"sobby" poems
The clock gets me.
It comes to me in the middle of the night
Pulls back the sheets and says, "Hey fucko."
Then it lifts open my sobby wet sand-encrusted lids,
It knows when I'm trying at sleep, pumping quarters
Like I was swallowing yawns, sometimes I try to squint
Harder and take a dream to the next level, whatever
The next level is. It's like Friday night when I wanted to go
Out to do something, whatever something is.
Because I know that if I don't I'll miss that thing that's so
Important that if I were to miss it the clock wouldn't come for me
Again.
And on Tuesday's when I'm knotting a dream around 2 o' clock
In the morning, my web-footed adventure, say, killing your
Boyfriend, say
Fighting the Nazis, say,
Rediscovering that you sent nudie pics to
That rando guy we met in that club that lives
in Prague-
I throw the clock at the ******* wall.
Because who knows, I make the bed wrong
Or maybe I don't cook right, or look right, or
Smile the right way at the right
Time. And you start thinking that I have to die.
The bane of my existence is an imagined feat in your
Walnut-sized brain, slowly numbing us while we're
Supposed to be, say
Listening to the rich, Oxford voice of
David Attenborough.
Instead you're thumbing through that index
of CVS cashiers, just trying to find a scruffy face
To flip your digits to, your homemade justification. It becomes
A feat, an unjust cause of mine to
Get it right, that imaginative and artificial bit you've
Been sewing up Monday twilight.
That's when I go out and jaw your sister, somewhere between
A smirk on your face and a bit of anger at the end of your sentences.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 3:19 PM UTC
This in fact is a reminder
to let you folks know
that I've been here
the whole ******* time
Okay????
You feel meeeeeeeeeeee?
This whole time
I've been here
thinking
about what I'm gonna do next
not really sure
trying to drown out the alcohol
and tell it
not to **** with me anymore
cuz it's really starting
to **** my head up
making me drowsy
sobby
crying like a lil *****
depressed
**** that
no time for that
it's my life
and there's a little switch
in myself
you feel me?
that I can turn on
you hear me?
and realize
that this **** is me
and my life
and the control system
must take charge
must figure out
how I can do this
carefully
and corecctly
without losing sight
of who I am
and trying to be
sometimes I stray
off the path
but **** it
I'm back
so get ready
for this ****
cuz I'm not ever
giving up
and I don't give a ****
if you care or you don't
you either get on
or get off
either way
I'm getting off
so **** u
and all who doubted
I'm staying in this ****
til it's over
and when is that?
up to me
I'm gonna live forever
every second I live
I'm gonna make a year
every year I live
an eternity
so get ready
it's never over
and I'm just getting started
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 12:38 PM UTC
Why so tight on me?
Life...
I cry, I recall
All I did
And I am the one who orders peace
But does not find peace
Life...
How will I get up from here?
They will never comprehend
Why I reaped so little
Those who saw me toil
The song sang
That the Lord Almighty
Gives flesh to the dry bones
But my bones...
I fed them with all I could, I swear
But when they wanted to find connection
All my muscles disentangled from them
My infertile land...
I will call it that
I sow the seeds
And sweated while I tilled
From dawn till dusk
This maybe did not push it in my mind
That the seeds fell on rocks
...That they were choked by thorns
But how am I supposed to know?
Hurts hard
That I wasn't that plant
Whose seeds could disperse themselves
And work out theirselves to grow
...The science of barochory
Was never my experiment
Because everywhere
Was my energy, my efforce, my effort
Well...
They love the sun to shine on them
But it made my back crack and dark
Morning, noon, evening
I feel its burning rays
In spite of all that the sun...
Was reluctant to be
My companion in the league of compassion
Since I indeed worked hard but the sun...
It burnt all my crops!
Now let all my tear glands lacrimate
Let my mucus dribble down from my nose
Let my mouth stay dry
Let my lips be fissured
Let my legs stay confined
And let the palms of my hands
Support sobby chubby cheeks of mine
Because they are the only ones
That seem to care
In condoling my grieve
Oct 13, 2017
Oct 13, 2017 at 7:17 AM UTC