"tess" poems
I am ready to swim
I am standing on the beach, I can feel the ocean on the wind, and I think
It seems these things do not matter.
"How vast is the sea?"
"How deep is the water?"
"How strong is the tide?"
I am brave.
Uncertainty!
I've felt many things in life, and I know this is not
My convictions
I am convinced that in this moment I will be able to hold
Because of fear or a sense of pride
Because of passion and a sense of hope, not
Because I am simply ready
(Now read it backwards)
Jun 1, 2018
Jun 1, 2018 at 7:49 PM UTC
Luna Tickle eats only pickles and ***** up all the brine
When her brother tells their mother she begins to whine:
“Yes I did it! And left no tidbit
Is that such a crime? My brother smells and raises hell
And leaves the loo full of slime.”
Now their mother dear began to fear her children were obstructions
Never listening, since their christening, and wished for their abduction
So she planned a slaughter and called her daughter
Outside to the woodshed, then chopped her neck in two
She put Luna’s head in her brother’s bed and said,
“Now, they’ll be no more Boo-Hoos”
Now you know of Luna and her tragic ending
But there’s more to this rhyme that’s pending
For the Tickle name is quite insane
And was never worth defending
But that’s just what her brother did
When Mrs. Tickle met Judge Knuckle
And almost flipped her lid
Screaming:
“I never liked that kid from the day she began to suckle!
Why she couldn’t be more like me, or her lovely sister Tess”
Twas all Mrs. Tickle could confess that day to Judge and jury
Until brother **** chimed-in and confessed his sin
And did so in such a fury, it was heard throughout and within
The entire state of Missouri:
“I am Richard Tickle and do confess I am not fickle
In fact I am quite pugnacious
If you do not see the circumstances like me
I’ll be forced to be disputatious”
Interjects Judge Knuckle:
“Boy, I’ll have you buckled this instance to electric chair
If you’re not scared I’ll be splitting hairs
In a place where the sun does not shine
So if you care, you’d best beware
Or your Gherkin will be in a brine”
Now Tess screamed out and her mother did shout
In perfect unison:
**** is my love and none the likes of any other hooligan”
At this there was a scuffle
Each dame was muffed and ruffled
They could not contain
All their angst and their pain
And it led to the ugliest tussle
For each thought ****
Was devoted to she
And apparently, this could not be
As we know of the trouble with Luna
So the jury was not out
Or even in doubt
Of these sinister makings and troubles
It was the sickest of affairs
Mass-producing glaring stares
From everyone within the court
Missouri Gazette’s headlines that day
Told of how they did slay
And burn the Tickle chalet
Leaving it in incestuous rubble
The lesson today to this horrific ballet
Is don’t live your life in a bubble
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 6:39 PM UTC
to-day I attended
my cousin's funeral service
it was a casual
laid back kind of affair
no preacher going on for ages
with vacuous words
a celebrant spoke of my cousin's
love of the young and the elderly
her husband wrote a poem
of dedication to his beloved Tess
throughout the service her favorite songs were featured
the Bon Jovi tune "To Be My Baby" had family and friends
tapping their feet
on our departure from the crematorium
the strains of Tim McGraw's " Please Remember Me" played
the day was as Tess wanted
casual and no fuss
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 1:16 AM UTC
over the shoulder squeals
giggles atop great grandma's quilt
from under the tree
that we have all hit our heads on
way up in the field
screaming up in to the sky
NO POCKET KITE
WHAT ARE YOU DOING???!
diving a dipping
then crashing
youre no trick kite!
nothing but a dollar store impulse buy
ill *** you up and stuff you back
into the belt-clippable makeshift container
the one you shamefully came in
curse you and your inadequately short string
maybe she'll have you
return you to your designers glory
not i
oh but you
i see you
soaring
string waaaay to far out
dangling above the trees
and power lines to boot
aloft at least 100 meters up
today you soared
mathew perry shoot
thats what im going to call you
parachute in a bag
to heights i could never achieve
standing in the sand
waves crashing against phalanges
in those years
over a decade back now
and you
and your potential joy provided
collected dust
in that same place that i left you
all those years ago
but i had to call the dog back up
"TESS DOG, HEEL!"
and i had to wipe the quinoa of my hands
and roll up your string
she had to stop smiling at some point
your stewardess or should i say flight attendant
smiling, no loving.
or staying.
kissing.
oh lets stay here!
in the field
atop the blossoms of berries
yet ripened
smiling
"pulling and running!!!"
under the shade tree
on a blanket
holding hands
give me thirty days though
i have some things to work out
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 11:46 PM UTC
Timing?
nope
Coincidence?
no ma'am
Destiny,
Fate?
