I shall compare myself to an unsharpened pencil
Brimming with potential to sketchingly write.
Yet,
All of it unconveyed,
Encompassed in my receptacle—
So long as I
remain unsharpened.

I ***** stanzas -
I spew literary clutter
My poetry is aimless
The words all muddled

I write unsharpened
The point pressed pointless
A fire smoldering with no tinder
The universe questions its existence

You are blue
Your companionship has long since gone away
Your words come slowly if ever
Your interjections have no meaning
Your passion is a doused flame
Your decisions are unfair
  
You are bronze
Your shine is lackluster
Your potential is untapped
Your enthusiasm is misdirected
  
You are rust
Your intellect is a-waste
Your trust is broken
Your mind is now clouded
  
You are brown
Your ear is unsharpened
You coughs are unnatural
Your friendship is valued even yet
  
You are orange
Your ethic is admirable
Your company is comical
Your life is my soaps
  
You are yellow
Your face is but fair
Your skin has blemishes
Your actions not so demure – but yet
  
You are red
Your actions are fuel for my fire
Your intentions are good but the crafted hands left wanting
  
You are Violet
Your pain was great
Your color is of love
Your solid perseverance is for me
  
You are White
Your brilliance outshines mine
Your patience burns as fast as light
Your opinion flares as bright as magnesium
  
Black is not found
Deep down I have looked
But came back wanting
  
Is that naïve?

It's a Thursday night
and I'm higher than I've been
all week.

The boy told me this was the good stuff (as he does every week) so I took it on faith that he was exaggerating.

Two blows later
and I can barely read the late Mr. Vizzini's words.
My body feels warmer than it has
since November of 2012,
and my face is itchier than my last year in Boy Scouts, circa 2008.

The walls of my room seems a lighter shade of purple than the have in years
and my carpet is not as stained as it was this morning.

Old Polaroids of my parents' wedding are tacked on my wall,
and in those pictures my grandmother is the most beautiful women in the world.

Thank God for muscle memory,
and thank God for compulsive *******,
and thank God unsharpened pencils,
and thank God for everything else that my body knows how to do and everything that I can see in my room and put down in this poem.

There is no purpose to this,
but today I asked a friend of mine
why she is always looking at the sky
and she told me because if she looks at it long enough
it isn't the sky at all.
It is her
and she can speak to herself
and she can thank God for compulsive ******* and ****** science fiction literature.

It's a somber feeling
when the winds of autumn come slipping through the gaps
under your front door.
They sneak in, like the smell of unsharpened pencils,
and slip on like new jeans bought for the new year.
It is during autumn
that life truly starts again.
Summer's sleepless nights
give way to the October winds
that make you twirl and dance in your kitchen
with windows wide open.
It roses your cheeks with the mornings of November,
warms your soul with the mouthfuls of coffee
on the August nights when your books have not yet been creased.
And as your highlight the texts
and the memories of friends' faces lit by orange fires,
remember that autumn is your season of purpose;
Its winds promise the turning of new leaves;
its day promise new adventures,
And its chill will rattle your bones
and awaken the sleeping siren
that summer always leaves forgotten.

She says throw out the dishes she says go to sleep she says
we’re definitely getting older everyday you’re getting older
everyday she says how does my skin look she says where is the moon
she says no she says buy me a water, unlock the door for me,
the bus is here she says I’m ten minutes late twenty fifteen thirty
thirteen the astronaut is here and he’s about to leave without you
goodbye rocket ship she says I’m a rocket ship she says you’ll never
be a rocket ship she says your face is tarnished ruined like
knives left unsharpened like blackberries creamed on the walls remember
the deathwalls

she says look at us

we’re talking in rhythm now.

They said your name on the announcements this morning, but you weren't around to hear it.  
They spoke it just like anyone else would, but the tone they had was all wrong.  
The curves in the letters of your name -much like the curves of your hourglass figure- did not drip off the announcer's tongue like they should have.  
They were summoned from the front of their brain rather than the inkiest depths of their heart.  
They said your name flat, grim and thin like dull graphite.  
They read you prayer, but I'm not quite sure what it contained, because the moment they spoke your name on the announcements this morning, the floor rushed up and up and up until the crack of my head met the vanilla scrubbed tile.  
The room blurred and the room buzzed and the announcer continued to talk in his unsharpened pencil rasp, and I hoped and hoped and hoped some more that they played our song at your burial.

