5 dollars burning a whole in my pocket
Watching every second of the clock tick
Please bell hurry and ring, I'm waiting to go browse and buy my way to happiness
Everything I ever wanted in the world was waiting down the hall in my school library
Forget Christmas, Forget Spring Break
Nothing compared to the excitement I felt for the Schoolastic Book Fair
I'd walk around every aisle running my fingers over all the covers and down every spine
Searching for the the stories that longed to be mine
These were the days I couldn't wait to get home
I would run outside to dig into my treasure,
What adventure I would find underneath the large oak trees that lined the cracked concrete on my quiet empty street
A literary escape on a chilly fall evening
A different life for me awaits
Insanity floated through the door
An aberration with wild hair entered
Her mouth was open, blood ran out
Down her tunic, past her belt
She felt deranged, a lunatic from where?
There was a madness in the room now
I felt unbalanced, frenzied myself.
Where was my rationality? Why wasn’t I running?
Her fingernails formed into red claws
Almost talon-like, I was thinking of a turkey buzzard
Something unholy that would readily dig into roadkill.
She flashed her dead black eyes toward me.
I froze; terrified.
Wanted to scream, but nothing came out.
She began floating toward me.
We weren't always dolls
Before the dolls - flesh was
RAW
and torn
Before we were dolls we could rip open our skin
and bare it to the world
and when a little girl peered inside
everything was new and unseen
but flesh got harder to dig into
and tear
and stretch over a canvas
and all the little girls grew impatient
for it had been a long time since they had seen something new
so the little girls tapped on our skin with gnarled hands
and crooned
open up
let us see
but we didn't
we couldn't
open up please
let us see
its been too long
but our skin was fully hardened then
plastic as a penny
LET US IN
they screeched
and clawed at our skin
but it didn't yield
when our pretty pink lips parted in protest
only echoes came out
and a little girl leaned in
maybe to peer through our mouths into our stomachs
maybe to taste the blankness
but when it did
it choked
its mouth filled with pounds and pounds of fluff and nothing
whispers of when skin was made
to be torn
and little girls didn't dull their fingernails down
scratching at doll flesh
Deprivation of my rights and freedom
Bodily autonomy, tossed out of
a terrace window, seventy-third floor
of a building in New York that touches
the same ground I walk on, yet reaches much
higher than I could ever imagine.
I scream to them, giant politicians,
but the shadow of their business loafers
overhead scare the sound from my pursed lips.
My individuality exchanged
for a man’s practicality; it seems
as though they've had their fun suppressing us
Toying with my consciousness like a cat
praying on a field mouse, so innocent.
They say: so innocent! Could I be, too?
or shall I wear my curiosity
like a garment, like an oddity for
men to squint at, confine my mind and bones
to the idea that women shouldn’t
bare the decision of what lives within;
shackles on my reproductive organs
dig into my skin like the words they spew
from hot mouths, pouring into the laps of
women, alphabet soup spelling, “no more”.
Let us breathe in the possibility
of respect and dignity, the promise
of true liberty and justice for all.
Far too powerful, they fear, women are.
THREE MINUTES TO DONE
Do I first bring water to boiling point
To time the egg from that moment on
Or from cold, to then be soft not hard
That one might be tempted to discard
But plonked in a cup, the magic’s gone
And then with a woollen cap to anoint
Not poached nor coddled, just boiled
A simple egg, with soldiers for dipping
And on the shell, one may draw a face
Then beheaded, incurring no disgrace
A clean knife cut, without any slipping
But brutally smashed, it’s easily spoiled
A delicate teaspoon must be provided
To dig into the white but after the yolk
A touch of salt and that’s quite enough
Leaving it smooth inside, never rough
It is a simple breakfast for simple folk
Three minutes is perfect, once decided
Dear people, I am reaching out through poetry..'
I am not contest oriented..As you might gather i
Am not in my person (a blunt character) rather
I beleive also
A direct one.' And a penitent one to a degree now..
Who is aware of the attack on humanity which
Has always been there.' Yet that now is speeding
Up in the present times.' (Added to this i find i am)
An accidental insider to the ( covid era )
Due to a chance conversation 28/30 years ago which i
am now after remembering in january 2023
Wrestling with airirg the account of.' I probably need
Another four hours solid to put the memory down
In text, i have done about half, yet i find it depresses
Me and i have broken down in tears, once i dig into my
Reccolections.) I wish you all the best; may God be
With all who read anything I put out.'
Mountains are part of life’s journey,
They’re obstructions that separate us from our treasures,
They’re impediments that divide us and the meadow,
Mountains are signposts to greener pastures.
Each day I see strengthens me to move mountains,
Each night I’m chauffeured through pulls me up the mountain,
The closer I get to the Father,
The higher it takes me up mountains,
The deeper I dig into His Word,
The better cliffhanger I become.
