"yellowbird" poems
I was 15 years old with trails
of white powder dripping from my nose.
I was 16 and never saw a sober day of my life,
I hid behind bottles of whiskey and ***
bags of molly, and vials of kitty.
I was 17 and growing tired
of this life.
I was 17 and knew this
wasn’t who I was meant to be.
I was 17 with friends and
a pact to move to California and make
something of ourselves. I was 18
and kicked out of my mothers house.
I was 18 and living with a best friend.
I was 18 and found out they
were doing ****** and ****
I was 18 and sick of
all the lies so I left.
I moved to Socal where
I surfed couch to couch till I
climbed my way to the Bay area.
I was 19 and lost.
I was 19 and went on a 2 month
road trip with my best friend and a guy who tried to ****** me.
I was 19 and
looking for myself. I made it
to New Orleans and back with only losing myself
more. I was 19 and fell in love
for the first time. I was
20 and met a boy whom I never
sought out to show me how to change myself until he broke my heart for
the very first time. I was
20 years old and let him enter my
tunnel heart like the yellowbird he is.
He made it out alive but for a second I didn’t think I would.
I did. I was 20 and
finding myself. I was 20 and getting myself
together after a broken heart.
I was 20 and I found myself for the first time.
I was 20 and no longer wanted death for my birthday
I am now 21 and fearless.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 9:39 PM UTC
loitering in German is repulsive
always inebriated, even –
understand?
repetition and throat plug
pronouns (she gags on “du”
bleats “mein”)
exotic? nah. adored?
well
they tell me “das Gift” peals a
heavy cognate; it also
answers to “poison”
but Gifts in King’s
is “toxic” not
sorry
are – not – toxic
so flash me that
yellowbird
lather, anchor in strand
these quicksilver
nothings, murmured
honeydew venom
overheard myself last night
calling du but your scent
killed by mein pulse
almost fooled me, nearly
sounded like
the antidote
and other delicious gifts
you’ve given me
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 5:49 PM UTC
Most days are an empty worn
Out house
On 1300 south block
It sees all the wealthy
From Costco
to it's front door -
If, you heed the need.
No one pays attention
Or spends on empty houses
with broken boards for steps
or bed springs to sleep on.
Most walk by
thinking something like,
That house did it to itself.
To get to where it is.
But they would be dead wrong.
It takes years for a house to empty out
Because of neglect
from all sources, for a time,
For misfortune,
no matter all
the life inside.
This was a yellowbird house
proud to be built.
People, a cat or two,
maybe an obedient dog
walked in and out
Someone cared enough to put a roof on
It thought complete.
Some people are like empty houses,
Neglected, cobwebs and sticky.
But, people bleed,
that get torn down
by so many things.
One thing in common though,
houses and people are eventually
demolished
if no one cares.
Someone may crash
into your car of goods
as you exit the fancy box stores
that make you think more is better.
But then your son collapses at home
from an overdose.
You, clueless.
What were you paying attention to?
Just barely 26.
What was, your yellowbird home,
will now be remembered
When the sound you heard
of your son's thump as he hit
the bathroom floor,
as you readied for work.
Split in half.
Someone dies.
You didn't plan on being
an empty house now
today,
did you?
So, what will you do about it?
Abandoned like an empty parking lot
Sorrow the only true begger
Grasping for something,
A currency
To take you back.
So stop flirting with birds
As they come and go.
Time is not for sale.
Aug 12, 2025
Aug 12, 2025 at 2:06 PM UTC