"smiths" poems
09/17/14 - 1:15 am
**** "buying me pizza and touching my **** how about you take shots off my stomach and bite my lip
**** "buying me pizza and touching my butt"drip ***** down my ******* and pull my hair
**** "buying me pizza and touching my **** cuddle with me and listen to depeche mode or pink floyd or the smiths
**** "buying me pizza and touching my **** let me read books to you as you fall asleep on my lap
**** "buying me pizza and touching my **** take me out to dinner and I don't mean somewhere fancy, hell take me to an old run down diner in the middle of nowhere and then roam the streets with me at an outdoor swap meet
**** "buying me pizza and touching my **** bake cupcakes with me on a Saturday evening and watch a bunch our favorite movies
**** "buying me pizza and touching my **** take me on a Ferris wheel my second favorite place in the world and look at the way the moon wakes up with me
**** "buying me pizza and touching my **** take me to a rooftop and tell me your greatest fears. Tell me exactly who you are, if you haven't already.i promise I'll remember. I won't be like your dad and forget your birthday. I won't be like your late sister who forgot to say "I love you" on her way out the door that one evening. I won't be like one of those people who forgot to tell how important you are everyday. But I will be your friend when you need it. You're conscience when your too strung out on all the wrong types of right. You're lover when all you want to do is too spoon so you don't feel lost tonight. You're shoulder to cry on when something goes terribly wrong. All I ask of you is
that you do not, "buy me pizza and touch my ****
v.m
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 4:19 AM UTC
"Remember in summer when we used to listen to the smiths and make out in that little hidden park?" He said with a little smirk.
"Tragically, yes." She didn't even look at him. She didn't laugh with him. She didn't smirk back. She looked ahead, stared at the open road, like it was a possible escape plan.
"I miss you." He didn't think. Its funny, the things you regret immediately, the things you regret as they're happening.
"No, you don't." The same monotone voice.
"Why cant we get over this?" Hes not angry, or pleading, or sad. Hes just asking. He doesn't expect an answer.
"Because I hate you." She said. This time she looked away from the road, she looked at him, dead in the eye. Her eyes were welled with tears, they did not steam down her face or smear her make up, they were just there. Like they weren't for anyone but her. And he didn't want to take that away from her.
"You're my best friend."
"I don't care. I hate you, with every fiber of my being, I hate you. I hate you like the sun hates the moon, I hate you." She said it matter of factly, trying to be hurtful. She didn't want him to think she was weak. That she would just give up on this.
"I cant loose you." His voice broke half way though, snapped under the pressure, hiccuped like a prepubescent boy talking to his crush.
She turned to him, lent forward and whispered in his ear.
"Too late." She turned on the ***** of her feet and melted away into the cool winters day, like she used to on those summer ones, where they would listen to the smiths, in that little hidden field, and make out. When they were best friends. When they both knew they could never be just best friends. When they both tasted like the american dream and homemade cooking. When the sun loved the moon.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 6:51 AM UTC
My heathen greeting for I am old now
Wildfowl whispered on marshland like maidens around burning fires,
The Norse winds breathing in my soul ‘Odin doth call’
Blood is the sweat of this iron sword; proud are war smiths
I watch the coal biter musing in blood damp earth,
Before a fire and smoke of tallow he dreams of war
Fill these horns to brim, for I shall drink to Odin’s law
And eat I this meal of bread oyster and mussel shell
I see heavens stained blood red clouds as we cross the rainbow crystal bridge, we shall enter Valhalla victorious once more,
Lo shall they bleed at shores blooded by iron the Saxons fall,
Raged fires shall consume their roof as thunder of north comes forth
You call us ****** that which pierces dark shadows,
We blow our horn in assembly before Odin warriors of the north
Settings suns shone red as quiet falls, serene I see Valhalla
the goat and mead hall, roasting beef and herring
I no longer fear drowning suns for the Valkyries sweet song I do hear
Freyja shall breathe my new reign at dawn
The old wars are over but our fight shall ne’er end,
─ Lo I see my father
ASPAR (Arnay Rumens) © 2013
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 7:40 AM UTC
When crystal droplets of rain fall on the ground
When the smell of rain mingles that with the sand
I will remember you
When petals first open their very eyes
And emit fragrance, showing their colorful dyes
I will remember you
