"sketchers" poems
the electricity runs through our veins
and past the street signs we rumble by
in the car you stole, we go fifty above the speed limit,
the roof of the car is the noir sky above
and the midnight rain pelts our upturned faces
the dancing drops of water drip onto our smiling lips
the sound of the sky collapsing
echoes the flashes that streak the sky,
the flickering light casts paved roads with a brief brightness
(as if god were wearing light up sketchers)
the lacy brallette that wears me
gives me the bravery to stand up in the speeding car
the velvet pants that ripple with the wind
drink up the nighttime rain
and the rare headlights race past us,
heading into homes and hearts
the mellow playlist that connects the aux cord to our ears blasts
so loud, we can no longer hear our insecurity
the mascara that once clung to my eyelashes
now streams down my face.
on a two way street,
we drive down the middle
unafraid in the face of direct dangers
so unaware of the towering empty skyscrapers
and instead highly exhilarated
from the street signs we drive by
too fast to read the blocky lettering
the road signs glint, smiling as we wave and reach towards them
the cigarettes you smoked are thrown through the open window,
still smothering slightly.
i can still taste the smoke on your lips
and your hand tucks my hair behind my ear
and as the wind objects and inhales
unreal in the hazy a.m. car trip
the tunnel rushes towards us,
and we both hold our breaths,
as if breathing would contaminate us.
the lights that glint, cast a yellow-white glow
and for once, i see you for who you are
a boy too buzzed to feel
a kid who only felt "sort of"
a person who couldn't heal
and a lover who could never give love
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 3:34 AM UTC
Im split in two,
Like a pair of old shoes,
One is in the dryer,
The other caught fire,
And I dont know what to do.
Well my mom shouts,
" darlin you cant leave this house..
Til you've got both shoes on your feet!"
But even if I found both shoes,
Id still be incomplete.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 6:40 PM UTC
Messy hair and stained white shirts.
The laughing stock of this tiny stage.
Stare at your feet,
Velcro sketchers covered in sand.
Mar 23, 2021
Mar 23, 2021 at 9:39 PM UTC
She brought cookies, in a
Ziploc bag, to my door.
I tugged on Mom’s
Carpet-textured sweater.
We swung on a swing
And she showed me
Her loose tooth. I pointed
At the Band-Aid on my knee.
The color of honey,
Inside a plastic
Bear, is what
Her hair looked like.
Red, black, neon yellow;
Caterpillars flooded
Our shared cigar box.
Then the tree-leaves fell.
We stomped our Sketchers
Behind her mom
And mine. They filled
Baskets with glue sticks.
Yellow buses opened
Their tall doors. They mouthed
At us to grow. The caterpillars
Laughed. So I grabbed her fingers.
Apr 1, 2012
Apr 1, 2012 at 10:46 PM UTC
There's a huge bean bag in the corner
the color of rusted tree
and a white painted outline to hold two drawers
of colorful condoms next to the Keurig Machine.
Three circular winded fanciful lights strung above,
shedding semicircular splotches on the walls.
Looking out on the Brooklyn Bridge in the 1893
painted on in black and grey haunts.
There's a magnetic pillar to the left of the too-deep chairs
that at least are comfortable,
but no one has legs that long.
A magazine rack to the right lends a variety of color, from
Love Match to Lavender, it's a mismatch island.
Smells like plastic and a cold air, with a hint of college sweat.
And there's the squeaky roller chair full of business textbooks and drawings of pigeons and bitten fingernails and arms that lead to the edges of the paper.
Masked with worn All Star sketchers and three clocks ticking,
Long labored skies and horcruxes gathered round the edges.
Yet somehow with all the oddities combined,
it's safe and sound under the flag including.
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 4:03 PM UTC
for now my eyes feast, on the great famine at least
how appetizing it is, to feel ***** swell in your throat like fiz
nobody cares that you have something to contribute
they just want *** and attention
to increase the hypertension, so sleep evades
and weakness of the mind body and soul pervades
every corner of your mouth
every cracked bloodied lip and spike
driven into your chest, bled out trailing south
ignorant steps with sketchers on your chest
they want to be ****** on your coffin and the rest
they want you to hear it when your life ends
when time bends and your mind extends, cranial fluid dripping
saddened eyes drooping, maddened lies falling apart
drama takes center stage as the hot lead part
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 4:41 PM UTC
she wore
her clothes
for the sole purpose
of not
being naked.
she didn't care
about looks.
she wore
shapeless baggy jeans
with a shapeless baggy tee
and ***** old sketchers.
and yet she was
the most
beautiful girl
to walk the halls.
her stringy brown hair
curtained her face
and it was clear
of any makeup.
she was so real.
so true.
so confident
in her own skin.
she didn't care
about the opinions
of others.
and oh
were there opinions.
they called her
ugly.
they called her
a loser.
the called her weird.
and yet
i was so
jealous of her.
of her ability
to dress however.
to never wear makeup.
to never style her hair.
to not even care
what people think.
it seems like
people dress me.
i have to wear
what they like.
i have to wear makeup.
i have to straighten
my naturally curly hair.
i have to wear
a mask.
meanwhile she wore
her clothes
for the sole purpose
of not
being naked.
