"shitless" poems
I have thoughts that capture me, enrapture me,
That scare me so shitless I just close my eyes,
Hiding from them like they are a buzzing squad of bees.
They buzz in my ears and in my brain,
Up my nose and in my veins.
Thoughtless karma, quick and cool,
Teach me to act with such self-assured judgment.
Burn my bone marrow, burn my brain,
These memories of you drive me insane.
These whirling twirling thoughts of you are inane,
For the you I miss is no longer alive.
I’ll smoke and create my own brain hive,
Hiding from all these bees.
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 2:09 PM UTC
Who's comb-over looks like *****
Donald's comb-over looks like *****
Who scared us shitless election night?
Donald scared us shitless election night.
Election night. Looks like *****
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald, Donald Trump
Who's got a tie that's long and red?
The Don has a tie that's long and red?
Who pays hookers to **** on beds?
The Don pays hookers to **** on beds.
**** on beds. Long and red.
Election night. Looks like *****
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald, Donald Trump.
Who's got hands tiny and slight?
The Don has hands tiny and slight.
Who spews lies out day and night?
The Don spews lies out day and night.
Day and night. Tiny and slight.
**** on beds. Long and red.
Election night. Looks like *****
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald, Donald Trump.
Who's got a vocab small and trite?
The Don has a vocab small and trite.
Who whines Fake News out of spite?
The Don whines Fake News out of spite.
Small and trite. Out of spite.
Day and night. Tiny and slight.
**** on beds. Long and red.
Election night. Looks like *****
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald, Donald Trump.
Who likes tweeting SAD SAD SAD?
The Don likes tweeting SAD SAD SAD.
Who likes a spanking when he's bad?
The Don likes a spanking when he's bad.
Bad, bad, bad, SAD SAD SAD,
Small and trite. Out of spite.
Day and night. Tiny and slight.
**** on beds. Long and red.
Election night. Looks like *****
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald, Donald Trump.
How many minions leave today?
So many so far went their way.
Comey, Priebus, Flynn and Bannon,
Tillerson, Spicer, Hope and Ryan.
Leave today. Gone their way.
Bad, bad, bad, SAD SAD SAD,
Small and trite. Out of spite.
Day and night. Tiny and slight.
**** on beds. Long and red.
Election night. Looks like *****
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald, Donald Trump.
May 20, 2018
May 20, 2018 at 9:03 AM UTC
is a carniverous cemetery,
is a pacifier,
is a dry **** on a friday night,
is only enough liquor to get you buzzed,
is a ****** bag cop,
is a church with splintered pews,
is sinners scared shitless,
is a two-year-old with an affinity for violence,
is my ex-girlfriend,
is paranoid,
is a blanket of all your favorite prescription pills,
is worried sorority girls in dark-wash jeans,
is unshaved,
is a cancer,
is a perpetual spell-check,
is lonely,
is my mother
and a god-awful toothache.
Oct 21, 2010
Oct 21, 2010 at 11:42 AM UTC
I wish I could talk the way I write...
I wish I knew how to tell you what's on my mind...
I wish I could...
Because I would tell you that I'm scared shitless to lose you, that I can't help but to selfishly want you for myself at times.
I would tell you that my heart wants to jump out of its chest every time you say you love me, and that I feel butterflies all over my body when we kiss... I would tell you that I wanna hold on to every single moment spent with you and save it like a treasure in an old wooden chest. I would tell you that fighting with you makes my heart ache deeply and that your pains, I feel them too. I would tell you that my heart is in your hands and that I'm scared like hell that you might let it fall and break in pieces... that I don't even want to think of that happening with you...
I would tell you that this distance we're about to experience frightens me... and that my eyes fill with tears when I know it's soon coming. I would tell you that I try to be strong in front of you, but that my soul screams inside as my heart cries in silence... I would tell you that you have all of me, even if you didn't want it; that I love to sleep on your chest because that sound of your beating heart soothes my constant anxiety... I would tell you that I love to wake up before you in the morning and give you one thousand kisses as you awake when breakfast is ready... I would tell you that knowing you won't be around every night makes my heart cry... that my loneliness scares me.... I would tell you that I don't mean to push away ... this is just me coping with it... the distance scares me... I don't want to hurt... I don't want you to hurt... I just wanna tell you that I love you... I'm deeply, uncontrollably, passionately in love with you.