When a rainbow forms, a prism, a multitude of color
When plants germinate, drink rain and grow taller
I will remember you
When autumn leaves begin to fall on the countryside
Crinkles of red and orange, carried with the wind's tide
I will remember you
When full ripe Granny apples and Smiths begin to grow
And the river's sound rhythmically flows
I will remember you
When you harvest your crops and gather your wood
When you light a candle, wait for winter as you should
I will remember you
And when winter snowflakes begin to fall
And you wear your gloves and scarves for warmth
I will remember you
In the long dreary dark winter days
Lingering smells of coffee and apple cinnamon bakes
I will remember you
As the children's laughter slowly returns
And your smile that I long for and yearn
I will remember you
When the sunflowers directly gaze at the sun
And the windmills across the fields begin to run
I will remember you
When drunk are the freshly squeezed lemonade
And along the wind sways, little girls braids
I will remember you
A seasons love, I will remember you
I will always remember you
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 4:36 PM UTC
Gimme money, im angry honey
And don't say to my dad. Gimme more money
It's so dark and cold outside
I don't even care
The queen is dead
Listening to The Smiths
Let's take a night flight
'Cause my papi *****
A golden taste of the life
We wanted to be the sky
Please take me where the gangsters band together
'Cause deep in my heart im a gangsta too
I'm a persian princess
And you are one of those handsome and crazy french boys
My mind is so messy
'Cause you mean the world to me
A golden taste of the life
We wanted to be the sky
Please take me where the gangsters band together
'Cause deep in my heart im a gangsta too
Sad girls
Lonely hearts club
I don't want to feel lonely, sweetheart
Oh your golden hair and ocean eyes
A golden taste of the life
We wanted to be the sky
Please take me where the gangsters band together
'Cause deep in my heart im a gangsta too
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 8:32 AM UTC
Grandmother Willow said
listen to your heart, you will understand
but when it pounds all I want to do is run
my heart says so many things
one minute it's telling me to climb a tree as high as the branches let me
the next it says hook line and sinker
and when I'm with someone beautiful, it says
nothing, it just
flutters and pitter patters
Mulan was always my favourite because
she had her heart broken and still
She Saved China
all on her own
my heart breaks like twigs and crumbles like dry
stiff leaves
in Autumn
and my heart is also a rubber ball that bounces from
one place to the next
too rapidly,
I forget where I am
and where I just was a moment before I ended up
wherever I ended up
my heart is like ice and sometimes if you are the right temperature,
it will melt for you
my heart is aware of fallacy and sometimes if you try to coax it,
everything I ever felt for you
won't exist anymore
a few months ago I was sitting at the back of
a midnight bus
in my hometown,
with a hippie headband on, accompanied with braids,
a long dress and moccasins of black suede
when a drunk teenager pointed and hollered directly at my face,
"you look like Pocahontas, how many John Smiths love you?"
I don't get angry anymore
I just get tired
my heart goes to sleep for days and wakes up at
the sudden gong of recognition
in eye contact
that lasts longer than just a few seconds;
my heart awakens at sunsets,
when I am sitting in a tree alone
and it awakens each time I successfully skip a stone
I've always thought highly of the two
disney cartoons
and it's not just because they can fire a harpoon
it's something like embodying the female
self-assurance,
strength of the soul,
embracing solitude like wind on a stroll
heart strong from a softening,
heart loved from singing just for singing
heart open like eye contact
that lasts longer than
just a few seconds
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 3:33 AM UTC
It’s possible to speak too much to remember what your words mean.
And so is the two-fold danger faced by writers.
Danger is to pace a hole in the floor.
Danger is to stand until you can’t move anymore
like when shallow waves **** your feet into the sand.
So I try not to stand when I write.
I keep a narrow tack
without too many big words
which pedants use to dig great holes in the ground
–moats to keep others out–
or make you think they think big.
But anyone who reads knows about Icarus
and anyone with aims must beware:
to shoot directly upwards is to strike your own head
when like fate the arrow
returns to source.
You’re only as good as your mind,
your characters only as strong as you are.
—at least, this is true in so far as you know.
True in so far as they speak.
For to test them you must torque them
and twist at their cores,
and make opposing forces meet–
but only
as hard as you can.
This makes writing a hill slick with oil.
Insecure. Potential energy.
