"sidenote" poems
Guess what I'm writing about
Deez Nuts!
No seriously,
Not the thought we were going for?
So let's go a little more;
Maybe about the presidential candidate
Or the family jewels on my plate.
I'm trying not to laugh
Or bust a gut.
Maybe I can use Deez Nuts!
To bust in your guts.
Let's just rhyme.
I like big butts
(And I cannot Lie)
Or I might get in a rut
If you play with my nuts
And don't let my kids
Kiss your back or your ****
Or reach those guts.
Sidenote: I'm tan
Like a pharaoh, King Tut
But first,
Get Acquainted with me
Unless you're a ****
Than you're more than welcome
To meet Deez Nuts!
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 11:09 AM UTC
Will I always be the sidenote
In someone else's story
The enby kid pushed to the edges
Away from the glory
Will I always be a supporting role
In every tale that's told
Or will I ever get to be the one
With greater representation shown
Feb 21, 2022
Feb 21, 2022 at 2:29 PM UTC
squadrons deployed. everything permanent is still removable if you ignore it enough. revising your lackadaisical list of priorities. repeat play and an ashtray full of roaches. at this point even nostalgia feels classic. cross your t’s and then just x out everything. circle the names of your favorite cities. hands held, grudges kept. i swear somewhere i’ve got something left. in my head the rescuers are always gonna be the ones who go down (under) in history. everyone else is just running their mouth or grinding their teeth. there are some lies left over but who cares? this might be the worst ever. or the best yet. i guess we’ll know for sure soon enough. i right clicked through this like five times because of what i’ve got flowing through my veins. sidenote: i miss you.
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 1:42 PM UTC
twitchley body funds my eyesight,
endorsing social security of the mind--
the free market of my inhibitions deci
des to monopolize the rights to my soul
as a crown corporation but we'll nationa
lize again again with the help of shock d
octrine-- flinching in the light you called
the office of internal affairs regarding mat
ters of the heart, but but but it was left to
open classrooms to tell you what and how
to live yer life, and nothing more. who kee
ps anyone different? who holds them to sim
ilar? what makes me no h2o and what mak
es you no granite? because last night we cal
led you drunk and you called us sober. no
one picked up the comments and no one pic
ked up the phone. crippled and meaningless,
nihilism felt obliged to die. i felt obliged to die.
i felt obliged to leave myself alone, or risk seei
ng me again.
the noose cooperated and collapsed and collapsed,
and collapsed.
this is not a suicide note. it is a sidenote
and you will find me beating deep inside yer
chest.
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 8:46 PM UTC
I was not made to be a waitress. To carry plates and pull pints and count coins and be able to breathe at the same time. I should have given up. Four years in and my boss was still telling them that it was my first night, not to mention that time someone half-jokingly asked me, a completely sober seventeen year old with an anxiety disorder in a family owned bistro in white middle-class conservative Hexham, if I was drunk. I was not made for fake confidence and biting back tears, for toilet cubicle walls and breathe in, breathe out, all you had to do was carry the potatoes to table five. I was not made to be a waitress in the same way that I was not made to understand the art of mathematics. The times tables in their white linen shirts stained with my clumsiness laughing at me as I dropped plates and couldn’t subtract fifty four pence from five pounds seventy two at the till. I wasn’t made for sequence. For questions with definite answers, I was not made for having to be right. I was made for having to be wrong. Over and over, for ******* up a lime and soda, or was it lemon? Four years into a job. I was made for honesty. For answering you truthfully when you ask me what I am thinking. I was made for chocolate on the hob and strawberries tickled with sugar in hand, for the familiarity of the songs of a home friend’s band, I was made for softness. For your lips on my lips and my hands on your hips and the imprint of your freckles on my cheek. I was made for learning that this is not weak. For learning that I was made for me. For dancing badly and laughing loudly and eating messily. We, on the other hand, were not made for each other the way people appear to be on film, the megabus trips without air-conditioning and the seven inches and 165 miles that fall between us the ever persistent proof. I was not made for you, designed so that our lives would perfectly intertwine but what does it matter when in this moment I think I was made for this. For half-lit, half-fit bliss. For reading poetry to you at three am until you fall asleep, when all that is left is the hum of your breath as my voice echoes milk and honey, making me feel like I could be made for anything, even though we’re apart.