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 5:49 PM UTC
My cousin told me that I am a good storyteller, but I should write something about me, about real people and a time that I was scared "shitless". Well, I can only think of one time of a real life shocker that shook up my young world. It's nothing suspenseful. It probably wouldn't win any contests, but it isn't contrived. It's a snippet of the first time that I encountered the raw reality of death.
What did I know about death at eight years old? Our parakeet, Perky, died. My grandparents dog, Bruno, had to be put to sleep. As a girl, I vaguely recall seeing a dead man in a coffin, and that was at the funeral of my mom's aunt's husband. This was only an introduction of the temporary world we live in.
Well, then there was an older couple two doors down from us. They had two grandchildren that used to come and visit them, a sister and brother. When in the neighborhood, they would play with my older brothers. I cannot even recall their names. I cannot remember what they looked like or what they said.
What I do remember is the news being on in the living room, and I was eating dinner in the kitchen with my mom and brothers. Suddenly, the faces of that brother and sister were on TV. It was reported that their mentally troubled mother had killed them. I think it was because she was denied custody of them in an ugly divorce. Doing a little bit of digging in the Michigan death index online, I rediscovered who they were. They were Susan and Richard. They were ten and nine-years-old at the time.
I surely don't remember plenty of details, as this was in June of 1973. Over forty years ago, it's a much faded memory now. I only know I did not go to the funeral home. If I did, I am sure I'd be horrified to look upon those children who were robbed of their lives. Death was no longer just for pets or old people. It wasn't fair and it didn't discriminate in age. And if it could happen to someone as young as them, it could come knocking on my door.
Perhaps, that was the beginning of my fear of death.
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 11:43 PM UTC
It’s so easy to feel so small
I’m on a bus, the last one that runs on a Wednesday night,
Sketching a tired face
Bags under the eyes, made of black ink
I’m eavesdropping on a conversation,
(Does it count as eavesdropping when
There are only two people speaking in an otherwise
Silent bus?)
My heart’s been having an existential crisis,
And my stomach and chest
Empty
Yet heavy
Someone’s hands are holding my insides
And squeezing them in a fist
It is exhausting
It is lonely
In my right ear is this beautiful song
Violin and cello and
A raw passion that reminds me
That it’s okay
To be human, and to be scared shitless
I’m still listening, partly
But not really
It’s late
I want to sleep
Busses are full of zombies-
Phone, earphone, unsmiling zombies
And despite the
Tired sketch on my lap
I’m one, too
The conversation slows
I smile
I turn and I recognize the face in front of me
I’m told that this person, vaguely familiar face, whose conversation
I’ve been eavesdropping on remembers one of my poems
About stars
And the line is on his wall
A line from a poem that I wrote
About stars
Is on someone’s wall
Even better than when Chad Oliver told me I was
Quite attractive junior year of high school,
And I remember writing that poem
And I feel a little less useless
I want to cry
My body hasn’t known what to do with itself lately
You see I exhausted myself in love
And now that it’s gone
I feel useless
My heart pulls towards mediocre sketches
First sips of coffee in the morning,
Listening to the violin
It doesn’t know what else to feel for
It’s been left in this dark room
Grasping for a table,
**** even a stepstool,
Heartbreak is exhausting
Because it’s not just the heart
And it doesn’t really break
It just has to re-learn how to feel
But I get off the bus
And the night is warm,
The moon is
Beautiful,
This white-hot luminescence
Burning through the silhouettes of trees,
So bright the sky is still blue 6 hours after sundown.