Prolly
Im smoking cigarettes pool side.
Naked.
In a thunderstorm.
It's 30 minutes in and I'm soaked, shriveled.
All my smokes are wet.
Tess dog keeps looking at me funny.
The grip tape on the diving board is scratching the hell out of my ***
My burn pile is sopping.
My girlfriend is sulking (hyperbole here).
I'm grinning, cursing the thought of not being near you.
As if there was a voice over my shoulder saying, "it's not going to happen."
oh ****
If the milky way is our home, then we're together.
Though, come to think of it, I'm not really a candy kind of guy.
I prefer pickles.
Take it how you will.
I love you.
And if I have to shake off the rain from my phone to hit send
I will.
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 2:48 AM UTC
That year they gave Tess
her first typewriter. She’d
not need to borrow her
brother’s battered old piece
or write down her fragile
poems in her spiderlike
scrawl as her father called it.
The promise came while
she was getting her mind
together in that mental
asylum, after the mucky
love affair that went no
place and left her hanging
there, like one crucified
for all to see and most
to softly mutter and stare.
Get yourself mended girl,
Father said, and we’ll buy
you your own typewriter,
so you can stab away on
the keys to your heart’s
content and bring out
those poems of yours.
He never read her poems,
never read much apart
from the back page sport
or gawked at page 3 girls
with a tut tutting tongue.
That year she gazed out
of the wide barred window
of the asylum at the snow
on fields, at the seagulls
gathering and feeding behind
the faraway tractor as it
ploughed, at the grey
depressing sky, wondering
what it’d be like to not be,
wondering what the woman
with a cast in her eye, was
doing to herself in the toilets,
one night when she’d gone
in to *** unable to sleep.
The typewriter idea
and promise kind of got her
through the dark hours and
the ECT, and the following day
headaches and numbness.
After slitting her wrists (mildly,
a cry for help) she said on the
phone to her father, Come get
me out of this place, help me
get back together. Ok, he said,
Miss Humpty Dumpty, and he
put down the phone, and she
stood in the hall of the asylum
with the receiver in her hand,
the image of the typewriter
before her eyes, those poems
banging on the inside of her
head, new ones wanting to
get out, old ones left for dead.
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 2:14 AM UTC
Well, they got some of it right. Her grandmother did live in the woods and the girl's name was Robyn. But, she never owned a red hoodie. As a matter of fact, on that particular day, she was wearing a white dress with a floral print. Upon being frightened by a wolf, she reflexxedly pulled out her Bowie knife and gutted the poor thing like a fish. Then, she slit its throat to drain out its blood, grabbed the creature by its hind legs, and dragged it to her grandmother's log cabin. Upon arrival, Robyn announced herself. "Grandma, ya home? I picked up some dinner on my way here. Are you hungry?" Inquired the young miss. "I could eat a horse" replied her grandmother Tess. "Great" her granddaughter shot back, "I'll start a fire." "I'll bake some bread" replied Tess. And the two of them ate wolf for a week while telling each other stories and laughing and laughing and just enjoying themselves having a good time. The End.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 3:31 PM UTC
There lived an old man in the kingdom of Tess,
Who invented a purely original dress;
And when it was perfectly made and complete,
He opened the door, and walked into the street.
By way of a hat, he'd a loaf of Brown Bread,
In the middle of which he inserted his head;--
His Shirt was made up of no end of dead Mice,
The warmth of whose skins was quite fluffy and nice;--
His Drawers were of Rabbit-skins,--but it is not known whose;--
His Waistcoat and Trowsers were made of Pork Chops;--
His Buttons were Jujubes, and Chocolate Drops;--
His Coat was all Pancakes with Jam for a border,
And a girdle of Biscuits to keep it in order;
And he wore over all, as a screen from bad weather,
A Cloak of green Cabbage-leaves stitched all together.
