"suspiciously" poems
the girls had been chattering and laughing in the dining room when suddenly nan, zoey, and madison charged in the room. making everyone stop and look at them. "Alright ******* Madison stood with her arms crossed and an enraged look in her dark brown eyes. "who the **** stole my money???" she questioned. the girls just sat there and looked at her quietly. "okay, none of you broke *** hos want to fess up? you're ballsy enough to take my **** but you're not ballsy enough to stand up to me? i see" Madison shouted. sadness and hostility in her eyes and voice.
"who took Madisons money? i wanna know right now!" Cassie stood up in anger. quickly rushing to Madisons aid. Madison nudged her alittle and rolled her eyes. Cassie folded her arms, mimicking exactly what Madison had been doing. "BROKE *** HOESSSS!" Cassie screamed, pointing at all the girls. Pyper rolled her big blue eyes and flipped her long crimson red hair laughing, "nobody stole your money you idiot, you probably just misplaced it." she laughed, fearlessly looking madison straight in the eyes. which made nan look at pyper very suspiciously as she read her mind. "hold my earrings please." Madison began to put her hair up in a bun. "what is going on in here?" Cordelia stormed in the room with her arms folded. "put your shoes on Madison." Cordelia looked at Madison in confusion. "nothing, Madisons spazing out because she thinks that someone took her money. and now she's getting all 'ghetto' and bent out of shape about it. taking her payless heels off like she's actually going to do something." pyper rolled her eyes and joked, making the rest of the girls laugh aswell. "payless? i only wear chanel." Madison flipped her hair. Nan looked Pyper in the eyes suspiciously, shaking her head from side to side. "i'm going to say this once and once only." cordelia shouted. "i will not have any fighting or steeling in this house. and if anyone is caught fighting or steeling, you will be expelled. it's a big bad world out there girls, up until now you've all lived very sheltered lives and i'd hate to send you out in it to fend for yourselves." Cordelia sighed. pyper got a very sad look in her eyes. "sheltered" she snickered, "right."
Nan looked at pyper sadly, still reading her mind.
"what are you looking at?" Pyper shouted at nan viciously.
"i'm not sure yet." Nan replied curiously.
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 1:14 PM UTC
8th grade.
That was the year everything
went to hell.
That was the year I went on a diet.
I decided to shed
my last shred
of dignity,
along with 60+ pounds
in order to impress the boy with the dark, curly hair.
That was the year I lied to my parents.
"Did you eat dinner?" they asked.
"Yes," I replied,
and they believed me.
They couldn't tell
that something wasn't quite right
with their perfect little girl,
who was starving for the perfect body,
and for attention from the boy with the dark, curly hair.
That was the year teachers began to ask questions.
Mr. May, with the spiky hair and burly arms,
glanced suspiciously at my pale skin,
eerily translucent and decorated with bruises.
Mrs. Fitz, who had recently been on a diet herself,
always made sure that I had a lunch,
although she never made sure I ate it.
Mrs. ***** a small woman with a big personality,
used to make comments about eating disorders
just to get a rise out of me,
and when that didn't work,
she went a step farther.
Mr. Daley, the 7th and 8th grade guidance counselor,
consumed every lie I fed him,
and when I grabbed a Jolly Rancher off his desk
on my way back to class,
he smiled with triumph,
as if he had cured me,
but he didn't see me throw it away
as soon as I got home.
Those extra 15 calories
would have ruined my chances with the boy with the dark, curly hair.
That was the year I couldn't leave the house without a sweater
because, even on the warmest day, I couldn't stop shivering.
That was the year all of my hair fell out.
That was the year I lost most of my friends.
That was the year everything went to hell
because of a boy with dark, curly hair.
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 10:48 AM UTC
So I heard once that there’s always
some gnarly looking carrot
in every bag of carrots
and you’re supposed make a wish on it
if you get it.
But I didn’t have a bag of veggies
I had a jar of Gumby and Poki
shaped gummies.
Finally the day came when there
were only two Gumbys left.
One was bent in half and
smashed together
and the other looked as all the rest had.