I open my palms up to her
I see the stars
I open my palms up to them
They guide me home
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 1:08 PM UTC
I want what you have
I want your dreams; the ones that scare you shitless
I want your secrets; the ones you can’t share with anyone
I want the thoughts that keep you awake at night; the ones that excite you
I want the ideas you want to share; the ones you know you never will share
I need what you have
I need your arms around my waist; the arms that will never be there
I need your lips pressed against mine; the lips that mine will never touch
I need your ***** smile smiling at me; the smile that will never look in my direction
I need your stupid ugly khaki jacket around my shoulders; the jacket that will never be near me
I wish that I have what you have
I wish I had your idiotic confidence; the confidence that I will never get back
I wish I had your insanely smart brain; the brain that has put up barriers against me
I wish I had your annoyingly inappropriate jokes; the jokes that you stopped telling me
I wish I had your ability to captivate the world; the captivation you no longer use on me
I yearn for what we could have been
I yearn to have an unconditional love; one that will never break
I yearn to have uncontrollable kisses; ones that we are unable to stop
I yearn to have cheesy promposals; ones that make everyone jealous of us
I yearn for extravagant valentine's day gifts; ones that make me want to scream and cry
You don't want what I have
My dreams; the ones that will never happen
My secrets; the ones that will tear people apart
My thoughts that keep me up at night; the ones that can even terrify me
My ideas that I want to share; the ones that would wreak havoc on everyone
You don’t need what I have
My thick messy hair; the hair that constantly falls in my face
My ***** brown converse; the ones with the laces falling apart
My empty grey eyes; the eyes that stare straight at you watching you ignore me
My annoying voice; the voice that says ****** comments to protect herself from your friends
You don’t wish to have what I have
My brutal honesty; the honesty that burns bridges
My crazy distrust; the distrust that worries my mother
My unbelievable pessimism; the pessimism that causes people to leave
My need to control everyone; the need to control that consumes all of my thoughts
You don’t yearn for what we could have been
You don’t yearn for unconditional love; not with me
You don’t yearn for uncontrollable kisses; but with her
You don’t yearn to give cheesy promposals; you would do anything to be with her
You don’t yearn to give extravagant valentine's day gifts; you would give anything to be with her
No matter how much I want...need...wish...yearn for you
You will always be wanting, needing, wishing, and yearning for her more
She is the pulsing red dot you are moving towards
I am barely more than a blip on your radar.
Jan 20, 2018
Jan 20, 2018 at 1:34 AM UTC
Who's comb-over looks like *****
Donald's comb-over looks like *****
Who's scared shiteless on election night?
Donald's scared shitless on election night.
Election night. Looks like *****
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald, Donald Trump
Who's got a tie that's long and red?
The Don has a tie that's long and red?
Who pays hookers to *** on beds?
The Don pays hookers to *** on beds.
*** on beds. Long and red.
Election night. Looks like *****
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald, Donald Trump.
Who's got hands tiny and slight?
The Don has hands tiny and slight.
Who spews lies out day and night?
The Don spews lies out day and night.
Day and night. Tiny and slight.
**** on beds. Long and red.
Election night. Looks like *****
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald, Donald Trump.
Who's got a vocab small and trite?
The Don has a vocab small and trite.
Who whines Fake News out of spite?
The Don whines Fake News out of spite.
Small and trite. Out of spite.
Day and night. Tiny and slight.
**** on beds. Long and red.
Election night. Looks like *****
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald, Donald Trump.
Who likes tweeting SAD SAD SAD?
The Don likes tweeting SAD SAD SAD.
Who likes a spanking when he's bad?
The Don likes a spanking when he's bad.
Bad, bad, bad, SAD SAD SAD,
Small and trite. Out of spite.
Day and night. Tiny and slight.
**** on beds. Long and red.
Election night. Looks like *****
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald, Donald Trump.
How many minions leave today?
So many so far went their way.
Comey, Priebus, Flynn and Bannon,
Tillerson, Spicer, Hope and Ryan.
Leave today. Gone their way.
Bad, bad, bad, SAD SAD SAD,
Small and trite. Out of spite.
Day and night. Tiny and slight.
**** on beds. Long and red.
Election night. Looks like *****
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald, Donald Trump.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 7:07 PM UTC
When I get too blue
I laugh at myself
pick up the leash
and take Mr. Brown to the dog park.
