"unbuckle" poems
Can we just play ***** you and i?
I mean give me looks across the table, that you are disgusted with me, for taking my ******* off and dropping them in your crotch. I mean like you talk to another girl and glance at me, as if to say 'fuck you bitch', knowing you will **** me; Later.
Let's play ***** come on, i will welcome you in to my house, in stockings and leather, and push you against the wall; grab your hand and bend it back whilst i bite your neck. Push my knee between yours, and hold your chest in my hand whilst i make you watch me unbuckle you. Let me drag you on the floor, whilst you try to get up and say 'not here'.
Why can't we play *****
I don't want no ******* bedroom. I want the doorway, i want the hall, i want the kitchen counter, i want the living room floor and the shower. I want the couch, where i will straddle you and make you watch me as i undress myself for you, slowly, pulling, my, stocking down, so my knee is between your legs and i lean over you, so my ****** points out to your mouth, and i can hear you breathing, and every time you move towards me, i pull away.
Why can't we just play *****
Why can't you get me mad, and we argue so bad that i want to smash my fist in to your skull til you bleed all over my kitchen floor, brains on the washer...then pick me up, throw me on the bed, slap my face about, slap open my legs and grab my throat and the other hand on my chest as you push deep into me? Hear me gasp, watch my pupils widen, groan at you, watch as you come close to my ear, and say, 'this is what i ******* wanted'.
Why can't we?
Why can't we be deviants?
Why can't we go play in the forest?
Why can't we do like animals do?
Why can't we make two barebacked beasts in the moonlight?
Why can't we play *****
I touch your leg as you drive, playing the piano up and down your thigh, biting my lip, running my fingers up and down your thigh, nails pushing deeper, up and down, up and down, until you pull the car over, slam the brakes on, pull off your seatbelt and grab me, push the seat back, as i smile a secret smile as you breathe deeply in my ear as you pull off my wet knickers, and begin to take me on a journey through the stars.
Why can't we play *****
Shut your eyes. Shut your mouth. Shut everything, the, **** up. Listen to the beat of my heart, as it quickens and i place your hand over my chest, and i look in your eyes. Stop you talking about me, about what i am like, and who i am, and what it should be, and this and ******* that.
I don't want no tv before bed, i don't want no book, i don't want no midnight stargazing.
**** that **** **** me.
I want to play ***** with you.
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 4:58 PM UTC
The solo road takes hold. I don't know where it goes, but where it goes I go.
A midnight’s drive under a sky full of clouds, blocking the moonlight.
Only the glimpse of a shimmering star guides my way, but to what I do not know.
A night of indifference, just going where this winding road takes me, but
I can barely see that shining star through clouds of hesitation.
The road is a one lane highway to a destination unknown
the fog is so dense it is like a layer of blankets used to hide the fears of a child in the dark.
At this point I wonder if it can hide my fears as well.
Do I even want to hide from these fears at all or should I stand up to the inevitable?
My engine’s sputtering, stalling, my car’s running out of gas and I feel like I just might crash.
I put my foot to the gas and hope that I wont fly through the glass and end up with my car smashed, because this car is my only way off this **** road in the first place.
I see no headlights coming my way even though I pray that one day I will see a light at the end of this godforsaken road but the day isn't today.
Some days I pray that I will lay on the road face down
with a trail of my essence turning the road red with release
but other days I carry on like it was my job to mindlessly keep both of my hands on the steering wheel and hope that at the end of this road, there’s an exit sign,
and that all I need’s a little more time.
Because night after night, my hands grip the wheel so hard my knuckles turn white as the fog that clouds my vision day after day.
My sighs echo down this ever growing street, every twist and turn feels like another reason
to unbuckle my seatbelt and open the door because
I’m going 85 in a 50 and I can’t even see my own headlights on the road
my vision is blurred and my mind is as foggy as the road I drive on.
Every now and again I wonder what the point is
I can barely remember the day I started driving, it was so long ago
and I pray for the day when I can wash this fog away in rain,
that I’ll find an exit and take it.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC
Live
inside the execution chamber
a stocky warden
poker-faced and middle-aged
begins
the medieval ritual
with words of cold indifference
addressed towards
Ted's emotionally dead
terrified head.
A warder
grim-faced
stands to one side
arms folded
as two others
begin to buckle
thick leather straps
around Bundy's ankles
wrists and chest
to the chair.
No cold condolences
the electrodes
on top of his head
a black mask
covering his face
until the signal is given
a raised arm
to the executioner
hooded in black
who pushes a lever.
