"snicker" poems
I am no longer the
Steady thrum of heartbeats
When issues against women are
Comically displayed on televisions.
Like there's something to
Laugh, guffaw, snicker, snort--
Tell you what, I can name a little
Too many synonymous words
And I can slap them all to your face, too.
I am no longer a suppressed voice,
Unable to tell you and all the other people
That as a girl (and a woman, later),
I have the right to be here.
I have the same rights to life,
To be alive, to be secure,
To have a good life!
And yet, you, who calls yourself a
Man of power, tells me,
"You are nothing."
I am angry with the absurdity
Of it all. Men continuing to abuse,
Women constantly cowering down--
Why are you so intent on showing power
When you are not God?
Why are you so afraid of fighting
For yourself?
I am seething with rage
For those who refuse to accept
Feminism just for the reason
That they do not want to be labeled--
Well, guess what? They have already
Shoved you underneath Weak and Submissive.
Who taught you that you are born
To impress men?
Who taught you that you only exist
To please them?
I will not have any of that ****
I am a person of my own.
I am a human being, with rights.
And I AM FIGHTING to have
The same rights as you do.
Whoever told you that that's
Never gonna happen, can shove it up
Their *****
I will not sit still on my chair while
The next police officer
Asks "Well, what were you wearing?"
To the next **** victim.
You and I both know that is not
The issue here.
No girl should hung their head in shame
That they got touched without consent.
It's not their fault! No one
Deserves to be *****
And no, it's not snuggling, for you who
Even thought **** jokes on t-shirts
Are funny. It's not.
I am for Gender Equality.
For both men and women,
Gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender,
To be treated with equal respect.
With equal opportunities.
With equality.
With no judgment.
Why must you counter that?
Look, I've been sitting in that same chair
For too long while issues spread and get
Larger like the plague.
I thought, let them handle it.
I thought, a small voice would be of no help.
But when did sitting down and staring
Get people somewhere?
When did any of passivity help us?
We already have everything to lose
So why not fight?
Bruce Banner told the other avengers
The secret of Hulk.
And I tell you the same:
Get angry.
Smash inequality.
I will always be right behind you.
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 2:42 AM UTC
sometimes I think
that I really need makeup
to hide me from myself
when I look in the mirror
all I see is my bad
personality
brought to life
small eyes, full of lies
full lips, I'm a *****
my mother likes to say that
I don't need makeup, that I have a nice face
but that doesn't explain away
the facts
because girls snicker at me,
boys call me crazy behind my back,
that my father calls me fat
because "he loves me
and
is
trying
to
help"
so maybe the one, two, three layers of slick and color and shine
will bar the anger and wrongness
and lack of reason or rhyme.
maybe one day i'll have the courage to wash all the makeup
away.
maybe one day
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 12:12 AM UTC
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
did gyre and gimble in the wabe.
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
the frumious Bandersnatch!"
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the maxome foe he sought-
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood a while in thought.
As in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came.
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack.
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
"Has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Calloh! Callay!
He chortled in his joy.
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
7.1k
When im with you a beauty occurs that burns brighter then a sun rise colliding with the morning tide. I can not euphemise the excruciating cry from when my insides die and the pistol lets fly a single beautiful try to illuminate the sky with cries held high. Trophies to a suicidal guy. The flame burns low as you tell me to let go, as i remember that ride through the pure white snow. The beautiful glow of your cold breathes blow. The hole without you continues to grow.
This pistol brings the bullet but pain pulls the trigger. I was just another boy to add to your figures. Im sorry that I can not heal quicker but I am running low on liqour. My friends have started to snicker and say all i do is bicker but they dont understand that all i can feal is bitter. I love you. Thanks for showing me its okay to be a quitter.
The love i gave you was every ounce of my bleeding soal. The love i gave you was pure passion. Sorry I terrified you with my messed up side. Sorry I brought our twin tours down.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 10:49 PM UTC
I was is in second grade when Emily told me "if you where born a few years back you'd be a slave"
As if I hadn't looked in the mirror latley.
Oh how it felt to be the only brown girl in a white school
Minority
Misinterpretation.