He shows me how
to be carefree
will jump and bark
drink a gallon of water
and lick whomever he chooses
without a worry in the world.
Everybody admires his *****
What kind of dog is that?
He’s a Rhodesian Ridgeback.
an African lion hound,
but he’s scared shitless of my cat.
what’s yours?
A Visla.
Looks like yours, only smaller.
Did you see that American Foxhound?
That s.o.b. can jump!
Yeah, too bad he can’t pay my mortgage.
The young photographer shows off
his brilliant Doberman’s latest trick –
a double backflip
catching the Frisbee ten feet high
landing on all fours.
The old lady with the blind daschund
says, “Oh, oh, isn’t he wonderful?”
She claps her hands in delight.
The canine Noah's arc show runs all day
with the entry of pugnacious Sharpeis
the arrogance of Poodles
the inscrutability of giant Malamutes.
the pride of leash-holders.
Gradually tree shadows darken the sawdust
and people start parading home,
the **** athletic girls with their boyfriends’ Shepherds
the slow old men with their greying Labradors
the lady real estate agents with their tiny Shih Tzus.
And then it’s silent
I’m the last one there
alone in the gathering dusk
still hearing echoes of joyful barks
realizing how funny it is
that so many people
look just like their dogs
but I don’t think about it,
I just marvel at all this joy.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 6:16 PM UTC
They have been uprooted from the only life they have ever known,
the poor things.
New so-called family, new barred cage, new fake toys.
Scared shitless. (Literally.)
They will try to tempt you.
"Pretty bird." "Pretty bird."
Don't you dare trust the humans.
Don't you dare let them clip your wings.
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 10:55 PM UTC
I didn't think anything of the ringing in my ears until you told me that silence shouldn't be so loud
You had that same problem.
Too many concerts that were far too loud
Too many nights driving with the windows down
Blasting our favorite songs and screaming our hearts out
I wouldn't take a single second back given the chance
And I'd hope for the same of you.
I think of you whenever it rains because you loved it so much
As did I.
I think of sitting in your car while the raindrops on the window shone onto my thigh
That's when I learned to find beauty in the smallest of things
Like the way your laugh was rough and sweet
And how your eyes glimmered when they met mine.
The other day there was a firefly outside of my bedroom window
I had been crying over the empty feeling that tends to settle in my chest when I am alone
And when I saw its tiny flickering on my windowsill
I managed a smile.
Because I thought of the day we met
And how the cranberry bog hosted as many as I had ever seen in one place
You walked behind as I chased them in my bright yellow shoes
And you held me as I sobbed over their tiny significance.
When I can feel past unwelcome hands on my skin and in my bones
I think of the night you saw me scared shitless, sobbing next to you in bed
I covered my mouth to muffle the sound of my fear as hot tears fell onto my cheeks.
You held my shaking palm in your own
And then held me in your arms, which I have grown accustomed to call my home.
If I had one wish, it would be to posses the ability to evoke the feeling of your arms around me at will.
When you'd ask if I have ever been in love I'd find myself lost
Because in all of the past relationships I've taken part in
I have never felt nearly as happy and alive as I did when you were by my side.
So I guess, though current,
The answer to your question
Is yes.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 6:52 PM UTC
I recently
got into
a little kundalini yoga
and joined
the Zen group
on Facebook,
and it was like
being plugged into
an electric socket.
I didn't sing
the body electric,
I freaked out.
Panic, anxiety,
and mania ensued.
This ****
can be dangerous.
I saw my doctor
and he gave me
more medicine.
Now, I'm fine.
Whew.
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 7:02 PM UTC
Log in and lose all sense of what and who you truly are.
I see the ******** numbers and even more egotistical statements from people I would consider more typist than writers.
A child with the understanding how to play the game and cheat the system .
I see your trending yet again because your fake ID reposted your newest crap fest while others seem to avoid your work like ***** on the floor of a frat house party.
Ego you have my friend.
Talent for bullshitting well in check.
But as for the page your a child who stares at the ocean scared shitless from the shore .