Potential failure
seated
in all of that grime
that cakes your toes like grease that coats
the teeth of great industrial gears.
So I try not to stand when I write.
But whether the better take comes when you plunge
and you slide and dissolve like so much ice,
I must say I don’t know,
the thought
seems nice.
But the same
It seems like those who let go
Are the ones
with the least to say.
I can't decide
either which way.
All I know about writing is
most sentences are punctuated wrongly.
The period is certain,
but writing is undecided.
It is the figuring-out, a quest-bound troop
that moves with all its own fanfare.
Question marks curl up—
invisible smoke on a summer coal fire:
heat twisting the air like irons in stoke
giving sign of the transformations there withheld.
For fire mediates matter,
so writing stands ever-between.
But I’ve spoken too much and I don’t know what these words mean.
And so I fold like there’s danger in writing,
while danger is imagined like borders on a continent.
Danger is thinking
I'm dangerous enough to keep silent.
Like shallow waves,
given way to sand.
So avoid letting voids form
where the mind dismisses confrontation to more capable smiths.
Writing is –at best– an attempt.
Even with shallow structures
in rhythmic din,
the silent breaks by force of pen,
and all because of the simple fact
that quiet refuses to bend.
All I can hope is my writing upholds these unknowns
while I try not to stand.
But you ask about writing?
Apr 29, 2018
Apr 29, 2018 at 4:28 PM UTC
Last week, Cortney moved into a four story apartment
with seven twenty-something year old roomates, all boys.
The men share the first three floors.
while Cortney has the enire top floor to herself.
I spent the night there saturday night.
And around 10:00pm
a twenty-three year old boy
Blonde, baby faced, named Kevin Smith
stumbled drunk into Cortneys penthouse room.
Kevin smith removed his pants, and crawled into bed with us.
Kevin Smith nuzzled into my face, pulled me close, and rested his hand,
firmly on my ***
Kevin Smiths breath smelled of *** coffee, (and a man who regularly brushes his teeth.
Good Job Kevin Smith.)
At first, Cortney and I assumed Kevin Smith was each other.
after further, mostly-unconcious, inventory of our limbs,
we gathered this was neither the case, nor a hallucination.
Cortney flopped dryly for her cellphone and shined it's light at Kevin Smith.
"What the **** Shouted Cortney.
No response from Kevin Smith.
"What the ****
We got out of bed and put clothes on,
laughed at how ridiculous it was
that a drunk stranger just grabbed my ***
while an unconcious Kevin Smith laid in Cortneys bed.
Kevin Smith sat up
"This is really telling. I uh..."
Cortney cut him off
"Get out."
As she turned on the light.
"Can you guys call my phone?" Asked Kevin Smith,
"No." Said Cortney
Get out of my room."
physically pushing Kevin Smith out of her room.
Cortney held up Kevin Smiths drunk zanax filled body on the stairs.
preventing Kevin Smith from otherwise falling down said stairs and dying.
Kevin Smith showed his appreciation by saying,
"High fives all around"
I watched Cortney strattle drunk Kevin Smith awkwardly, yet also motherly
down the stairs.
I leaned over the railing and high fived Kevin Smith.
"I just want you to know," mumbled Kevin Smith
you guys are my friends.
You don't need to.. I got this".
"No, you really don't" said Cortney,
"if you fall down or throw up on me
you owe me $20"
Cortney delivered Kevin Smith to his bed.
Kevin Smith mumbled something, and Cortney returned upstairs.
"What the **** Laughed Cortney.
"What the **** I replied.
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 9:16 AM UTC
I want to go to a record store with you
we can spend the little money we have left
on The Smiths, The Rolling Stones, The Who, Pink Floyd
for an hour or two we can be angsty teens in the 80s
who drink cheap beer and steal our parents cars
lets pretend were running away
from home, from school, from everything we know
I wanna lay on the floor of your apartment
put a record on the turntable and hear that sweet crackle
we'll listen to what we've bought
and pretend we're watching the stars through the ceiling
they'll dance to the beat like a laser show in our eyes
while mind blowing guitar riffs and drum beats fill our spirits
-kk
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 2:40 AM UTC
ᗩIᑎᕼᗩᖇᗩ
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
"And people say that the Palace is
the heart," Lyn murmurs, looking
around the town. "The heart of
Aurelinaea truly beats within the
town."
