(a love story)
It’s like my brain is dating me - but it’s complicated.
I was talking to my favorite person the other day.
You might call it an internal monologue.
I really like me,
but I keep me under self-surveillance.
I know me well - we've been intimate.
I rely on myself a lot.
Sure, I've let me down
but I feel me trying.
I feel my pain.
That's metaphorical pain,
I'm in no physical, or existential pain,
my dramas are interior, but the stakes are real.
I carry contradictions,
I’m constantly auditioning for my own approval.
I like my opinions, I understand them.
I'm not a fan of the pug nose, but no ones perfect
- except maybe Ansel Elgort (that man can get it).
My mission, over the next few years,
is to build a usable self
from emotional nonfiction,
a stable self-love,
and my mix of inherited qualities.
.
.
A song for this:
Cameo Lover by Kimbra
I'm watching your every move.
Over your shoulder when you least expect.
You won't sneak past me.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
Trapped in a bowl to live
On display to be picked apart
Every move watched and discussed
Judged by their own reflection in the mirror
Disconnect from the mind hive
Ignoring and avoiding a good start
Their word farts making me disgusted
The way of their thinking is sheer horror
Trapped in this bowl their vice
Control and manipulation impart
The are trapped in what they constructed
In time their machinations will become their terror
By Cathrin Stuart
Now, you’ve began to vex
Directing it to Rex:
You and Lawless Alex,
While you’d craved safe latex
For the marathon sex
You’d planned its huge success
At Hotel De Recess...
Last week, same marathon
At five-star Sheraton,
Beside you: Martini,
To take less: Mutiny;
Not you Sabatini:
Your drinks for scrutiny...
You can’t say you got less,
Though your mood now a mess:
My guess: your big cash less,
Stark fears of future stress
And handshake with distress
Following sure duress...
For next month staff pay press
In borrowed robes to dress...
Choose the not cheap hotel
But there don’t stories tell;
In one spend a full week
And you’ve played self a trick!
The whole thing had seemed some mutiny
While hundred eyes stuck to scrutiny!
A young Eve with an old company
She’d met at a roadside company,
Freshly by his side in bikini
And freshly quaffing iced martini…
Next, some careless bites of zucchini
She’d picked from a Free Sabatini,
Litters from The Free Thing all over,
Even as she held its left over…
Bikini! And there’s no swimming pool,
Not for a mile pond without toadstool
A morning too cold for waters cool
And that’s why wearer had seemed a fool…
Plus eyes could afford scrutiny
Of The Disturbingly Skinny!
Cherub's unfurled fingers faithfully extend to his fallow fringe
hung from a chest made firm by suede, sweat and rain.
Chernobyl blue irises mimic April '86 radiation,
dessimating her Cherokee's sense of societal decency.
Devoted to her capture, suede cape kidnapped,
kept protected.
Kernel lodges promise in her gut, cob of compassion sprouts
from yellow potential.
Shrewd Indian whisks his skin of citrine amber sap seraphim
away, to landscape blameless bare.
Motor mumbles underwater torture breathes through
chrome clothing.
Frothy stew swirling storm of snake flesh snow flakes.
Cherub's education quells emotion, pain never developed.
Teepee tall frame levitates in opaque of inequitable love.
Flimsy slim strands strong in Cherub's raised comprehension.
Fringe flown backwards flattens beneath her face,
bohemian bombastic.
Dislodged sand grains foretell
Grasp nestled naive fledgling
Prospered pillion flame
7th June 2022
Written for Contest:
Like A Child
Sponsor:
Regina McIntosh
Men fly The War-Plane of Mutiny
By querying their Destiny
And fly The Very Flag of Mutiny
When Destiny they mock with scrutiny
Vowing to no more drink Martini
Nor in other coolers harbor any tinny
Just like Britain can’t erase her felony
When Nigeria was her colony
One can’t A World of Monotony
Through ceaseless appearance in a ceremony!
Into it I read a mutiny
And a rebellion against Destiny
A Can-Never-Stop Glutton
Checking quarrels with his shirt button
Or a Decreed life of Celibacy
Fighting this with Ecstasy
Or even with The Slowest Immediacy …
Against Foreordained Destiny
We unwisely mutiny
With our Wise Scrutiny.
putridity rhymes with acridity
for the same reason that
tumidity rhymes with turgidity
and tepidity is to vapidity
as solidity is to rigidity
'course, all this has no validity
~ 'til they check my lucidity
Scrutiny of Mounting Mutiny
Wanted to feel secure so had a scrutiny,
Of what would be big mounting mutiny;
How they react,
To body contact;
Immediately knew ir required immunity.
Jim Horn
Opportunity for Scrutiny
At first, found it to be an opportunity;
After I had looked with more scrutiny;
Wondered around,
And balance found;
Me and my bank account had a mutiny.
Jim Horn
Sadness scrambles to survive
and tears become termites
Self reliant moles taint speechless lips
and form explanations yet to ripen
Tears that reject wiping
smear pride's respiratory system
leaving heart beat unpuffed
Humility is Reality
What makes sense
is not always understood...
And weeping ensues.
when placed under the
microscope
all the flaws will show &
no matter how far one runs from the
past,
it will tap you on the shoulder---
what makes the light shine bright
is the audacious curiosity
of another
whose own image has either
never been under the microscope
or they think for some reason that
they are
immune to
scrutiny---
maybe, quite possibly,
the one who grabs another
to drag them under the light,
is one whose personal vendetta against the
world
is so strong, that they think
slowly but surely,
the process of implicating every other
human
who has ever walked the earth in the
greater story of their own
misfortune,
would make it all seem
easier, or at least
reasonable---
in this world without reason
in this world without meaning,
such individuals will dance with
exploded heads,
like daisies being popped off by little
children singing the folk tune,
for frustration will come when
the light gets shed back on them
for being the kind of person
who will not stay the **** out
of another’s business.
Was it only for this
You endure trash and flies
Magi's bow and kiss
And parents laden arms
With dazzling gifts
In sparkling paper wraps
Hustling in the bustling
Drip and drizzle
O a season's festivities?
Was only for this
The African bowed
With his heavy charity of wood
He could not even own,
Being marginalized and propertyless
Property of your love
And I pulpit story
Again and again
Of redemption
In a manger sleeping?
From the scraps of economy
In the blistered wonder land
The tax and strain
Of tradition's requirement
Deepens the pain
Foreign to repentance here
Ignorant to the cosmic despair
The soul brinks on precipice
Of the unaware
Manger and cross
Are just another commodity
In the archeology of disbelief.
If I examine the underside of life's leaf a little too long
crystal dust me with your gravity and pull me away
For scrutiny unravels even the tightest woven fibers
and reveals imperfections.
Sweep me beside you, place me a flower in your pocket
to be cocooned and perfumed in the brilliance
that nature does naturally and we strain to copy
in feeble bent ways.
I'm only weak when you see me to be so.
I'm only strong when you're with me.
Or so all the picking apart of the fibers
with microscope vision would like me to think...
If I am pale from a moon burn, unsleeping
again, pull my tides and drag me to the sea
for only a dip in a salt straining vision
will quell me from burning and purify me
Blue up my eyes, place me on rafts as we float
soon to be awoken by the closest of suns
rising from nights it spent warming the seas
on the other side of my precious less scrutinized world-
Stretch out my thinking and purify me.
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