Bundy's body arches
spasmodically convulses
tensely straining
paroxysms
the neck taut
head stretched back
blood oozing
from the nostrils
then slumps
and is pronounced dead.
The warders
remove the crown
and mask
unbuckle the straps
as the chamber empties
and the executioner
doffs the black hood
to reveal
appropriately
a beautiful woman.
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 11:35 PM UTC
The solo road takes hold. I don't know where it goes, but where it goes I go.
A midnight’s drive under a sky full of clouds, blocking the moonlight.
Only the glimpse of a shimmering star guides my way, but to what I do not know.
A night of indifference, just going where this winding road takes me, but
I can barely see that shining star through clouds of hesitation.
The road is a one lane highway to a destination unknown
the fog is so dense it is like a layer of blankets used to hide the fears of a child in the dark.
At this point I wonder if it can hide my fears as well.
Do I even want to hide from these fears at all or should I stand up to the inevitable?
My engine’s sputtering, stalling, my car’s running out of gas and I feel like I just might crash.
I put my foot to the gas and hope that I wont fly through the glass and end up with my car smashed, because this car is my only way off this **** road in the first place.
I see no headlights coming my way even though I pray that one day I will see a light at the end of this godforsaken road but the day isn't today.
Some days I pray that I will lay on the road face down
with a trail of my essence turning the road red with release
but other days I carry on like it was my job to mindlessly keep both of my hands on the steering wheel and hope that at the end of this road, there’s an exit sign,
and that all I need’s a little more time.
Because night after night, my hands grip the wheel so hard my knuckles turn white as the fog that clouds my vision day after day.
My sighs echo down this ever growing street, every twist and turn feels like another reason
to unbuckle my seatbelt and open the door because
I’m going 85 in a 50 and I can’t even see my own headlights on the road
my vision is blurred and my mind is as foggy as the road I drive on.
Every now and again I wonder what the point is
I can barely remember the day I started driving, it was so long ago
and I pray for the day when I can wash this fog away in rain,
that I’ll find an exit and take it.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 10:46 PM UTC
"what do you think I should do?"
you looked in between your fingers and said to me
don’t be her cigarette
don’t let her light you up when there’s nothing to do and
put you out once she’s bored.
don’t be the aftertaste of chemicals in her mouth.
don’t be the black **** she spits onto the sidewalk.
don’t be convenient.
don’t be one of twenty in a pack of Marlboros.
so I left her.
you always knew what to say.
I never would have guessed that two months later
I would call you crying to say goodbye
hoping you would at least make a half assed attempt to care
with my phone in my left hand
and a handful of pills overflowing in my shaking right,
I never could have guessed you would’ve answered
with a complaint about how I woke you up.
I landed in the E.R.
like a skydiver lands in the ocean—
fumbling to unbuckle yourself from the parachute
sinking heavy in the salt water
being dragged down by the very fabric that was supposed to save me
trying to claw your way back up to the surface
like desperately clawing at the ceiling of your coffin
like lungs about to burst
like vision blurred
I was drowning
the thing that was supposed to save me
sunk me.
I sat under the florescent lights
that first night
wondering if you had called back
knowing you hadn’t
the whole week I picked at the white bracelet on my wrist
“female, 5’6”, 115 pounds, INPATIENT.”
While wondering if you cared
but knowing you don’t
But hoping you did
because it’s hard to hear for months the
“I’m not going anywhere
I love you
I’m right here
Call whenever you need it
at 3 in the morning or at 3 pm
you don’t need a reason to call if you
want to call just to hear my voice call.
we have something special
and I hope we never loose it
you’re my best friend
I was meant to have met you”—
********
You were my parachute.
The message I had from you
when I got discharged from the psych ward was:
“I have a lot going on and won’t be able to reply much.”
You always know what to say.
You pulled me under
you, heavy fabric
you, life-saving-invention
you, malfunctioned son of a *****
you—chain-smoker.
I have been one of twenty in her pack of Marlboros.
And now I’m one of twelve in your pack of Camels.
I've since quit smoking.
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 12:33 PM UTC
sitting in a car
two cokes in the cup holder
too busy wondering how I got here
because you're so much cooler and older
we've stopped the car but the music playing
I'm finding it hard focusing on what you're saying
I'm too busy looking at your lips
we both reach for our drinks,
brushing fingertips
you look at me in a way you haven't before
I don't feel like such a little girl anymore
I hear the sound of your seat belt unbuckle
I can feel our bodies getting at a closer angle
and we kissed in a car heatedly
only stopping for breaths repeatedly
and once we broke we were both breathing heavily
I looked into your brown eyes
they remind me of dark nights
but I didn't feel alone
I kissed you and felt at home.