It must be fantastic being the greatest swimmer never to set foot in the pool.
This write is dedicated to a certain poet who if I mentioned .
Well his ego would just tell him hey at least someone's paying attention.
Your trending yet again and at the end of the day .
When you step away from the comp your just a ******* with a overinflated ego and some fake *** numbers .
And if are paths ever cross you may ask.
Hey aren't you?
And my only reply will be .
Yes I will take fries with that.
Fin
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 10:37 AM UTC
We live in the unlighted state of America
Where what happens when we turn the lights off
Is dealt with darkness
And matters of delicate touch
Are treated with sharpness
When our only language
Is to inflict anguish
We cut connections in the bedroom
To clear our cynical head room
For contempt and judgement
People looking for a feeling to fall into
Or a reason to live
Must face frigid climates
When the public invades privacy
And ill fated ****** exploits
Pervade salacious tabloids
Our ****** regrets
Cut the deepest
Society reaps them
Sowing us together with resentment
We provide each other with relief
But not the relief we're looking for
We give each other hours of relief
Until those useless hours become days
And those fruitless days become years
That engender endless tears
As it remains warm in our car
But the winter outside freezes anything that breaks the plane
And our air conditioning only helps so much
When the spinning wheels are in our faces
There is a national coverage in the media
That presents a bleak picture of the ****** health of America
I feel I sit somewhere in between
*** offenders and a disgusted public
When I observe the observers
Who are too scared shitless to ever face their own emotions
Judge those for overindulging in their emotions
They lived their life in fear and safety
So they could be the righteous ones
To admonish the risk takers and mistake makers
Yet they are of the least value to humanity
They're the people who grade all your answers as incorrect
Without providing their perfect alternatives
While trying to erase the context
Because of what the context has to say about society
People feeling that they can never be emotionally vulnerable
Until they experience sheer desperation
And no dollar contract
Can replace human contact
Yet we give men so much money and power
And ask them to feel fine in our cold shower
Until we are soiled by their intention
A nation committed to selling Stella Artois
A nation full of Blanche DuBois
Humanity folds in on itself
When we attack with ***
Humanity does itself a disservice
By not trying to understand these attacks honestly
We forsake forgiveness
And embrace desperation
Until we become unbearably desperate
For attention
For approval
For ****** contact
For money
For validation
And sometimes our desperate desires become tangled
I'd like to think of that as love
And not a meeting between two practical rapists
That conjoin in the middle
Yet somehow come out distorted on the other side
Nov 26, 2017
Nov 26, 2017 at 4:55 AM UTC
A stiff wind broke the morning clouds. It was another gloomy sunrise, in a string of second-rate days. Kiera woke much like the sun, downtrodden and wishing to fall back down. She snapped down on the alarm, knocking it to the floor, and with two blinks was out again—back into a world she was beginning to recognise.
First the flooding darkness. Despite two weeks of this her body still rejected it. Her body hated it. Pathetic. Limbless shakes as the throbbing chill tore its way through her lungs, gripped her skin like sweat. She could smell the sharp stink of iron. When her vision came she saw her arms were covered in blood. A red too bright.
A figure she hadn’t noticed flickered out of her view. She turned her head sharply but saw no one.
Kiera realised she was walking. She held a square, brown-wrapped package, which would not stop squirming. As she struggled to keep hold of the ******* thing, ****** prints coated its sides. A postbox lay on the other side of the road—the same colour as the blood on her arms.
Kiera was furious. The ******* package would not stop squirming. She needed to reach the postbox before she dropped it. She was desperate—scared shitless. Why?
Kiera began to cross the road. Each step sent the package twitching, twisting. Her legs were bone thin. Her skin was shredding apart. Another flicker—edge of the vision phantom—appeared, but she barely noticed. The package was growing so heavy that her toes were breaking on the asphalt. She looked up and saw the postbox had receded. *How dare you? How ******* dare you, you piece of ****
She was on the wrong side. She had never left the sidewalk. How could she? She had no legs. Blood began to pour out of the postbox. It crossed the road, coating her torso, lapping the bottom of the package. The package stilled and began to deform in her hands. It was rotting.