I pulled out the sad little gummy and
made a wish
like it was some ugly carrot.
I wished my crush would kiss me,
And giddily I walked to a coffee house
because I was hoping he would be there
even though I sternly told myself that
he had no reason to be there.
I found the coffee house closed and knew
my wish wasn’t happening that night.
I talked with a friend about my woes
and she confessed her heartache.
We smiled and laughed and died
just a little on the inside.
We had hoped that in college we wouldn’t
feel like middle school girls
with unrequited crushes.
The next day he dropped off a fish
(and this is no euphemism
or pretty poetry slang,
I opted to fish-sit while
he went home for break).
After he left, and
feeling more than silly
I took out the last Gumby
and pretended.
I pretended that it was every wish
on a boy I had made
since I realized boys weren’t
completely disgusting.
On my way to class
I held the little gummy in my
frozen, clenched fist
and wished
that’d he’d kiss me before he left.
I made it really specific
because every movie I’d ever seen
with genies in it had taught me that
specifics were key to avoiding
mishap and mayhem.
Obviously, it didn’t come true.
And I feel like I’m back in middle school,
wishing on ugly carrots and stars
that look suspiciously like airplanes.
Everyone has crushes,
and still more wishes.
Why I thought
at the age of nineteen
when the glamour of Disney-endings
and romantic-comedy plots
had tarnished to realism,
that a Gumby gummy prayer
would come true,
well I’m not entirely sure.
Maybe it’s no matter how old you are
there are always ugly carrots
and shooting stars
and fast airplanes
and romantic comedies
and gummies in the shape of
kids’ show characters.
Maybe no matter how disappointed I am
there will always be unrequited crushes
and genies for wishes
and God for prayers
and heaven forbid
hope.
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 11:53 PM UTC
How do you tell someone that you’re tired of existing?
No one has done anything wrong, and by all normal standards this day has been quite nice, but something in me
can’t
handle
that.
Something in me can’t stand this constant standard of
“surviving”
Being exhausted of simply being is draining and no amount of stimulant can correct this.
How do you tell someone that it takes all of you to simply wake up in the morning? To wake, to breathe. How do you tell them that it’s nothing they’ve done, but you just can’t do it anymore.
How do you say **** like this?
How do I think **** like this?
Where could I go?
France?
Scotland?
How far would I have to run for these hounds to stop their pursuit of me?
Will they stop this chase?
The answer is no. No, I don’t think they will.
I think they’ll keep ******* chasing me.
They’ll keep coming. They’ll keep
this race no matter how run-ragged I may be. They’ll keep pace, keep biting at my ankles, keep snarling, snuffling, tearing the ground with their paws. They’ll hunt me until the end— no matter how many rivers or oceans I cross. Or maybe the river Styx will clog their all-knowing-noses….I shouldn’t have given them my scent. But they know it now. They know it and they want more.
I’m living off jolts of too much caffeine right now. What way is that to live? Living, though is an overstatement.
I’m not living— I’m just taking up space.
Taking up space and filling up volumes with these hollow words— as if I don’t know how stale I sound.
So where can I go? What do I do?
What the hell do I do when I can’t even decide if I want to be Alive?
What do I WANT to do?
I WANT a house in the mountains.
I want an herb garden planted in the shape of a sacred spiral. I want a river to bathe in, a fire place to cast into,
a cat to hate and watch suspiciously,
a dog to keep the hounds at bay,
a kitchen to make magick and medicine in, and a bed warmed by someone else.
I want cold nights and mornings warm
only because there is skin against my back.
I
want not to be a prisoner of my own words.
I want to stop dreading the day that I run out of words-- because the day I run out of words will be the day I let the hounds catch up to me.
I want moonlight&moonshine.;
I want sunlight and dizzy sun spots.
I want trees and the sound of a roaring tuck.
I want sweat and the smell of Wood.
I want woods and warm skin at my back.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 5:26 PM UTC
I think my mom's a homophobe
I think this because she said broken truths when I told her about homecoming
I told her about the girl with soft lips and small hands that fit perfectly with mine
But I just called her Haley
I had new words she told me
They suspiciously matched my schools words
Freak abomination loser
I now wonder if they were talking on the sidelines
I know
I'm supposed to love my mom
But do I still have to
If she hated me first?
