"usuals" poems
When we walked up to the door of our favourite coffee pub
You tangled your fingers around my own
And with a twist of my wrist
We went in
We order our usual from the usuals
The baristas never changed though the drinks did with the seasons
As I pull out the exact change from my coat
You shake some melted snow from your hair
We grab a seat at a nook by the window
There was a ring of dried coffee on the table
I fill it in with my mug
You joke it’s my OCD but I say it’s my love for the unappreciated
We listen to a woman with a guitar at the makeshift stage
She strums off a couple chords and sings with her lips
She fades into the background as I turn to look at you
Your eyes are closed to turn up the volume
I close mine too and let the music direct me
My mind swims like a trapeze *******
I sway with the strings and strums
Your hand grasps mine as I fall into the safety net
The guitarist is packing up
Our coffee or what’s left of it is cold
You lean over and
Two angels kissed like sinners
Two sinners kissed like angels
Jun 20, 2010
Jun 20, 2010 at 11:16 PM UTC
A Cold Affair
She'd been the queen from the moment she was born everybody felt her. She knew it and at some point became sure of it, but nothing lasts forever in the circle of nature all four siblings got their turn and every one of them brought their own drama with them. She was the cruelest of the four because when she came around everything in it's different existence had their mixed reaction towards her. Some animals would hibernate and humans would almost do the same but for them it was a part time thing specially when her moods were up. She would make them feel her every single move they would get cold, change their usuals clothes and trade them for their warmer versions which usually stay stuffed in the deepest parts of their closets. They'd put on scurves, boots, track suits to hand gluves since even their hands would nearly freeze she was one hell of a cold women. As her circle was nearing the finish line on her last run she would become the meanest. To be honest she was never cruel or mearnt to torment, being cold was the only way she knew how to show love and by the cold breeze and a wave of cold fronts it was her only trying to be remembered as another sibling was about to take their turn. She would over express herself and yes she would be felt as it was winters last goodbye.
Swoo
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 5:00 PM UTC
my favorite hat says Love Yourself
because I need the ******* reminder
it’s pink, a color I used to think was girly, and
the brim has a floral print
the kind my mom told me was too flamboyant
before she knew I was gay
before I needed the advice
but a mother always knows best
or that’s what they say, except
mine still doesn’t
the teacher I hate
used my hat as an example in class (poetic irony)
this is image
this is type
like we couldn’t read the screen
my lazy entitlement
bitter in his space
yet in my own room i still can’t read the words on the page,
or make myself.
i still look for purpose
but the weekend basement usuals tend to call first
(if anyone else called)
and I find comfort in
the ritual
it’s not that I fear responsibility
i’m hiding from myself
if there was a me to find
in the meantime,
i try to Love this
i try to Love something
i don’t usually taste the effort.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 1:22 AM UTC
When I met him for the first time..
It seemed like I was abducted and thrown into a meadow.
It’s jolt was such an impact, yet overwhelmingly mellow.
The breath of fresh air. Away from all my usuals. But most definitely, my type..
And there he was. Standing with his words all over the place, but he’s smarter..
He has them all decorated like an uncomplicated flower arrangement, better !
When I met him for the first time..it felt like he knows..
He knows how to grab my attention, but he does something bigger..
He exposes his soul to me, opens up in a manner that is a little wee..
Now that he’s naked, and raw.. I can finally feel the marks of that paw..that scratched his soul, it wounded my own..
I wanted to tell him, out loud..
That I was here. And that he could count..
Count on me till the end, for this was just a speed bump, the F1 race is far from over..
When I met him for the first time..
There he was, like an open treasure chest, and all I could feel was like Jack sparrow, at his black pearl’s quest.. I wanted to tell him that this is just the intermission, life has it’s own gradualization..
But he looks up, and cracks a joke that’s fake.. he is trying so hard to hide the ache.. but little does he know, that I pile too, When it all gets much too..
but fear is what gets us going.. defines our being.
Suddenly I feel his breath on my shoulder, for now he has taken shelter..
His hands getting colder..
Yet the embrace getting bolder.
He turns to me.. says will I be alright ? And that’s when I know he was already a little better..a little right.
So when I met him for the first time, I asked him too..
If I could drop my curtains..?
All he could do is be all ears.
And listen to all the nasty anecdotes over my years..
And I think, I finally found my soul mate..
who said it had to be someone you marry ? It could be someone with who you can relate..
When I met him for the first time..
It seemed like I was abducted and thrown into a meadow.
It’s jolt was such an impact, yet overwhelmingly mellow.
Dec 8, 2017
Dec 8, 2017 at 6:56 AM UTC
Without you there is no inspiration,
good or bad.
I am lifeless,
there is no feeling,
no emotion.
I am going through the motions of everyday
till you find your way back to me again.
You are in a place where no one knows your name,
you can start fresh,
be yourself.
I am stuck in this dust bowl,
looking for comfort,
seeking out friendships.
You are breathing clean air,
I am ******* in exaust and dust.
You are in an indie rock haven,
ska escape,
metal homeland.
I am swirling in country music,
wailing gospels,
classic rock FM static.
Come home soon.
The usuals miss you.
