Cards of memories flowing down the river stream I beg, the tempest reforms but burns behind sullen eyes. The night time rendezvous, silent sounds, hiding behind the chests of lustrous hands. From the barroom dancer to the hint of turning locks, sealing the tone as my shining chandelier.
Marlboro reds and a temperate breeze, Cleopatra the shrine to my fantasies.
“You were Worth all the Ash on this dead-beat soil for bringing heat and my sins to life.”
-ms
You know you’re in the deep end when it becomes really shallow
It’s a place where you sink
in
the
bass of the music
but can’t realize you’re drowning
because you’re doing everything
to tell yourself you’re not,
except to pull yourself out.
Speaking becomes an expression
of wanting substance
but spewing breath instead
It’s like you’re vomiting the words
you wish you could feel
that you end up
feeling starving and e m p t y
You’re stuck in this hollow space
but don’t really leave
because there isn’t a force
squeezing you in -
You’ve become receptive, dear friend.
Even the word ‘friend’ has lost meaning
despite the fact you have 700+ on Facebook
but won’t tell a s i n g l e one
why your house isn’t really a home
because that would mean you’d have to share
that every place you called ‘home’
walked upstairs or slid
through the
cracks…
That’s sort of embarrassing, no?
Except you sort of forget that others
also had someone leave and go.
Funny how travel transcends
mutual friends but not mutual screens
because we all see through different filters.
Funny how the World Wide Web became so narrow.
You know you’re in the deep end when it becomes really shallow.
-ms
“I could not have imagined anyone that could ever deserve you,”
she imagined him saying.
But he never said it.
Because he became a ghost.
So she became a silhouette…
Absorbed by artificial reality.
-ms
I locked you away in the abyss of darkness
Notifications no more
You’ve stopped to matter as I lost interest
I’m sure you would not care
Except you do, because rejection is tough
Rejection makes you want me more
We all want that which we can’t have
© 7.03.2019 -MyPoeticSoulNy (-mps)
[luːˈtɛsənt
1. yellowish in colour]
You only get what you can bear to pay for.
I used to indulge in yellow:
rows on rows of bright waxed lemons
and golden yolks carelessly gathered,
split in a bowl with caster sugar
to make custard so rich it clings in a thick film
on the roof of your mouth the whole evening.
These days I buy yellow
like aged eyes peering from wrinkled lids.
Like the drying crust of albumen
smeared on the countertop.
Like the thickened fungal toenail,
that hobbles the foot it was made to aid.
Like the lizard skin peeling
from a sunburned shoulder.
Like the righteous fire burning
down a police station,
a quarter way round the world,
smoke wafting across my doorstep.
Nowadays lust is mistook for love,
It is a 3 month joy ride , rather than a forever
the promises made so shallow , not even lasting a day ….
(who’s to say exactly
why we’re hungry?
maybe she grows up
to look like you)
i stole so much from you inside your dreams
i wore your skirts to sleep
i watched you learn to eat me
choking on my hair
(i’m in the air somewhere
designed like dust
and worried
i may never leave the shower)
and horses wear my face inside your dreams
and baby birds might die inside my lungs
i cry sometimes
i can’t be everywhere
the least that i can do
is mail you back
to him
You sinister boy,
What you on about now?
Smoking cigarettes and sleeping
With everyone here.
Can’t stand to crawl in bed, alone.
I thought I took on all the responsibility
But didn’t realize how deep.
Sinister is what you survived,
Now you’re just fucked in the head
Sleeping with her to just ignore how you really feel about it.
When you feel sad you usually connect the dots why
but this time I didn’t know why
frustration inside was hard to handle
the dots were disappearing as soon as I touch the handle of the door they unlock
every door has a different story, past or present
but this time I couldn’t reach it
I had no idea what was in my mind, speaking
blurred voices with crossed out faces
talking in same time, but different languages
so confused yet so aware, only thought was how to get out of there
burning eyelids from tears that feel like I’m swallowing acid
no one tells you how to handle this panic
especially alone, in your own room, with no parent around
yea because they tell you that it’s all a lie
but hear me mother I am weeping and you don’t believe the word I say
I am lost completely, no one has a normal soul to spare
maybe one day it will all disappear, while I float away in the stream of tears
remember me sane while I’m here, but don’t sugarcoat my core
He was a Chiron.