Kiera had an urge to *****
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 11:44 AM UTC
Death doesn't scare me
It doesn't make me want to flee
It doesn't scare me,death
Or how I wont take another breath
Death itself doesn't put fear in me
But what dose scare me,
I will explain so you can see
You see I know my fate
Every time I ate,
Every time I loss and gained weight,
Every time I felt hate,
I knew how it would happen
It scares me shitless
How I won't have a witness
To the pain I feel
And can't heal.
I was angry, sad and ******
That I slit my own wrist!
I hate her this girl
And her pearl
She doesn't think we know
She doesn't think it shows
But I'll **** that girl
Her life will end in a swirl
But as I realize that girl I hate so much
Is me, and I couldn't even stand a light touch
But death doesn't scare me
It doesn't make me want to flee
But oh,I'm scared so scared
But what of?
I'm scared of me...
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 9:15 AM UTC
Studdering, stammering, but still softly laughing,
My mouth cannot formulate the correct feelings
Or even the right idea
Of the things I want to tell you,
and the things I want to hear.
I'm sorry my voice lacks such confidence,
I just never really felt like this,
What a blabbering fool I must seem to be.
Not only because of you and me,
but you see--
My heart governs my mind
and at the right times,
I can't seem to produce any sort of sentence,
I can't seem to shake that sickness.
I'm sorry if I seemed so brash,
When I came to you the night after last...
It wasn't my intentions and now you play your defenses,
All I really want is a smile,
and to feel like it's worth my while.
I hope that isn't too much to ask,
but given the past...
I understand that your wings feel clipped,
I understand that you're probably scared shitless.
I've seen your wall, and I've stood at the gate,
wondering when it will finally break.
For now, I'll just sit here patiently;
Holding my breath almost effortlessly
Because I have no idea what I want right now, honestly.
(I'm just not into playing games)
But if you lean in close enough, I'm sure you will see
I still get nervous when your name flashes on my screen,
Sometimes I still get butterflies, and you leave me weak at the knees.
And I know that's a lot to muster,
but I also know I've got a lot to break,
and I am keeping that part of me hidden and sealed,
while giving you blind faith.
But I know that I am not ready,
to put my guard down at your feet,
I still draw my daggers,
at the first sign of defeat.
There's still a vice-gripped cage,
in between my ribs,
and pardon me for seeming indecisive,
But I, myself, still can't allow anyone in.
I need some affirmation, that you aren't going anywhere.
I really need to feel like you do, honestly, care.
Just remember that I'm just as nervous, and just as scared.
When it comes down to it-- I'm completely unprepared.
If the right words would just bounce,
Off the tip of my tongue,
I wouldn't be sitting here struggling,
Making an effort to avoid the wrong ones.
All I really want to say here,
is that you've made an impact on my life,
and hopefully someday we'll see each other,
In the perfect light.
Sep 29, 2011
Sep 29, 2011 at 10:56 PM UTC
I make quick decisions about people.
I like you or I don’t and I know within the first few times meeting you.
I don’t understand when other people also don’t come to these quick decisions about me and others. I’ll ask questions to myself like “Can’t they tell I’m great?”
Once I’m in, I’m in- and I’ll love you more fiercely than you’ve ever been loved. But I won’t show as I’ll be afraid you won’t love me back or at least as much as I love you.
So I will conceal some of my love, give it to you in smaller pieces, mostly non-verbal because words are my love language and mean the most to me. I will see how you respond and reciprocate.
I assume people are good until they show me otherwise.
I am afraid that no one will ever love the full, raw version of me. I’m afraid I’ll always be too much for other people.
I want to open up, share, and know someone’s life story, and how their brain works- but I want them to do it first.
I want them to be vulnerable so I can be too.
I am scared to show people how I am really feeling.
I am scared to give someone control over my emotions.
I hate the idea of someone having power over my emotions.
That feels like a loss to me.
Even if that loss is to the best hands.
I am afraid to rely on anyone.
I want to be self-sufficient and singular.