A maybe
Is what I was
An outcast
4th grade
I visit my father and his family
My grandmother and aunt whisper,"Gringa" laugh laugh "Sangrona" laugh laugh
My mother hispanic and my father Mexican
6th grade
My best friend is disgusted because I define as Mexican yet can't seem to speak perfect Spanish
9th grade
I learned that bi racially I am a mut,
As if I don't have enough labels already
I must prove to my friends I am white, yet hispanic to my family
My second aunts snicker at my broken Spanish
No need to gain their validity
They can't believe my mother raised me away from their culture
Despair fills their eyes as labels blur mine
Must I prove myself every time?
What if I'm not either or?
Nor a mix
Nor white
Nor hispanic
Nor mexican
Nor latina
Nor bi racial
Nor sangrona
I don't seek your validation but your understanding
I'm not a unique exhibit
Only a 16 year old girl dealing with teenage drama and high school studies
A dreamer at heart
An artist who loves to show it
I have a name
I'm more than my skin color
Or that of my mother's & father's.
If I'm ever asked to prove myself
I will answer with only
"I am already proven
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 11:36 PM UTC
The lawyers, Bob, know too much.
They are chums of the books of old John Marshall.
They know it all, what a dead hand wrote,
A stiff dead hand and its knuckles crumbling,
The bones of the fingers a thin white ash.
The lawyers know
a dead man's thought too well.
In the heels of the higgling lawyers, Bob,
Too many slippery ifs and buts and howevers,
Too much hereinbefore provided whereas,
Too many doors to go in and out of.
When the lawyers are through
What is there left, Bob?
Can a mouse nibble at it
And find enough to fasten a tooth in?
Why is there always a secret singing
When a lawyer cashes in?
Why does a hearse horse snicker
Hauling a lawyer away?
The work of a bricklayer goes to the blue.
The knack of a mason outlasts a moon.
The hands of a plasterer hold a room together.
The land of a farmer wishes him back again.
Singers of songs and dreamers of plays
Build a house no wind blows over.
The lawyers--tell me why a hearse horse snickers
hauling a lawyer's bones.
5.6k
A fierce growl shattered the vampire's coffin
The wood cracks and the monster is awake
Hurry! Dig a pit for the creature to hide
Burn it before the sunrise
Oh do not let the world encounter this chaos
No one should see the vile mien
of a ferocious blood ******* entity
That thrusts its teeth deep into the delicate skin
and schemes for barbaric damages.
Look!
The naive creature stands with utter dainty
A revolting smirk sleeps on its face
Pale skin and a bloodshot gaze
An evil snicker revealed the fangs
See how the eyes move with hostility
Like a venom injected in the name of brutality
Sharp nails and clenched fists
Searching for a throat to slit.
The air now breathes a vengeful sigh
Like a wild beast craves to die
Dark shadows lurk behind the curtains
Silent whispers yodel about a burden
The creature stone eyed, stares back
I breathe quietly under the horrid impact
There!
It is coming my way
I can feel the intruding fear of a feeble prey in my veins
Finally, as if the monster made its mind
It opened the mouth in a solemn cry
A shrill voice so piercing, it shattered my facade
I fell on the ground like a broken glass
It was no monster or a Dracula that howled
Ah yes, my own reflection scared my soul
Years of self hate and agony prevailed
And I have been ******* on my veins in despair
My corrupt heart no longer beats
Darkness dwells in its core; so deep
Now watch the results of constant infight
I am nothing more than a mere parasite
A ray of sun touching me toes,
The toxic memories fading with the tick tock
Once again, I repair my coffin
And slither into a sound slumber on the symphony
Of a robin.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 1:31 PM UTC
Each night I lie myself to sleep.
Everything will be alright.
Each night I count rocky mountain sheep,
And wake up in the morning bright.
Each dawn I drink coffee with cream,
Two teaspoons of sugar or three.
Each dawn I live the american dream,
In my little house by the sea.
Each morn I ride into the city
To teach the new generation.
Each morn I make myself look pretty,
To gain a mans affection.
Each noon I head to the bookstore,
Eat a late lunch at the cafe.
And each noon I lay on my wood floor,
Making a small paper bouquet.
Each evening I cook myself a small dinner.
Dessert made with chocolate and powdered sugar.
Each evening I consider getting thinner,
And every time, to myself I snicker.
Now each night I sing my love to sleep.
I hold him close to my own delight.
Now each night we count rocky mountain sheep.
and we wake up every morning in the bright.
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 12:49 AM UTC
Restless hungry, found a tiny scrap of a brownie in the back of the refrigerator, wrapped in plastic about the size of a large 35 cent quarter.
Gobbled up and gone.