I.) Bodies of

Open lakes are naked
Their secrets,
Rub like salt.
How did one get here
What seized the labour of hands.
Do we deserve to know.
Do we deserve to know the extent.
Do we deserve to know the extent of our own subjugation.
Knees meet dry earth.
It's dry where we forget to water it
Not that it needs water,
Salt finds form
In our negligence.
Arid insincerity spoke of more.


II.) To follow

We left.
We did not need to stay
A dry sterile whisper kept us there
With it's pleas for us to leave.
The trust of invitation,
Burnt holes in our wings.
Untrust of warning,
Had us leaving without our things
I don't know which is better.
A departure announced drew heed to soft cartilage.
Unsharpened curfue split bone without piercing the skin.
The expression of self.
Callous wanderers knocked at no doors;
to accept rejection.


III.) Reintegration of being

The want of murmurs in wanton misuse
Kept us foraging for lust,
For more,
For inability in casualty.
We waited for forest to arrive,
Bare earth begged of no candour,
Trees deny script.
Unclenched hands greyed over context
As purpose gave none where some was due.


IV.) What the stars offered

A quest unrelenting bends bark in fervour.
Do we know why we left,
Cold hands hock at swords needed to keep slight wrists in check.
Or where we are going,
Our aimless pacing finds direction in blind eyes and guided hearts.
All the dust settled, buried in puddles like art.
And the thunder was there
The thunder never knelt
But we listened
To listen was the choice.
A brief connection with the sky
Through it's reproach
It implored for something more,
Only upon deaf ears.
Was earth all there was to rain on?
We thought, as the stars spat on us.
Celestial offering in cleanse not spite.


V.) Love

Maybe that's why we left.
To trascend our own ideas of love.
Innocent foliage made the path harder to see,
But easier to tread.
Gentle arches hug mounds of green
Like finger tips kissed by yonic flesh.
To remember the conception in contact,
Was to recognize our own affirmation
And any word intended for the ears of the unknown.
Blood is replaced where word is love.


VI.) Relation to self

To stay or leave was not the choice
The distance from anything was illusory.
The real choice, was acceptance of self.
After the end of our disintegration,
The dry heave,
Leaving without hesitation;
We are not without ourselves.

He treasured every inch of her skin
As if he was responsible for putting together her body structure and curves
Every detail was well thought, a result of numerous hours of unsharpened pencils and sketches
He has done this before, maybe even to the point that every stroke became less and less meaningful
When he wasn't preoccupied, leisure consisted of admiring buildings, edifices and towers that touched clouds and reached skies
He contemplated and wondered if he would ever come up with a design, so great that it would represent perfection
During nights when he would close his eyes,
He imagined a bare lot with overgrown grass, enclosed with trees
He pictured the process of construction, men moving back and forth, drenched in sweat,
And heat that showered on them like hovering bees
He never knew what perfection looked like, no matter how many times he would lie in bed at night with closed eyes
But she came to him like an idea, an inspiration that walked through the door
Yet he did not recognize that perfection looked beautiful in lavender
Nor did he know that she loved soft rains and ice cream during winters
He did not acknowledge such existence until she tore down her walls for him
And she became his favorite sketch, a structure he would always keep building
An assembly of the most appealing interior, countless hallways and staircases
A concept that needed more explanation and could not be written, spoken or expressed as blueprints
She became his favorite design, and a treasure he valued way more than any of his work

He loved her.

n.j.