But I also want to be so intertwined with someone under the sheets on a Saturday morning that even the smell of waffles and coffee doesn’t tempt me to move. I’ve lost track of what limbs are theirs and mine.
I want intimacy without the real ****
Because the real **** scares me shitless.
Dec 21, 2021
Dec 21, 2021 at 10:21 PM UTC
It really is quite a feeling
I'm a black hole
and I can't stop hoping
That one of these days will be what I expected
It really is quite a sensation
I'm scared shitless
Merely at the thought of living
It really is pitiful
How much hope I have
For a future that brings nothing
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 9:14 PM UTC
run into the crested shorelines where the greatest empires have fallen,
and kiss the tides of the salty sea in hopes of calming your clumsy pulse and flippant thoughts.
stretch your legs.
limber up like a prideful little boy before a rigged game of lava-monster...
and run!
run like your shoes will never untie and your heavy feet will never misfire.
run to the reams of yellowing pages you cling to,
full of ball-point memoir metaphors and pithy,
expressive descriptions of the beautiful women you've trained yourself to hate along the way.
don't get friendly with your paintbrush when you reminisce this time.
run.
full-fledged, snot-nosed, scared-shitless-grinned
sprint.
run to itchy cotton bedding drenched in the stench of day-dreams and nightmares;
peppered with heaps of insight they've yet to diagnose,
and one cold pillow
that can never seem to lull your static head to sleep or fully support the weight of your heavily burdened shoulders.
run like it doesn't mean anything for once;
like a wide-eyed kid who's never seen a map or compass,
he just zigs and zags through the seemingly limitless emerald velvet at full speed as he navigates the backyard in pure and honest bliss.
run to sun-soaked golden fields where the night sky tints itself purple to reach the perfect shade of darkness,
and your breath hangs low on the tops of the tall grass like the fog hanging over a prehistoric low-land,
and the stars shine like slicked-up pebbles about to let you decode the mystical secrets they hold...
and everything comes clear
and clean
and calm.
run free
and wild
and nameless
like it's the only thing you've ever known,
until you're ready to run back into me.
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 3:25 PM UTC
this just in from the white house
positive positive positive
the right moves in this enviro
you got what you want
bush milked it for 7 years
they got away with torture
we Americans are stone immune
to killings, so **** people
add purpose to a culture of death
big lies small lies scared shitless lies
witnesses die at an alarming rate
the first impressions, the spin of tragedy
set the stage for popular opinion
but not for this guy
there is some advantages of being a poet :
the government kills people
and directs incidences of war and terror
to insure world order that benefits
the devil himself
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 9:35 PM UTC
Love is frightening.
And you've got me scared shitless.
Hope I scare you too.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 8:01 PM UTC
I cannot stand to feel because my ocean heart suddenly comes to life beneath the full moon of someone to love. My blood changes, my skin changes, my life becomes a series of goosebumps and the swallowing back of the urge to cry. Alone, I am a strong wall whom very few can climb; but those who make it within my fort make me paranoid my stones are crumbling to pieces. I love to fall in love with every waking moment of someone’s existence, and to know what it is like to touch God’s face because it’s when I’m touching his. But I hate the monster it wakes within me, one scarred and scared that this one, too, will climb in only to walk away, leaving only ruins of what once stood so proud. This time, I am different; my whole fell apart, leaving me to resurrect the foundations and start all over. I have built myself back up, growing towards sunlight like a plant, my pride growing brick by brick, so sure I was leaving the beasts behind. But a higher wall, rather than making me stronger, has left me looking down at a much larger possible fall from grace. I’m so aware of my own ridiculousness that my shortness of breath feels like I’m drowning in frivolity, and when I step outside of myself and look back in, I know I am merely an old man in a bomb shelter waiting for a disaster that may never come. But it all feels so real when I am with him, that I feel stuck in this what-if nightmare fantasy when I am not. It’s been so short a time, I can hardly believe how wrapped up I am in my own thoughts, how much my fingers bled as I wrote this, how hard I had to try to remember who I was just a few days ago. I am a strong wall, but I am scared shitless.
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 9:16 PM UTC