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M. High School Boys Junior Varsity Soccer
Even though
The grass is plastic
The dirt is plastic
These boys still run the old fashioned way
As peasants did in the Middle Ages
Toe first, in leather shoes
Toe first,
As the body intended
Toe first,
As they did in Athens
In the rain
:iconconsolecadet:consolecadet 5 1
Teach Me by consolecadet Teach Me :iconconsolecadet:consolecadet 3 1
always overgrown
hair half past his ears
stomach over belt
quiet in shul
louder in college
til he passed out again,
threw up
always wanting to call home,
to ask why,
but never picking up the phone
hard to shake,
shielded by flesh,
until he met this. . .one
:iconconsolecadet:consolecadet 7 0
Nothing much is here
Red Naugahyde on the booths in the old-time ice cream store at the end of the block
A five-and-ten
Wires falling out the back of a traffic control box
Inside, we cook
We don’t clean
We don’t talk or touch each other
Outside, I climb the big tree,
The biggest tree
The tree I always feared would fall
Nothing much is here
:iconconsolecadet:consolecadet 4 0
muscles here support you
a hose to suck you dry
a list of places you've been
:iconconsolecadet:consolecadet 7 0
cold toes
:iconconsolecadet:consolecadet 3 0
concrete bed of masculinity
float above, one foot in the air
one foot halfway to the ground
a heavy tread
a new too-small shirt
pain in the foot
a pain in the foot half-down on the ground
:iconconsolecadet:consolecadet 7 6
is a fucking lake
some cute little trees
which are personally relevant to me
as I will reveal in a quaint anecdote
about some summer in July on the Cape
that will totally convince you I am a great artist
The sun will set
and hit the trees
It's so fucking meaningful
everyone is jealous
:iconconsolecadet:consolecadet 16 9
many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness
no noble willow bending
taking kindly the counsel of the years
no big-haired flower
turning to face the sun
no sinking orbital star
the numb pain-cold of your youth so simple
to the knives of windchill caressing your body now
remember the summer you threw your back out putting in the air conditioner?
you lay there in the too-cool room
crying into your pillows for days
scared it'd be that way forever
but knowing your next appointment could cure you
remember that summer you drove everywhere?
you really thought you would stay well forever
there is no graceful surrender
even with the sunrise beside your partner you are older
every year you know less
trust less
every year your next appointment is that much less likely to cure you
:iconconsolecadet:consolecadet 3 6
hope has bloodshot eyes
you look like
a bob haircut
a beard
gray sweatpants
no eyeliner today
the book you lend to me
the nod
the knowing smile
the unprompted hug
long waves going short
a plastic crate
a handshake
stopping to talk outside the library
saying that you noticed
a knit hat
a phone call
a heart
:iconconsolecadet:consolecadet 7 2
familiar things
vinegar smell of humidifiers soaking in the upstairs bathroom
sick, bloated feeling
very, very cold feet
sinking apathy
uncomfortable vacancy
shadows of trees on the bedroom wall
fire-engine red checked comforter
the itch
the bathtub
the shower
the camera
the hill
mid-90s to 2000s industrial and electronic music
Qualtrics surveys about your mental health
the urge
the urge
the urge
:iconconsolecadet:consolecadet 6 8
always cleaning up some wreckage
wiping off some mess
salvaging lost dreams, lost bodies, lost minds
:iconconsolecadet:consolecadet 8 5
birthday poem no. 1
staying in, because you have work to do,
even though you've been writing about conventional people,
who go to parties and drink,
not to excess but just for fun,
who you might understand,
in your dysfunctional little way
staying in, getting your free ice cream and then coming right back,
reading the whole time,
taking a shuttle bus seat next to a four-year-old black girl with glasses who can't stop staring at your astronomy textbook
coming right back,
even though you have been seeing people with bags from the new department store
have been talking to your sort-of-friend,
who you took pictures of wrapped in a rainbow flag once for the newspaper,
vaping while she waits for her Uber to pick her up
have been hearing about hookah bars and the 18+ gay club in Boston
listening to Zeppelin,
copy-pasting citations into a bibliography,
you could transform your hidden cash into any capitalistic spoils you wanted
but you won't
:iconconsolecadet:consolecadet 4 4
the target demographic
she calls you worthless without knowing she is
they call you home without knowing they are
:iconconsolecadet:consolecadet 4 0
I stand in front of the mirror to oil my scars
They are that pink,
that scar pink,
the same pink as new stretch marks
Which I have again
because the surgeon who recontoured my chest to male told me it was safe to exercise,
so I am,
and my body is the Io of this human solar system
turning its skin over and over again
adding new tears,
unfamiliar shapes
my pants are loose again
I don't know if it's because they are from the women's department
and the fashion industry makes cheap stretch material for women
(I am not a woman)
I don't know if it's because my legs are smaller
Diet feels more like mutilation than surgery ever did
I cut out,
with help,
with insurance,
what holds me back
so I can grow
:iconconsolecadet:consolecadet 5 2
they would never put someone like you in a movie
in the cafeteria
out by the crab apple tree
startling at passing headlights
taking the 80 bus the opposite direction as usual to get antiseptic and shears at Sally's
90s zine style sign
small stack of 20s
Ziploc bag of Reese's Pieces
tall glass Dollar Tree jar full of scissors and combs
you just can't keep your big mouth shut, can you
:iconconsolecadet:consolecadet 8 4