I had a dream recently,
where you were *******
me,
and it was so ******* hilarious,
because you were awful.


before waves, I used to imagine you
being the one to anchor me until the chains
ripped my skin to bone.

before sun rays, I used to think you
were the only one who could make my flesh
burn and peel and never ever heal.

before alcohol, I used to get foolishly drunk
on you. and you. and you.

i was a hunk of fish being hacked away by a
unsharpened butcher knife.
the hunks and guts splattered all over the apron.

you used to say i was beautiful,
and i guess i can’t believe it anymore because
you ripped my spine out only to place the bones
wrong and walking has never felt the same.

this dream never made sense, like the rest of them,
i swim through them with too much salt in my lungs
and the ocean keeps trying to drown. Drown. Drown. Me.

see you again, in a dream, in a wave, in a lie.
the thing is, i sort of want you inside,
but i only know you’ll crash.break.rip.stomp.
and my skin is already mangled

A new adonias we weep for
A miiddle aged life tooken
From us by a disturbed
Hairy trigger
We flood the rows
And watch anger
Linger behind stained glass
But forgivenesses message
Dwells in the holy  mans heart
All the worlds unsharpened charcoal
Cant sketch the scene on his deck
When the bullet missed the dart board
And landed inside his precious
Life breathing chest
In here we are safe
In here a wishing well of endless
Purified water from our sadness
Cant ressurect our friend frank rossiter
Few fathers experience lost sons
Few mothers watch their sons
Explain to strangers why adonias
Cant be here anymore
To watch the running
Pigskin at the state foot ball game

my friend read my poems and said "wheres your point"?
The truth *****!
I realized I have no point.
I read robert lowell,
I have john berrymens dream songs.
He seemed disconnected,
I read my journal,
All my secrets confused him.
We all start out ******,
But we all end in happiness.
No matter what I read.
My point leaves, I cant find my
True meaning of meanings.
Hes rite my points a dull unsharpened pencil
But with work ill be a poet.
Im a delussional dream.
Please show me
Every moment I failed at
Writing.  Its a necassary evil
I needed to feel.

my friend read my poems and said "wheres your point"?
The truth *****!
I realized I have no point.
I read robert lowell,
I have john berrymens dream songs.
He seemed disconnected,
I read my journal,
All my secrets confused him.
We all start out ******,
But we all end in happiness.
No matter what I read.
My point leaves, I cant find my
True meaning of meanings.
Hes rite my points a dull unsharpened pencil
But with work ill be a poet.
Im a delussional dream.
Please show me
Every moment I failed at
Writing.  Its a necassary evil
I needed to feel.

You have never been definite.
Your infinite definitions, each
contradicting their precedent.

A dull, double-edged sword,
unsharpened, unsheathed,
guided through my chest
by naïve empathy.

You are perfection
with intrinsic flaws--
I drown in the furious rapids
of your teary waterfalls.

I could venture on my own,
avoid you altogether,
but risk losing the essence
that keeps my soul tethered.

If you are love, you are an empty prison.
Empty cells,
empty halls,
plain white walls, motives hidden.

So what am I feeling?
Is this pain or affection
knocking loudly on my conscience
and interrupting my healing?

Who what why
We feel enveloped
Like we were licked
E---Tricked frightened
Secretly eloped
Who do we elect?
Why all signs
Horse, Of course
monkey, Divorce
Tiger Eyes strong heart
This world falling apart
The presidential
minds over
shock waves
surfboard
Or somebody is a great asset_
The brain waves hand slaves
boardroom
Ready set became
the schoolroom
The study
The speed walker
sturdy built
She had a heart
of a magnet lover

Recharge to be reset (Elect)
Main course subject
lips met to
be picked
when the sun
goes down
electrified
Our sunset

Ms. Marrionette
The trick misery
chair
To be tricked like a
hollyhock around the
ticking sticks
and stones
clock
United Nation
security
council
being spied upon

Mr. Sherlock
holding his
unsharpened
pencil

Pop Eyes poppy flowers*
Sun-lit showers overload of hours
Over the amazing hills of
Ireland my pick
He takes you
the hand like a
stranger in paradise
like a dream lips like
divine shades the taste
cream demitasse

You're sleepwalking
He is Jaywalker
Jack climbs
up pins of the
cactus sting bean-stalk
Being pinned to the
election talk small talk
Moms' crock-***
He's the spacewalk
Taking my arm
Armstrong+__**
Proud but now its
the forgotten land
Needing a brighter future
(Night owls Neverland)
Nighthawks of
Disneyland bringing

(Ray of sunshine)

The more  I see you
the more I want you
As years go by love talks
The luck of the
Irishman shamrock walks
All pranks
Flinstones of bedrock
Going to the
boardwalk*