Sidenote: June ’17- this time there was only one 'first night' at my new job.
Jul 19, 2017
Jul 19, 2017 at 1:13 AM UTC
I am not the protagonist of this story,
I am not the righteous one.
I am not who you think I am,
I am the antagonist, the obstacle to be overcome.
I'm selfish, reckless, mean; I'll say anything to get under your skin.
I'm vindictive and cruel, I would betray you in a heartbeat.
I am sad and envious and spoiled and I always have been.
I don't have a righteous bone in my body.
I am rebellious and weak.
I am I am
a sidenote in your story.
So don't give me your respect,
I know you think it'll work.
I don't want your love and admiration
I can't take it.
Give me instead hatred and condemnation.
Write me off as a lost cause, a bully, a weakling.
This I can live with, this I deserve.
If were all redeemable there would be no point
So let me serve the purpose I was meant to serve.
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 9:37 PM UTC
As a final declaration of my intention
I want you to know that I'll always be around
Anytime and anywhere, I'll always be somewhere whether you know it or not
When your going about your day, driving to wherever you go or when your on your last leg and shot
If you look hard enough you can probably catch a glimpse if you take the time to stop
This might sound creepy and I admit it because it's true
But this is what I do and I can't change because this is the way I've always been
I'm older than you know, though my skin and hair and eyes are young
This may be pretty hard to grasp since what I'm saying is pretty far flung
You can say whatever you will but, dear, I promise you I've heard every song you've sung
So if you accept this or deny this, it really makes no difference
It's just the way it is and the way it is is pretty simple
You're there and then so am I, it doesn't matter if I want to be
It's only science and the nature of how we move and we both see
Just take this as a warning or just a sidenote in case you think you might be able to flee
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 1:37 PM UTC
I want to wrap my hands
around my own throat
because it would hurt you
more than me.
Oh, sweet
Sadistic Apathy
Masochistic Empathy
fight your wars
within me
Assassinate
my destiny
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 8:53 AM UTC
These stories contain a character so accurate,
so flawed,
so
beautiful that if any author tried to recreate him
or her, that person would be laughed off the stage.
Which,
excuse the sidenote,
probably means they are the only
genious in the room. The character is of course
you, and the answer is, of course…LOVE!
Now at this point I can see you are already fed up with me
and for that I understand.
I understand because of course
love is not the answer!
That lovey dovey ********
No, the real answer is even simpler.
Stories.
We live.
We Die.
We live and die for stories.
Love is how we should treat people.
To live one’s life
with as much love as possible
Your humble author included.
Love is Pandora’s hope.
Love is the elephant in the room of life.
Love is good.
Love is evil.
Love is death.
Love is life.
Love is not the reason for life.
We do not wake.
every morning searching for love.
We do.
wake every morning searching for.
stories.
Jul 29, 2010
Jul 29, 2010 at 12:10 AM UTC
i don't spit it down the throat of every
girl who makes me feel less dead.. even
if death inside is a starred little sidenote
in the CIA World Factbook, it's some
-thing sacred in my jeans and undershirt
heart-pang-thump boombox screams for
help. I read deep into the books and so arrange
the angry letters to live again inside the head of
someone else who is 'out-there' in the letter-fed
litterbox of word salad, doused in the vinaigrette
of mossy, ancient, cradle-laden sadness. I wonder
if the world is made of sadness and my pain is just
a girder-- I wonder if the world is made of loss and
my heartache just a brick all sunset-red forever within
the orangey dusks of Eastern London urban suburb
industry-- and yet it couldn't be as loss implies an absence--
yet an absence might be matter in the vein of metaphysics
as metaphysicality.. all of it blaring sirens and quiet nights
alone in frothy evening heat, not enough aesthetic to this
new bedroom, lacking dresser-drawers desktop for god
-sakes you still live outta your suitcase ready to **** yourself
and bring your clothing with you like the pharaohs of Giza--
whoever left you stranded on this planet must've taken one
last glance on backwards to whisper rather sympathetically
'good luck' before the tryptamine caused him or her or 'it' to
fade back into the radiowave of the grave with life so condemned
to speech and distinction, you would never be lost in the fade...