Though some mountains are recalcitrant,
They’re restraints to keep me on track,
They’re pride pruners,
They remind me that I’m not superhuman.
Visions aid me to move mountains,
The future I see strengthens my feeble hands.
February 11, 2024.
I say this to all of you
because it is so true
I love the Christmas season
for oh-so-many reasons
There's a certain feeling in the air
that just yesterday was not there
People stop and say hi, pass the time
dig into their pockets when they hear
'Hey buddy, have you got a dime?'
Acts of kindness just feel right
no longer the exception
leastways, that's my perception
Then on Christmas night, once it's snowed
you'll never be stranded on a lonely road
For high in the sky there's an ear and an eye
~ Santa and his reindeer will surely hear your cry
A festive feast of aired grievances
faces maroon and out of control;
Screams breed battered appearances,
this moment our tempers just stole;
Releasing all that tension with a kiss
now we are locked in a wild explosion;
A fine line between livid and bliss
in the end teeth, nails, and devotion;
Go on baby and let it all out
now let your fire burn all over me;
We’ll dig into each other and shout
nipping away all that is petty.
Laying down with clean blood and a clear brain
Feels better, even if I have the small sadness ache and pain.
I close my eyes and smile because I was able to keep
Sober for a day, and can be sent to restful sleep.
But….who is standing in the corner of my room…?
Seven feet tall and over me this shadow of darkness does loom.
Just staring, unmoving, as I happen to be,
Since this paralysis demon is here for me.
I kinda forgot that he shows up when I have sober dreams
And he has friends to make sure we are on uneven teams.
Now that I see, I remember, why I was drinking.
Because I can’t move right now? Except for my blinking.
I can’t control my breathing, I can’t move my arms.
I can’t scream, and I can’t protect myself from harm.
Internally screeching, begging this devil to leave me alone,
Feeling icy tendrils dig into my flesh and start breaking my bones.
Then I blink and he’s gone and I can finally move.
I remember now what pushed me to what others disapprove.
I swear I tried to put up a good fight, but my attempt is over.
If I have to see him every night, I can’t go back to being sober.
why does music affect me the way it does?
why does each quarter note, half rest, and accent dig into each layer of my skin?
why can music change my mood no matter the situation?
i often wonder why music has to remind me of people.
how one single song can be ruined after a loved one has left.
the song that once brought me true happiness and reminded me of them,
now it just reminds me of them.
the giggling, smiling, understanding every feeling and movement about each other.
it brings it all back.
why?
why does it have to?
in an instance my eyes fill with water as the first note strikes.
On the shore of the river,
we used to bathe,
in the streams flowing to that river,
we used to play,
with no worries,
with no sorrows,
following the water running down without mysteries,
just flowing with our innocent games.
Take me to my childhood
with my rivers, my streams,
and the friends that looked to be forever,
until we grew up.
Take me to the dry streams,
flowing to the empty rivers,
as they are now.
I want to see the reflections of the past
that will never come back,
unless we dig into the back of our minds.
Take me there,
where nothing is as before,
just pitty for tomorrow
and a past picture in my mind.
I am a follower not a leader
I am a duplicate
A clone of another
I follow other instincts before my own
Results in life
Concluded that i will
Tear and dig into myself trying
To find something worth keeping
As if i were to find something hiding beneath the
Surface of the Dirt in the earth
Rotten and old
Like an old dog bone left unwanted with
Scars and indents left evident on the surface
Results of societies
Change the way we vision our reality
I change inside and take the steps needed
To become that expectation
While not noticing all the harm that has already been done
At the end of the day
No challenge has actually been won
These challenges results in fear or failure
I alone observe the
Past and wonder why i believe in such said.
Protocols i have inhabited in my head.
In my empire of dust…
I sit on a throne built of ruined, rust
I sit, n think about what has been lost
why do images come and
linger, ghosts in the aftermath
of emotions holocaust
why do thoughts come undone
dark, like shadows marching as one
to haunt & taunt my vison-scapes
as I watch my images
aline like cruciform’s upon my edifice,
That singular rock; Golgotha
my eternal scorn
my dogma
in my empires of lust
my empire down
wrapped in thorns of rust.
I cry empire down
I dig into the dust.
my empire turning to dust…
My mind is laid bare its components
& functions are under your razor's gaze
To compare…
My aged bones are yours to dig into…
My past, like my blood, is dried into fine rust…
…drifts into the corridors of your inner mind
You are my cruciform…
You are the keeper of my secrets
all yours, to twist like a thorn...
My mind is spread out before you
deep, seeping past my wastes
into my domains…born...
My mind is lay forlorn...
its components…
Its functions are under your razor scorn
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