Coney Island Baby,
he is half-cocked
A piece of the rock
More like gridlock
The hat was flying
windy__City
Cool electric, please
stay calm don't panic
Your face was
the ice puck
Goldilocks Grandmas house
three bears acting like
someone's spouse
Dog of pugs big bark
The lights bright electric
Fell over her porridge dark
Robin red breast bird fly
His Mark cornstalk but why?
The heat intensity
Everlasting
chemistry
no drilling so
hot heat beat
blasting electricity

If I had to
pick something
Let me be well
Crystal ball met me sanity

Your husband has his
toothpicks you
are his lady
dental floss
You're both
better off with
prays of God
Never to be tricked
by the cross

Sometimes I like looking at the world without my specs on...
Like the world is a painting that had an accident with water.
Undefined lines.
Unexplained sides.
Unsharpened edges.
And Unseen emotions.

Smudged together like a make-up artist working in a hurry..
Like world is a canvas for an apprentice.
Unmade faces.
Undisturbed innocence.
Unclear visions.
And unsolved equations.

A tree stares in disbelief at
an axe with an unsharpened edge
Unsure if its fate is to be beaten rather than
chopped to death
before giving birth to tables and chairs
A pavement recoils in disgust
that weeds and not roses sprout from its crevices
Indignant at the unfairness of it all
Even the pictures painted
by words scrawled on anguished walls
seem to have something to say
While I’m lost in thought
on a park bench
trying to make sense
of masked
lockdown/murdering/rioting days

Like a wilted plant I was caught in a ceramic *** painted like a spider web
You were my love and the band of my existence
Saying that isn't enough when I mean to say you were a ballet dancer
and a poppy seed bagel and a brand new bottle of nail polish
a champion of industry and and unsharpened pencil

I have a picture we took together
its your blurry childhood hand snatching at the camera
I clicked the button and flash there it was
a stuck moment in time
a time of playful zoo days and class field trips

Together we were a couple of culture shock cuties and sadgirl themes
making a red wine grin

You were a love and You were my artist but your friend caught my eye

Wasted and wounded, I still adhere to wishing to be some new state
This country made his compatriots buried in the mud
This county slived hopeless ones until they broke into crumbles
This street has no vision,
It’s useless to bond each shambles together, rife with unrecognizable blood stains and toils
No one can creep into the dragon’s nest and see the deflective meanings on his unsharpened teeth anymore
I’ll die here against my will, and I’ll stock myself in a pine box
And collectors gonna collect me someday, so I’m not here to judge

Everyting’s primal, all the pride’s esteemed
My gun sleeps like a hunter’s, my pleasure gets lost
My deeds are tangled, time lays in a deathbed
My loved ones are ghosts, slaying themselves and wearing skins
I’m an antique sculpture that stands still in an antique pose
I got punched by so many weathers that keep changing still
Amongst so many individuals that think they have a style of their own, I made my stand
I’m broke down like a fortune globe but yet not broke in pieces
And collectors gonna collect me someday, I know I’m not ready

I have not to call someone that I think I scarsely know
“That’s not the real news” would be said,                                 “These not the real words”
Plenty things wouldn’t be dawned on if they’re not forgotten
Swear to god I’d know they’re true but they were stigmatized by the realities and brokenness
I’d know it’s fine to get involved in something I feel that I don’t know
Now the best I can is the worst they can’t, the tapsters got stiffed, too many thing’s wrong
And the first break of day turned to be the last spark of ray, I can’t even tell myself that the day’s done
******* collectors gonna collect me someday
I’m pretty sure

The sheriff eats his last supper, he’s going downsouth
He missed his target for 28 times, 24 times he lost attention
Neighbour mumbles :”frankly dear, I don’t care”, now I think he’s freed of wrong tries and right mistakes
Now he thinks he tries his last wrong chance to leave his girl hung on a crucifix, he knows she won’t die
Some details changed about the things fellow citizens talk about, they miss the closures for the each drag-to-death breath, they miss the infinity
They miss the times they would never know they’ll go astray
I’m blinded and I’m bored, far away from the grave-of-soul shores
Collectors gonna collect me someday, and I don’t give a ****