He had walked a short way, when he heard a great noise,
Of all sorts of Beasticles, Birdlings, and Boys;--
And from every long street and dark lane in the town
Beasts, Birdles, and Boys in a tumult rushed down.
Two Cows and a half ate his Cabbage-leaf Cloak;--
Four Apes seized his Girdle, which vanished like smoke;--
Three Kids ate up half of his Pancaky Coat,--
And the tails were devour'd by an ancient He Goat;--
An army of Dogs in a twinkling tore up his
Pork Waistcoat and Trowsers to give to their Puppies;--
And while they were growling, and mumbling the Chops,
Ten boys prigged the Jujubes and Chocolate Drops.--
He tried to run back to his house, but in vain,
Four Scores of fat Pigs came again and again;--
They rushed out of stables and hovels and doors,--
They tore off his stockings, his shoes, and his drawers;--
And now from the housetops with screechings descend,
Striped, spotted, white, black, and gray Cats without end,
They jumped on his shoulders and knocked off his hat,--
When Crows, Ducks, and Hens made a mincemeat of that;--
They speedily flew at his sleeves in trice,
And utterly tore up his Shirt of dead Mice;--
They swallowed the last of his Shirt with a squall,--
Whereon he ran home with no clothes on at all.
And he said to himself as he bolted the door,
'I will not wear a similar dress any more,
'Any more, any more, any more, never more!'
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Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 6:30 PM UTC
Seeing you took all the
Evil thoughts off my mind,
And brought about the good ones,
The tame ones, the wild ones, again. Feeling you there
Made the world right, made it seem to
Turn and answer the coming night, as it rolled around, and one
Knew it was coming, as a cold breath in the sky.
You were seen but not seeing,
As you could be taken only
As a woman should,
Inside the heart, the mind, the thrill
Of knowing that you
Were there, and you could be seen, Tess, talking, or being talked too.
So quiet…..and watching you,
Your eyes move across the tile,
Looking up and around you, but close, so close
It felt that I should
Touch you, and bring you back to me, but I listened, I watched, I waited.
The waves of water beat
Down upon your shoulders,
Your graying hair felt its force and
Was washed downward, your face frankly watched,
Your eyes closed, then open, more so clear,
It steamed and rolled down you, your arms
Pulled up, a backward shape, as you
Clasped your hands at your chin, and covered your ******* with your elbows
And you saw them, in that devilish water.
So clear and steaming, the waves
Covered your body. The
Spirits circled about and surrounded your head.
But I listened, I watched, I waited.
Quiet at first, then murmurs, then little
Noises that made no sense,
And Tess…..
Your mouth never moved,
Your eyes they wandered with reality,
And small words,
Crept out, not of you,
Nor by you, but words that seemed so quiet,
With the water splashing around, and spanking
The floor with its downward run, and the
Past, the future, the feeling around you,
Your being so light, your feet were off the ground,
Touching your shoulders, your face, your hair
The water seemed much louder, as I watched,
But the noises grew, your face moved
Quickly from side to side,
And upward and back, and your mouth was moving, as if
To compete,
But no sound ventured out,
Except the sounds of feelings that dashed
Before your eyes, and your body shook,
And your skin grew red, and your face it turned
To take them all in, and your eyes, wet from the water,
Wet now with tears.
The volume was so loud, the water, the feelings, the voices,
Beating down on your head, banging about the shower walls, crossing the room
Finding me, like thunder on the stage it cracked and shook, and went silent…
Just the water, just you Tess,
Just the feelings of you being alone,
As you turn it off
As you peel from the wrapping,
Pull your towel close to your face
Wipe your tears and the water, washing it off,
You turn, and see me,
And you smile,
You lay your head, still wet,
On my shoulder, and it is us, all alone.
