"sinuses" poems
who would have thought i would become so obsessed with clean? not
my mother, who’d nag me to pick up all the clothes scattered across
my bedroom nearly every day of ninth grade. we rarely saw the floor.
i’d sleep beneath books and laundry on my half-made bed. now i
scrub dishes, scrub counters, scrub the floor at night because i can’t
stand the thought of a ***** kitchen—little cockroaches scurrying
in and out of pots and pans. my home smells of lavender oil, a soft
mist, air cleansed by a pink-glowing himalayan salt lamp and plants
in the living room. now i put things away in drawers, close doors of
rooms that are the slightest bit messy. now i straighten books on the
coffee table, set the remotes parallel to one another, everything must
be in place. now i floss, wash my face every night, stare in the mirror
and repeat i am clean, i am clean, i am clean. now i burn my skin in the
shower, inhale the steam until my breathing is slow and my sinuses
are clear. i am clean, i am clean, i am clean. now i fold the laundry, stack
our clothes into two piles, his and mine. i make our bed, i organize
our shoes by the door, i kiss the man i love goodnight. i am clean, i am
clean, i am clean. i know what my father must think, i know he loses
sleep, i know there are holes in his tongue where his teeth have made
a home. i am clean, i am clean, i am clean. i know he wishes i still went
to church, wishes my boyfriend believed in a god, wishes i was clean.
i am clean, i am clean.
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 11:33 AM UTC
The blushing barn barks
With bleeded hues
Gutted girders
The once held the strict structure
Now hold hollow hidey holes
For all the remaining vermin
While the festering flesh
Of the butchered beasts
Burn the sinuses of strangers
Who walk through the burnt broken building
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 1:18 PM UTC
Sinuses, you have won today,
but the night shall be mine,
for down my throat
I have poured the elixir of wonder
and shoved the grenade
of mucus dismemberment
and I have aerated my nostrils
with the flow of nase.
I may be pass through the night unknowingly,
but at least I know that you will not hinder me any longer.
No more will my brain try to escape its confounds,
no more shall my glasses feel like they are crushing my nose as a grape.
I shall sleep as you are conquered.
Yes, you may have won the day,
but I, I will have the night.
Jan 18, 2012
Jan 18, 2012 at 2:35 AM UTC
Sat here feeling sorry for myself
Like a girl's got flu
Though I've had the jab
So this cannot be true
Now the embers flake
Because I'm burnt at both ends
I lie looking for sympathy
And some kind of mend
So pity me please
It hurts and it aches
My sinuses hate me
This flu is not fake
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 1:55 PM UTC
Increase The Pace (Side A)
Rhythmic pulsations invade comatose receptors
Lingering in the thick summer smog
The onset of tribulation commences-
Increase the pace.
Reverb ripples through
Hot wet lungs,
Love and Hate
The beats resonate...
Scared vinyl skips:
Repeating visions of angst,
Violent red chords
Rolling off shredded steel strings,
Acting as mania’s fingers…
Feet trapped in rebel rubber soles
Draw on littered concrete floors
Lonely like before
Noble souls abandoned this
Scene of raunchy rust,
gravity grabbing
as our wrists touch.
Increase The Pace (Side B)
Rush to Eden-
Greeted by harsh halogen
Bleach, eating out your sinuses,
water swirls as it slithers
round the basin
heavy door mutes the static,
holding back waves of thick smoke.
Blood shot eyes soothed
By branded potions,
Clarity cleanses
Dismembered demons
Crazed revelations infect the night no more
Forced silence seeps into aching eardrums
Breath forced from lungs
Adolescent epiphanies
Swirls down the drain,
Flying around chrome chains
Dust worn as protection
Drips into the sewers,
Flushed away
Forced silence reigns true
Voice of the bass-line
Forgotten anew.
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 5:39 PM UTC
Salt on the back of my hand I know so well
shot of tequila to remember you scent
**** the lime down to bring the balance
How are you tonight
better than me,
surely.
My chestnut girl
my top teeth too long
upper lip too short
best friend
making me feel saintly for taking your nerves and melting them in my palm
pleading to Gods I never met
for this last bet
to end up winning
I'm losing my sanity with every breath expelled
but who want's to be sane
when in the land of the blind
the seven eyed man is king?