what was there to 'say' anymore, except "hey everyone watch
my scars start to bleed *** they're scars we keep cutting on
sharp little ridges pretending they're gonna get better and
better and better again-- hey everyone pay attention to my
pain *** I'm not waving ********* I'm drowning.. I'm not
waving ********* I'm DROWNING"
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 1:07 AM UTC
Hi there
I believe we've met
I saw you sitting all the way over
next to me, quiet.
"Are you ok?" - I ask because I care
tearing apart myself
can't bear to not remember
I need to ask you better questions
questions like "Are you ok?"
Am I ok?
I'm so bad at conversation and I am
robotic and expressionless but
you help me express feeling that
screams alive
I saw you sitting all the way over there
so I came closer and
put my arm around you
and you...
flinched
Nov 10, 2017
Nov 10, 2017 at 11:37 PM UTC
7 and one half years ago
you were in my room
and i was on my computer.
i wrote the password to log in, but i
made a mistake because i was nervous
and i backspaced all of it.
you noticed.
you said "i do that too when i mess up"
i didn't realize at the time, that i would remember that about you
and my birthday party. you were the only one
to show up
and my dad made you listen to ICP,
i'm still sorry about that.
i haven't forgotten any of it
i wish i could think about you without hating myself
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 12:46 AM UTC
When I rose this morning,
With sweat on my head.
I noticed the difference,
And climbed out of bed.
The warmth of the room,
Helped not the gloom.
And no-ones soft breathing,
This place is a tomb.
The quiet unsettled,
And this for hope.
I dressed up disheveled,
Feeling much like a joke.
Drudging about,
As the clock again spoke.
Into the brightness,
Glad for cologne.
Smelling awesome makes you feel awesome-sidenote
The gears started grinding,
Tires gripping the road.
Music not helping,
As louder it grew
Thoughts ever flooding,
While ashes flew.
The minutes were seconds,
Finally something to do.
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 10:24 PM UTC
So I can’t trust the Times, Fox News, or the Post.
Too left or too right, just parasites hungry for hosts.
From you, fellow tax-paying citizen, I take note.
I listen to you — that angry defense of your vote.
Are you going to tell me what I am able to trust?
Before this land of the free is left to ruins and rust?
Silence speaks volumes,
like the encyclopedia I loved, circa ‘94—
devoured for hours on my living floor.
(Sidenote: That encyclopedia included several pages on
the Holocaust. But then, I suppose,
the Encyclopedia Britannica shouldn’t be trusted either?)
So what must I trust if I can’t share the news
without being challenged because of my views?
You say I can’t trust the posted or printed, so instead,
I'll trust something much louder in my heart and my head.
I'll trust that empowered white supremacy in a place
where "all men are created equal," is something I refuse to embrace.
I'll trust that our freedom of speech is not our freedom to hate.
Black, brown, yellow, white— that’s not up for debate.
I'll trust that hope will swallow such hate in the blink of an eye—
choke the breath from its lungs and drop a beat to its cry.
And then I'll trust that history will one day forget
that we've failed to keep its pages from repeating just yet.
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 1:37 PM UTC
sidenote: you (know who you are) don't need to read this if you don't want to. i understand why you wouldn't, all i ever want is your attention.
as i sit here, in the dark and slam my fingers down on the various keys to make a structure, i realise something;
after fourteen months, i'm still in love with you.
at first, i never understood love, i thought it was a myth, simply something that would would only appear in those old disney films,
but then i found you and that was when i realised.
love isn't something to throw around, nor ignore.
if you love somebody, tell them.
because one day, after you've told them, they're going to feel something and that something will be so magical.
love isn't a myth, it's simply something that can only be felt by the correct two people, in one relationship.