Jan 19, 2012
Jan 19, 2012 at 5:16 PM UTC
PATIENT 139 sits in 4/4 time
Craving peace of mind and a pen
To be the lyric "Stick your pen right up your story"
while feeling LOWER THAN LOW
As well as a TOURIST in their own life
Just saying COUNSELOR could you help me out, My time's gonna run out
But what they finally realized is that they found a COUNSELOR who's a singer
As well as counseling that's pop/punk music
The COUNSELOR is TESS STEVENS and the counseling is HER MUSIC
Mar 28, 2022
Mar 28, 2022 at 2:13 PM UTC
‘What will you buy when Christmas comes
To show me your love, dear heart?
Will you fill my bower with fruit and flowers
To enjoy while we’re apart?
Will you buy the things that you promised me,
Like a bangle for my wrist,
Or a diamond, topaz, sapphire ring,
Or a giant amethyst?’
He stood, head down and he held her hand
As she lay so pale in the bed,
He didn’t tell her his job was lost
Or what his employer said.
There were charges he would have to face
That would fill her heart with gloom,
That by Christmas Day he would be away
And not be returning soon.
‘I’d rather give you the crescent Moon
As a coronet, dear Tess,
And pluck the stars from the Milky Way
As sequins for your dress,
Then call on the Charioteer, my dear
For your transport to the heights,
Where the gods will fall on their knees to bless
This glimpse of paradise.’
She smiled, then faded away to sleep
And dream of a ghostly tower,
Where her prince stood long at the battlements
At the height of a fateful hour,
An army lay in the fields about
In a siege for her, no less,
‘We’ve come for the Queen of Golders Green,
And we won’t leave without Tess!’
While he sat bowed in a lonely cell
And wept at his sense of loss,
He’d only needed another month
And the price would be worth the cost,
He’d not be there when she needed him
As she glided out through the door,
The Judge fixed him with a puzzled eye,
‘Just who was the coffin for?’
On Christmas Eve she awoke before
Her heart pit-pattered and stopped,
Her fading eyes had looked to the door
Along with her hopes, they dropped.
But in her hair was a crescent Moon
And stars were all over her dress,
While a Charioteer came into the room,
‘I’ve a chariot here, for Tess!’
David Lewis Paget
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 11:07 AM UTC
Each morning Tess waited nervously
for the nursing officer to arrive on
the locked ward, and spot on time
each morning he came with his small
black briefcase and went to his office
on the locked ward of the asylum, and
after a few minutes she was allowed
in for her daily requested interview.
She sat in the chair opposite him, he
fresh from the sane world, sat there
with his brushed teeth and groomed
hair, intent look behind his glasses.
When can I get out of his ward and
home? she asked him each morning;
when we consider you are ready and
safe to be let out, he replied each day
with the same calm voice, the same
deep tones. And off she’d go to begin
another day with those whom she
considered mad or seemingly dead.
Every day at the same time they would
bring along the meals from the kitchen;
they would unlock the double doors,
bring in the trays of meals from a trolley,
leave the doors unattended for the time
it took to bring in the trays, and then
locked the doors again. Tess waited and
watched every time they came timing
by the clock on the wall how long it took
and how long the doors were unlocked.
This day she waited; time ticked slowly,
as she stood in her dressing gown by the
doorway to the bedrooms and watched
as they unlocked the thick double doors.
She waited until they unlocked the doors
and entered with the first of the trays,
then she ran like one possessed, out of
the doors and along the corridors and
heard the commotion behind her as she
ran, and the shouting and screaming and
calls, and the thundering footsteps behind
and then two burly male nurses tackled
her to the ground and held her there
beneath their mass and smelly breath,
seeing the lights on the ceiling flicker on
and off, not far away a woman screamed,
nearby she heard a man’s rough cough.
May 25, 2012
May 25, 2012 at 2:40 AM UTC
Upon a crest of ruby flames,
Was writ a list of seven names:
Of gods and goddesses untold
Whose quiet tenets never sold.
Mavis was the nymph of pallor,
Patron saint of putrid squalor.
Watching, with a tender eye,
The lives of those resigned to die.
Beatrice, with hair of scarlet,
Took the throne of seething harlot.
Harbinger of crippling sadness;
Queen of darkness, death, and madness.
