Tag Archive: poetry


Sometimes You Just Have To Channel The Fire

 

Sometimes you just have to channel the fire
Of dreams you have dreamt; of all you desire
Into the heart of a phoenix whose song you hear true
And let hope spring eternal, like the flame within you

Some Thoughts on the Rethridgerator.

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I push, I shove,
Forgetting how to empathize.
His tush I love
More than is probably wise
And now my fate
Has sealed itself rotten.
So how to state
I fear being forgotten?

I fret, I pace
I’d rather not sleep.
Forget his face
Before you’re too deep.
He said please go
Tomorrow’s a long day
And you said no
I must have my own pleasure’s way

I fight these pills
They fog up my mind
To spite the thrills
I would otherwise find
In heart and soul
Along with my skin
I’m part, not whole
This healing body I’m in

Neurotic Insomnia

Is tomorrow the day
I’ll wake up and say
“It’s really okay
That I am just this way” ?

World Order: Fries < Onion Rings < Tater Tots

I am in love with the idea of the man I used to date, no longer ought to love, but am too nostalgic to let go of.

I need to become a project finisher; that is how I will become a playwright.

I vow to start writing down my crazy anecdotes; my memoirs will not be memories but news stories written in quick succession. 

Perhaps, however, I need to focus a little bit more on the career rather than wishing he would grab my rear, indulging a lust he can’t control. 

if you want to fight, I’ll grab your balls; you grab my rack 
So do just what you want to, have me as you will.
But don’t expect I’ll come running back
if you don’t have sass and skill. 

The Drafts That Could Still Be: A Writing Discovery

I have discovered something about myself. 
Should it be discovered or uncovered?
Rather than ask the questions I have in my head
To another person
In real time 
That could garner potentially hazardous consequences for the future
Of such a meek and budding relationship
As is any relationship on the brink
Of being anything more than it is
Where the two souls are alike
And amiss and a-twitter
Because they can’t seem to communicate
Even though one knows the other intimately in structure
But not in content
That is where the insecurity rises up
The fear that I can read the inner strings of his heart’s song
No, that can only be sung by you 
In the form of words, notes, tears
Many instruments have you
And many instruments have I

One of these instruments is through bravery
I can instigate a battle, I can
But just because I want to know the answer
And have the capacity to ask the question
Does not mean that it was mean to be inquired
Yet, anyways

Instead, I shall make it a story.
I constantly fear that my writing about what happens in my real life will make the people I love angry with me if they ever find out. That includes the content of this blog, the contents of my diaries, the contents of my plays, and some of my songs. Some are in code, some are poorly in code, and some are so exposed it’s like that moment you realize the pantsless dream you’re having is actually your wedding. Which is why they cannot be seen. 

But I seem to have forgotten something about myself. Let me remind myself, and you, dear reader, of what it is.
I, as my mother says, have a vivid imagination. 
I can predict the highest achievement 
And the most tragic defeat
The exhileration courses through my veins 
As sparks shooting through a cannon’s barrel 
Sometimes I am kept away by this electricity
I cannot hold it inside
I burst out with delight and force 
Somewhat haphazard in my release I will admit
And I maybe singe some of my constituents sometimes

Instead, strike that match onto the page
Rather than sending a burning arrow to another heart so soon.
Let the vivid imagination
The world that I long to create to be my own
Let it come alive in my stories 
Until those characters I am to play along with as myself
Arrive in my scene

Until then, all the drafts that could have been
Better yet, those that could still be

Touch Me Like You Love Me

Touch me like you love me
Even if it’s a ruse
Touch me like you love me
I vow to not refuse

A kiss breathed in my hair
Your hand around my waist
You don’t have to swear
On it – give me just a taste

Touch me like you love me
Make me shiver to the bone
Touch me like you love me
So I don’t feel so alone

Seduction: A Haiku

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Soon

Old rotting love dies a little more each day
To make room for new to move in and stay
And shove out the hurt old memories bring
And soon the winter will melt into spring

It’s hard to forget, even more to forgive
But with burdens and grudges I don’t want to live
So with time I will learn to let go of the sting
And soon the winter will melt into spring

Open your windows and air out your rooms
Bring in the mops and the sponges and brooms
Invite your real friends, those who make your heart sing
And soon the winter will melt into spring

Too Much Clutch

I found my Hercules
And I fear I’ve already driven him away
Perhaps he is just busy
Because that’s what he said he was
All I know is that the communication was in troves
The sex was amazing
And he thought so too
But now I haven’t heard a word

Patience, Ray.
Que sera, sera.

And if he doesn’t want you,
[don’t] fuck him.
He’s not worth it.
You are an Amazonian Sex Goddess and they should be kneeling at your feet.

Hope is fine, but not entangled in despair.

Already I grow weary of being alone.
Having many notches is fun, and all, but still no one holds me tight all through the night.
I am lonely and forgotten.
Whirlwinds of lives lived around me,
I stand watching, longing to jump on to the manic roundabout
But no one has offered me a hand yet.

So I stand,
A lone phoenix
Without a fire 
To keep me warm.