When happiness settles in my chest like a gentle sunbeam,
I become a circle rolling lazily on the green field of grass,
I hit a tree standing in my way, then turn back from its shadow,
Seeking the light, rolling away from the shadow and leaves.
When sadness wraps my skin like a veil of cold, dense fog,
I transform into an ellipse, my thoughts stretching far from the center,
I struggle to return completely, to constrict myself into a circle again,
In perfect balance, where my desires meet once more.
Then self-doubt sets its throne in my soul like a heavy cloud,
And I become a triangle, a Bermuda Triangle,
Attracting every ship of optimism, lost in my mystery,
A tangled labyrinth of my worth, an endless and ancient enigma.
Then the greed for perfection unleashes from my depths,
Shaping me into a square, symmetrical, each corner carefully aligned,
I carry myself upright, at perfect angles, seeking that ideal form,
I am less a changing human and more pleasing shapes to the eye.
I am a story of lines and curves, a dance of shapes and shadows,
Always searching to find myself between eternal corners and rounds.
so pretty birdy
watermelon chest cool bird
green pink and purple
I am the ghost inside my chest,
Unseen, unheard, yet never at rest.
I drift through halls of memory,
Where joy once lived but fled from me.
My breath like frost, my blood runs cold,
A whisper trapped in hands grown old.
I wear regret like funeral lace,
And see the world through sorrow’s face.
The mirror knows what I conceal—
A heart too numb, a pain too real.
Each beat, a knock from deep within,
A past that scratches at my skin.
I haunt my name, I haunt my days,
A soul lost in time’s cruel haze.
They think I smile, but cannot see
The grave I built inside of me.
But still I ache, though silence wins,
To feel the sun beneath my sins.
For ghosts can hope—though dim, suppressed—
To one day find peace at last.
Silverback led his gorilla by the wrist
out into the fog and missed,
lost his heart and then his way,
sadly, he was heard to say,
"Don't get me wrong,
I'm no King Kong,
it's plain to see,
so, don't make a monkey out of me."
Silverback took his gorilla by the hand,
looking for the promised land,
a jungle bungle at very best,
made him roar and beat his chest,
"What can I say,
she's no 'Fay Wray,'
here on the ground
I'm an ape, I don't monkey around."
chest cold in april
weird time to get it
fishing out my vicks
No walls beat; it is the heart within my own chest.
Turn the key; open wide; you look a bit distressed.
The pulse inside my own chest, a throbbing mess.
Pick it up; won’t you massage it with finesse?
Your lips are red and trembling dear; say something.
Something seems to be amiss from your wan coloring.
Surely you recall when you broke it; I saved it,
Just so we might stroll heart to heart into the pit.
Dear, don’t look so dully afraid; turn the music key;
It’s our song. You don’t recall our breakup melody?
I know the heart looks cruelly bruised and irregular;
for a regular guy who’s tender, isn’t it spectacular?
I know you’d curse, if your lips weren’t burning blue.
Poor baby, it gets worse, you’re invited to a barbeque.
i keep a small wooden chest beneath my bed
its corners worn smooth from the weight it has fed
inside are echoes of love and bittersweet dreams
memories collected in faded moonbeams
now it’s valentine’s and i slide it into the light
to sift through fragments of warmth and quiet night
they hum with a softness, a comfort long past
a fleeting reminder that some loves can last
Somewhere amidst all the craziness.
I feel a sense of bliss.
A wholeness,
In Aloneness.
I Am not alone in this.
Within is a witness.
I AM this whole mess.
I Thought I was So much less.
I guess Its time to clean the mess.
Always doing my best,
I'm no Better than the Rest.
Is this all a test?
I Hope I passed,
Rise up to my Holiness.
Expecting only the best,
There's no need to invest.
Time comes with interest,
When Love is the currency,
In your Treasure chest.
Unlike the smell of rain on country road sediment
I can not find the tears to make my trauma relevant
There is no sweet scent found in my complex petutlance
I wish my mind quiet; when its thoughts are all Old Testament
This level of self-loathing; to date, has no precedence
Though all my acts of selflessness have never afforded me benevolence
Could I bury my head in your chest bones?
Maybe then I'll find out if I am worthy of your true elegance?
the Vallhall journey
drunken orgies - fight and death
mead - milked from a goat
I drew you today,
your butt came out too big,
your arms weren't as broad as I wanted them to be,
your hair is fine.
There are no hands and feet,
there is no face.
I wanted to show your chest,
your hair that grows there,
I wanted to show your muscles,
I wanted to show more,
but I didn't.
It didn't come out as good as I wanted it to,
abstract is fine.
Maybe one day you'll pose for me.
I took up the call
The command was made
Placed the receiver down
Hardened my resolve
Steadying my shivering nerves
I picked up the gun
Shot at the innocent man
He fell with a thud
Blood spurted from his chest
With my descent into Hell
I fell from Grace
My gut swiftly swirled
Downwards the twilight zone
A throne of skin and bone spoke
"Thine sin you must atone."
Suddenly and without warning, she sneezed.
Liquid sped from her nose onto the canvas.
She stood petrified. What had she done?
Spots appeared over a lone oak tree
On the side of a lonely road that led to the mountain.
Despair shook her whole body, and she flopped
Onto a comfy sofa, wishing she were dead.
Then she looked at the painting and wondered
Some spots remained above the tree.
It was as if a flock of birds were flying around.
She sighed. Perhaps all was not lost.
She sneezed again, but now she had a Kleenex.
The sun had risen but could not be seen.
Still daylight was welcome in her studio.
She stood hunched with pain over her easel.
The landscape was not quite what she wanted.
She had decided to portray the joys of nature,
Lovely cerulean firmament with hazy clouds
Hovering in the background just beneath and around
The majestic mountains of her new abode.
Stately trees dotted the countryside and
Intermixed with cosy cabins, smoke curling
Into the sky because it was a cold and humid place.
Even inside her cabin, the air was irritating.
Outside, the continual grey rain would not stop.
She felt cold and coughed a lot, as well as chest congestion.
Darn, raining cats and mice today! She felt confused.
Cats and mice? Or dogs? What did it matter,
Once the foul inclement weather would not change?
to be concluded
Chest Hair
If you add chest hair to
yogurt
it’ll better it, stop the deterioration, for up to
one year.
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