Sometimes, when we hurl
angry words—
ancient stones thrown by indifference,
lodging in the ears of our children.
Witnessing horror twist itself into child’s play.
A stone’s throw—killed our empathy.
Anger knows its enemy:
sitting next to,
sitting opposite of,
never with.
It sits a stone’s throw away.
Rising from the ashes of fear—
Vapours of flesh smoulder
as blooded lava flows.
Cools—
our scarred magma to a crusted creed.
The stitched social fabric
binds us—
its loud colour blinds us.
Worn by both—
the right
and left sleeve.
United buttons,
reconcile for peace.
Unironed—full of wrinkles.
We tear further apart
the closer we come,
repelling—mirroring
the same magnetic face.
We read our compass,
in a bipolar place;
wondering how,
we’ve lost our way.
Believing everything
we’ve been taught,
until we die—
Realizing—
too late,
it’s all been a lie.
Categories:
unironed, anger, angst, conflict, discrimination,
Form: Free verse
the new shirt with an unironed crease
the slice of thorn against thumb
ear against the bass speaker
whispering at the shadows
hoping something appears
My business is are
Hold the lunar for a tic
my mad has never been ness
no iota of the id
people are
strangled
if your a strangler
your faces are ugly
did you get them on loan
We of the ird
Pass me by
as you stare at the street
one of us was lucky we didn't meet
Categories:
unironed, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Some mornings my locks are in place
but other times tis froze
as a plane tree blooms at the base
then different days are flowers from when I rose
So splendid until I replace my shirt
I have no inkling why that would matter
it's comparable to an unironed bed skirt
not so as the mirror would shatter
I do not work anymore
and my husband is retired
in regard to my employment I walked out the door
but we're secure and inspired
I relish laying down on my couch
while he sits in his computer chair
I'm there now though not a slouch
yet tonight I don't have tousled hair
Categories:
unironed, humor, life,
Form: Rhyme
I look to good to be wearing that.
I look to good to be having kids.
I look to good to be getting rough.
I look to good to just settle for less than i'm worth.
I look to good to just holla at anyone.
To give my love away to someone who doesn't deserve it.
I look to good to stay in an abusive relationship.
I look to good to be nervous when i'm near you.
But I am and it scares me.
When it comes to you and me my confidence goes so low it's crazy.
Maybe it's because your a mystery.
I look into your eyes and I can't read them.
Maybe it's because your opinion matters most.
Your words could break me and because of that i'm so fragile.
I look to good to be doubting myself.
But when I get around you I doubt everything.
Being in love is making me less concieted and more real.
I'm not concieted just confident but around you I have no idea what I am.
Concieted not even.
I run in the dirt and put on unironed jeans.
My image is whatever I want it to be.
I am a modest person who doesn't fish for compliments.
Sometimes i'm insecure.
Sometimes I think you don't notice or care.
But that's just me being myself.
Categories:
unironed, life, love, me, love,
Form: I do not know?