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
"Quite so, My Lady." Esshi nods in
agreement. It rings true; Aurelinaea
Palace rests and grows out of the heart
of the large island. It is even whispered
that there are secret passageways long
lost, that only the royal family know.
The towns are pulsing with the lives
of hundreds of thousands. From the
Palace, there is one street, a vein,
thick and wide, that leads down to
different parts of town.
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
And like a heart, one vein connects
to many; thick and thin, wide and
narrow; several pathway, with
and without wooden fences, are
made of three colours; red stones,
yellow stones and green stones.
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
All of them are winding around,
leading to several coloured houses,
gardens, markets, docks, grand
angel fountains that rests upon the
mosaics, bridges and the canals.
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
The air is full of many smells, perfumes
and fresh flowers, fresh cakes, cookies and
breads, fresh produce and fish, fresh cut
grass and the sea. Smiths hammers away
at their swords and armour, people laugh,
children run and play around, cats meow,
dogs barks, seagulls cry and people laugh,
sing, talk and eat as they sail on the canals.
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 4:28 PM UTC
Here she stands smiling.
Grinning she stares.
A girl without a care.
Always lost in her mind.
Always careful not to waste time.
Still I wonder why did she choose me?
She could easily be with anybody.
For some reason we were pushed together.
A special day in smiths, all the way up till now.
The morning I can wake up next to her are the best.
I won't even begin to mention the rest.
My mind wanders as she lets me think.
I'm just taken away by all the memories.
Memories of the past.
Memories yet to be had.
I'll share them all with her.
She is my world.
I love her to death.
Til death do us part...
That's the words right?
Yes, til death do us part...
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 3:14 AM UTC
the last time was when i had the flu on mushrooms.
we were sitting in a circle on the floor of nathans living room.
i was sitting in a swirl of emotion,
in an endless mosaic ocean!
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 7:25 PM UTC
When i first met you you were so bored
i didn't hesitate sitting next to you
you said "your lack of feelings won't be a problem"
and we found each other to share our blues
Disdain, disease, disgrace, disgusted
the first tear was a waterfall
when you realized that i couldn't be trusted
trouble on paradise
the walls started to fall
So i ran away to the east, i climbed mountains, i found a priest
the pain was howling and i was looking for sweet words
I broke a mirror, turn my dark side into fear
cause when you were near i could easily run the world
My given name is Asylum
for a long time you were my ******
you know that i'm a loaded gun
that i used to break hearts for fun
now i'm not so sure
Go ahead and pull the trigger
i'll stand still and you're eager
cuts and bruises, now i'm done
you can hurt me just for fun
you're so sure
that we are better alone
Your heart was a stone, you were a gangster
my skin was cold as an iceberg
now it looks like i was the only amateur
even knowing the right codes to whisper
Give me a cigarette or this poison in your tongue
at least we're still connected by hate
The Smiths on the jukebox, you could sing along
but i guess you no longer believe in fate
So what if i decide to stay, to believe in something, to start to pray
would you look inside my head searching for your eyes?
Can we ask the gods to forgive our misery?
we can fight for victory, and i could die
knowing you have tried to be mine
My given name is Asylum
for a long time you were my ******
you know that i'm a loaded gun
that i used to break hearts for fun
now i'm not so sure
Go ahead and pull the trigger
i'll stand still and you're eager
cuts and bruises, now i'm done
you can hurt me just for fun
you're so sure
that we are better alone
Don't be scared of what i have to offer
i punched you in the face to make you a fighter
When you decide to leave
you can be a better person without me
cause i set fire to your brain
and you didn't let me explain
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 8:04 PM UTC
It's been two months since I last heard from you.
I hate this new age of virtual communication.
We weren't dating but we were
Strangers who knew everything about the other.
I have your words typed and spoken.
Your history of abuse, and mine,
Made the strongest cocktail.
It was my mistake,
The reason it failed
I let you in to explore the real me, Masks aside when
You held me close and tore me open,
All flesh and blood
You left me with words unspoken
A mistake I'll never make again.
Your love and interest in me
has been replaced.
You knew me;
No one knew me like you did
You told me I could be loved;
You gave me a taste
I now believe the lies my brain tells me
I am unlovable, it's true, I fear
Despite the times you said I wasn't
Because if it weren't true,
you'd still be here
I lay here thinking about my life and what I've become
I have no one. I had you.