She praised the all loving god onto me
Telling me his love was a lie
And I was going with the sinners
To the place where they drink fire *****
I think my mom's a homophobe
I text my religious cousin
Does God love everyone
Undoubtedly because you are perfect to Him
Then why does my mom hate me?
She made me get on my knees and pray
Pray a prayer I hope goes unanswered
By those who I think aren't even there
I think my mom's a homophobe
I know I'm supposed to love my mother
But how can I
If I don't even know how to love myself?
Every
What is that
You're such a waste
It can be cured
Like a snake on the asphalt basking in the hate
Until the asphalt is the road and I am run over by
Self pity. Self Hatrid. Self Absorbed.
Yes **** the terrorists
**** the rapists
**** the robbers
and the muggers
**** them all
Because who I love
Is more important
Me, I'm in dire need of your opinion
Mirrors don't line my eyes up anymore
I think they forgot where to put them
Because I forgot
Where to look
Looking only at the negative
Going on suicide boards
Instead of
Love boards
Why am I the one being subjected to evil
When I am only trying to love
Being hated for only
Loving
Mirror mirror on the wall
Who is the prettiest of them all
My lover is the one I see
Her soft lips and small hands
I think my moms a homophobe
And I don't know how to breath anymore
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 12:06 AM UTC
You’re wishing plus wanting
to win the other side
remove your pride,
you untied tidal pool,
the wide subdivide of these paper pages.
Unrelenting numbers
remind you of the next stages,
taking you wildly to Namibia,
surrendering you to Zimbabwe,
the terminal station.
The narration vocalizes the translation of quotations,
your obligation to the violation of the rules, the regulations,
vulgarization of spoken word.
Pretty paintings plaster typecasts,
the pitter-patter of pity’s pretty ******
quickly shifting refurbished velvet sofas.
Overcast symphonies outlast
witty recast stanzas,
scores with notes naturally quote
verses romancing seltzer spines
noticing the negotiation of sore throats.
Oblivion’s oblivious to the people,
obnoxiously obscene with syncopated
saturation of public vital signs.
You’re the vain strain of virus
photocopying yourself within skin,
waste your sin on tattoos trapped on shins
safety pins selecting prints
pinning sets of twins to tanned wrappers
protecting official reports.
The ossuary welcomes records printed on thick paper
suspiciously missing skeleton swords.
Writing stories reversed while tipsy,
quickly preforming risky poetry smog,
sweetly omitting secret words,
trying to spell simply without the proper prologue.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 1:52 PM UTC
Little Red Riding Hood
a name given to thee
loved helping her mom with chores
and one day to run an errand for her
Put on her red hood ,
a basket in her hand
and off she went into the familiar woods
while Picking up berries she heard a roar
Quickly she ran to her granny's door
Poor granny was on her bed
Amused... Red Riding Hood quickly came closer and said
Suspiciously....
"What a big pair of eyes you have grandma"
"What a big nose you have grandma"
"What a big pair of ears you have grandma"
"What a furry big thing you are grandma"
But grandma was too sick to answer...
Her suspicion grew stronger
It wasn't her grandma lying on the bed
Pretended to be sick but salivating for her crazily
Her breathing was heavy,
her howling could almost be heard
What a tricky big beast!
Carefully she took her bow and arrow from her basket
and shot her cunning wolf granny in the heart
Hurriedly she opened the closet
Granny was safe , granny was still alive
Little Red Riding Hood hugged and kissed her
and thanked her real granny
for the archery lessons she gave her...
sharpened her mind
shooting her target
saving a life
saved her granny's life
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 5:04 AM UTC
I sought satisfaction in stupid sheepishly and shallow strides.
Scared subconsciously, I swallow and sustain substance for pseudo self esteem strengthening.
I seemed of in service to slumber and stinging sadness, shots sank like ships, submerging into the sea of my swarthy stomach in seconds.