Sane insane saints and sins cast across the wall like suicide grey matter
the children wouldn't understand
It's probably for the best
but when tequila clouds the back of my throat
my sinuses remind me of the sound of you
playing guitar
and singing the songs
which held you close in childhood
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 8:41 PM UTC
As you attempt to pour more political doctrine down my throat
I check the change in my pocket
for
the laxative I‘ll have to buy
from my legal drug dealer
REALLY!?!
Did you not know that your words are;
indigestible,
incorrigible
&
wholly corruptible?
How do you manage
to
politically caress your own eardrums
reach
through your sinuses,
tickling
the lining of your
esophagus
and yet,
make me cough?!
Your response to truth is truly painful,
you feel it in your chest,
your ***** heaves and razes
you have a fit gesticulating policies
flipping birds that won’t fly
It’s too late!
Mr "I went to Oxford so I must have the plan"
Mr Self-Interest man
Mr Ivy-league, Whitehouse, Whitehall...."Cambridge was better",
Mr I can do all things that superman can.
Mr “If we win the elections next year”...
Man
Take your leave,
your term is over,
School is out
&
the old boys no longer love you.
Time!
to
run for
cover,
under the
colour,
of
your favoured
currency umbrella.
But
If you’re African
"it's okay"
you can stay a little while longer
and bequeath the throne
to your brothers', sisters', uncles', sons' junior brother!
Turn it into a dy-nasty
Bring on board;
Kwadjo,
Mary,
Abena,
Kwesi,
Uncle Nepa,
Sista Tism
&
Aunt Ivy.
Ah-Geee!!!
This nonsense is highly unpalatable
I’m past the word puke
my bile sack is empty
because your drunkenness is spreading
&
**y o u’r e
s t i l l
b l o w i n g
m e
f u m e s!**
*Your democracy
has made your Guinea-Pigs
demi crazy,
has captured this poets’ goat
Slaughtered it
&
mandated this verbal frenzy*
Enough!
Of this alcoholic experiment
I’m not drinking anymore,
I’ve cried blood!
and now "my eyes are red"
Looking forward
to being 'tee-totally' sober,
while
U
**c o n t e m p l a t e
t h i s
v e r s e
o f
p o e t i c,
p o l i t i c a l,
M U R D E R.**
© Qwey.ku
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 4:01 AM UTC
I walked through Bath and Bodyworks
inhaling every possible scent
straight up my
nose.
Burning my sinuses with
Gingerbread and Spice
Cinnamon Clove
Fresh Cupcake
Winter Berry
Calm
so that even the smallest remnants
of your smell
I could not intake and kept myself
from once again
falling asleep wearing that
sweater that I took
to pretend was
you.
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 4:23 AM UTC
my whole mouth tastes like metal,
copper pennies from before
The Great Zinc Switch
filling my warm wet mouth.
cigarette smoke hazing
my sinuses like a frat rush
and I'm desperately in need of an Advil.
let me place my coppery lips
on your bronzed skin,
Amman to Atlanta,
nails like knives and
The Book of Biology
teasing hormonal touches and hydration.
iron oxide keeps flaking off my
skin, eczema and psoriasis in rust, and
the guitars in my ears are ******* furious.
and still:
sweat and *** in the sheets, your love
lingering on my palate like a
too sour wine; you fermented and curdled
in my mouth, and
to taste you now
is agony.
time is dilating around me in ripples;
I cough until the gas in my stomach releases itself; crystal abrasive.
it's all drugs and
tinder matches these days,
****** kids...
total sunbeam, in my opinion
there's still enough for
a couple more
hits, it's still rolling,
words cloud around my head like
so much weedsmoke, Storm clouds
on the horizon of my parietal lobe
and I feel fine.
I am fine.
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
Walking down main street, not worried about the rain, was John Carpenter.
Sure, he had on his hat and coat, but he had not remembered to grab his umbrella.
Luckily his sister had not been with him or else she would have had a fit. She was always talking about how he needed to bundle up more, he only got pneumonia twice year, and seemed to always have a cold.
He didn't mind though. More often then not, a nice hot cup of coco, or brandy would clear his sinuses and he'd be fine.
Today he did not have a cold and today he was walking down mainstream, letting the rain fall gently upon his face and shoulders. He passed the bar he so often frequented in his younger years, and saw a familiar face across the not so busy main street. He stopped then, rather suddenly, and slumped agaisnt the wall.