I mean nothing to you.
Message received
I hear you, loud and clear
Loud and clear
I will be nothing but a bitter memory soon enough
My diagnosis and the disorders have taken a back seat
I've always wanted to fall in love; But when I did, I didn't realize Sometimes love is a one way street
You've left and now I see no meaning
If there was a God, I suppose he'd know this feeling
Does anything matter?
When we were, everything was depressing but you made it seem better.
Now we aren't, and the depression seems like its ***** old menacing self.
My identity is mine,
Yours is yours
Yet I feel like some part of me has died and has now begun to rot.
Soon the rotten smell will go away.
The memories will fade;
Bones will turn to mud.
When we cease to exist,
It will be as it was;
As if it never were.
Just as you incessantly insist.
If I could muster the courage to ask you for a second chance, I would.
But I used what was left of it;
Bleeding in the tub, where I lay
Eyes open, speakers moaning
- Unlovable by The Smiths
May 24, 2018
May 24, 2018 at 10:32 AM UTC
These are the songs I listen to while I cry and think about my beautiful sister and friend who I lost in July. What are your crying songs?
1. Consequence, The Notwist
2. Stuck on You, Lionel Richie
3. Hear You Me, Jimmy Eat World
4. Silence, Matisyahu
5. Drive, Ziggy Marley
6. Asleep, The Smiths
7. To Build a Home, The Cinematic Orchestra
8. Hallelujah, Jeff Buckley
9. Worry List, Blue October
10. Take a Little Time, Josh WaWa White
11. Ghost Towns, Radical Face
12. Kettering, The Antlers
13. Santa Monica Dream, Angus and Julia Stone
14. No One's Gonna Love You, Band of Horses
15. The Scientist, Coldplay
16. Fire and Rain, James Taylor
17. The District Sleeps Alone Tonight, Birdy
18. Yamaha, Delta Spirit
19. These Waters, Ben Howard
20. See You Soon, Coldplay
21. Unconditional Love, Tupac
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 3:01 PM UTC
Warby’s brother died.
While he cycled like a madman
and fell down Smiths hill.
He lay dead on the cold tar,
as the light of the day
faded over his head.
Jen said the man from the car
cried,
and,
shouted at the same time,
(while dusty blood ran around his shoes.)
No ambulance came, no need.
The evening knew.
And so,
at that moment,
frost began and so did snow.
Remember:
The wrinkled cheeks of your
neighbours big head,
stuck in our window.
As she told us all, in silence,
bad news like a song.
Life was hard.
we were all untouched
and continued eating, checking phones,
not thinking much,
Harry warby, 18, now boxed.
He washed the blood and bones
From the floor of the butcher’s shop
gave us cigarettes in the black night
While we shivered in gangs around the streets
We never knew the name of the Man
The Man in the car, so silent in the church.
His shaking hands out of reach of the bible
We were not there we stood outside in the chill
Everyone knew a child had died.
Cars waited, mothers stopped, and
The sky looked like it wanted to snow.
I remember.
Kicking our way over dog **** grass
And broken glass and the rotten
Litter of poverty we wait in silence
For our time to live and escape the estate.
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 6:18 AM UTC
I drank two glasses of a cheap wine and it left a sour taste on my mouth. It was bitter like your tongue and the mindless remarks that escaped from your daydreams. I felt like it was quite appropriate.
Yesterday I read on the news it rained for three days in California. Isn’t it thoughtful of you that you took your rainy mood to fill the blue with clouds and the sun with thunder? Then I mentally cursed myself for hoping that you had taken your gray umbrella with you simply because it would match the gray from your tired eyes.
I drank two glasses of wine and, well, the alcohol didn’t work. The fridge was empty and so was the your side of the bed. I sat on the couch with a half bottle of wine as my company and it rained inside my apartment too. It didn’t leave marks, it didn’t water my plants or wet the books. It just rained and rained.
(I was with you in California.)
Until my eyes dried.
The bottle got warm.
My legs fell asleep and I tripped and fell on my way to the kitchen; I bruised my right knee. I bit my tongue and didn’t make a sound.
The rain didn’t leave any marks, the wine did. A blood red stain in my living room mat to match the dark red sleepless nights you left with your apology filled goodbye written on a wrinkled napkin. These sleepless nights you left me with to match with the city that never sleeps.