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 11:26 PM UTC
Enmesh ourselves in the forest of our bodies
the movie could be written by our calculated cadence
folded arms to euphoric statements
tap your head to drink your thoughts
did not expect it after so long
massage your scars, unbuckle your taming
i can see the movie we are making
the wide eye boy and his capital charm
the small town boy with a fresh fresh start
Aug 10, 2023
Aug 10, 2023 at 6:09 PM UTC
He's an introvert
Yet an extrovert at its finest times
He's optimistic
And a pessimist
He is the heart of a hurricane
And the floor of the calm ocean
He fixes things
Says he is broken
He contradicts himself
But acts as though he will never
Be wrong
I love how upside down
He is
I love this boy because
Of his backwardness
And his tendency to make up
Words
And places
I love this boy because
He follows the rules
But also breaks them
He is the ultimate roller coaster
I feel daring and unbuckle
My seatbelt
The drops the dips the spins
The curves
My body is thrown off
I bonk my head on the ground of his
Brain
He doesn't make sense
But he does
At the same time
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 1:29 AM UTC
open your car door,
light up a cigarette
i say there’s something special
about cigarettes, but I don’t know what
unbuckle seatbelt
you tell me it’s the way you
are prolonging a suicide
it’s like the world is watching you
jump off a bridge,
but not do anything about it
because the fall is slow
i laugh and don’t say anything
leaving your house at 3 am
you tell me not to die
because the roads are bad
and I can barely drive
I snap at you and say
don’t tell me not to die
tell me you hope
it’s instant
on top of a parking garage
my feet almost froze
and i looked at you
and thought to myself
that you are the type of person
i would write poems about not
being able to write poems about
and i wanted to go home
but decided to stay
you did not kiss me goodbye
but, neither did I
unbuckle seatbelt
you asked if i wanted another cigarette
i shook my head and left
you pulled out of the driveway
i hope it’s instant
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 2:49 AM UTC
an open book on your lap,
hair a black jumble as you cross your legs.
i can hear the skin sliding over skin and the pursing of your lips,
like the sea chumming it up with the salt or some ships.
and of your tongue like a red oval sun
fighting against mine in the dark,
i lilt and drown in the dime of flesh above the ankle strap of your left shoe.
you uncross your legs and look at me, then dip your head toward the ground,
draw your hair out with your fingers, past your face, and let it fall
between your thighs.
skin brown as sand and as hot inside the living room,
beneath seventy watt bulb and lampshade.
you sit up, one mile into my mouth,
and cross your legs again, begin,
*“do you like the way that sounds, joshua?"
when my thighs brush against one another?”*
the moon gets caught
somewhere in a net as birds shut up
and cats uncurl.
unbuckle an ankle strap,
slip one foot barely out of your shoe. *“listen to that,
joshua, you can hear my foot
arching, my legs smearing into one another.”* sand glistens
with sweat
and trembles. uncross legs and gather your hair behind your neck,
slip off your other shoe and claim that you are “naked”.
i believe you
and blame my imagination on the book covered in the folds
of your dress.
***for my shortie
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 9:02 PM UTC
When you make a mess
and both laugh.
When her hair gets caught in the dial of your watch.
When your glasses scratch her clavicle.
When hands are too cold
and goosebumps ripple up thighs.
When bodies knock
into furniture, and you have to stop.
When you spill water on the nightstand.
When you wobble the lamp
and shadows lean across the bed.
When her flesh dials a coworkers’ numbers on your cell
or the phone just rings.
When your “Harry Potter” audiobook plays on shuffle.
When church is in seven hours.
When the shower is too hot
and you jump back out onto the duck-shaped mat,
she laughs at you, calls you a wimp.
When the bath is too cold and the upper drain
gurgles like a drowning obese man,
there are never enough bubbles.
When she tastes like soap.
When you talk about your days and thoughts
wander to tangential curves and your mutual
acquaintance Steve, you forget what is happening.
When clothing gets stuck on heads, twist of feet,
elbow crooks, and in the wheels of an office chair.
When it is still on your floor, and your grandma visits
at lunch she smiles saying you found a nice girl.
When you try something new.
When you miss.
When straps and buckles never
unstrap or unbuckle.
When your fingers panic,
they are charged like blades.
When the moon.
When you’re late.
When you don’t want to put your bra back on.
When you hair is off kilter like a bonsai tree.
When it was almost like dancing.
When someone sneezes.
When you hiccup.
When she breathes.
When drool.
When scratches.
When bitten.