My, it had been years since he had seen her. Years since he had talked to her. Looking across the street, through light traffic and light rains he remembered the other times he had looked upon her face.
He remembered the last time he had done so while seeing her. They had woken up in bed, him before her as was usual. They had woken up to kisses and squeezes and the smell of cigarettes and brandy and parchment.
Looking across the street he remembered everything about her, The Girl With Flowers In Her Hair.
He remembered the way she squeezed him tight, tighter than any other girl.
He remembered the way she laughed after they kissed
and he remembered how it had ended.
A shameful night in March, two years ago.
Drunkingly, he laid his hand upon her. Not in the nice way, but in the way his step father used to unto him. He did it because she would not go to the store to pick up more brandy.
That is why he hit her.
It was not the first time, though.
The first time he had been drunk as well and it had been because she talked back to him, the way he would to his step father. Now, you must understand, she gave him a second chance. She swore that if he were to every lay a hand on her ever again she would be gone. He swore to her that he would never again do so. He would lay off the brandy and he would be the man he should be. The man his real father was, before he died. He would be a husband and a lover and a healer and a man. He promised these things.
Then, two months later, he hit her again.
This was the last time.
She followed through on her promise and he did not see her until that moment, right then, as he looked across the street. He thought he should go over to her and say hello.
He though maybe he should cry at her knees, God knows he wanted to.
He thought he should beg for her back.
No, he had not gotten off the brandy, but that's only because she left.
He would though.
Oh God, he would.
Just as John Carpenter had worked up enough courage to cross the street and talk to Mary Stein, The Girl With Flowers In Her Hair, a man emerged from the building and grasped her arm. And she huddled close to him and looked up at him in a trusting, loving way. The way she used to him. Not the way John's mother did his stepfather. Not the way Mary did the last time she looked at him.
The strode, Mary and the Man,
arm in arm up the sidewalk.
Into a taxi, that sped away, up the street and away from John.
Oh God, how he would quit the brandy.
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 1:18 AM UTC
I had the flu
When I was eight
Twenty seven
Blankets on top
Couldn't stop
My shivering
At five o'clock
In the eaveing
I got a hand
free from the pile
And saw the inch
Between the tips
Of my fingers
In every vein
was the same inch
Lump in my throat
One inch in size
Sinuses too
Everything = One
Then it would change
Fingers double apart
Throat double filled
Everything = Two
Then
Tilting my head
Twenty Seven
Degrees eastward
Focusing out
Bedroom window
A megazord
In my backyard
In every vein
My sinuses
And down my throat
I had the flu
Jun 21, 2010
Jun 21, 2010 at 7:44 PM UTC
I think I'm getting a
Sinus infection.
It feels all too familiar,
And ******
Maybe it's because I've been ******
To others.
Or maybe because I threw my
Cigarette on the ground.
Maybe because I looked at,
A stranger,
And judged him.
Or because I lied to my boss,
Regarding my tardiness.
No.
None of these.
I'm ashamed,
For thinking that someone,
Something,
Cares enough to punish me,
For my lack of consistent morality.
I accept instead,
That life is indifferent,
And sometimes,
People,
Good and bad,
Fall ill.
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 3:00 PM UTC
Quite a draining journey
traveling through this drainage tunnel
groping my way through the disorienting darkness
arms of lifelessness reach out from the walls
constantly tugging at my shirt
it's my health that they hurt
when I try to run
they grab and stun
forcing me to buy movement
at the price of energy
they hold tokens in their hands
inscribed with the drainage brand
like the hair from the drain in my sink
or the phlegm drained from my sinuses
I wade through the **** of stomach minuses
moving through a drainage tunnel death funnel
aches develop in my feet
as well as my back
I can't handle the heat
or how the inside is black
I start walking slower and slower
as the ceiling gets lower and lower
the backbreaking pressure
makes my height lesser
so I crawl through the filth
of all this drainage I built
the hands that hold me down
are now my only company
their frustrating grabbing
now feels like a lulling caress
coaxing me to stay in this tunnel
all other voices are muddled
because of the drainage in my ear
blocking communication with fear
a wall of wax
that won't collapse
creates an axe
to cut off my head
from suffering dread
wondering when this tunnel will end
because there's no light to be found
in this tunnel I crawl down
gagged and bound
from the hands all around
grabbing at my brain
to push it down the drain.
