“When the credits roll…”
Posts tagged poem
Set me free
Or love me
Hold on to me
Or let me go
To the ghost of you
Yet so far away
I soothe you
But I feel painfully free
You move me
Yet you stay religiously.
in my life raft
first aid kit
to use in remotes,
torches, sex toys)
Take me back to the days of being
a puppy in a laundry basket, an Indian princess,
a fairy on the bridge in your neighborhood, we’d create little
rafts out of sticks and grass for flowers to ride under the creek.
Back then I knew I was beautiful, but now I’m not so sure.
Back then I would laugh so hard that I’d roll on the ground,
All my crooked little teeth shining and back then I’d cry
if something upset me, and now I always ask myself if it’s worth
crying over instead of just feeling and back then I’d tell you
all my darkest secrets under blankets late at night,
and we’d stand in front of your full-length mirror, dressed as glamorously
as old Halloween costumes allowed and we’d be models and we’d
sing loudly for our mirror friends, walking the runway of your periwinkle
bedroom, but now I don’t dress up and now I know I’m not a model,
now those days are gone and so are we,
spread thin by the eternal human flaw that is growing up.
You are the broken wind
that fills my sails…
and leaves me stranded.
I sailed and I am lost-
and maybe tidal forces
will beach me, save me;
maybe they will rip my hull
and dash me on the rocks.
But the wind’s the one
who put me there.
You’re the one
who put me there
and can now pull me out again-
with or without the tide.
Karma is laughing
at me now…
Still fresh from
a cutting rejection
of the most personal
of my affections
I now have a heart
before my feet
one that I know
I cannot keep
Looking into his eyes
I see everything I
thought I wanted
generously laid out
But I cannot eat
from this table…
Nor can I rise up
for I’ll be damned
if I cause anyone
that kind of pain
I climbed the hill too quickly,
and there I tumbled in a
massive heap on grounded
acorns, the fruit of the
forest, as they rained
more and more with
the wind giving into
the cracked heads
of passersby, I too,
wish I could fall so
high only to spread
my seeds to grow
even taller into the
Now I know, I cursed,
and ran, and fought
until all the slivers
I fell silent
i’m on a quest for the adobe fresh heads of lettuce
no more nails, no more screams or creaking planks
the occasional cigarette and stress management,
management of my life
a garden on my roof, lilies, lilies, fat bleeding carnations,
roots that stretch down through the ceiling warm cement
suddenly new york is just a teeming anthill and a pile
of steel and stench
so this is america everything scheduled to purge
and retreat, strange wilderness tamed two hundred years
ago, this stone head of god
acting as a rubber band upon the wrist
sometimes i think of my sushi bones proof
of the dull buzz of the soul, if unzipped in the years
i have left they’d be a bottle rocket firing through the bottle
a blind nuisance, and blindly i thrive
There is a scrape in this heart that aches:
Festoons of bloody tissue and leathery hate
Like plumage on a wild bird or burlesque girl
Springs forth from the gaping gash, curling
Licking, biting and snarling, chasing up the skin
Freckles like ash and eyes ember. This is our sin.
There is a stake in this heart that aches:
Broken from the branch of our friendship tree
Dividing the ribs like Moses did the Red Sea
Guts clawing their way up, beggars for light
Cross-shaped and vile with wood that cuts deep
Religion does not save us; we do not sleep.
There is a break in this heart that aches:
Watch it grow with widespread arms and legs
Watch it twitch and jangle like a marionette
Listen as it sings lullabies of griefs and fears
Listen as it snaps the chords and bindings tear
We cannot be saved; we are not there.
There is a quake in this heart that aches:
And it is louder than the humming of lungs and brain
And more numbing than the tick of death’s untimely clock
This vibration whispers as it whirrs: fool and child
Forsaken by man and woman alike; how dare you live still
While beloved compresses roll in their graves, rotting, ill.
There is a snake in this heart that aches:
And I am its reflection
I call this monster
Bizarro Sesame Street,
where Bo could count.
And I can count
(and The Count can count)
on being calmed and neutralized
None of this means I expect
a freedom from anxiety-
stay the same on that front.
But I front the theory,
that forward I should maintain better.
my father is
of a butterfly
as a parade
to his war
it is a beautiful
idea but it is
only greatest in
it’s said that in the case of homeostasis
equilibrium equates to death, and that our bodies
are meant to feel every sensation, take it and make it
a part of ourselves, adjust to world around us,
but I’ve sadly come to know nights like these
where I find I simply stare and think of nothing,
simply nothing, by intention or by default
these thoughts shoot blanks at the page
and I’m left a false sense of satisfaction
with the words I write, until I realize I still feel
nothing; nothing has changed in these days
that pass, and by the end of each week
when the cheers should begin, I find myself alone
relapsing on empty thoughts repeating
over and over that I am nothing, I have become
no one, and I am only a disappointment
to the progress of yet another half-lived week;
a disappointment to myself, to my family,
and to the opportunities I cannot see,
in this sense of nothing, I am at an equilibrium,
a plateau that flatlines at failure, stopping far below
the high line of expectation, and so this nothing
this constant, this must be the death.
Your emotions scare you witless,
So you lock them all away,
You keep the people at a distance,
As the fear leads you astray.
You wander through your life,
Without feeling the breeze,
And when you open up your eyes,
Dull gray is all you see.
So unlock your heart from chains of fear,
And throw away the key,
Let life itself wash over you,
Enjoy freedom’s release.
I have scorch marks on my arms from trying to hold
The boy with the sputtering flame for a soul.
He named me Yesterday.
Carving the words into my skin with his smile.
Fingers already entwined with those
Of his new Today
A new Tomorrow.
So similar to the girl he named Eternity
A day too late
As her parents tucked her in to sleep
Six feet underground.
Collar high to hide
Love bites of a home-made noose.
His Bethany no more.
He buried his heart there
In the dirt over Bethany’s grave.
In summer white heads of dandelions bloom
Seeds of wishes never wished. Seeds of wishes never coming true.
He ran his fingers over old stone
Her name so deep Time could never wear it away.
Then he stood. Wiped fresh dirt from his knees
And walked away.
No one would ever add up to Bethany.
But I came close.
When the lights were out he could almost believe she was me.
Shadows revealing the face he longed to see.
My dad would always explain to me
How every crevice on the moon had a story older than time
And how every scratch on the earth made a bigger impression than he ever could
With shivering words and halting phrases he would whisper the
Truths he had never dared utter
That the earth is always smearing a self portrait and humans
With our wilting skin and shriveled up little bodies are