Paul, whose eyes had never wept,
Ensured that secrets would be kept.
Cursed with blindness, deafness, dumbness,
A walking vault of tortured numbness.
Talim broke her mother's heart,
And many others from the start.
She, the deity of glee,
Knew ignorance and apathy.
Alastair, the golden thief,
Toed the boundaries of grief,
He sang to people with his flute
That there was more to life than loot.
Tess won't look you in the eyes;
Mistress of the compromise;
Smiling, even as she hums,
That "maybe next time" never comes.
Alex comes to break the silence,
God of wishes, drugs, and violence.
Crashing through with mighty clamour;
Hope the nail, and he the hammer.
Of all the deities we cherish,
Even those whose memories perish,
None are sad as those who don't
Beget belief. Or can't. Or won't.
And on a crest of ruby flames,
Another list of seven names,
Whose carvings have been long forgot,
Will sit amidst our trash and rot.
Aug 29, 2010
Aug 29, 2010 at 8:14 PM UTC
Ten years ago today I said goodbye to Tess my golden Labrador
*Tess was fourteen when I had to say goodbye
When I got up on that morning I knew
She looked at me with her sad brown eyes
Said its time to let me go
Time to hold me, kiss me, send me on my way
Tears were in my eyes as I held her close
Not tears of shame but salt tears of remorse
Could I have done any more
To prolong that doggy life
Probably not, she knew it was her time to die
I held her close as the young vet slid the needle in
And just before she breathed her last
She lifted her head and layed it on my arm
Salt tears on my cheeks as I said my last goodbye
Ten years ago today when my Tess breathed her last
But now the Mollie dog is fading
Grey faced instead of black
I know the bitter tears will come again
When she takes her final rest*
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 5:06 PM UTC
Was there ever a more beautiful sound than your name? To speak it aloud makes my heart ring like a bell. Strange to imagine that, isn’t it – a heart ringing – but when you touch me that is what it is like: as if my heart is ringing in my chest and the sound shivers down my veins and splinters my bones with joy.
Why have I written these words in this book? Because of you. You taught me to love this book where I had scorned it. When I read it for the second time, with an open mind and heart, I felt the most complete despair and envy of Sydney Carton. Yes, Sydney, for even if he had no hope that the woman he loved would love him, at least he could tell her of his love. At least he could do something to prove his passion, even if that thing was to die.
I would have chosen death for a chance to tell you the truth, Tessa, if I could have been assured that death would be my own. And that is why I envied Sydney, for he was free.
And now at last I am free, and I can finally tell you, without fear of danger to you, all that I feel in my heart.
You are not the last dream of my soul.
You are the first dream, the only dream I ever was unable to stop myself from dreaming. You are the first dream of my soul, and from that dream I hope will come all other dreams, a lifetime’s worth.
With hope at least,
Will Herondale
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 1:23 PM UTC
They discussed Prom and silly boys who talked big, but
couldn’t tear open a ******
They squabbled over pole-position in a race that didn’t matter- And
analysed events made cinematic in re-telling.
I leafed through a magazine:
One Girl’s Plan to Meet and MARRY A MILLIONAIRE (who isn’t a creep)
~How to dress to be taken seriously
Top Career Women Tell Their Secrets
~Hot spring fashion
The TRAP of Living Together
~CK One (selling equality)
For a moment I pictured myself applying lipstick, then thought better not.
It was all ********
I shoved the magazine back in my bag- with Tess, exam texts, and
a clean change of clothes.
The bus stopped right outside.
He made me tea, and I read bedtime stories to his kids.
After:
We drank white-wine in the garden, kissed and found peace-
Searched for stars in a sky the colour of storms.
Dec 31, 2020
Dec 31, 2020 at 8:45 AM UTC
Tess looked up and across the cake, that was full of colors
And icing, all pinks and fluid reds, with greens around
The middle, and Birthday Happies written so pretty
Across it, in wider icing, and small stars and twinkle bits
On its side, with just a few candles, blue, red, pink, lit
Up for all the world to see, her hands on either side,
Posing for a picture, seeing the flames all yellow
And watching her face, with a smile so bright,
That eclipsed the light of the frosting.