Oh, so very thoughtful of you.
(You should’ve left me with the whiskey I kept under the kitchen cabinet, your The Smiths album and some painkillers for my metaphorically shattered bones.)
(I never really liked red wine.)
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 8:15 PM UTC
*the feminine powerlessness of art, and the then again strict rubric of Darwinism's dictatorial regime to talk cool - sieg heil throughout, as a running honk! honk! (joke) on the sly.*
a testimony to high school:
don't ever listen to The Smiths
or The Cure, or Depeche Mode....
or any of my uncle's **** list...
the point being,
you can swagger among
Eucalyptus trees and feed the frenzy
like any Ibiza patron might;
cos' there's a koala rummaging
your drawers so to speak:
due to an episode of king's testicles
in the attic - hey presto!
a grand piano! hey presto! coronation's
fireproof underwear!
lovey dubby dub dub, and a coercive
test for nibbling on a Maltese ginger...
dabbling the fearsome offence...
the only school Morrissey attended was nostalgia.
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 9:49 PM UTC
Lost lovingly in the lustre of your love
Softly stroking the texture of the moments-
The time and trust we have shared- the definition of romance.
The awaited angel from heaven above…
Your choicest body-tickling words,
Softer than satin and fresh silk
Nurturing in nature like milk
You are gentler than the breeze of a thousand shades.
Thoughts of you colour my mind like butterflies
Mere thoughts of you burn my heart
And melt away pain like Picasso’s art.
Your love makes me fall for you like lies.
You are that tickling fire within
The strength when I am weak
Like 7 days you build my week
And make my world spin.
If I ever burn to death,
You are that tickling fire
Growing day by day- a gift from Messiah
To me you mean the whole earth
You perfect my weaknesses with your care
And melt me into shape like a steel smiths-man
Till I am a refined man
In you I feel defined and free like the air…
That tickling fire
Of two hearts burning together in flames of love…
This is the art of my imaginations, handwriting of my heart and tribute to your heart. Engrave it on your heart
OutspokenArt #2014
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 2:35 AM UTC
I turned away from reality
And entered another world
A world deep within the recesses of my mind
I can now enter another make believe world
Walk 'neath a canopy of autumn leaves
In the company of woodland elves
Watch in wonderment as faeries
Perform their nightly fire fly dance
Why don't you come with me
And see the dragons lair
Reach out a quiet hand, gold and diamonds to ensnare
Or we can visit the dwarven smiths
See their hammer beaten art
Works of spleandour unknown to modern man
In dwarven forges the art does live
We will gather at the summer fayre
Where sweet harpen music sounds
In that pleasant sunlit glade
Where birds and butterflies abound
Take me not from this wondrous place
Where magic still survives
Where the power of the wizard staff
Helps the good to stay alive
Suddenly a buzzing sound destroys this tranquil scene
I wake to the sound of my alarm
Realize it was just a dream
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 3:20 PM UTC
sad,
that's what i am,
right now,
in one in the
morning,
listening to
the smiths,
and i realize,
that i will stay
like this,
always.
my head hurts,
along with my heart,
and not even you,
can make the pain
disappear.
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 5:08 PM UTC
pub magnolia
Friday night thoughts
remembering the dish
still dreaming of
savory eggs benedict
too many moons to count
the vibe
energy
remains free
spirited bliss
fires raging here there
smoke is ******* **** up
IPA is tasty
sausage is spot on
smiths playing
forgetting the turmoil
air is so fresh now
young goddess
recommendations
pan out
smart girl
so wonderfully pretty
the Cure love cats
classic moment in time
brilliance
so fond of your smile
shine on
precious gift
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 5:52 PM UTC
He broke his neck thirty years ago
I break mine more with each
promise of keeping you in my life
but Ian Curtis is on my mind a lot,
grieving for souls I will never know.
Some of his songs are so sad,
like hearing the premature
snap of his bones
Cannot help but resent
how clever society is
to glamorize the unglamorous,
even I am aware
the flowers upon graves are not just for
aesthetics, but we are still always trying
to cover terrible tragedies
with beautiful things.
Am I just as guilty?
I cheat on you with him.
His spirit through my headphones,
hoped if I listen intently
the narrative changes.
purple marks on your neck
just that weekend you
taught me what a hickey was
and how they felt good
yours’ declare ownership,
not declarations of love.