Eye had purchased it a week ago, maybe more.
Actually it was more like eye was held up at gunpoint by a sad young face for a large and green single dollar Bill.
In return, was bequeathed said brownie eye dropper-ful.
The apartment I live in a big city, many apartments were recession empty for a long time. But in the last few years, the empty apartments in the building were almost all sold to foreigners.
Now the bldg is an amulet melted of the lucky overseas fortunate, those overseers overseas seizers, who come to reside in the most fabulous site in these United States...and buy a piece of the dream away from the be-headers, secret police or governments that decide you are now an enemy of the state, as of this morning. No judgement.
anyway, this doe eyed child of estimated six or eight years of age accosts me in our large lobby, proffers me the brownie scrap for a Bill.
me a sucker of a salesman myself, and an eye affician-doe, well those doefuls, those eyes, no one could resist!
so eye asked her name,
but all she could say in
Anglais was...
"Brownie One Dollar?"
laughing out loud for no apparent cause,
the hanging about lobbyists looked at me staring...
Why was eye laughing?
laughing cause eye realized
this elfin child had become
fitfully but fully Americanized.
and I loved her eyes in mine, and when I see her periodically, I say:
"Hey! Brownie One Dollar, How are ya!"
and everyone snicker smiles at the old man with the even stupider grin upon his eyes.
That would be eye.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 7:02 PM UTC
I'm tired of deleting my sadness.
Beautiful prose is my pride, but pride can be broken
just like a heart weary with the world, and soft spoken
words can cut me like any other. I bleed. I need
love and laughter and starlight and music in my life.
We all need poetry and dancing in the kitchen and flowers.
Yet... The power of my words isn't a sacrifice,
and this language is not an altar to your smile.
I haven't bared my soul in quite a while, and for you to tell me not to...
Bite me. **** your needs and **** you.
I'm tired. I'm weary. My normal flights
of fancy and music and puns and laughter
are taking a reprieve. Skip over it if need be.
These words are mine to seek for shelter
and this page is mine on which to bleed.
Sometimes my playlist is full of spite
and tonight cliches
Are just what recovery looks like.
I recycled rhymes, penned cliches,
and god help me today I don't care.
Here's the exhibit. My wrists on a canvas.
Feel free to snicker.
Feel free to stare.
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 12:58 AM UTC
All days may not start well
Things may not go to plan
Punctuality monsoon will tell
Start as early as you can
But not always in our hands
Things at the mercy of rain
Is there any place to stand?
In a Mumbai fast local train?
More so when it is late
Leaving you at the hands of fate
Men push, jostle and bicker
Place to stand is a premium
At your expense, they snicker
For a while, it’s pandemonium
To and fro, back and forth
Swung for all your worth
Then the train stops when it shouldn’t
Getting further late when it shouldn’t
When time comes to alight
You are expected to defy gravity
Jumping a moving train with no clarity
Changing over at Dadar is no delight
Later greeted by grime and muck
Rain at Lower Parel adds to bad luck
Noisy motorists on a narrow street
Make your mind admit defeat
Reaching office is a relief
Your sweat beggars belief
Just the start of a long day ahead
A miracle not to lose your head
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 11:08 AM UTC
strike my eyes lovely
for S. B.
by way of introduction,
when you have gone to confession,
freely admitting you have nothing left for others to harvest,
no seed to plant a new crop, and lies and laughter, interchangeable,
there is no poetry left, not even raisin scone crumbs,
one good friend informs that a forgotten five month old poem,
a computer has selected & resurrected, for distinction
so months later you snicker for you have been seriously
self-kicked away from writing, all your vocabularies,
trite and yellowed overused, and you read
really good poetry and are
slapped-seen-outed by the impoverishment of
your own no-winsome word-smithy,
no delusions, even this, but a-quick script, more a thank you note,
and it’s the only lasting quality is the
genuine nature of its intent
but the poem itself falls bottom of the cliff, short on quality,
a victim of your dissatisfaction
let me explain better
she messages you while the time difference works in her favor,
she reads while you sleep the sleep of the soul-exhausted,
she, scoffing at your claims of motivation deprivation,
as she cherishes this forgotten one,
with words that cannot be ignored
the poem**
strikes her eyes lovely
daggered, this morning phrase cannot go unchallenged
for this a compliment that any poet would
weep for, be inspired by, stung into action,
provoked, ego flattered and challenged to-do more-better,
what writer could want for anything more!