Fies, lo and beholds, invitations to a brought-down loneliness by a downtown girl
Fies, honking mouths and screaming seats
These streets got a lotta work to do with late-night loudmouths
They tuckle and thumb the gaps on the after-rain grounds under the scrapped magazine papers
Over the jacuzzi of draining blackness, under the trees, under the vast, they seek pubs and jobs
As a fact of no matter, I don’t sleep better compared to two days ago
My bed’s not cold yet, blackmen still arresting the quiet ones of bad-aftermathed jigglers at the blue ridge
Oh, baby, somebody’s gonna collect me someday
I don’t care

precious feet are walking
down the same old street
and from the mouth there’s talking
a proud and joyful speech
but eventually the same old gets to be too old
and the young at heart divert the path just to see what may unfold

a new day brings
a brand new breeze
and the sun is rising
to erase all dreams
all hearts are beating
for the newborn sun
but the heat index
will melt everyone
eventually the same old gets too same and old
and the young at heart will melt away just to see what may unfold

I’m so passionate for the poison
and I will drink until it’s gone
and mark myself for death and burial
until the moon replaces the sun
I pick up precious things
with the needles underneath
never knowing what sinks inside
and what latches on with teeth-
inside of me

I can’t close my eyes for too long
or whatever is inside will divide and emerge
from deep beneath the caverns and the walls
and begin another purge!

I wish I never
picked up what was forbidden
and began my endeavors
to find what was hidden!
I can blame my shepherds
for having different names
but when I’m lying naked
I can only curse the rain!
the cold will subdue me
and will muffle all the crying
but when the clouds move and awaken
it’s easy to see that I’m dying
and I lied to those around me
and I lied to myself
when you had found me
I said I never needed help
but now I am broken
and I can’t trust in my intuition
and when words are spoken
they bring only inhibition!
I can’t start and I can’t stop
and I try hard but i can’t walk
my feet are paralyzed
but my mind has reason to still talk!
my feet are hole-y and I still whole-y
believe that I am still unholy
while blood and sweat try to control me
the poison I drank was enough to dull my blade
and make me a breakable
unsharpened
craggy
knife!

and **** me for life-
Y

an unsharpened no.2 pencil--with a

half-chewed pink head, nary scalp itch.

pencils up...five minutes in, fifteen questions

of cardinal truth.

examination--subject: nondescript, grade:

nondescript, ambiguity: satisfactory.

pupil slowly drags his chair backward--after

holding both hands up for permission.

the wooden board soring his ***, remains studded

underneath, with undetected gum-chewing.

he walks to the front of the classroom, & places his

no.2 pencil in a manual pencil sharpener.

working it like a meat grinder, in this superimposition

of silence.

his teacher then excuses herself from a potpourri of

free ranging doodoo.

in a hail of reprimands--her pupil is banished back

to his test sheet.

where the excess of cleaning agents applied by the

school's custodian, probe his sense of smell made

vulnerable.

enter the metallic smell of blood.

as he undergoes a fountainous nosebleed--grabbing

the blank test sheet, to thwart the gush.

on sight...his teacher isn't sure whether to send him

to the principle, or the nurse.

as an old sweater I outgrew
with holes big as blood clots
and unravelling
uneven, fuzzy pilling
broken fibers
tangled into knots
but not willing
to throw the tattered woolly
mammoth out
because despite the loose threads
faded color
and unsharpened arms
that look like cow’s teats
which haven’t been milked in weeks
it still provides me warmth
each time I slip it on

I'm hoping that someone will adopt me
That will easily get totally smitten
I'll warm your laps, and purr alot
And act just like a kitten

Also, i don't go hunting wildlife
And i am afraid of dogs
I'm also very well house trained
I am the cleanest of mogs

I keep my claws unsharpened
I have no tail, like a Manx
Feed me plenty of Salmon
I'll meow an eternity of thanks

I never rub my *** on the carpet
Nor bury my poo on the lawn
But may spend all night mating
From dusk, right through, till dawn

So i'm looking for someone to adopt me
And accept me for who i am
A philosophical furball coughing *****
I purr, there fur, i Siam!
by Jemia