Sep 24, 2010
Sep 24, 2010 at 9:40 AM UTC
I guess its final;
I am here,
In the same place
The every day
ways of the environments
Of lifes beautiful face-
on every drive
in every way
Its becoming familiar
Maybe a new start
With the Introduction to
the patterns of the daily usuals
I think another year will be such a brave decision,
A simple leap of trust of responsibility
And realiability
A simple independence;
Proven to be another challenge;
as well as the the midterm
of finding who I am.
Jun 4, 2011
Jun 4, 2011 at 4:33 PM UTC
Imagining the girl frightened
Trembling somewhere up ahead
Talked to her as I went along
Doing my best
Reassuring her I meant no harm
My words came
Slapping back at me in a disorienting echo
She asked me to leave her alone
Finding her comfort in silences
Content with the routines, the usuals
Her holy place, very deceiving
The contrasts she loved
I stepped on her words
Said I cannot bear leaving her on her own
Now that I'm here
She didn't have to be
I gave her all that I had
Answered with only a shake of her head
Telling me she doesn't want me around
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 8:48 PM UTC
Comatosed with open gaze insinuating
Morphine daydreams,
With bristling hairs along arms
Before she had the chance to shave
and the folicles deactivated;
It is her womb she has devoted
For the public eye;
How it slowly rots, from incarnadine
-as the historical pictures aside her show-
To it's current viridian swelter;
Like an ugly robust bruise too tough to die.
Rupturing outward a torridness
Of legs and crooked fingers stuck to half-grip,
Scanning southly one notes globules of goosebumps
Haunting up her thighs,
Pricking cloudward and shivering implying that,atleast,
For a second whilst living she was aware of this—
Her impending fate.
Red,red,red lips
bud close to form a cute,poppish image,
Honouring those photographers who come and go—
Her tiny hands are posited to corner her tiny *******
As not to stir any further controversy.
The lady in the jar awaits the usuals,while blind
to her own doing so,
Mind overrun and on display like a faulty calculator
Via that dull, happy, gaze.
She smells up the room of exquisite perfume and
Quixotic trees and fields and roads and too much more to mention...
The fee these stranger's would scavage from their pockets
Just to be awarded a chance to touch
The fair lady’s skin and determine a better verdict
As to whether or not she meant all that much to the world
at all.
Jun 16, 2020
Jun 16, 2020 at 8:55 PM UTC
So mom told me " I don't know what we are going to eat tomorrow ".
I decided to leave my beauty
'cause I knew "Pretty" was going to keep us away from starvation in the next morning.
Tight dress, I wore.
9 inches heel, I wore.
Red lipstick, I wore.
Mascara
Blush
Mud or whatever the usuals call it " a Coverage".
I once heard " Pretty " makes you the centre of attention.
I heard that "Pretty" fills your pocket for a day.
I mean no jobs.
Lack of education.
What is there for me to have a profession in?
Millions spent to change streets that already have names.
Pastors don't practice what they preach.
Case documents missing
And Lawyers being caught in the middle.
Governments expanding their estates with the nation's money
Who are we to trust these people with our lives?
Who am I not to use my Pretty flaw to cash up?
Who am I to criticise, when I too is breaking the image of womanhood?
Yes, "Pretty" struck an *** of a man's eyes.
Boxers who can't read or write earn millions for a round.
I get R200 for a round
Battling with a stranger
Pretty smashes beauty.
Him winning the round
Me losing myself
Losing self-respect
Losing womanhood.
But still we had a something to eat the next morning and night.
My mom smiled not knowing where it all came from.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 12:51 PM UTC
So mom told me " I don't know what we are going to eat tomorrow ".
I decided to leave my beauty
'cause I knew "Pretty" was going to keep us away from starvation in the next morning.
Tight dress, I wore.
9 inches heel, I wore.
Red lipstick, I wore.
Mascara
Blush
Mud or whatever the usuals call it " a Coverage".
I once heard " Pretty " makes you the centre of attention.
I heard that "Pretty" fills your pocket for a day.
I mean no jobs.
Lack of education.
What is there for me to have a profession in?
Millions spent to change streets that already have names.
Pastors don't practice what they preach.
Case documents missing
And Lawyers being caught in the middle.
Governments expanding their estates with the nation's money
Who are we to trust these people with our lives?
Who am I not to use my Pretty flaw to cash up?
Who am I to criticise, when I too is breaking the image of womanhood?
Yes, "Pretty" struck an *** of a man's eyes.
Boxers who can't read or write earn millions for a round.
I get R200 for a round
Battling with a stranger
Pretty smashes beauty.
Him winning the round
Me losing myself
Losing self-respect
Losing womanhood.
But still we had a something to eat the next morning and night.
My mom smiled not knowing where it all came from.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 1:39 AM UTC
I feel like me when you drop me off
when I come home safe and sound
I have a thing for all things soft
with the corners going rough
I can never seem to get enough.
I want to be a man
God, I want to be a man so bad
I feel like me when you gift me drinks
the usuals, you know well which they are
I feel like me when you don’t feel me
A good time you promised I’d adore
I don’t feel like a woman anymore
I want to be a man
God, I want to be a man so bad
Mar 4, 2020
Mar 4, 2020 at 1:18 AM UTC