"weaseled" poems - Hello Poetry

I remember it was the middle of winter when the family I met became my only summer. The cracks and pops of the exhaust made me so deaf to the common banter, that when I heard this group from across the dive, I knew they weren’t just another group of leather-vested dropouts. Initially it was the liquor store cologne stuck in their beards that attracted me, but I stopped and stayed when they told my back how beautiful blue eyes were. In the few minutes it took to inhale a whiskey coke, they had seen the thirst I had for freedom flowing out of my pores. They said that I reminded them of those dead flies in the corner, turned over and lifeless from the exhaustion one puts themself through when trying to live life so hard and so fast. And they were right; I had made an art out of living fast and crashing hard. When the skin on my palms tore and bled all over the pavement, it was like fine art to any peanut gallery. That was the night they taught me to ride. To unpin my curls and let them flow and crash in the wind like a desert ocean. They had found their horizon oasis in me. But Big Jimmy still hated me the most. I knew his secret and he saw that I had figured him out. He was a master at turning his cheap improperly functioning parts into his best character traits. But above everything, he let me learn that the open road will heal any scar. I’d been at war with myself. Before I knew that a desert sunrise on chrome was the best alarm clock, I only ever thought that the way I’d wake up was with rushed embarrassment to grab the ***** tip. Big Jimmy weaseled my ****** heart out of my sunken chest, and was gettin’ twitchy now that I had my hand on his. He always said at every pit stop, life was too short for traffic. And when I stepped out of the 7/11 that chilly November morning, I could hear the sounds of distant engines, howling laughter and a single tear hitting the asphalt. I was alone again. But this time, I wasn’t at war.

0

Sep 5, 2013

Sep 5, 2013 at 2:38 PM UTC

lily-staples

Big Jimmy Taught Me to Hate Traffic

I remember it was the middle of winter when the family I met became my only summer. The cracks and pops of the exhaust made me so deaf to the common banter, that when I heard this group from across the dive, I knew they weren’t just another group of leather-vested dropouts. Initially it was the liquor store cologne stuck in their beards that attracted me, but I stopped and stayed when they told my back how beautiful blue eyes were. In the few minutes it took to inhale a whiskey coke, they had seen the thirst I had for freedom flowing out of my pores. They said that I reminded them of those dead flies in the corner, turned over and lifeless from the exhaustion one puts themself through when trying to live life so hard and so fast. And they were right; I had made an art out of living fast and crashing hard. When the skin on my palms tore and bled all over the pavement, it was like fine art to any peanut gallery. That was the night they taught me to ride. To unpin my curls and let them flow and crash in the wind like a desert ocean. They had found their horizon oasis in me. But Big Jimmy still hated me the most. I knew his secret and he saw that I had figured him out. He was a master at turning his cheap improperly functioning parts into his best character traits. But above everything, he let me learn that the open road will heal any scar. I’d been at war with myself. Before I knew that a desert sunrise on chrome was the best alarm clock, I only ever thought that the way I’d wake up was with rushed embarrassment to grab the ***** tip. Big Jimmy weaseled my ****** heart out of my sunken chest, and was gettin’ twitchy now that I had my hand on his. He always said at every pit stop, life was too short for traffic. And when I stepped out of the 7/11 that chilly November morning, I could hear the sounds of distant engines, howling laughter and a single tear hitting the asphalt. I was alone again. But this time, I wasn’t at war.

3

"look at anxious annie, anxious again" "why is anxious annie always crying" oh annie how naive are you you can't have nice things you don't get to have true friends best friends never keep secrets you told her everything annie you told her how anxiety was the only thing that could hurt you if people made jokes when she suddenly decided to call you anxious annie you should've known you built up those walls so high but she weaseled her way in but when you forgave her that was your fault you told her about carving your wrists you shouldnt have been surprised when everyone knew the next day or when people started staring at your wrists when they thought you couldnt see them after all annie isn't the phrase fool me once shame on you fool me twice shame on me