I somewhat sympathies as a sailor, sweating, struggling and swimming in slipping sobriety saturated in my sulking style.
Scanning swarms of serial swindlers, striking sculptures stances of self-doubt.
I stammer in a storm of slurs, ******* down my safety, stopping myself at the stoop of the saloon I see a seductive silhouette staging the space.
She stroke my sight, standing sanguine in scarlet, soul sold in high heels.
The smoothest sculptures in seven square miles were subjugated into scree and I was ****** in submission.
Stubborn staggering suitors, stand shaking silently as she is stopped by sharks stalking and snarling sycophantics.
So straightforward in suggesting their secret starvation to strip sensations, seem by seem, like a sub-par **** cinema scene.
They step and speak short.
She smokes off, stranding the scree in smoldering slaughter.
Its sad this soul-less sanctuary soaking up sorrows.
So self inflicting, and so satisfyingly side splitting.
She sported her spurned, scorned off into sadistic solitude and stained sticky stigma, sobbing to sleep.
So spent from simple stocked, stored and supported senescence of ceremonial subjection of ****** status.
I savior my sincerity, and stretched out of this strange stadium of stooges.
So long scarlet sanguine I sang softly, as she stole my sight suspiciously in sync with hers.
Sacrificial seconds split from smearing stolidity to sharing a smile.
That's simple satisfaction, so I seen scripted in sitcoms and shows.
Supporting sapiens in stasis to see sappy stunners on screen, to stare snoopy, as stabs and slashes strike socially into socialites of so called sanity and sovereignty.
To sweetly pay salvage as slaves of soppy studio slander.
Such is this sorry Saturday night, I am solidified in sedation.
Dec 14, 2017
Dec 14, 2017 at 12:00 PM UTC
It was a question;
a simple inquiry
that I had been running from,
catching me off guard,
trapping me in this feeling,
that I had been found out,
before I had found myself.
I remember taking offense,
as if it were an accusation,
rather than a question.
Out of breath,
and suspiciously defensive,
I was frightened out of my mind.
But it had been asked with such disdain,
such disgust and disapproval,
so I kept running.
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 3:04 PM UTC
Could someone point the way
to salvation please or even
just a full night's sleep,
without being bone-tired?
Kind people, could you
please tell me
a way to feel again?
If not, could you just
tell me how to trust again?
You see, as of now,
I'm in this ugly space where nothing is
non-existent and something is just a warning
that I am going to be doing something
irredeemably dumb.
Did you hear, kind madam, that yesterday
a girl, barely four months old,
was killed because she was lesser?
Did you know that her older brother
burnt her hand intentionally, and her
father only laughed? Her mother
killed herself, you know.
Rumours say, her mother-in-law hated her
and after the girl was born, she only hated
the woman more. The father, as rumours go,
made her sleep on the floor in the kitchen,
after she birthed a female. The mother hated
the girl so much, but she knew the greatest
punishment would be to make the little girl
live out her life with her father and brother.
The mother couldn't tolerate looking after the
little girl any more, they whisper, let alone,
look at her every day to see a sign of her failure
The police verified the woman died due to rat poison.
Whether she drank freely or due to someone else's
Persuasion and other such insignificant details have
been carefully lost and burnt. The little girl, with no
One to look after her, died. Markings that suspiciously
looked like hands were found around her neck.
They covered it with a dear little scarf and ignored it.
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 1:54 PM UTC
Another day, another hour spent looking at cadavers,
Surprisingly fun, and suspiciously fresh bodies-
"Hey Mrs. Johnson, what do you think John did with his life?"
She gave me a look that didn't seem too pleased at my inquisition.
Or the fact that I named our body John.
Morbidly, I thought she looked at me like a zombie would look at our friend John like a cold cut subway sandwich,
Although I figured if I were a zombie,
I'd prefer my meat fresh, and not embalmed
with formaldehydes and ethanol.
"That thought seems inappropriate and not respectful of the medical sacrifice 'john' made " she said dripping with in my opinion too much sarcasm for me to NOT respond too.
"Well, John is dead, I don't think he's getting offended anytime soon," I retorted.