Half man half horse
With wings.
I was an angel.
I flew to him
Wrapped my legs
Around his stomach.
Kissed him raw and tenderly.
My fingers engulfed with his hair .
Inside my fingernails
Had a couple of strands.
He took one of my feathers
And put it behind his ear.
Madilim na naman ang kalangitan.
iiyak na ulit.
Hikbi.
Maririnig ko na naman ulit ang mga hikbi nito.
Sa pagpatak ng mga malilit na butil ay kasabay din ang unti-unting pag-agos ng mga luha sa aking mga mata.
Ayoko ng ganito.
Ayoko ko talaga ng ulan.
Dahil maaalala ko na namn ang hapdi ng mga sandali.
kasabay ng pagpatak ng ulan ang paglisan mo.
At ni minsan hindi ka na bumalik.
One big happy family
is all I want in life,
some loving, happy children,
a loving, happy wife;
I don’t think that it’s crazy
it shouldn’t be a myth,
it must depend on luck, I guess,
but mostly who you’re with.
If the year were a mountain, we’d be nearing half way by now, but the incline is getting steeper, the path becoming narrower and the mists closing in ever tighter as the altitude thins the air and saps the oxygen from our blood. All good sense says to stop, take stock and assess the situation, but there’s that insistent, familiar prodding at our backs. We recognise its aurous touch. Pressing us urgently on, assuring us that the shrouded path ahead is perfectly safe, grumbling at every slow, tentative step. Don’t we know there’s a mountain to climb? Heavy lidded eyes tire of seeing nothing but the grey nebulous haze before us, and the plodding of our tired feet. Some want to camp, some want to push on and make the summit before nightfall. Yes, onward, hup, hup! Exclaims the prodder, but the sun is already so low upon the horizon. Surely it would be wiser to rest now, rather than suffer a night higher up the mountain? The wind does whistle so, minute shards of frost borne upon its icy breath to puncture the skin and numb our cheeks. The prodder goads and taunts, pushes and pulls, twists us this way and that. We can make the summit in the morning, some say, and be down the other side in good time as well. Angry the prodder gets, now. Frustrated at inaction in the face of uncertainty. It preaches a bold, daring strategy. One foot after the other, it says. Appeals to our pride, and to our strength and to our daring. What are we, cowards? Some begin to wonder why the prodder so urgently wants us up the mountain…
if you’re not supporting the vision,
you’re supporting division,
& the mission
of the ones
who want to see us, separated
dismembered the heart from the right hand
woman from man, and now all i see
is blurry color
ina world that’s sold as black and white
back to channel 6,
your regularly scheduled programming
subliminal disease & warning shots
fired, the robot police
void of empathy
giving all authority
to those who f.e.a.r. we’ll all rise up again
someone call paul revere, & send his ass
thru the streets,
where people sit in bleach-soaked homes
suburban comfortability subdues
just like easily manipulated rodents
why are you looking down?
what a hard fall,
when we could have come down
on our own, 3 steps even,
to help, sooner.
afraid to come down
heads in the clouds,
don’t kill my buzz
while they’re on the ground,
suffering from the same crime
we’re running out of time
unequal rules to the game, denial,
& comments like “but we’re white, so we don’t have to worry..”
asif crooked cops won’t someday turn on you, too
when they no longer need public approval, chappie
when they no longer can feel
regardless, the trash is on fire,
no matter the soap, disinfectant, cover up
i smell piss, shit, rot, greed, oblivion
& the trash has been on fire, motherfuckers.
In your warmth I shall surrender
Shower me in your embrace
I recall a tender look
In this moment l am floating
If you don’t hold on to me
I shall float inside the sea
Join the spirit of the mermaids
Feel my skin upon the sand
I am one alone with algae
I’m no longer lost in space
© 7.27.2019 -MyPoeticSoulNy (-mps)
Grace me with your gaze and make this stone heart break open and spill out precious gems and devotion.
-B.S.H
I want to believe it’s because I meant everything to you. I want to believe you loved me and love me still. I want to believe it’s because you don’t want to acknowledge the space outside of time we created, that has now left us in desolation. I want to believe you won’t talk to me because of this. But this other idea creeps up on me from time to time. That you won’t talk to me because I meant nothing to you. That, unlike the others from the past you talked to while we were together, I meant much less and I have been easily discarded.
5-28