When church is in four hours.
When the laundry tumbled on.
When the oven started to smoke.
When you forgot.
When tickled.
When kicking.
When hurting.
When doors unlocked.
When his belt buckle shocks your navel.
When arms ache and legs cramp.
When curled the next morning in each other.
When it’s cold across the room, and
your clothes are so far.
When you miss church.
When eyelashes rub each other.
When the sun.
When you try to talk.
When moaning.
When sighing.
When screaming.
When getting back.
When breaking apart.
When getting back.
When your lips smash together like trains.
When you fold the cloths after.
Oct 5, 2010
Oct 5, 2010 at 1:23 AM UTC
We're cruising along in your old off-beige '93 Ford Fiesta
The one with the great sound system
And I am miserable enough to drive us off a cliff
We crash backwards into the water,
Unbuckle each other's seatbelts,
Open our respective doors,
Grab each other,
And drown down there
Because we won't let go.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 5:43 AM UTC
Days feel hollow
Months get swallowed
Time is moving fast
I don't know how much time has passed
24 has turned into sixteen
I hardly have time to fix me
One day turns to 8
I try to be on time but I'm always late
Time slips right by
No matter how hard I try
The grip is not as tight
We're turning into light
Vibrating at a higher speed
Our physical bodies we'll no longer need
The shift is coming faster and stronger
I just wish my days felt a few hours longer..
Yet it is a sign of the changing times
Let's unbuckle our seatbelts and enjoy the ride
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 12:01 PM UTC
Sometimes I can't go a day without thinking about
Doing what my Dad did, and taking the easy way out
I imagine a gun up to my head or a noose on my neck
Unbuckle my seatbelt, and pray to God for a car wreck
I feel like such a fool, such a loser, such a mess
And yet, compared to others I am so very blessed
But sometimes I just feel as if I've never had a home
'cause even in a house full of people, I still feel all alone
I feel like the prodigal's son with no father to return to
Can't seem to find the answers, no matter who I turn to
If you stand too close to fire, eventually it's gonna burn you
I learned that the hard way, 'cause no one would ever come through
and save me from myself, as I was calling out for help
and I knew no one could hear me, but I still let out a yelp
All that pain and self destruction, it was weighing on my health
It was the deepest, darkest sorrow that I had ever, ever felt
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 5:59 PM UTC
I'm sorry that my spectacular patience sometimes goes wandering through the grape vines
Leaving me here frustrated at the fact that you can't tie your shoes without getting your pants *****
And sand in your underwear 150 miles away from the nearest beach
And I know on a few occasions the only way to get my patience back from the grapes
Is to drink a bottle of wine and take someone else's
But I'm working hard for you
On the days I forget clean socks
I know it's hard to believe that I'm the best choice
But I promise the judge had a good reason
I know you've been doing this alive thing for like three and a half years now
So you've had time to adjust
But I've been doing this father thing for like six months now
But you have to know I'm working hard for you
When you look at an S and call it an R
Can't figure to unbuckle your car seat and wont eat a green bean to get a cookie
I wish the guy who wrote
"What to expect when you're expecting"
Had written
"What to do when you weren't expecting"
Or at the very least
"How not to **** it up"
Your aunt says if you do the footwork the results will come
I am walking the path I will get there
You were born at 7am
I wasn't told until 11pm
I was late
But I held you
You squeezed my finger
I smiled
You're turning four soon
I'm late
But I love you
Hold my hand son
I will smile
We will walk this path
We will get there
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 4:13 AM UTC
the air is so cold i could bite into it
teeth chatter, a teenage nervousness bestowed itself
we were so safe there, together, alone
nothing to be afraid of, really
so why is the fear attracting so many?
isn't it better to sit there, let him
unbuckle your seatbelt for you,
and divulge secrets of hidden away distortions?
-cj
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 10:27 PM UTC
he takes one more gulp
finishing the bottle
whiskey dripping from his lips
he looks at you
you are frozen
as he drunkenly stands up
he sharply wipes his upper lip
and then licks them
your eyes look left
and then right
searching for your younger sister
thankfully
she is nowhere to be seen
as the home you shared
was now unsafe
you don’t move
as he takes a step toward you
paralyzed under his watch
you start to sweat
he swears under his breath
and you are beyond nervous now
you hear his belt unbuckle
before you see it drop to the floor
your mind tells you to run
but your feet do not move
his eyes squint at you
as he says, “don’t you think it’s past your bedtime?”
and you silently sit still
praying to God that he will turn around
he does not
in fact, he starts moving in your direction
faster now
and you squirm in your seat
afraid of what comes next
you look into his black, soulless eyes
hoping he will see your innocence
he does not
his zipper is now undone
and his grimy fingers
roughly jerking at your skirt
you are afraid
but the numbness sets in
and your eyes become heavy
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 12:56 AM UTC
fading mist desperate hands can no longer cling to the rising sun
dew settles as dew does
small deer find tasteful treats between the trees
a rabbit stirs
rays of light hit the lingering souls of water wondering where to go
so they throw a party and invite seven colors to join them.