Her smile contorted like the prudish smile John offered me in support.
"I'm not worried about offending the corpse as much as I am the ghost, and this Lab will NOT be haunted under my watch"
(Her pride in her wit inflated much like Johns body inflated with decomposition and bowel gases.)
I apologized internally for the comment and action I was about to make-
"This medical dictatorship has to collapse sooner or later-
and I still want an answer too my question"
And with that,
I took the nearest scalpel to his bloated stomach,
and watched in disgust and glee as everyone else ran for cover amongst the ****** of stomach contents and Johns final retribution in death.
I got an A+ in that class.
Apr 5, 2021
Apr 5, 2021 at 3:25 PM UTC
Hello you say as
you saunter through my door to
flop onto the couch and
fluster me with a lazy grin.
got any food?
I am elbow deep in a bag of nachos
why?I ask suspiciously
and you smile wider.
Because I'm hungry, you say
and
kind of fried.
Of course you are
and you
laugh and grab the bag
your fingers brush mine amongst the
crinkly chips and
the artificial cheese dusting.
Who, you ask later between
crunches, is hotter. Gerard Butler or
Johnny Depp?
I nibble a chip in
consideration distracted
by your arm sneaking
around my waist.
It is obviously
Gerard I say because of
reasons I forget when you
start to kiss me.
The nachos suddenly lose
importance because
you taste like
smoke, cheese
and a friday afternoon.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 5:20 PM UTC
Suicide should only be committed once
So why the hell do I try every couple months
Something's up with the water
I don't feel the rush like I used to
There's no happiness tutorials on YouTube
I laced together my shoes, through them on a wire and convinced myself to sit and think
The kitchen sink's dishes stink
But you are what you eat and I had a helping of insane
Low key lowlife, broke and high under a spotlight
No ice so there's more drink at the drive thru window with my eyes suspiciously low
I'm ridiculously close to laughing what's left of my mind away
I forgot how it feels to feel fine today
It's either love or hate and there's no areas of gray
*I wish I had a thousand hours to sit down and figure out exactly what the **** that I've been running from
I wish someone would stick around long enough to identify with the place that I'm coming from*
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 4:28 PM UTC
Fix me a dish of your lie delicacy
Pretty please
With a cherry on top
And chocolate syrup aphrodisiac mind body control
Oh yummy, so delicious
May I also ask for a glass of fluoride water to compliment
Your plague cooked to perfection
Fake and suspiciously over-sweetened
Your contamination is a serious thing
Somebody call the health department
Because women and children are crying
Their stomachs are being filled with artificial hope as they
Throw it all back up onto the just-mopped linoleum floor
Check, please.
Jun 12, 2010
Jun 12, 2010 at 1:34 AM UTC
Do be sure all passengers are comfortable
Human and not quite human alike
Don't ask non-human passengers to be in charge of the map
Those from the sea especially
Do try to entertain your passengers
Your idiocy will surely do
Don't act suspiciously when trying to avoid checkpoints and borders
Police officers are not stupid
Do make sure your passengers are well cared for and given everything they need
Even the comatose ones
Don't. Ever. Stop. Driving.
Do hope you get there in time
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 2:07 PM UTC
Your cause for concern is
a cause of concern for me
Its greeted very suspiciously
I believe it to be fictitious you see
Projecting your issues onto me
Like I'm some wide screen tv
Go sort out your own "problems"
Before you come and preach to me
And I'll do the same
I'm tired of the hypocrisy
Neither am I easily deceived
Asking "are you alright?"
When really you're
Asking "are you alright with me?"
But I don't work in-security
Guards up, words no matter how deep
No longer move me
Your fault lines
Causing tremors
when there's no need
But not to worry
I'm lucky
Got those that
support sincerely
And know me well enough
to go about it surreptitiously
Pancake hiding the healthy
Mmm yummy!
Ninja motive, Jackie Chan, Bruce Lee
I aim to Inspire through action (movie)
Cause Advice is the biggest vice (city)
And we're all guilty
Talk the talk
But when it comes to walk the walk
Everyone must be claiming disability!