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Feb 14, 2016

Feb 14, 2016 at 10:12 PM UTC

afr

anxious annie

"look at anxious annie, anxious again" "why is anxious annie always crying" oh annie how naive are you you can't have nice things you don't get to have true friends best friends never keep secrets you told her everything annie you told her how anxiety was the only thing that could hurt you if people made jokes when she suddenly decided to call you anxious annie you should've known you built up those walls so high but she weaseled her way in but when you forgave her that was your fault you told her about carving your wrists you shouldnt have been surprised when everyone knew the next day or when people started staring at your wrists when they thought you couldnt see them after all annie isn't the phrase fool me once shame on you fool me twice shame on me

18

“Come 'n see ‘em Come 'n see ‘em” Comes a shout made Whispered by years. Weaseled through shoulders as I do, to meet an Equilibrium. “See wot I caught boys” From deepest London, “great dark sea boys.” Curiosity baited and displayed. come see a show of inversion. Now, my monsters. We are more than fascinated by all their fingers and their unwritten skin. Clean-shaven faces cleared of rings and pins there are no chain links in their ears. We palm read faces here lifeline scars and portholes like a moonscape hung with silvers creased by the visiting sun and those pink fleshy penholders never received any Iodine. So they lie, just like sardines in line, below water-jars. Naturally packaged, for you in business suits of scales. Stops at the neck where the knife comes in as a sweet partition where the eyes are set. Above the hook so they can’t even see it. Look, look, at the consumables How disappointing. They lose the beauty of their shoals. One jigsaw piece, I’ve seen before which gasps and gasps. Poured on the rocks As we look down on the equilibrium. They look up at our differences.

0

Apr 1, 2014

Apr 1, 2014 at 5:11 PM UTC

harry-randle-marsh

Come 'n see 'em

“Come 'n see ‘em Come 'n see ‘em” Comes a shout made Whispered by years. Weaseled through shoulders as I do, to meet an Equilibrium. “See wot I caught boys” From deepest London, “great dark sea boys.” Curiosity baited and displayed. come see a show of inversion. Now, my monsters. We are more than fascinated by all their fingers and their unwritten skin. Clean-shaven faces cleared of rings and pins there are no chain links in their ears. We palm read faces here lifeline scars and portholes like a moonscape hung with silvers creased by the visiting sun and those pink fleshy penholders never received any Iodine. So they lie, just like sardines in line, below water-jars. Naturally packaged, for you in business suits of scales. Stops at the neck where the knife comes in as a sweet partition where the eyes are set. Above the hook so they can’t even see it. Look, look, at the consumables How disappointing. They lose the beauty of their shoals. One jigsaw piece, I’ve seen before which gasps and gasps. Poured on the rocks As we look down on the equilibrium. They look up at our differences.

42

He weaseled his way into my life Saying what he thought I wanted to hear Empty promises Lie after lie That's on him, on him Me letting him into my life Believing his lies even after my gut told me no Something is not right well then That's on me, on me

0

Nov 6, 2015

Nov 6, 2015 at 4:50 PM UTC

melissa-s

On Him ~ On Me

He weaseled his way into my life Saying what he thought I wanted to hear Empty promises Lie after lie That's on him, on him Me letting him into my life Believing his lies even after my gut told me no Something is not right well then That's on me, on me

15

T’was an overcast day in the month of October And you made bad decisions over and over You weaseled your way in my life A bad girl, promiscuous… Yet full of much promise And swore you had conquered your strife You had more than one chance Future still in the balance My love unknowest to me was lust Your beauty and charm Ignored the needle in your arm That milk was more important than us Blinded by elation And soul excavation Heart and head filled with white noise “Don’t try to change me” said my sweet Pixie “You’ll always be my favorite poor choice”

0

Apr 7, 2014

Apr 7, 2014 at 4:18 PM UTC

herbice

Untitled

T’was an overcast day in the month of October And you made bad decisions over and over You weaseled your way in my life A bad girl, promiscuous… Yet full of much promise And swore you had conquered your strife You had more than one chance Future still in the balance My love unknowest to me was lust Your beauty and charm Ignored the needle in your arm That milk was more important than us Blinded by elation And soul excavation Heart and head filled with white noise “Don’t try to change me” said my sweet Pixie “You’ll always be my favorite poor choice”

18