I unbuckle my pants to **** and just barely miss a flower.
Mar 4, 2011
Mar 4, 2011 at 8:10 AM UTC
I still wish for you.
My heart don't exactly leap
When I see you
But other times
I drown
With necessity and hesitation
I unbuckle my heart
And steady my knees
This life indeed is a waning moon.
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 5:51 PM UTC
The nurses are always brisk and purposeful.
*** in this'
she said,
writing my name on the small plastic container
"I'll be back soon"
and out she went
leaving me alone to ponder on my ability
to fulfill this function.
"Now what"
I say to myself
"Unbuckle or unzip or both?"
How best to relax.
do what I gotta do
standing or sitting?
Will there be enough?
and what if it spills?
Could I get it off the floor?
and if not,
where could I get more?
Carefully, carefully, the job done
I put the precious liquid aside
and carefully, carefully
I pick up and ***** on the lid.
Zip.
Buckle.
Preen.
What tales will this ichor tell?
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 6:04 AM UTC
Under skies where umbrage is stitched with thoughts, I ponder, on the days, like copper, reticence is bent when voices, hushed, rise and take their place,
with colors sharp as blades, of stories then that crashed against the wall of silence.
Muted. Muted. Muted for so long.
This voice, a titan, bones crumpled in fetal position and slid into a box has been gagged for so long. The body now unfurls, a sapling having been denied of its spring for too long.
And I’m waiting for the day when I can keep my head up, when I can speak up and say my peace, say my piece.
And I’m waiting for the day, no longer I, a sunflower with shoulders hunched, head bowed, lips crimped, wilting under the star I’ve always loved, basking in the warmth and letting the shadow fall behind me, am afraid of parading the reflection the mirror holds for me. When rights are not hoisted as hopeful words scrawled on cardboard for no eyes to see.
No longer hidden, walk with neither shackles or shame, unapologetic without otherness and doubt, to stand tall, shedding the cloak of unseen, burst into darkness like new born light for everyone to see.
Under the crushing weight of novelty, head stuffed inside a crown for the surd, Humanity watered down until it turns into a pulp of flesh, no more. No more, I say.
Pay me no nods, nor embrace, nor tokens, but vows that we would dine at a table and see the beauty of existence in your eyes, take comfort in your smile, and speak my mind as you freely could, when you get out of line. If you don’t know, feel free to unbuckle my shoes, fill them, take root in them, walk miles in them, get spat in them, get persecuted without a reason in them, take a number, stand in line, keep your mouth shut in them, go home in them, if there are holes, feel the burn of friction, weep, weep, weep and be laughed at, be told what you feel is not real in them. Maybe yearn for a word or two and let somebody, anybody know you are crumbling into them, like a cinderblock too weak to cradle fire any further in them?
Maybe only then, that in them, you’ll take my callused hand to sand yours, and we'll find the stars that guide us home to peace, and in that space, our voices intertwine, the beating of hearts are in synch, with heads held high.
Let me, in confidence, be worthy of the space I claim and of equal measure know what it’s like to live free and not keep waiting for the day.
Jan 23, 2025
Jan 23, 2025 at 11:52 PM UTC
wet green moss and winter calves,
sly smiles and limoncello laughs;
carbonara grins and giggly eyes,
tiny cigarettes and wide open skies;
mournful ruins and teasing remarks,
sneezes in naples but bright roman sparks;
sleepy bus journeys and the back of your head,
etruscan bronze and paintings of bread;
late night laundry thinking of you,
heart rate climbing as you came into view;
you hear my bad puns and i love your low chuckle,
you grin at me and my walls unbuckle;
my stammering voice and your comforting gaze,
i will remember this time until the end of our days.
Dec 16, 2019
Dec 16, 2019 at 3:38 PM UTC
I fought the good fight one too many times.
The constant running, hiding, yelling.
When will it end.
I can feel my hands getting weak and my knees beginning to unbuckle.
When will it end?
Let this battle yield if only for a moment.
Let these tired eyes mend
Let my broken body rest tonight.
If only just for the night.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 12:55 PM UTC