You walk into art class,
purple painted across your throat.
If love could save Ian,
had I lived in the mid-seventies
he may very well have lived forever
and his throat painted by love,
rather than the bruises of a noose.
The letters I wrote you were in vain,
my mistake quoting those Smiths’
songs:
Morrissey is an *******
and so are you.
I still
am too scared to
wonder how far I am willing
to go
to reap the benefits of sorrow.
"New Dawn Fades"
tears into my heartstrings
feeling responsible in
the prevention of another
suicide
I grapple onto
what a savior complex was,
your dead father
the tracks on your arms made me cry
but I thought it was stupid.
It made me hate myself more
why could I not learn to undo
my drive to save anyone,
but myself
The phone call
where I broke up with
you and you
pretend to
overdose on the speaker
One of us had to grow up,
had to make it out alive
And I love you again,
every time Ian's ghost
sings Isolation.
And I leave you there,
sure, to end the album
after the final song.
Aug 9, 2021
Aug 9, 2021 at 10:31 PM UTC
He told me he likes Bukowski.
That was the first sign.
You see, boys who like Bukowski and me
Don’t get along.
You see, Bukowski and me
Don’t get along.
I’m a Sylvia.
I’m an Anne.
A Maya and a Virginia.
You see, I am well versed
In death and silence.
You see, I have no interest in
Alcohol and misogyny.
He told me he likes The Smiths.
Now The Smiths
In and of themselves are great.
I’ve always been a fan of melancholy,
Of heartbreak.
Now The Smiths
Who have been morphed into this
Pseudo intellectual mirror are not my thing.
You see, boys pin me to a pedestal
For merely knowing who Morrissey is.
You see, I don’t care if
Dying by my side is such a heavenly way to die.
You see, I don’t plan on dying with him.
He told me he drinks his coffee black.
That would explain
Why when he kissed me
I tasted nothing but bitterness.
That should have been a warning.
You see, I need a little sweetness.
He told me he smokes cigarettes.
You see, cigarettes remind me of my father.
He told me I’m not like other girls.
As if other girls are a disease.
As if I am this magical creature.
This manic pixie dream girl with wings.
You see, there is nothing special about me.
I am me. Simple.
I told him he was a sad boy.
A boy who pretends like he’s wrapped in barbed wire
But is really a caged petting zoo animal.
A boy who will smile like he has a secret
But really has nothing to share.
You see, sad boys drink whiskey.
To me, whiskey tastes like listerine without the mint.
You see, he tasted like whiskey.
You see, he reads Bukowski.
You see, he listens to The Smiths.
You see, he drinks his coffee black every morning
And smokes a cigarette on his balcony
While reading the newspaper
And listening to a vinyl record.
You see he doesn’t love me.
He loves the idea of me.
He loves the idea of sad girl.
You see, there’s nothing romantic
About a boy who thinks romance is a Hemingway novel.
You see, I hate Hemingway.
You see, sad boys and me don’t get along.
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 3:21 PM UTC
i dont really know what im interested in,
but right now my interest's in you.
right now the only ambition i have
is to hold boomboxes outside your window.
and that sentiment was cute when i was 15,
skipping gym class to spend
some more time as a friend,
but as of right now, i should have a drive
towards something more responsible,
than the feel of your cheek
against mine.
i have no clue what im capable of,
but how can any feat compare,
to the brilliant warmth that is
found in those eyes
when one of these jumbles of words
makes you smile?
or better yet, laugh?
these curls, these crunches, these chinos, these white strips,
these copies of The Economist and the New York Times,
are all in attempt to make sure that the glow
that emits from those pores remains visible.
health is a clever cover-up, without the motivation,
i'd listen to The Smiths for just the melodies,
and help myself to another portion (of bacon).
right now, the only reason i'm writing this down,
is i hear that chicks dig poetry,
they're constructed in this way to feign substance,
so that you might associate substance with me,
and when i go on stage to perform these words,
it's in hopes that you'd hear them,
or at least hear that i'm a "slam poet".
these moments of knowing and not-knowing,
make this life worthwhile
and honestly i feel like that's f*cked up,
but i'd rather the question be,
one where you're the answer,
than one where you're not a factor.
Sep 24, 2011
Sep 24, 2011 at 2:28 AM UTC