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 6:29 PM UTC
Word sketcher
In waiting rooms
And stalls
Incomplete thoughts
Writings unresolved
Bits and pieces
In boxes
He hoards
Parts and pieces
Of his very core
Inspired thoughts
That found no rhyme
Lovers lost
Between scribbles
And lines
Perhaps someday
He'll write his book
With incomplete sentences
That have no hooks
Or passionate themes
Of romantic dreams
That run amok
When the telephone rings
And so another lost thought
Of the sketchers get boxed...
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 11:21 AM UTC
O pleasant one
staring at the sun
ruin your eyes and bloom sunflowers
from the pupils of your idiocy
make friends with the girl in the marching band
tell her the sketchers bring out her heart
bring tears to her eyes because she
likes the sound of your heartbreak
show mother that her beauty is more
than her makeup
and her tears at night as she tries to
give you a father
paint the laughs of the people in Dubai
when you visit in the summer
after college and make the rain
your favorite because you can't stop it anyway
share the warmth of your pretty skin
with someone who will leave in 2 minutes
to board the plane and leave a hole
forever in your heart
make everything alright in your last
breaths and let your children
who cry beside you know they are extraordinary
and you forgive them for the mess with the blender
when they were twelve
you're grand so let them feel your grandness
leave every last bit of your heart
in the quiet streets you walk through
love... endlessly
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 11:04 AM UTC
she was like those /light-
up sketchers/ {or a} <pair> of
worn out h e e l y . s;
gone.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 10:14 PM UTC
"Alone in my city"
It is a silent night
I'm Standing out here on a reddish black lavander,
I'm Lonely and lights are creepy bimming,
The pleasant breeze of Gikondo
Are smelling like blossoming roses,
And i glance at the scattered
Low glimming lights of Nyamirambo,
And eye a surreal joyful avalanche.
I grab my phone and start swinging
around the front balcony,
recording my voice singing one of dualipa's songs,
My voice sounds ridiculous
and i hate it,maybe i have
to train it out In the rain.
And i'm Longing to dance like no one is watching,
Because nobody's around for me,
It makes me feel bored and anxious,
And i can't help but lock all the doors
And every familiar window,
my white short,brownish black jumper
and dark red nike sketchers are ready
i need to step out for a while,
And have an ounce wander down my city.
Hot teens of my age are here,
I'm not standoffish,i do some cares,
Beautiful girls with black hairs
and pile black eyes are wandering here,
With skinny ripped jeans
fitting their big sized hips
And my eyes can't help but stuck on
Their cleavage and woow silently,
My city is really too serene and surreal.
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 2:39 AM UTC
In the back kitchen you'll find
two boys scrubbing dishes.
One loud mouthed and lanky;
the other stout with broken English.
Amongst soap suds and grime,
clothed in long black aprons,
these two teens share a bond
stronger than mugs of ceramic.
Though the mason jars may chip
and hot dinner plates burn their fingers,
minimum wage is the thing
that keeps this quirky pair together.
And they dance around the kitchen
in those slip resistant sketchers
balancing bowls, pots, and pans.
Graceful as expert choreographers.
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 6:12 PM UTC
Why do women that i like
Always say **** like
"I like you , but I'm not ready for
something serious!"....right ....
Sounds like ******** to me
Cuz if she liked me she'd be
Ready, but instead she
Doesn't sag what she means
Cuz what she means is
"I think I'll wait for someone better"
Cuz I'm good enough to be
Friend zoned, but she'll never
Admit I'm not good enough ever
Cuz I've seen this before
Some people get scared hearing
Gun shots but A closing door
Causes me way more horror
Cuz truth is the whole package
Doesn't consist of a fat body
Cuz I maybe cute but unattractive
Overall, so overhauled yet again
Is the familiar reflection
That personifies rejection
So I'll answer the question
Of why she doesn't like me
Cuz I'm a sketchers, not Nike
a no name handbag, when Gucci
Gets the coochi, so ***** likely
Will go to some ******* unlike me
With less heart to offer
who will take her for granted
But as long as he's hotter
Or makes money like a doctor
He's automatically above
I guess that's why I need drugs
The only substitution for love
To fill, what never will be filled
By a companion, cuz a bangin
Full gallery of Personality,, don't
Beat salary, so hangin
Like a man from a rope
as suicide takes air out his throat
Left dead, is my chance to advance
like I choke on hops
So of course back to dope
Is how I cope, but I know that
All I have to offer, isn't hotter
than the beauty of a 6 pack
Left wishing I was like crack
Like I was anything that stops me
From being inferior, like an exterior
Less inferior, so she'd want me
But like always all I'm wanting
Seems to just be too much
why can't someone want me
and not be , saying what she does
when she doesn't say
what she says , not saying it cuz
she don't wanna be rude and say The truth... I'm just not enough
Jul 16, 2017
Jul 16, 2017 at 11:39 PM UTC
Im split in two,
Like a pair of old shoes,
One is in the dryer,
The other caught fire,
And I dont know what to do.
Well my mom shouts,
" darlin you cant leave this house..
Til you've got both shoes on your feet!"
But even if I found both shoes,
Id still be incomplete.
Apr 27, 2021
Apr 27, 2021 at 5:33 PM UTC