Random Favourites

Mature content
A Supermarket in San Francisco :iconalmcdermid:almcdermid 29 58
Blackbird Pupils
don’t look at me
with those eyes
speckled brown
bluebird green and hazel-ache
mine, already hollowed out
tapetum breached
and daily leak-
i cannot bear your
knowing glance
you’d see all those wax demonshades
you’d know the clockworks run
i read some other poet,
his words were blackice bludgeoners, soundless suturing socket spikes,  hammergods, each one,
the last cicada to flee the moult.
but he hasn’t the orbs to ruin me.
almost no one has
:iconspoems:spoems 52 84
i found love
in green plants
and spanish tables;
tibetan rugs and
chinese incense
tying bracelets
on your wrists -
red blue and yellow
that you found
in the cracks
next to the garden;
because happiness
is a little thing
in a big world
:iconrachel-rhapsody:rachel-rhapsody 33 15
Tangential Asymptotes
I think about falling in math class.
The boy in front of me is writing diligently, noting each and every word as though he forgot it was all in the textbook. He has dark hair all tangled up in the back like a bramble of thornbushes and his green hoodie looks like it could use a good washing.
The professor is rattling on about asymptotes, about two lines that go on forever, getting closer and closer but never touching. He tells us about the Greek roots of the word; asymptotos, that it means "not falling together," and he scribbles nonsense equations on the board and hopes that we understand them better than he does because tenure is the only reason he's teaching this class.
As much as I hate math, I have to admit there's something beautiful about the concept. Something romantic and longing, something I can relate to in a sea of cold precision and dispassionate numbers.
I think about falling in math class. I think about fractals and their intricate patterns, turning equations into art. T
:iconsilverinkblot:SilverInkblot 81 90
found love in
the metal that made mazes in your arms
the poison that made your legs uneasy and your words much easier
you in the
stomach acid on my shirt
and the matchsticks that made ripples in my wrists
:iconotterp0p:otterp0p 5 0
Do Not Collect $200
styrofoam cups are designed
to be thrown away
it is quite unnatural to
cling to one so heavily,
so I stare at the yellow
painted iron, the steel
containing human nature,
even human thought
and I see Wanda scratched
through yellow, through blue,
prevailing in rusted iron red
a steady rock near the shore
of a complacent, pastel sea
filled with dying hopes and dreams
Wanda stands strong etched
in poor handwriting on a jail wall
a frustrated wall, jaded and fierce
filled with back pain
listen as he cries and tells me
that he's merely trying to obtain
a makeshift lifestyle to keep his mind
from breaking down
like liquefied Saltines
we all feel castrated, despite pride
we're trapped inside a cage
with our wings clipped
dignity, along with cold coffee
has been flushed down
the stainless steel
I can't even hold your hand
and each visit makes me cry even harder
into this plastic pillow
I don't have any chewing gum
so I've pasted your picture up
with toothpaste
it dries and hardens like cement
:icond-poof:d-poof 3 12
a tree house for dreamers.
today we poured the wrong color stain across the deck and
it fell through the cracks and hit the roots below
and we're chain smoking something or other and
fuck the real world we'll make our own.
it's so peculiar when we kiss
because i can hear the sea crashing against the trunk
of our house
i think i love you
and living in a tree has its perks and
i feel safer up here than down in the city underneath us—
looks like everyone's walking in a gloomy
grave and we're the only people that get to sleep
in the light of the moon.
if i could draw you a picture it'd
be the smell of my skin spattered on a wall
of fresh oak.
how fitting that we're in a house of bricks all the
way close to heaven and the wind isn't strong enough
to tease its way through the cracks (fortunately)
but every night your fingers slip