Jul 6, 2021
Jul 6, 2021 at 10:41 AM UTC
Winter has coaxed
its radiator enduced
ether
and the time has come
for colds, snot
and sinuses.
Blackness
gathers us
to our tangerine
oasis - and
living room
televisions.
I left,
to walk through the
winter city.
I saw
empty car parks and
Christmas lights,
and thought London
was dying.
A fox grappled
with a tesco's
plastic bag.
I walked through
a winter forest.
I saw creepers
on gravestones
and
Victorian gore
settled into the earth.
I put my ear to the ground
to hear the worms
eating dead bodies
and all the while
the stars turned
overhead
like a millers wheel.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 5:44 AM UTC
I have value.
I am valuable.
Somewhere between when we first met, and when you first kissed me, I questioned my net worth
I have value
I am valu....
Able to decipher between the lines of your pleas and needs
I want to satisfy you.
I want to be the reason that you are content.
When you talk about what makes you happy,
I want to be one of the items that comes quickly to mind.
No hesitation
No thought
My name.
Comes out of your lips
Like fluid
Lips that I’ve kissed and bit and thought about kissing and wanted to kiss
Lips malleable between mine
I have value
I am valuable.
Begging you to let me into the sinuses of your heart and mind.
Begging you to let me into the places which you seek to hide
Wanting to know you completely.
I am not God.
Wanting to know your every thought and anticipate your every want or need
I am not God.
Even as I write this, I wonder what you’ll think
I wonder if I can create the image that I see in my mind in yours
I wonder if what we have is like inception
At first you think it’s one thing, but then you’re left unsure about all you thought you were sure about
I think the reason people have had a hard time getting to know me is because
I don’t even know me.
Who is _______
What makes up my core
I don’t know.
I think I’ve just been living in a shell
Afraid to venture out
Or not feeling equipped or ready to undertake this thing called life
I don’t want to hurt you
I don’t want to disappoint you.
These are things that I should be saying to God.
Somewhere along the lines of time
I have made you a.....
I am valuable
I have value
I began this piece
Hoping to be able to express what I am feeling
The heaviness of my heart
And anxiety weighing on my mind.
I have failed.
I wanted to become immersed in my emotions so when I arose I would be ok.
I am not.
I think I want you to like me so badly.
I’ve lost my value.
I’ve lost sight* of my value
I have value
I am available
Sometimes our subconscious types the things we suppress
Jun 30, 2018
Jun 30, 2018 at 10:11 AM UTC
Tell me a story, or I won't even blink,
I want you to take me to worlds that I
think I could find beauty in, places
to hide deep within like an inside
joke, or a laugh, or a path
to take into Neverland,
a bridge to Wonderland,
any land
as long as I can have you in it.
Tell me a story, fill my sinuses with stink,
I want to feel the ship I want to smell
the brink of desperation, to feel
a strange, secure, separation to
myself, filled with a wealth of
nonsense knowledge, take me
through foliage and laugh as I
bask in a seething sun,
come on, let's go, I crave fun.
Tell me a story, help me taste a
waste of time, I want to laugh a
rhyme and commit the crime
of uselessness and happiness and
bonkerness and silliness and fun
watch me run into a field of fantasies
tongue sampled teas and
smile at simplicities'
sanctuary.
Tell me a story, and allow me to touch
a part of your mind you let
locked away, darling, parent, sibling,
quibbling cognitive miser
tell me a story and you'll end up
wiser for knowing it, for imparting
it, let's party it and part with the
sweetest words of goodness,
I could hear from you
To be continued
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 5:53 PM UTC
This time of the year
my sinuses keep me awake.
I drain one side
then flip.
Drain the other side,
then flip again.
It's a ritual that seems
like it has no end.
Jesus,
I need to find a local honey
to stop this madness.
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 12:41 AM UTC
Overwhelming, bitter, unsteady
Alcohol burned my nostrils
Wisps of the scent crawling
Crawling through my sinuses
Lodging in my nervous system
Obscuring the thoughts
Adhering to the brain
Your choice affects me.
And though it may seem strange,
Such a way of delight enters me
When you speak my name.
We dance with a dance
That is not our own
Statistical, recycled, frequent
Beer bottles chipped, flutes shattered
From slamming against the coffee table.
You twirl me towards a wine glass.