Her face seemed younger than ever, as they sang the song;
Happy Birthday they sang, in voices that were clear,
Yet out of tune and some that even crossed the line
Between singing to deep, some too light, one or two
Right in the middle, with candles burning, laughter
Breaking from her throat, as she watched their faces
And felt the love that was hers, all hers.
"Make a wish" they said, after someone sang
"and many more" they all laughed, and she started
To wish aloud, when someone said no, it must be silent
To keep that wish a wish. Tess, thought for three seconds
Closed her eyes, made her wish, opened them and blew
The candles out, to laughter, clapping and cheers.
She smiled, she laughed, she kept the pace, and cut the cake,
Her thoughts were here, but not, as she considered each
One, each birthday, as being so very different, as being
So very the same. She held the little ones, in the back of her mind
The gracious ones of heart and love came forward, and the thought
of more seemed far away, but the light, the colors, the candles
They meant so much more, than words can say.
"A toast!" She said aloud, to all those who loved her dearly,
"A toast!" she felt, for those who loved her dear, but could not be there,
"A toast!" she thought, for those who could only be in memory,
For another year, your Tess has lived, and made you happy,
"to You, Dear Tess, make us feel you in our hearts".
Feb 11, 2012
Feb 11, 2012 at 8:41 AM UTC
As she sat in his favourite worn chair
the expectant mother became aware.
Of a soft touch on her pale cheeck
reading a letter sent that week.
Crying their baby born without a dad
what was the point of being mad.
Lonely now she felt an unseen force
on her aching shoulders easing remorse.
Standing up aware of an uninvited guest
though not afraid she had been blessed.
Since her husband had died he was near
this gave her strength there was no fear.
How their baby kicked keen to be born
her senses even now frayed and torn.
Happy they had created their first child
though in her mind her spirit still wild.
Part of her almost died answering the door bell
two soldiers said they had bad news to tell.
Andy had been shot while on duty abroad
any help and support was assured.
The early weeks just one long depressing blur
then everything changed for her.
His after shave and essence wafted in the air
and now Tess had become aware.
Dad would be there at the baby's birth
even though not alive on the earth.
Was this just a desperate wifes vivid imagination
or actually a new form of creation?
The Foureyed Poet.
Feb 16, 2011
Feb 16, 2011 at 4:46 AM UTC
The rich grass of Scotland is where I start my tale,
Upon a chance encounter of unforseeable importance.
It began as an offhand remark,
Of the two girls it was the boldness of one extremely shy,
'This sounds interesting' mumbled the mysterious stranger,
'Tis, fair maiden. And what be your name?' was the confident reply.
Delicate as a passing breeze she uttered, Tess,
A name beffitting such a gentle lass,
So fortuitous a meeting! I exclaimed to my friends,
For a chance like this I could not allow to pass.
The morning's sun steadily beamed down,
Whilst jet black hair flashed in the light.
Rays honoured to touch so pure a soul,
To kiss her lips my only goal.
As the enchantress weaved her spell,
Time languidly ticked by yet possessed a terrible swiftness.
The mornings bright illumination turned to mid-day haze,
The threads of past memories interlaced,
And with freckled face and a gaze that could sear,
Her form bestowed with elegant grace,
Such breathtaking beauty I had never glanced upon before.
Images of entertwined hands and passionate embraces,
whirled gayely in my thoughts.
With perception attuned to the highest degree,
All masks strewn asunder upon such potent a force.
Truth dripped from unguarded lips,
And an eerie, unfathomable ease crept over,
Past and present merging under sturdy oak.
Speed, precision and slight of hand,
A heart forever touched.
As pulses raced and breathe quickened,
I Stammered; thinking quickly before I lose my nerve!
Whispering 'may I kiss you?',
Agonisingly slowly, a smile danced along her speckled cheeks,
And without a word her eyes replied, a simple yes.
Transfixed they paused; nose to nose, heart to heart,
Hanging the unspoken words of romance and lust,
A mirror of compassion, understanding and trust,
And so it was, right from the start.
