Mind, oh MindSmiley face, smiley face, can't you ever see?Mind, oh Mind2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
So much to be sad about, so much that could be
Going wrong for everyone, going wrong for you.
Smiley face, smiley face, don't you feel it too?
Sad face, sad face, can't you ever tell?
So much could be going great, going oh so well
Sad face, sad face, can't you ever see?
Life is spend much better when your thinking thoughts of glee.
Mind, oh mind, why can't you agree?
Thinking everything at once is slowly killing me...
Painted SkinPainted Skin:Painted Skin2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
He smiles at you, as you enter the office;
Wearing eyeliner made of contempt and disdain.
His cheap cologne invades your nostrils immediately
And you quickly suppress a cough.
"Yes, yes, indeed we have to review this...er, many things are involved."
His face is powdered with a layer of self-importance;
Lips reddened by the polite harshness he spews.
His forked tongue flickers as he prattles on
And you're really getting quite tired.
"Oh I'm sorry! Of course, of course I understand; but my way is much better!"
You're getting really bored now, so you take a look around the room.
The expectation is to see it bedecked with acolades;
Yet bare walls, cold and empty, are all that greets you.
"Are you listening to me, I'm telling you why this isn't good enough. LISTEN TO ME!"
You take a look at the cup of coffee you were offered,
Cheap and lukewarm; you narrow your eyes.
"Is there a problem? I'm being honest, this is for YOUR OWN GOOD!"
I am Me. Who are You?I am thirteen years old.I am Me. Who are You?2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I am not typical.
I am not average.
I am me.
I have been in two mental facilities.
Both times for thoughts of suicide.
I am not emo.
I am not a freak.
I am me.
My mother attempted suicide about six months ago.
My sister attempted suicide when i was eight.
But, I am not a victim.
I am not tortured.
I am me.
My father had a heart attack just over a week ago.
He was hospitalized for nine days.
He recently returned to the hospital for kidney problems.
I suffer from Bipolar Disorder with Psychotic Features.
I have hallucinations.
I have delusions.
But I am not a disorder.
I am not my difficulties.
I am not my troubles.
I am me.
never thought I'd be like thisI never thoughtnever thought I'd be like this2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'd be like this,
with broekn smiles
and scarred up wrists.
No, I never thought
I'd be like this
back when my world
was filled with joy.
I would cry so much,
and have to remember
faded out scars.
I never thought
I would feel alone
when I was a little girl.
Back when days were simple
and cooties still existed.
When I'd smile and play,
and had such big dreams.
of reaching for the sky,
of singing on stage,
and becoming president.
but it never crossed my mind
that I'd feel pain,
and cry so much
and that my pleas would go unheard
I thought the world
was a happy place,
for me as a little girl,
and I never thought
I'd be this way.
all torn apart,
and hoping to be fixed.
never thought the
pain would last
I thought there'd atleast be someone there,
someone who loved me
and cared for me.
but never as a little girl.
had I thought
those dreams would be
and I'd be here
left in pain.
no I never thought
as a little girl
that i'd end up
the way I am...
A Short VisitIn the country,A Short Visit2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the scarcity of humanity,
our ability to stand outside and be alone,
holds an undeniable appeal to me.
Even in the cold, the quiet can be
a great friend. The sun was out today,
pleasant on the skin. The wind had subdued
from last night's blowing. I sat in my
great-grandfather's metal lawn chair.
He kept this one outside the barn.
Told me once how he found a meteorite
in the chair. Said it hit the barn
and bounced right down to sit a spell.
Said it gave him a little shock,
a space-spark he called it,
when he picked it up from its resting spot.
How old was he then?
My age? I only recall an aged,
bald, weathered, cowboy who still preferred
to do his business in the outhouse
instead of the indoor room with water
from pipes. He told me
he knew when I was being born
because his knees itched from where
I would sit and his hands stung
from where he would spank me.
He and Granny shared a small house,
blown by the horrid western Oklahoma wind,
on a hill that overlooked their pond
Ottumwa ShamanIn Iowa, weeping willows dream ofOttumwa Shaman4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Tigers, born in pagan fog, their
Coat of stripes singing shaman
Songs; shrill symphonies of grief.
Heaven tilts, crashes, and we race
The dirt to get away. We drink the
Earth with bullets of air and grow
Dizzy, light-headed from breathing
Some far off flame. Perhaps a poet
Who braved the fog of Ottumwa, and
Caught fire. Every cowboy has his
Six chances before high noon, before
The fog forms wispy jackals to take
Them home again. Every son inherits
An empty gun, six voids to fill with
Answers, skimmed and guessed from the
Covers of books their fathers used
To read. There is no other way.
In sleeping, I have been to Iowa,
And I learned where wiccans go
To make their bed. I do not know now
If I had dreamed the weeping willow,
Or if it had bent low to dream of me.
In Iowa, there is no such truth, only
Depth, and the shaman's song of grief.