But Life is no Game-Boy
No cheat codes, No PS3
Bond over passions not problems
And BE Happy
Its your own responsibility
So don't look to me
This isn't Advice, or a Preach
It's a rant, wrapped up in
a Vent-rilloquist, Dummy!
You do you,
I'm just doing me:
Seriously, Silly :)
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 3:02 PM UTC
My words, defiant, deny me;
they speak in low voices
on dark porches, lose me
in strange cities;
they forget the warmth
of my mouth.
Eyeing me suspiciously,
smug with voweled virtue,
they dismiss my attempts
at reconciliation, saying only
We don't even know who you are anymore.
Dec 28, 2010
Dec 28, 2010 at 8:55 AM UTC
I was always the kind of kid who liked to fix things
I bought myself a pink hammer when I was 8 years old
and I liked to “fix” things with it.
turns out I wasn’t all that good at fixing and I
mostly just broke things.
nobody really had a problem with it until
I broke myself and then
fix yourself!
they scream
go! nail yourself back together!
but all I really feel like doing is sawing myself in half.
I could see myself failing to fix anything,
watching helplessly with my pink hammer while they
screamed loudly, endlessly
fix yourself fix yourself fix yourself fixyourselffixyourselffixyourselffixyourself
they tried everything.
they took pliers and pried open my brain they
measured and remeasured my sanity with tape and pills
that looked suspiciously like
the bubble in those bars you use to make sure something is even
my mother and father wore safety glasses as i took an axe
to my sense of self and buried it with
a shovel bigger than the three of us
“she’s a bit of a fixer-upper” they say
as if they’re selling a house
they try to fix me up, gorilla glue me together but
it’s too little, too late
I sawed myself in half and there’s
no fixing this one.
Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 8:15 PM UTC
Lucid in a lush landscape, baked by burning Savanna sun
The undeveloped endlessness all encompassing
My feet sink into the tender tissue
Of Green Mother and Infinite Father’s lovechild
The watering hole is overpopulated with thirsty families
Suspiciously inspecting the albino primate
I make undeterred deliberate steps skirting hydration
Drawn to his penetrating and omniscient orbs
A genuflect to show respect, my head bowed and gaze on ground
The mighty titan mimicked me and extended peaceful welcome
Gradually I rose and full-figured, approached
Warily, minding his twin osteoscimitars
Hello friend, he said
I heard you coming from several years away
I have been waiting for you
In a thousand forms and figures as the shadowy shapes you doubted
But Wisdom, how?
Baffled now, as I follow worn creases of age
That line his cracked and withered face and date his hardened hide
Come see yourself as I see you, he said
For we are as old as your mind is young
And he led me to the liquid, still and reflective
My own visage now ancient
You often sought me out, and I never hid
But I always came too late
I am with you in every action
Every success and every mistake
I was your hand when you learned to hold on
And your ears when you learned to listen
I was your adrenaline when you lost control
And your uncut blood tunnels when you learned to live
I was your arms when you hugged a forgiving embrace
And the nausea you felt when you lied
I did not mourn you when you died and scattered
For you returned to me as many; come, we have much to teach and learn
We will raise the bulls of a generation
Without another word, I mounted sacred pachyderm
And we became a vortex for wandering energy universal and fluid
The venerable sage and I rode as equals through the night
The savanna sky resting its tired eye at last
Jun 2, 2011
Jun 2, 2011 at 6:36 PM UTC
I may not have the glamorous sheen,
The moves, the grooves of sweet sixteen,
I get angry soon and am suspiciously keen –
But I’m your Is, Will Be and Has-Been
So don’t send me away honey,
For I’m your crazy, wayward queen.
I fight with you and punch your nose,
Of my short temper you get overdose,
Just smile at other girls – you’ll know what I mean,
But don’t send me away honey –
I’m your crazy, wayward queen.
So what if in our last quarrel I pulled your hair?
When you walk, I worship the surrounding air;
You my soul, you’re tall and lean,
The one that I dreamt of as a lonely teen,
You’re my love and my war and everything in-between;
Don’t send me away honey,
For I’m your crazy, wayward queen.
