None of the guys
ever asked me out
they teased me
or just froze me out
I wasn’t stuck up
I was shy
I came from China
that is why
I didn’t know the styles and trends
or even where I should begin
there wasn’t much that I could say
I never talked much anyway..
so I sat there
and read
I was an incredibly
epic fail
To all the guys
who called me names
that tagged my locker
and tried to shame me
I wasn’t snooty
I was shy
I’d just come from China
that’s the why
I didn’t know the styles and trends
that let a new girl fit in
I’d never even used the Internet
I was as lost-in sauce as a girl gets..
so I sat there
and read
Which eventually
got me into Yale.
.
.
Songs for this:
Conversation by X-Cetra
Simply Couldn't Care by Tracey Thorn
Human Behaviour by Björk
.
.
*A poem from 9th grade (2019)
** We’d moved back stateside from China so I could have a ‘normal’ high school.
*** I just added the last two lines
SKEPTICAL THOUGHTS UNDERMINE VERBAL WARMTH
as offered aloud from masculine parted lips.
When brain doubts unexpectedly burst forth,
ensure same feminine brain shreds them to strips.
MOONLIT NIGHTS OBSERVE POTENTIALLY QUED
magic often downward fracture and fall apart
when a man’s truth isn’t evidentially clued
to a willing and attentive sweetheart.
AMPLE BAFFLED COUPLES DECLINE EMBRACE
if one is not genuinely enthused.
When qualms clearly show on one’s face,
the other’s face soon appears confused.
ENTICING, FOXY GALS HARKEN INTEREST
and good-looking men embolden heartbeats
so that when neither is indifferent
romance may take a stroll down High Street.
Coocoo doodle I do,
Not every day I coo,
What Mum can do, I can –
My skin needs a sun tan.
My hair with homemade curls,
My makeup shines like pearls.
I'm just a baby, see,
Acting adult, maybe.
Bring napkins for wee-wee,
Ensure fun flows for free.
Tie me nappies for poo.
And bandage my boo-boo.
Baby guys will whistle,
Love – their own epistle.
While I sway my bum-bum,
Left to right like my mum.
Coocoo doodle I do,
Not every day I coo,
What Mum can do, I can –
My skin needs a sun tan.
No high-heeled shoes to wear,
I'd still swagger with flair.
I'm a baby with style,
Can't stop this cheeky smile.
Moving like moonlight
I am the OG silver surfer
Fleshwalkers, Dry Guys, Land Livers,
Have been around for,
What, 300,000 years?
Try 20 million years.
We eat stingrays.
Literally. For breakfast.
I have a 360 degree field of vision.
What's directly in front of me?
Don't ask.
Listen, Humanoids,
I'm delivering this plea
To your nearest post office.
Luckily I found a stamp
With my photo on it.
The plea is:
We are different from the other sharks
(Uhh: other sharks don't use post offices)
And are undeserved of their
Ruthless, roguish, reputation.
Yes, we are younger
Than our arrow-headed brethren
(Just 400 million years younger.)
But our brains are bigger.
Evidenced by our lack of interest
In Walky-Talky interaction.
Check your stats.
Us Real Heads are considered
"Shy" among you. Right.
You wouldn't believe
The number of karaoke
Joints down here.
The moon now
Has dipped down
From the world of air
While the sun has made it's rise.
I'm starting to tan in the shallows
A tad too much for my taste.
Stay safe, sentient skin slickers!
I must be one my way now
At 20-25 miles per hour.
and the good guys lost
all of us ‘got feet of clay
we are tainted, corrupted
and who of us will not say
"no, not me, I will be trusted"
we've come a long way, 'never stay too long
we'll have the last word if only to be wrong
evolution has gone to hell
myopic fighting for peace
ev'ry sucker for himself
all hail, this wily disease
you may point a finger 'til y' arms fall off
I might look away having seen enough
war is over, I said, war is over!
and the good guys lost
hand over fist, making it fit
continue, do as been done
4th world war wi' stones n' sticks
nothing new under the sun
a hungry ghost, frustrated with remorse
here's to it will be like it never was
war is over, I said, war is over!