who can own this ability
accept this ultimatum of success, a cross-word crucification
to strike down lovely
the readers eyes, almost all once,
almost excuses me forever
for trying and failing so many times
you smile
but not in the chest where
lovely
needs to strike you
for if you cannot strike the readers eyes again and again, then...
let the moment gleam, and then disappear,
again and again, stored but not restorative
11/21/18
Miami
Nov 22, 2018
Nov 22, 2018 at 7:49 AM UTC
Sometimes gold clings to the bone
And that's where she comes from
On chariots driven by drunken sages
She'll glide gracefully into existence
and then fade right back out of it
Id like to think shes playing a game with her own shadow
to see who's leading who
As the night rolls on
The glaciers will melt into puddles in our cups
The dust settles into a stool next to mine
And takes on a familiar shape
We both look at her in reserved amusement and snicker like young school boys under our drinks
One of us will end up in her bed tonight
Cheers to that old friend
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 2:25 AM UTC
Shimmy wild
Shake down -
This is some
Railroading
Existential
Trolling
****
I’m plugging in-
A glaring glitch
In your singular
Reality.
You’re completely
Right
If you think I’m
Taking advantage of the fact
That you
Think
We’re all just
Programmed players
In your
Sacred
Existence.
My iridescent snicker
Isn’t what’s up for debate
Buddy -
I know there’s a coyote
Lurking about
Somewhere
And I’m gonna let that
Son of a *****
Chuckle & buckle
Up
Until I lose it
In the
Trippiest corners
Of your mind;
Whistling like
Whispers
Where words
Sound like
Wonders
Bathed in
Confusion
At its best.
I’m gonna make you
Wonder
If you’ve ever
Waken up
At all.
--
Gear hopping
Daily
From your
Native system
To
“What the hell’s
Even
Going on anymore?”
Don’t worry
Though
Darling.
I only switched
The blues
And the greens.
You’re only sleeping
If you believe
You are.
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 12:26 AM UTC
Rhyming Review - Sorry I'm Late, I Didn't Want to Come by Jessica Pan
Introverts unite
(separately, of course),
This book is for you,
Jessica Pan is your force
For a year she denied
Her introverted tendencies
She e-dated for friends
Gave up shy dependencies
She tried stand up comedy
She spoke at the Moth
She signed up for improv
Things that make shy ppl froth
Her anxieties could have come
Straight out of my own head
You could try extroverting
Or watch Jessica try it instead
You will learn new tricks
While you frown and cringe
Or snicker sympathetically
Through your reading binge
Sep 26, 2019
Sep 26, 2019 at 3:22 PM UTC
Hazed by the dire rope of death
A subtle incandescence flickered
A white light glimmered like ****
Whilst hushed peaked a snicker
Her smile an adequate sedative
Terminating vivid estuaries
A moment equally competitive
In other eyes deemed honorary
Mi corazón happened upon felicity
Blessed be this origin of jubilee
Freeze we shall in fair amenity
Beneath this fine cherry tree
Feb 15, 2012
Feb 15, 2012 at 7:32 PM UTC
I'll fly out from this rollercoaster
Filled with disgust, with dizziness
The operator stands aghast
Amidst the turning machine
Above his heels,
Within his well-fed hands
It spins and turns
Like Big Brother's voice
On a broken loop
Creaking engine recalls
A sordid, mechanical taste
In the mouths of the trapped
They think it's so wondrous
To be on top of a flightless
Soar to the heavens
To see those ant-like buildings
Like a grain of dust in their hands
But they have paid the price
The people of the carnival only feeds them dreams
While they snicker inside the tents
Fairy godmothers on their breaks
Clouds darken beneath us
Rumbling, rumbling, roar the
Blue-violet crack in the sky goes
As we rode along to the earth's tremble
The view matches not what they promised
But everyone must go on till the ride stops
I sniffed the steps of rain in a small stairway to my senses
I knew right then that ride wasn't what we all thought
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 9:04 AM UTC
“Ah you hate to see another tired man / Lay down his hand / Like he was giving up the holy game of poker”
Leonard Cohen
<>
“Will I remain within God's house at night as shadows drift through dimming my light?”
written by Weeping Willow, gifted to me, by Edmund Black
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I,
***instant understanding, perhaps in my experiential possess,
some answerings perhaps...product of late night, many, many
theological arguments over poker games, with coarse men,
tough women, and ethically-challenged Gods, all faithful regular attendees
With a little bit o’ luck from an occasional guardian angel, even
I possess an occasional winning hand.
