leash.I am a homosexual with three pet dogs.
One came home with my mom from work;
the front leg already broken and amputated.
A mystery shih-tzu, large for her breed,
now hops through my house many years later
arthritis, cataracts, and rotten teeth.
She may never die, may she never die;
her crooked spine and visible ribs
may make her whine and snore,
but every guest loves her novelty.
The next is mine, a beagle from
a large puppy mill, who did not know
grass, ceiling fans, or people.
She craves love almost as much as food.
Spayed too soon she filled out fatter
than her hips could always move.
She cannot jump into my high bed.
She is soft and my hands will pet at her
as she trembles to lick my skin.
She is patient and kind, but steals
socks and the other dogs' food;
What favorites for good behavior often do.
The last followed me home on a sweaty summer hike.
Her breed was unknown, exotic and new to me
with shining black fur and golden eyes blinking.
I closed my front door on her that d
O Dan Rot.Dan Rot, a manO Dan Rot.5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of considerable comic timing
who came on rackety wings around the globe
in thirty days or so,
visiting once again with a night on his heels
copping feels on innocent ladies pillowed in bathtubs,
i was black like night
and i was ringed in rainfall
i was so glorious
a spiraling psyche led me to one thing
and this town never could have contained me
a spinning science to my insanity
bends in the system and curves of the power lines
a beauty to plywood and splinter breaks that cannot be defined
bends in the path, a northward slide
strand you in a parking lot
i was vicious and viscous
and i was perfect
as i die i know you have too
as i fade over snapped trees
all is quiet and all is dead
and i curved away.
Ms. Civit, a woman
of considerable jazz influence
who culled in her snatch fifty thousand
squirming little nothings
ravished by the callous allure of Mr. Rot
(who raped her mercilessly,)
on the ground on the ground and the fever is rising
upside down min
Being Gay: Sin or Burden?My life is torn between heart and mind;Being Gay: Sin or Burden?6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Do I really sin with every blink of my eye?
I wondered if my sexuality counted
Towards my sins left in a heaping mountain.
So I closed my eyes to block out my life
To see past this world of evil and strife:
I imagined myself in a world without sin
Where I tried to imagine the life that I'd live.
What would be the same and different?
How I would feel about my old life spent
In hatred and the failings of man,
My past life spent in deserts of sand.
I imagined this world of so-called perfection
But deep in my mind, I begged the questions
What is sin? Does the Bible show?
What is evil? Does the world know?
Is it the Ten Commandments? Murder and Greed?
Is it being gay, drinking beer, or smoking weed?
If so then my imagined world
Would not be like this life unfurled,
For I have done the things of which it speaks
I have sinned just in this past week.
But what if sin is a definition?
A human idea with human disposition?
What if the stuff we shouldn't do
NaPoWriMo: Day 2sometimes,NaPoWriMo: Day 23 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i have this
sudden urge to cut
most of the time,
i just wish I were anything
other than me.
a rocket ship, a bird-
the sweet flavored smoke
I promised my girlfriend
these briar patch lungs
would not in.hale.
i have fallen in love
with the strangest of things-
eyes that intimidate
the way my scars
play hide and seek
with her hands. -
the love letters
that start and end
pressed against limbs.
i make promises
i know i can not keep.
but if i were a liar
i would say i was tired
of writing to the stars.
NaPoWriMo: Day 10 Have you ever been so cold, Sweetheart,NaPoWriMo: Day 103 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
your knees q u a k e d like that Jenga piece
that buckled just before your whole foundation
& no matter
how many times
I've restarted your heart,
one would think
I'd grow tired,
I'm still writing you in poetry
(in the most inappropriate of places.)
You forced yourself beneath my blades
& my fingertips,
Licking unstable knees,
you were death on my tongue:
angry apricot eyes, unforgivable sin
scaring my limbs &
haunting my dreams.
& I'd still try to save your fucking life.
NaPoWriMo: Day 8I was toldNaPoWriMo: Day 83 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to slice through the thickest
of scar tissue this evening.
Let all my inner demons
fall to the floor
& write them out
in my own black blood.
It’s not red anymore,
even though needles
& the bruises
laid out like war-lands
on my arms
I don’t think it ever was,
My mind is a mess
of free versed insecurities,
cat’s eye marbles,
& untamed forest fires-
I still don’t have the nerve
to slice open my skin
& bleed for her.
SICK AND TWISTEDThis is the story of the boy who was hated,SICK AND TWISTED8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
by those whom he didn't even know their name.
Meek, weak, humiliated, discriminated,
all for a few laughs between friends.
Music up loud, on the bus every morning,
but still, through the screaming he could hear what they say.
Insulting his looks, his beliefs, his ways,
Such things as "EMO", "Go cut",
and "OMG are you gay?"
Few friends, not enough.
Small cuts, not enough.
Master plan, too much
Unable to cry from these sad eyes.
Tears of blood,
crying to die
Draw a knife,
end their life.
Revenge with cold steel.
As their blood sprays the walls,
as their bodies fall,
a smile upon his face.
Their screams his music.
Their blood his paint.
As he paints the walls,
A blood red.
As he ends his own,
satisfaction he finds.
Lying among the juices,
From unintelligent minds.
A low murmur from blood red lips,
sick and twisted too late,
Sick and twisted,
August Lover,I want to wrap myself in your air,August Lover,3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
hold your secrets between my
ribcage-embrace & just
NaPoWriMo: Day 4I might have a scrappers knees,NaPoWriMo: Day 43 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
wildflowers growing on my knuckles,
& I might remind you of every nasty thing
you ever did,
but I don’t see you in my mirror.
I just have the right
to hate my own face.
I think this hitchhiker’s heart
is breaking &
I don’t have the medical skill-
or the time
to suture the pieces
back together again.
Phantom Limbs.I believe in trash. In plastic, in orange peels.Phantom Limbs.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The bit of waxy wrapper stuck to the chocolate.
The gristly fat, the wasted bits.
I worship garbage bags bulging, their black skin pushed out
By metal hangars and tree limbs.
I am controlled by the shadows. The shifting
Leaves leave them on my face and my lamp can't
Quite get them out of corners. They hide under everything.
I am older in the dark.
I pray to ghosts.
I've grown a phantom limb.
Inside, the hurt of nothing being where it once
The regret of it. Crushed hearts and soda cans on
The side of a oneway street, eternally forked.
The broken promises and beer bottles cutting into
The soles of feet, leaving gashes to ooze out
Dark, dark bloods. I never want to see again a
Pristine lover or car, they wreck and cause sore
I killed my emotions, flying in white sheets
with chains clanking. The prison of prisoners.
Predicting and stopping the wind.
Putting a falle
9729 kilometers away, to be exact.i have these bones like flowers-9729 kilometers away, to be exact.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
fragile and finely plucked,
these lily stargazers
are kissing ocean beds,
making love to sirens
for a taste of her
i want to tape maps to my limbs-
throw caution to the wind
as i gather up
every love letter receipt,
from every false attempt
i ever wrote her
& forget for just a moment
that even still
she does not love me.