this is just what
“okay” has become;
fists embedded in sheetrock promises,
sitting alone in the rooms where
everyone told me they would stay.
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 11:39 PM UTC
Tonight I'm thinking about how much
I love HP and all the people I've met here
and even though it isn’t perfect neither
are any of us but its pretty **** close
and funny how we're all getting along right now
there doesn’t seem to be any chaos
or drama just a lot of love flying around
and I started to compare it to my life and how
my life has always been chaotic
kinda like HP used to be
and if you’re like me
you get used to the chaos
and when things are perfect
you kinda wish they weren’t
cuz perfection doesn’t ever feel
quite right
A dysfunctional childhood makes
for great poetry a wounded heart the same
but most of us are here as survivors of sorts
finding ways to overcome the ****
but sometimes I miss the ****
even though I'm too old for it
the **** has always been there for me
and now its not and
I worry I can’t feel without it
I know what to expect from the ****
the tingle at the tip of my nose
the rumble in my gut that brings up *****
I know where these feelings come from
from infidelity and feigning sobriety
from the blistering hiss of steaming words
**** you ******* and *kiss my *** *****
I once threw a baseball through a sheetrock wall four feet from her head
and it made her doubt me just a little bit just enough
to give me that little boost a little bump you know
I've never struck a woman in her case I probably should have
but you don't need to hear that **** she’s long gone
and thankfully you're asleep
my **** never needs to be your ****
or even our **** for that matter
you don't deserve it
and could never understand it
I would never expect you too
Its late and I'm tired but all is well
and somehow deep I know
it always will be well with you and me
wrapped up in all this peacefulness
but sometimes I miss the ****
Oct 20, 2011
Oct 20, 2011 at 1:47 AM UTC
At least if you don't ask,
I don't have to lie.
I've spent most of the past
few months asleep
on the bathroom floor;
sick of keeping everything in,
too tired to let it out.
"Home" is such an empty word.
I'm not sure why it felt
whole coming from your mouth.
I'm not sure
why I felt
whole.
We both know I'm just an idea
to carve into sheetrock
with swollen fists;
leaving worn out holes that
your heart never fit.
I try not to wake up,
but my body is used to
(everyone leaving)
routines.
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 12:23 AM UTC
ever is times go so fast
flies I swatted come back as mosquitos
Sly grins from cashiers. I think they shortchanged me.
All the small things live
in seconds of life
that add up to
picking the exact ***** out of the millions at
the hardware store.
Or the way I try to perfect a joint
like a diamond finish in sheetrock.
Or the way I get off hearing my saw buzz
through a two by four at dusk
on three hours sleep
with a hangover.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 10:55 PM UTC
Cold nights
It's always Winter here.
It seems this season's stretching on all year.
The beers are gone
so let's get walking.
Grab
your coat and let's do some talking.
Loud, through the night.
Know our strides will crunch through old snow
beneath old street signs.
Best
bets aside,
did you gamble
on my days?
Did I waste your time?
Days come early,
nailguns out.
Walls go up and ambitions drown.
4 blocks down the street, you're screaming,
**** the cold and this town. I'm leaving."
Sheetrock walls
and paycheck borders
keep us pinned,
in line, on short order.
Cook
our melting brains.
Froze in place
and broke your heart, rinsed me down the drain.
Cold nights
It's always Winter here.
This frigid season's stretching on all year.
The beers are gone
so let's get walking.
Grab
your coat 'cuz them ghosts been talking.
Howling each day.
Haunting all our snowbound steps and
rattling their chains.
Alarms and cars
and pulsing hearts.
Cheapest
prices paid to make
our wage.
The clocks in bars
count tarnished stars.
Cheapest
prices paid to pave
our ways.
Best
bets aside,
did you gamble
on my days?
Did I waste your time?
Days come early,
nailguns out.
Walls go up and ambitions drown.
2 blocks down the Ave., I'm shouting,
**** the wind and the snow that's pounding."
Rent check walls
and sheetrock borders
keep us pinned,
in line, on short order.
Cook
our melting brains.
Froze in place
and broke my will, rinsed you down the drain.
And I'll move
4 blocks
next Spring...
Jan 10, 2019
Jan 10, 2019 at 4:17 PM UTC
Agreement is not needed,.
Turmoil is deep seeded
Starve it
you can't feed it.
Face it
You don't need it.
Contrary to what they told you
nothing is set in stone.
Even in your empty room
you are never alone.
The black sheetrock sees you.
Even if you don't want it to.
You'll be kissing the ground
when this is through.
Listen to the sound
of possibility, and set your mind free.