into my ribs and we're okay in the morning, i guess.
sometimes i miss you when you're just in the other room.
sometimes i don't. i guess the days are easier to
sit through with a mil
:iconskylarklies:skylarklies 34 18
this is life;
like sixty guns,
or ten million flowers-
we're all just looking
for that hand to hold
(and we have these dreams,
of soft and pretty hands hooked
with our coarse and calloused own.)
and we could intertwine our fingers
like the leaves above our heads
(as I count the words I've written for you,
one million, two million, three)
our hands could be like netting,
catching sunshine and butterflies,
and where we connect our hearts would beat,
right out of our chests
(it's all about the way you look at me,
those pretty eyes, you pretty girl.)
and we could give too many compliments,
and stare out of windows in the silences between,
just trying not to fall off the cliffs,
or quite out of our minds
(half-way isn't so bad.)
(we could live on the edge,
between danger and love
with your hand in mine,
you're all I'm thinking of.)
:iconcreativelycliche:creativelycliche 6 13
This hair like lace by Archaical This hair like lace :iconarchaical:Archaical 6,896 646
I devour seedy apples--
Persephone's downfall
A thousand times over;
Tart seeds and sticky fingers
Feasting lips stained red.
:iconrockgem:rockgem 19 19
Sound of the Sunrise
the first few strums on a new Norman guitar
sound like the sunrise
a broad glorious range of sounds
painted red, orange and pink
that opens your eyes
quiets your heart
until all you can do is stare and listen
as the strings still
and the Sun clears the horizon
the splendour of the fiery sky fades into blue
and the radiance of the Sun is revealed in all it's might
the music, eternal and life-giving,
continues to light up your soul
and you can't help but shine
:iconshininginthesilence:ShiningInTheSilence 1 0
We used to have this little
joke between us, you and I:
'How are you?' you would say,
And I would answer, peas in a pod,
'This minute, this breath, this heartbeat?
I'm fine, I'm just fine.'
And we would move on to other things,
But you never forgot, and neither did I
And your fingers are plaited together just like my hair
as you look at me like you're afraid of what I'll do
to myself
'How are you?' you say, waiting for my
cooperation, the fulfilling of my designated role.
Peas in a pod, dime a dozen, perfectly timed comes the clue:
'This minute, this breath, this heartbeat?
I'm fine' I say
'I'm just fine.'
:iconhiwiwy:Hiwiwy 4 2
hope, or cope.
Life will let up on Wednesday.
:iconlaurotica:laurotica 9 8
FlyHigh by RedsoulTayki FlyHigh :iconredsoultayki:RedsoulTayki 9 6
they say time heals all wounds; but they don't tell you that the time seems to pass by in microscopic portions, and they don't tell you what happens when that wound becomes infected. a mere scrape of the skin, and the wound feels brand new again. and you're always scraping at your skin.
:icontorinni:torinni 9 3


consolecadet's Profile Picture
United States
Sometimes, when I'm not writing prose, drawing pictures, or living, I write poetry.
It's been a minute! A very long minute. I'm still alive, still slogging my way thru college, etc.

I just thought I'd pop in to say that if you miss my writing, I just put together a little zine. You can buy it for $1 (or tip me more if you want!) at Gumroad:

If you wanna stay in touch, these days I am mostly on Tumblr (consolecadet) and Facebook. Or you can email me at consolecadet @ gmail if you'd like. :)


Add a Comment:
toxic--sunrise Featured By Owner Feb 19, 2017
Thank you for the favorite <3
Larathain Featured By Owner Nov 7, 2016
Happy birthday! May it be a day of perfect weather and joyful bliss! One you'll enjoy to often offer reminisce.
AspiredWriter Featured By Owner Nov 7, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
happy birthday :cake:
dreamsinstatic Featured By Owner Oct 8, 2016
Thanks for the :+fav:
(1 Reply)
Tevo77777 Featured By Owner Nov 7, 2015  Student Writer
Happy Birthday.
(1 Reply)
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