now we all commence with a passionate uttered blessing,
for the good beer and salty pretzels, giving thanks for having
reached this act-exact moment of being, here and now, in God’s house at night, plus a holy add-on variation, a swear-to-god (we all snicker) promise solemn, no cheating, no absolutely divine peeking/spying in soulful futures, no fun in that, sanctified & sealed with hearty amens and ****** noises offered for emphasis.
hear you scratching you head, wondering what all this to do
with a whispered prayer of soulful, on-shore drilling deep,
product of a drill bit cutting the black quietude of interstellar voids internal, where there is no censorship, lying an impossibility, and the only questions are super hard, so some never return with an answer truthful
so, I remain in God’s House, playing poker, with deities who
jealous guard their moments as human facsimiles...cherishing humans who guard with care, an ability to see that they and gods differ little, when making honest truth a shared primacy
in the intimacy
of an overnight stay
in God’s house at night,
all our coming-led light dims,
when my/their need is greatest***!
(written sometime this year, Jan. 2021, Manhattan)
~~~~
Apr 13, 2021
Apr 13, 2021 at 6:36 PM UTC
My Best Friends,
They're the ones that been there for me.
The ones who wiped the tears off my face.
They pick me up when my knees are scratched or my tummy is in pain.
They laugh at my jokes till milk comes out their noses.
We all play wrestle,
Kick rocks and tell secrets.
They're the ones that never leave me in the dark shadows.
They stay true and never tell a lie.
My friends are my army,
They protect me all the time.
They turn their heads to the ones that betrayed me.
My friends snicker when they know my crushes,
They greet me with special surprises everyday.
They love my flaws.
They're the people that make me wake up every morning and live.
They're my bestfriends.
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 8:11 PM UTC
How is it that all I see and believe
isn't more than what one can conceive?
Trapped inside these bound'ries of mine,
flipping and flopping down the stream of time,
my thoughts not more than the glint of sunshine.
So I laugh! I laugh! Great boisterous humor!
To laugh and to giggle at the falseness and rumors;
to snicker and snacker at the play of all forms;
to chortle and chuckle at deviations and norms;
I will laugh at the process as my soul transforms.
So I laugh! I laugh! Though pains may embitter!
To laugh and to giggle at all senseless chatter;
to snicker and snacker at what's caught within;
to chortle and chuckle at all that is sin;
I will laugh at the moment when nothing begins.
So join me, my friend, and forget of your fears!
We'll both laugh, together, at the grinding of gears;
we'll both giggle, together, at prophets and seers.
So join me, my friend, and forget of your aches!
Laugh with abandon at this game and its stakes;
laugh with abandon as this machinery breaks.
Apr 1, 2012
Apr 1, 2012 at 5:13 PM UTC
Christmas holidays
Joy, Laughter, Cheer
"Merry, Merry, Marigold," sang Mum
"Merry, Merry Mum," sang Marigold
Cheeks and nose tips
glowing bright pink
against frigid air.
Bodies at sharp upward angle
ski lift carrying them
Up Up Up
Tips slightly skyward
they slide smoothly from the lift
Marigold then Mum
Side by side
Each spies their downward course
With mighty heaves they push off
"Happy Christmas, Mum!"
"Happy Christmas Marigold"
Marigold's helmet
A disco ball
Glitter, sparkles, color
reflecting brilliant sunshine
A comet streaking downward
Screaming toward terminal velocity
Mum carves a serpentine path
A python's body in the new snow
Fresh
Natural
Tranquil
Somewhere near the top
Children hear a hideous snicker-snack
A pine bough vorpal sword
Finds its mark in someone's back
Somewhere on the mountain
Sun melted snow
And the carefree happy skier
had nowhere else to go
Her skiing day ended
Amid the trees and dirt
Her glistening glitter helmet
Crumpled
Filled with earth
Paralysis would be the happy ending,
but this is not that day
The little girl named Marigold
will never get back up to play
That's the tragic outcome
when trees meet vertebrae
Her friends gather together
Engineering an awesome little shrine
filled wth flowers, cats, and baseballs
and even a basketball-sized porcupine
Beneath a mighty pine tree
Friends embrace and say goodbye
Christmas holiday is a rotten time
For little kids to die.