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 8:57 PM UTC
Her waist a stone laid wall I know
Beside a path walked quietly in the dark
With hair sudden like crashing waves
Informal as a Christmas morning
Full of lights, full of sparks
Persistent as the cattails in the northern breeze
Steady as the trees
And cool as stars, almost unreachable, untouchable
Unbearably far
Yet softer than the flowing mane
Of the mare untamed
In distant field that was once up close
With a breath of steam for a cold grey world
Hang on through mortal comatose
And wake
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 1:27 PM UTC
Deep in thought life's adventure has begun
finding when to be serious.
And when you should be having some fun
bombarded by modern living.
Feeling the pressure laid out in front of you
who is genuine and true.
Forming relationships with great expectations
but Tess at your tender age.
Surely the challenge of living can be thrilling
learning how to be let down.
Your horizons are widened now you own a car
time to follow that guiding star.
Explore and refresh each and every new sunrise
focus and enjoy the wondrous world.
Most decisions are defined by our endeavours
highs and lows part of the course.
Be determined in your destiny always smile
travel through life mile by mile.
The Foureyed Poet.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 12:09 PM UTC
I like
The way I smell like you
When I wear your clothes
The inconvenient plant on Tess' table
And the haunted laundry room at Jess'
(The ghost, we've named him Steve)
I can always be safe, if I want to
When I'm around the two of you
And Tess is always catching me from just around the bend of sanity
When I think that I don't know why I'm slipping
Because I think she knows much more than she lets on
About losing to your dark psychoses
But Jess keeps me in touch,
And I really love her for it,
With her dreams and wishes and driving lessons
And her bold vegan ways in a place that is so unfriendly
Sometimes when I'm alone at home and
Cabin fever is much too catching
I'll talk to them and it dissipates so easily
(like gentle mist)
Aside from their assistance, they are beautiful
Their minds are whirling marvels,
And they make me laugh
At awkward intervals
When everyone else in the room is trying
Oh-so-hard to wear austerity
But I am never ashamed
May 31, 2011
May 31, 2011 at 10:08 AM UTC
Wishing that I wasn't Patient 139
The one screaming the lyrics to I'm Not Okay
Sometimes hopes that someone understands me
Relating to Tess Stevens and her song Tourist
Crying to Good Riddance (Time Of Your Life)
Wondering if anyone has the time to listen to me whine
Trying to not do what Pete Wentz almost did in Hum Hallelujah
Thinking I'd just like to be only me and not also someone else every day
Asking myself why music is my novacane
Just wanting to know why most people don't care about me anymore
It's like every time I listen to music or watch YouTube I feel numb and I have gotten used to it
When it comes to my mental age I feel like the Clock Forgot It's Hands
In the end I'm the one who walks a lonely road the only one I have ever known
May 18, 2021
May 18, 2021 at 11:03 PM UTC
My life is not extraordinary. I wake up the same as everyone else. Before the sun, alarmed by a wimpy siren. I answer to a clock. I put on my pants one leg at a time like everyone else. I walk to work muted among the noise of a crowd. We pack together like shrimp in a net, boarding a vessel.
Work is like any other day. I work in a kitchen, by the way. I have three jobs in the kitchen. I cook, I clean, and I wash the same towels that have been used for years too long. When my shift is over, I finally get to indulge in one of my favorite activities—exercise. Peace. I can even listen to my music! Although I haven’t updated my selection for almost 3 years now, I still sing along happily. It makes me think of Tess, and I miss her. I think about her a lot while exercising, when I’m able to mind my own without interruption. Unless someone at the gym threatens to fight for a machine, in which case I let them take it. If I witness a fight begin to emerge, I leave.
I eat dinner the same time every night, 6PM. Which mostly consists of the same foods: steak, beans, potatoes, milk. Basic but nutritious, nonetheless. After that, I spend the rest of my evening reading and writing on my bed until I go to sleep, wake up, and do the same thing all over again.
See, my life isn’t that much different than anyone else… except, for me, at the end of the day, guards padlock my cell shut just before they turn off the lights, and the rest of the night drowns away with the howls of lonely wolves shivering in their cages.
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 3:38 PM UTC