Blood seeps from the shards
Staining crimson, the carpet of facade.
Acidic from heel to bunion,
Daddy no longer dances.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 11:11 AM UTC
The wick upends
wax, string,
flame
coating my arm and my sinuses are corrupted
am I in pain? Or am I just on fire?
ridiculous how everything (and I mean EVERYTHING) is on fire
flaming fake man, scarecrow
out of house, out of mind
Colder than moon rays or hatred or soft
refrigerator hands
colder than the liquid I pour on my face to wake me up for the world
colder than hungry
colder than resting on my porch alone
singing: "ooooooooooo"
May 8, 2011
May 8, 2011 at 10:10 AM UTC
every breath tastes
rancid on my tongue;
fun fact, if all you eat is
raspberry yogurt and
hypersaturated strawberries,
your ***** looks like
Jackson ******* plus
Picasso's Rose Period.
has anyone ever told you
that drunk texting you is like
standing in front of a Caravaggio;
it's dusky and dark and sensuous and I
******* adore getting lost in
translation. Cezanne draws solely in
molecular geometry, tetrahedral,
trigonal pyramidal, octahedrons
scrawled across the canvas and doused
in living color. Thursday night already
seems so intangible,
a bad dream that didn't dice up my liver
like a ******* sous chef. Thursdays
have come and gone, the weekends
ever-beckoning, and the scent of Smirnoff
stays in my sinuses.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 10:46 AM UTC
To The Daughter I’ll Never Have:
I want you to know that I did my best. I fought for you, for the idea of our family. I stood up for what I felt was wrong. Giving up my selfish ways wasn't easy, but it was doable. You need to know there was a time when our world was fixable.
When I was a child this was paradise...
A cool Summer breeze was a stroll to the 100 foot Oak, drinking the sunlight.
The river was a new road in the December.
Spring was as full as your sinuses.
A dying Autumn took your focus away from mortality.
All at once we cut the trees to steal their fruit, broke the ice with our fast machines, killed the sheep that kept us warm and fed us, and remembered that we weren't invincible.
I can picture you now:
I loved the name Haley.
Your first words were "Daddy".
You walked into your first day of kindergarten fearless.
You had this ferocious spirit that let you go into any situation without any hesitation. You got that from your Mother.
I was always proud of you, no matter how much trouble you got yourself into. There was something special about you.
I can only dream of the life we'd have together but I fear for the stability of my world today. Not even today have I met your Mother but I know she fears the same for you. What will the world have left for you and those around you left the clean up the messes that those before us made?
It is on that note I regret to inform you that I may never have a chance to meet you.
My time will be spent gluing leaves to the trees.
I will carry polar bears on my back until it breaks, bees on my shoulders until they are stung and swollen, and love in my heart until it swells. While you and I may never meet here on earth, you need to know that this love will not go to waste. Every ounce of love I was supposed to give to you will be shared with everyone who cares about our world now.
Please forgive me for being selfish.
Love,
Daddy
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 11:19 PM UTC
To shake dust from my pretty
child
i must mystify minds while, molding
pre-paved tile patios:
give the sheep’s pen a four wall construct
A-RISE above the morphic
and bellow, to comfort the feet.
Im stabbing quarters into my activation plate’s extra exhaust
to ignite something.
Spit some carbon –
Manic moments, move a myles like me to the metaphysical mirror.
And it is not this one that reflects,
but to the duties my appendages embody i –
lack expects.
Do due – Respect.
to this Chthonian carriages; my dermis quite the copy cat.
to say the body is made in the images
of a cosmic titan is overly abstract.
The big bang was an aftermath of a flatline,
“so whatchur telling me is that even the void gets tired?” (it says)
my guilt was relieved of its cage and given
new duties.
Project itself on a man with open eyes
searching for answers.
Close that third mind and let them
truths seep from the almost always
clogged sinuses.
Snore even.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 11:51 PM UTC
Jasmine although your embedded scent is faint, I'm still stuck here with a headache when all I want is rest. My sinuses is a mess. I don't know if I'm crying or lying. I tried cinnamon, turns out subconsciously I was looking for a synonym. I didn't get the same adrenaline. So now I'm lonely again. Wondering why did you leave, missing your semievergreen leaves, bless me with your presence as I sneeze. I want you to bloom, replant yourself back into my room.
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 11:06 AM UTC