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 6:09 PM UTC
I want that night
3am
To shut him up
No need for
Pretend
Don't say it
Though I said that before
If you don't mean it
Not a single word
More...
Sidenote:
He fought me that night
Said he knew he didn't have to
That this was what he felt
And when I dismissed it
Even repeated himself....
He kissed me
Under blankets
Darkness
Without ***
Lies and pretending
The actor in his best
Role
In a drama
I'm crying tears
From rom com
To broken
I'm shattered
And feel
In all of my agony
********
It was real
Wanting his arms
Though he
Loves me not
Still.....
©MV
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 8:44 PM UTC
depression is like a lot of things
tonight it is like this:
-empathizing with the tea kettle who screams and screams until someone comes along and removes her from the fire
-clutching tightly onto a way too hot mug despite the discomfort because at least you feel something tangible (sidenote, related) comparable to holding a piece of your own heart/a piece of someone else's
-listening to every song you can think of that will make you cry and doing absolutely nothing about it
-coming home from work with expectations of accomplishment but staying in bed/isolating for the remainder of the day
-avoiding mirrors, or even worse getting lost in them for a half hour trying to figure out what exactly you even look like
-inducing an early sleep cycle to avoid any further feelings of heaviness
but it is ok!
or at least it will be!
tomorrow is a new day for us all
-
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 12:58 AM UTC
the night was black velvet,
and you were a castle.
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 9:53 PM UTC
the ancient greeks
would call
asia's mysticism
nothing more
than a tautology...
tao:
the tao that can be
named,
is not the eternal
tao...
i see one tao:
the best way
you can help
the world,
is to forget the world,
and let the world
to forget you...
like some Irish
poet once wrote;
who was it?
ah!
louis macneice
in ehyeh asher ehyeh...
*in der beginn
und der ende
der nur dezent definition
ist tautologie:
mann ist mann,
frau frau,
und baum baum,
und welt... welt...*
which is the basic
principle of asiatic
"mysticism"...
der ding dass ist, ist...
und der ding dass nicht ist:
ist
nein-ist,
aber nicht: nein!
watching Swedish drama
i took to understand
the difference between
nein and nicht:
and nichts...
circus of nouns...
Asiatic mysticism -
tautology...
nein ist nicht ein absolut
nein:
the Asiatic folk
spiced it all up
with an addition of
adjectives... nichts mehr...
how can i have
an opinion about England,
not being an Englishman?
sidenote...
i'm no migrant exotica,
i am not luxury:
given that i am economic...
hence
my desire to hide
in German,
whenever i can,
while entertaining
the use of English...
i can't have an opinion
about England,
because i am not an Englishman
and the Englishman's
opinion is worth:
jack-shit...
out of curiosity,
i watch,
and... too apprehensive
about waiting
i forget to wait...
wenn da eine nachleben:
ich hoffen zu spreschen
deutsche...
i was born in Poland...
so...
what do sie denken my
meinung of England är,
given that i'm not an Englishman
and i'd föredra to speak
Deutsche
after death,
than be plagued by
this acquired tongue?
i don't have an opinion
worthy of it being designated
as having accommodation
to encompass said land,
i'm only here in passing:
i wish!
but for not being
a pompous brat,
my servitude is that of the natives...
of which i am not...
hence my minor
ploys of escapism in
german...
somehow...
a few words in German
alleviates the burden
of seeing the natives
buckle before
whoever reigns...
but being white,
i could almost pass off as
a Brit...
i can, and do...
and then on occassion:
i don't.
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 8:28 PM UTC
Scratch it,
That's not you!
Because that's not what I wrote
And God knows your dedication for turning tables,
It's impeccable.
That could have been me today
Or probably not
Because I'm at the bottom of the barrel,
The last thought in the foodchain
That's not you,
That's who replaced me.
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 10:54 PM UTC