and the good guys lost
no more than a tease to get it started
much harder to switch it off
war is over! I said war is over
and the good guys lost
and the good guys lost
Of then,
Smoke of a squandered summer morn
The barrel of a summer afternoon
And the spittle of the soundless shots of the stars within a summer eve
Homeless homage, tainted talent awaits to watch and berate
Wilting wonders to wound a heart the size of a horse
Hoarse to mourn the drowning drought of the mellow monnow
To drown the blessed sapphires of summer fever
With fevor and bloodied weather
And sleep on a velvet throw
Turn these demons and paralysis upon the stars
And stitch and tie and tighten
And wear aware of the consequence
And ensnare the stars aware of the darkness
Pay the fare to the ferry
And pretend not to hear the merry walks and dreary ends of life
Pretend not to tighten without the enticement of and ending life
Pretend not to sleep
Away and away and away
Further than the astral splurges of this
Life
Sleep with the intent of death
So death may bless the creaseless crown of my forehead
And sleep with his singular kiss forevermore
2//5//2025
the laws and codes
to take life
and move forward
after death called
dishonoring his beauty
my idols timecards
his tickets paid
pta debts and laughter
to be the father
i look to be a boy from
knowing how his world ends
and cheating with you, again
please yourself for once
keep your hands off
of us
so he can't see me
save myself
Clint Eastwood
hard to believe he played a cowboy called the good
then fought crime and made the bad guys pay
and said go ahead and make my day
While we’re renaming things,
can we please rename “United States” to “AAAmerica.”
I know I’m tired of scrolling to the bottom of every pop-down country list.
And ARE we united? Really, even a little?
That awkward moment when you’re already said, “what?” three times,
and you still have no idea what the conversation is about, but you can tell,
by bouncy and eager expressions, that the topic is loaded. Never sit at the end of a table, dining halls get noisy.
Has a song ever been your safe place?
What if it keeps you warm in a storm,
by getting you up and movin’?
Oh, what about the inimitable effect of a handsome guy?
Now, I don’t engage in decorous affections,
but ‘Cute Soccer Guy’ (I’ve mentioned him before),
wakes us up, by just showing up, oh, we play it lose,
and all, but he makes all of our hearts beat a little faster.
A song for this:
Twiggy Twiggy by [re:jazz]
The Trouble With Boys by Little Eva
(“Nonbinary”, 2023, original encaustic)
Who Are The Good Guys?
It’s a simple question and obvious assumption
But the “good guys” are always “us”
And not them.
And yet all around us, all the time
We see people changing sides
Growing up, becoming wiser, or more corrupt
But making a change, a conversion, a choice
To be themselves in new ways, or sometimes
Just their same old ways as others change.
But the assumption that we are always right
Yet in need of more skill in being right
Is what holds us back from something more.
And that something more
Is what awaits when all distinctions
Of us and them dissolve.
The ultimate OBE, not just out-of-body
But out of mind
And so, Samsara as well.
And when we are so delivered, what do we find?
Peace and spaciousness
And the face of the sacred, in everyone we see.
(11/23/24)
Met you then
Saw you now
Then You were just one of them
Now I search for you in the crowd
Then there were no butterflies to be found
Now I feel there’s a crowd
fluttering inside
Your beautiful dark eyes
Your charming smile
And the way you say
my name every time
Can’t help but dream about you at night
Wherever you go
There’s magic in the air
You must have cast a spell
I keep falling for you again and again
My wife is a poet and I am not,
She creates with her pen, I use robot!
She doesn’t know the truth,No! not a hint,
I don’t look in her eyes, lest reads a glint!
She picks topics at random to challenge,
by night ready poetry is for exchange,
if she wins, in different room I stay,
If I win, wow, wow! then I have my way!!
many topics she chose every Sunday,
to keep me away from favourite play!
many times came close to losing, oh, my!
If I had not used my friend, the AI!
Every evening she reads her’s with passion,
With certainty of win, no compassion!
It is then in slow slow voice I read mine,
so far the AI has worked, all is fine!!
So then, those of you, who hate the AI,
I say to you, What is it to you? Why?
If not for the robot who helps me out,
I will be sleeping alone, have no doubt!
Written By: D. Collins 5/9/24
A triple-knee crack and a hip not ready to move.
Are signs an OG (old guy) should hand over his tools.
Don't push it to the limit trying to throw a football.
And, definitely refrain from shooting basketballs.
Watch your ass in the snow when walking the dog.
A wind-blown leaf could land you in E.R.
Don't get me wrong I really like being here.
It shows the durability of my wear and tear.
We may crack and pop every now and again.
It comes with the props of older echelon.
Somehow throughout it all, we are still upright.
Trying to pass on to Young'uns the last stage of life.
They usually show up early
Today some came an hour
Ahead, and its only Tuesday
What brought on that enthusiasm in this shower.
They could have waited until
The storm is over around ten
Staying at home and
Lying in their warm bed
But out in this horrible, terrible
Cold, wet weather
In those damp, smelly trucks
How do they endure it altogether
And yes, some of them are drivers
With special training with CDLs
And can use those joy sticks
To pick your roll-out carts up
So unapologetic
not like I could carry all my shame
Here’s to a better future!
one that we’re not in…
I’m tracking patterns through the water system,
a river full of waste
Where sinking flowers drown in oxygen
with misadventures taking place
Exit safely,
the scarcity complex that is your concentration
A river full of waste;
a minefield of ironic expectations
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