Jul 4, 2012
Jul 4, 2012 at 6:19 AM UTC
I lay down to rest my mind
but sleep wouldn't grant me my wish
dreams cost too much
for my taste
thoughts ask for too much
to be enjoyable for long
memories show up too often
to be called upon
so the paint peels back on the walls
of my brain
you can see the sheetrock
and the holes
all the problems are there
to be analyzed by my trained eye
that problem is not that I think
the problem is that I can't trust my own thoughts
they are wrong and politically incorrect
and useless and essentially incapable of action
I know the answers
but the questions seem too daunting to address
so push it back,
push it back
it'll be better in the morning
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 11:15 PM UTC
There is no forward or back
I can't
Make, Progress
each time is fresh
Besides the fact its baked
under a pilot light
On a stage
The same height
as the eyes of everyone who listens
Im learning lessons each time
But Maybe you aren't even looking
this way
sharing a pint
but really,
you each have your own
thought thats not the point
and Im part
of the furniture
we've argued if I constitute a local
but sometimes you come to a come to a wall
and other times it just grabs you and pulls
you into the sheetrock
I live in a fantasy
Im the best singer
and everyone is listening
I don't know if I am
made of wood or metal yet
this curses will weld
or melt
maybe they will catch flames
but Id expect that they were in the foundations
and really, its simply covered in felt.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 2:24 PM UTC
I love you even when you get angry
When holes appear in the sheetrock wall
As hurtful insults are thrown from your mouth
Voice so loud I can't help but feel small
I love you when you are dead tired
And can barely move or lift your feet
When you feel there is no way to go on
Head hung low in frustrated defeat
I love you when you get upset
When the disappointment reads clear on your face
Your despair only enhances your features
You carry your sorrows with grace
I love you when you are at your best and your worst
When you are wrong and when you are right
Your scars and flaws are unique and beautiful
I'm in love with everything you are;
Your darkness as well as your light
Apr 10, 2018
Apr 10, 2018 at 3:33 AM UTC
My feet of sheetrock
knees and bones
stick and stone
Thighs of mica
calf of plaster
flint skin
I chuckle gleefully in buns of steel
and fiercely beat a sediment chest
with the face of a mesa and obsidian ribs
I see through tides of frozen lids
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 3:55 PM UTC
The gold, velvet curtains
allow the sun to slip through,
contrasting the flat, make-shift fabric
that used to shield these rays.
Light dances on the fresh paint,
that clings to the sad, bare sheetrock
you shamelessly had on display.
With brushstrokes askew,
and a lively orange hue,
we tried to mask the dents–
remnant of her past rage.
We covered those scars
with our framed memories
and sentimental assets,
now side by side and entwined,
weaving our worlds into one.
This newfound atmosphere
clears the congestion in my chest,
and rejuvenates our spirits,
injecting a freshness
we thirstily absorb.
We're granted a reset,
for we’ve painted vibrance
onto a clean slate.
Jan 17, 2025
Jan 17, 2025 at 7:18 AM UTC
I’m stuck to the wall
Stuck to the stool below me
Stuck next to the empty fish tank that’s thinking out loud
The couch is looking for me
But the wall has me in her grasp
I remember my life when I was free
But I don’t long for the sun on my face
nor do I miss the grass between my toes
What I miss is roaming my house freely.
Lurking in the kitchen well past midnight.
Walking into the bathroom just for the hell of it.
Sprawling out on the floor and watching the dust bunnies dance while I blow under the fridge
I miss my life as a free man.
Maybe one day I’ll be home again.
But for now, I’m shackled to Sheetrock
May 29, 2018
May 29, 2018 at 9:59 PM UTC
After the yelling,
my fist through the sheetrock,
you emptying the loaded dish rack
onto the kitchen linoleum,
and how we glared
at each other, gladiators
breathing heavily,
you stopped me
at the door
carrying my suitcase
and teary eyed
asked,
“Do you still love me?”
I stared at you in silence,
then put down my bag,
and held you
with that unspoken “Yes”
burning in my chest.
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 5:14 PM UTC
Held by history
confined in walls
where paper,
still.
governs all
'For the safety of us all'
these devices screen
next door,
cracking belts
Children screams
Surrounded by eulogies
Of simpler times
Like death by bullet
Wasn't rhythm and rhyme
Home invasion
Gun persuasion
Stray creation
Retribution
Belt percussion
Slight concussion
Entomb emotions
using potions
Supposed sanctuaries
Sheetrock, iron bone
Dimming lights
Of life weary souls
A pacing procedure
Vital to victor a virus
Raging through
Fervetly quells creativity too
Apr 26, 2020
Apr 26, 2020 at 2:56 AM UTC