Storybook EndingHer ink-stained lips have kissed too many a forgotten page,Storybook Ending2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and phoenix down]
And her Prince Charming has yet to come,
shattering like stars]
So all she can do is gaze out her tower window,
concealing poisoned apples]
Clutch that corroded and timeworn blade,
tearing down castle walls]
Toss her childhood fables to the waltzing of the moon,
[even broken wings
wish for happily ever afters]
[once upon a time
there was a girl who became her own hero.]
Target WeightI am afraid because I knowTarget Weight2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
That I will never arrive
At a point where I am nourished
And emotionally satisfied
So to regulate my mood
I consume levels that disgrace
They suppose that this is greed
That assumption is misplaced
I’m addicted to the feeling
The short term stimulation
But that only makes me more prone
To those feelings of deflation
And stomach cramps and pains
Loose skin hanging from my bones
Eyes sinking into my skull
And those deathly grey skin tones
Will I ever fill the hole
Silence those voices for a while
I prepare my gut for sorrow
While I am spoon fed on denial
But life’s too much to digest
An acid reflux episode
Regurgitate my memories
Before my stomach explodes
In a culture such as ours
The blame lays nowhere but my plate
I chose the fats, sugars and salts
The impossible target weight
Now I’m afraid because I know
The end has already arrived
In the form of this addiction
To a staple we need to survive
It's all about her,-I had never wished to know the moon,It's all about her,2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
or the burning gaze of her lover.
I am merely a forest of silences,
old dogwoods & untamed hair.
-But, I made a promise
to a bone collector once.
He could have my spine,
my kneecaps, &
one flowered rib,
wrapped & bowed-up
like a present
-if he could fall in love
with things that slip through his fingers:
-“It would be a sin to love you,
my dear sweet wolf;
you will always cry for the moon.”
shhhwe are lurking too close to jesus,shhh3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
on the empty edge of a lightless stage,
curved nails digging into the skin of our pale palms.
he asks as an afterthought
do you believe in something holy? and i think yes,
i think this is what i believe in.
Open Heart SurgeryI've got ink throbbing through fissured veins,Open Heart Surgery2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
poisoning every atom of my soul.
"Bite your tongue," they say.
How I'd love to chew the damn thing off
and suck down every filthy syllable
just like the rotten bone marrow it is.
They'd all watch as my body spontaneously combusts
and becomes nothing but convoluted karma.
And so I wrote,
Teach me the ways of ripping out a human heart,
and stitching it onto ink-stained parchment."
The answer that came was rasped from a cauterized throat:
"Read your future in the collapsed palm of the stars;
find the abandoned pulse of your lionhearted muse;
steal their conformed scalpel and make it your own."
We Poets Are Frustrated...We Poets Are Frustrated...We Poets Are Frustrated...2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I am sure that you have all experienced this feeling:
A masterpiece eclipsed by the baying of a brat!
A raucous rhyme, so emotionally raw;
Shadowed by a child's melancholia...
Alone in the darkness, you lick your lips and growl.
Your anger, so evidently understandable; yet you forget your own abilities!
In despair, my dearest sibling, you have forgotten — yourself
Why fear an obstacle so easily overcome?
Why shred your works with such heavy tears?
Have you forgotten that we are the original craftsman?
Our tongues birthed as our chisels and axe!
We need only take these simple themes
And corrupt them with all our twisted fears...
This hatred inside of you, this bubble of frustration and anxiety —
Let it swell like a pus-filled abscess of anger!
And with your words unleash this vicarious plague!
Take the unblemished works that have scorned you,
And inject them with the very darkness of your soul!
Let bleeding lips,
i'm not an artistwe do not belong in boxesi'm not an artist2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and bags and books or
and we do not sit contently
in wordsworth and shakespeare
and blake, burns, and brownings
or in the cold stiff bones
of raleigh's of long ago;
detect, and re-select
a virus--a disease,
a germ in every verse and line;
the first signs of
foolish waitings under
bridges and scolding parents
and nothing to signify at all
we are the blood of nations
and the heart of men
and the love of every
rhetorist and sentimist
we dance through the ballrooms of
the age and chat with
we shake hands with heros
and the homeless, dirty
type that gum over 'hello's
we are and aren't and will be
silly verse and
naive philosophers and sweet oxymorons
waving hello from the shore;
forever onward and never ending
like the stars in an
Fri-end-ship.Fri-end-ship.Fri-end-ship.2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
When I talk, you don’t listen.
You’re just waiting for your turn to speak.
You view every conversation as a competition.
All I can see is the unstoppable movement of your cheeks.
The flow of communication is always re directed back to you.
Almost as if everyone must hear what you have to say.
I’m not denying that half of what you say could actually be true.
But how can so much happen to a person in just one mere day.
What makes it worse is that your stories get recycled and repeated.
I zone in and out of your speeches and know exactly what happens next.
My place in the conversation is to respond and nod when needed.
If you can’t tell me in person, you incessantly try to call me or even text.
I can feel my tolerance and patience gradually wearing thin.
I am not even sure how much longer I can hold it in.
I want to tell you the truth but I don’t know how to phrase it.
Because I know once it is delivered, it is impossible to erase it.
So I have