Ode To An Uncomfortable Seat
Oh! Uncomfortable Chair of Regret,
Have I sat upon thee improperly?
Or is it in my sitting, regardless of position, that I find intense discomfort?
Dare I blame thee, O' Chair of Regret, for my own kinesthesic paucity?
For is it not of my own volition that I seek posterior solace in your padding
And my own defalcation that finds a lacking within thee?
Curse my kinesthesia, my villainous hamartia, that I should shift from thee when thou hast nought but open arms for mine!
Oh! Uncomfortable Chair of Regret,
I Have sat upon thee improperly
For I do not deserve the embrace of your seat.
Dead TearsDead Tears10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I am alone.
I am a squished banana
Under the foot of a clown
Peel back my yellow layers
Reveal the soft white child inside
I am slightly mushy
Perhaps you should have eaten me sooner.
Today they forgot to give me crackers with my soup.
I think they did it on purpose.
Why should I have crackers
If nobody loves me?
I sit alone outside the library.
There is no place to sit inside.
It's always like this.
Oh! What a cruel existance is this?
Satan does not acknowlege my letters!
Perhaps I gave the wrong postal code.
Santa does not exist.
The blood trickles down my chin
And onto my inadequately-developed chest.
The clown laughs no more.
This separation is agonizing.I sit on the closed lid of a toilet in the basement of a Toronto restaurant with my legs apart like the beginning of an unzipped sweater (and I think of that one you wear, perhaps right now). I stare at the inseam of my pants and wonder when the rest of me will swiftly pull apart with perfectly clean edges that I know my fingers will rub along plenty of times, until the flesh is scarred and useless, as the plastic teeth grow cold and grey like the dirty stall walls. Or maybe the pull will get caught on my skin and instead of an easy, thoughtless division I will be yanked at and jerked until it's jaggedly torn me half way and I shamefully pulse out what looks like this rust that's lazily chewing on the broken ceramic at my feet. But I'd be much more worried about the part that's still sutured together.This separation is agonizing.5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I miss you so much that I can't hold down my breakfasts anymore because they're not what get me through the day. Tears hit the floor and each one sounds like the cooling, mislaid beats of
Estrellas y NubesEstrellas y Nubes7 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I always thought everything in the sky was gorgeous.
The sky was always boring. Nothing but balls of gas and condensed vapors.
They were just stars and clouds to you but I saw wishes and dreams. Everything looked like jewels or dragons or just cotton candy that made me want to reach out and grab it! (And I hope that answer's good enough for you)
Why do you insist on seeing things in rose-colored glasses?
The world is less painful that way. But I didn't see the world in just rose; I saw it through a whole kaleidoscope. Because I know the world isn't rose colored, or black and white.
There's still a limit to the colors that exist.
Maybe if you joined me, we could float on a giant cloud, forgetting everything underneath us. There's still beauty above us.
The stars are all dead.
They may be gone, but they're not letting anyone forget them. They still twinkle, don't they?
The PianistIn a cluttered side streetThe Pianist7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A deaf, old pianist
Listens to his music
Through his fingers
Which are charged with youth
Although gnarled and knobbly
As the rest of his body.
His clothing is thread,
Down to being bare,
His piano has seen better days
But such a sweet melancholy
That touches the hearts
Of those who pass him by
Makes them stop,
Makes them listen for a while.
The sedate, tinkling notes
Are overriding in their gentle way
For a few moments the world pauses to listen
The sun comes out of the cloudy grey
A mother brings her child to the window
A debater holds back what he has to say
Silent crowds jam the street
outside the alleyway
Pilgrims stop by to hear the pianist play.
The notes fade into silence
Their song is a quiet sigh
The artists call
To tell the truth
Embedded in a private lie.
You Are BeautifulYou are attractiveYou Are Beautiful5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Because you have a beautiful soul
Not because you look like a model
(Even though I think you do)
You are valuable
Because you care about people
Not about what people think
You are wonderful
Because you listen to me
Even when I'm in a bad mood
And you love me the same
You are lovely
Because of the way you act
And the way you smile
And the way you laugh
You are beautiful
Because you are
Not because you do
And I love you.
Tyger HeartThe cigarette tipTyger Heart5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
glowing in the darkness
like a tiger's eye
haze you can feel
her profile etched
half in shadow
half in light
She was born
ready to devour.
Yet even when
she is poised
awaiting the kill
there is something
Chilliwack ManChilliwack Man4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I saw him dreaming
architecture beside the
shopping cart that told
his life story (or
at least contained it).
He smiled because I asked
if I could get him anything and
confessed he liked his Tim's with
three sugar and two cream.
His story, he said, told
too many times in
too many ways,
But newspaper has always kept
him warm and
up to date,
has never failed him when
maybe people (or alcohol) did.
With his king's fingers in
hobo gloves and a
smile on his lips,
the architect reminds me,
kind woman, I'm going to be
late for the job
that traps my happiness.