Apr 22, 2012
Apr 22, 2012 at 12:34 PM UTC
when he looked at a woman he searched for qualities that attracted him because he wanted to desire her yet this tendency created an imbalance or disadvantage he was rendered weak to a woman’s beauty or whatever traits he idealized self-realizing this propensity he looked away from women years of disappointment neglect changed him he became afraid of women gynophobic
when she looks at a man she searches for qualities she is critical of because she wants to be impervious to his power she is suspicious of all men their upper body strength penchant to be in control misperception of women as property misogyny emotional immaturity neediness to be mommyed selfishness insensitivity or over-sensitivity depending she wants to be treated with equal respect a loving nurturing relationship she is suspicious of all people their alternate realities passive aggressive behavior co-dependence craziness
he sees her then looks away she suspiciously notices nothing happens they go back to their separate homes alone always home alone grown calm in resignation yet disbelieving of this destiny saddened by this fate both worry about the future she looks at her face naked body in the mirror her stomach churns feels a sad sickening remembers a time when she was more carefree he puts one foot in front of the other then walks tries to remember who taught him to walk how many times did he fall who taught him to laugh where did his sense of humor go
he sees her thinks she is lovely resists the urge to turn away he smiles says hello she notices nervously smiles her shaky voice articulates louder than a whisper hi
Jul 6, 2010
Jul 6, 2010 at 9:47 AM UTC
They call me Mr.Cadaver
Dead,yet living in hospitals
And schools where they teach how to become doctors
Oh!Doctors My only true lover
I died of a natural disease
You know,the one where you constantly sneeze
Too poor to be buried
Too poor to be burned
So I was embalmed
In certain chemicals
Formaldehyde,then frozen
And in this form turned
It wasn't easy at first
Young eyes looking at me suspiciously
The weak-hearted watching disgustedly
But as time(I have much of it)
Went by I got used to it
I was dissected by stainless steel
So that they could learn how to heal
These various tissues,body parts well
I knew my worth when departed
I was a precise model
Of a living person
With my help
So many learnt
Basic human anatomy
Which vein goes where
Where lies the spleen
So whenever you are on the hospital bed
Remember
My death gave another life to thee
They sell me for many a dollar
To the blue-eyed scholar
And I will become his loyal friend
I may look creepy
But that's just because I'm dead
The teacher points to various places
On me , sometimes I feel a little ticklish
But I a satisfied by the curious eyes
Who are learning about me for your benefit
And when the session expires
My second life,it must retire
But they extract my bones
Put the skeletal frame in a museum
Or break it into pieces
And give it to students of various fields
The dentists want the cranium
I'm bloodless
Anatomy's life bood
So bow down to me
Ye first year students
I taught Da Vinci how to draw a man
Taught Michaelangelo how to sculpt
From Ancient Greece to modern medicine
My death has given life to many humans
Apr 5, 2021
Apr 5, 2021 at 3:21 PM UTC
I summoned the devil
in all the coaxing dulcet tones of a lover
to make a little trade.
He appeared to reply
in something sounding suspiciously like amusement
that contrary to popular belief,
he did not buy souls.
Why, he wondered
would he bother with such trivial humanities?
so I plucked from my chest
the thing in question
that he might know
there are not so many stars in the sky
as neurons firing in my mind.
and I showed him exquisite pain
and deliriously beautiful sadness
anger so searing I shook to contain it
All the things a devil delights in
cannot be felt so deeply as by a soul
that has tasted misery again and again
and lived to wish to tell the tale.
He moaned in half-ecstasy
tones thick with desire
to name my price.
I asked only for peace at last
How cruel!
he cried, not un-admiringly
To make one long for something so desperately
and name a price they cannot pay.
For peace, he said
Can only be found through one's own demons
It comes from acceptance
of one's self entirely; not absence.
So I left,
having wrung good advice
from the devil himself.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 10:11 PM UTC
eating pretzels
and chugging fruit juice
that mercifully
doesn't taste suspiciously
like vegetables
thank you, jesus
and a plague on both of
v8's houses
amen.
*************
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 12:51 AM UTC