Live FreeSo, you think I'm a failure. You sneer at me from behind the safety of your newspaper, dumbly believing I can't see the disdainful looks every time the paper dips. You brush a speck from your cheaply made suit as if it were a Gucci original, all the while, eyeing my ripped jeans and t-shirt like I'm wearing a potato sack. I'm a failure to you; my tattooed skin a waste of flesh and my freely beating heart's pumping wasted blood. I'm a runaway, a layabout, a drain on your high society. I'm everything you never want to be... and you're everything I'll never let myself become. So while you check your imitation Rolex in nervous habit, and nearly knock over the table as you hurriedly leave to get back to your cubicle, I'll sit here, sip my coffee, kick back and enjoy life.Live Free6 years ago in Socio-political More Like This
You see, your cuff-links are handcuffs to me. Your tie is a noose. Your pristine white shirt and pinstripe suit are as garish to me as
sXeI'm just a kid. No, scratch that - I'm just a punk kid; isn't that what you'd call me? I've got a pierced eyebrow and a pierced lip. My hair is long, shaggy, and black with purple streaks. I've got over twenty tattoos and circles under my eyes from one too many late nights. I'm just a dumb, punk kid, and you hate me, don't you? You know I'm a user and an abuser. You know that if I didn't have this leather jacket on, you'd see a line of needle marks up my arm. You know those circles under my eyes are from nights spent drinking, downing pint after pint, popping pills like candy. You know that in five years I'll not be able to climb a flight of stairs without getting out of breath, I'll have smoked so many cigarettes, so many joints. You know it all; you know everything about me. And you're dead wrong. The saddest thing of all is that you're dead wrong, and you know it.sXe9 years ago in Socio-political More Like This
iron frames and cideriron frames and cider10 years ago in Scraps More Like This
Slouched in a chair, pen stained,
I am a pile of laundry and my creases are lead
bending my spine
back to you,
reluctantly. I smile
while the radiator grinds my heart cold.
Audio cassettes record the sound of me
not wanting to look at you
reel-to-reel, my eyes are metal
and you are a magnet --
I feel heavy today,
but you still pull me near.
We are electrons, you see,
you put a spin on my bones
and my crumpled joints, scraping their way out
of skin, peach tinted and grated,
your sharp teeth make it hard to climb
up your cheeks
and rest there, right on the curve, near those scruffy eyebrows
and daily nose bleeds.
I watch you from across the room,
holding hands that are not mine.
My pupils are wrapped in green and grow,