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 11:53 AM UTC
Tread softly my dear,
Embrace the shadows,
Snicker at crumbling fear.
Follow I, for I've seen it all,
Yet it still happens now.
They have your love by the Hanging Tree,
He may be dead before the hour after midnight.
Look for the signs,
No need for the light.
His flickering life shall burn like a comet over Earth,
It will burn away,
Come!
Or you'll have to look for bones in the bay.
There they are!
Ready to string him up,
What shall you do?
Leave or you'll hang too,
Remember,
For I've seen it all.
Now is when you decide,
For I shall never believe you are to live alone,
Not live, but then you should die.
Leave or you'll hang too.
Trod the path of life,
Or you can die with your beloved,
Under the glimm'ring moon,
Here under the Hanging Tree,
What shall it be?
I know already,
For I've seen it all,
Remember.
-Firefly
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 8:15 PM UTC
Every employee's name was listed in the address field
Except for one
The one I never noticed
That we never noticed
We all marched into the meeting room as ordered
Found the CEO on an extra tall stage
To tell us
"Today is Emma McGurk's last day
But she says it's the first day
Of her tenure
As Director of Forecasting of Unintended Consequences
She's not going
So I need all of you, all 300 of you,
To help me terminator."
(Or was that terminate her?)
So we gave each other Brady Bunch nods
I had to look up to make eye contact (or is that I contact?) with superiors
Then we marched to
The cubicle of Emma McGurk
Me remembering what Santa Ana had said:
"With a few hundred more men like the San
Patricios, Mexico would have won the battle."
And the battle wasn't to be won by us
It was to be won by Emma McGurk
The CEO tried to move her
Ten of us tried to move her
Then one hundred
And then all three hundred
Even I made an effort
But she wouldn't budge
So we had to move...
To another building
Hearing that Emma McGurk was still ensconced
In the position existing only in her noggin
Until finally the old building had to be imploded
A fifth-grader winning the honor of triggering
That dusty downfall of Emma McGurk's cubicle
And the building that sheltered it
It wasn't until Signing Day Eve
That I saw her again
Pouring ink at a haiku-con
"The pay wouldn't be that bad," she told me.
"If it was by the snicker instead of the word."
Jun 8, 2012
Jun 8, 2012 at 9:35 PM UTC
whenever you kiss my forehead
that adorable half-smirk
stroking my hair
your snicker (you know what i'm talking about)
the comfort of sitting in silence
you tolerate my love of books
how your stubble feels against my skin
walking together, hand in hand
i can't figure your eye color
you make my heart sing
all the nicknames you have for me
you're willing to work out the kinks in our relationship
stroking my face
'grabbing' my nose to make me laugh
whenever i catch you staring at me
you'll buy me books
talking about the future, our future
you help me with dishes, without a complaint
when you play with my hair
your fingers twitch as you drift off
always being so understanding about everything
brushing my hair out of my face
you pause your video games to talk with me
every time i hear your voice on the phone, i smile like an idiot
drying my tear-stained cheeks with your fingers
you want to talk about anything and everything
"duh"
always caring about my well-being
you see my perspective and i see yours
hugging for a long time
you want to go to church with me
knowing exactly what to say (most of the time)
you keep spoiling me, even though you joke
snuggling together
your mouth twitches before you kiss me
that soft smile you get from time to time
you've never treated me as an object
making me feeling safe and secure
whenever you compliment me
you take naps on me
letting me rest for a few minutes
you don't make sexist jokes
look how far we've come, my love
and how far we have to go
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 2:05 PM UTC
"Alright y'all we're going to do a show for you"
clap clap clap the twelve year old boy gives it all he's got
jumping, brushing the passengers
a last ditch effort to eat dinner
don't look, don't make eye contact.
I think about why,
why not?
Ignoring the orders I allow myself to enjoy
the hungry boy's dance
hip hop music playing from a toy boom box
no eye contact?
I look right into the brown eyes of the hungry boy
a mutual smile forms and that's
all
I didn't have any money
I was twelve, too
all I have is a blue monkey backpack containing a rubber duck
and some toy sunglasses even though it's pouring rain, I always carry them
The Subway screeches to a halt at the next stop
the hungry boy swings smiling out the door almost knocking someone down.
I snicker, it was funny
shhhh don't look
but I just put on my toy sunglasses
strap the monkey securely on my back
and smile at strangers.
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 8:07 PM UTC