bitter

Not one single tear

 

 

Not a tear will out a sigh,

Not a tear will hold goodbye,

 

Not a tear will grace my cheek,

Not a tear for then I'm weak,

 

Not a tear will drip and fall,

Not a tear to bawl then call,

 

I will have the driest eyes,

Colder than december brides,

 

Yes I will know no tears for you,

For if I'm asked- I'll answer who!?

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An Ode to the Guy Who Ranched My Car

Folder: 
The Pixie Dust

An Ode to the Guy Who Ranched My Car

Apartment living, we coexist in communes.

Living side by side like boxed in sardines

We stomp on each-other’s silence.

We know more than we would like

About each other’s sex lives.

 

Your crappy Toyota with taped up wheel-wells

Lays dormant at the front of the lot,

Itching to be the silver Focus out back

Where we currently reside.

No chain linked fences define our territory.

 

Your inconvenience is to my ignorance,

And my ignorance was your bliss.

Ranch dressing  carelessly thrown out

Of your second story apartment

Covers my innocuous Ford Focus.

A spotted lion covered in calories,

You’ve upset the predator.

 

 

To your relief, I was nowhere in sight

Until I went to my Focus later that night.

Closing the door to your stage that you stomp

Across every night,

I unanticipatedly discover your art.

 

So gorgeous, it was!

A mass murder scene featuring the condiment

Ranch like the blood of an innocent man after a shot

To the head where he stand waiting

For his mother to pick up the phone,

To tell Momma that he’ll be back home,

But never actually sees home again.

 

Like a movie bound to end in tragedy where

We, as the audience, stand mouth agape

Waiting for the man to pull back the curtain

And the violin screeching to get louder.

A knife to the gut

And a scream to raise hair faster than hands in

A class room where everyone knows the answer.

 

Here’s your extra credit my dear friend.

To the Man who Ranched my Car, I ask,

“Why did you peer out of the window?”

You could have gotten away with it,

But you watched me as I stood behind my car,

Our eyes met for only an instant, and I knew

It was hate at first ranching.

 

You smile in your sleep knowing that I know,

And your ignorance is my bliss because

Your crappy Toyota sleeps soundly at night

Undisturbed by the ketchup in my fist,

And the smile on my face

Behind the window I kept closed

Below the stage that you stomped across

To become the victim to your own play.

 

 

 

 

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Palate

Folder: 
Simple Thoughts

"So fleeting,

the feelings that need to be written,

so we try,

lest we forget,

 

because we can end the story

right here.

 

 

 

But the writer didn't quit,

there's more than just words

to be conveyed,

painted.

 

So coast,

let the feelings become a little older,

bolder, embolden the taste

and let your mind

 

slip into space

where much will be needed,

actual space,

for too much had happened today,

 

looking for a place to be.

Matter of fact,

every little thing

had it's own story,

 

poetry to be painted for,

but the encompassing tone

is the gratuity of it all,

the gravity of thanks,

 

given time and again,

and how that can make

heartfelt words

turn empty.

 

A day

full of so many happenings

can dilute

the flavor of each herb;

 

the finite details 

of a singular moment

crowded by 

too many spices.

 

The palate becomes overwhelmed,

tastes come all sides, 

pungent, 

assaulted with bitter flavors,

 

or salty experiences. 

Even the savory, slow

succumbing to sweet memories

can lead to sour smiles.

 

Too strong a concentration

on the subject of flavor,

and you lose the whole picture,

the entire day.

 

Exertion, 

parading down the street,

or a humble pawn in the presence

of greatness,

 

balance is best

to appreciate the meal, if you will.

To appreciate every moment,

and the entire day they build."

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A day full of so many flavors can distract your appreciation for the entire day itself.

For Your Ignorance

You decided yourself the idea of you and me, was not quite the reality you’d thought’d bring you harmony. Which might have been fair until you refused to give me the respect to be listened to, and express my antithesis.


Now you’ve left me stuck, self-reciting my sour-salty soliloquy. You tuned me out, showing the epitome of self-servient apathy.


You promised me, mind you had no intention to keep, that you’d still be a friend, until you said the drama’s too deep. It was a vessel you filled with full control and intent. You slithered away and then complained you were spent. You invented excuses and convinced yourself lies, of how I’m just as absurd as other desperate guys.


You made me a villain and issued me blame. Deluded yourself to think shouldn’t feel shame. And you expect me to float off and swallow a this pill that you thought might prescribe a sense that i’m the one who was

ill-mannered, ill-tempered, ill-willed, ill-advised to believe we could salvage the best of our times and harbor a new kind of relationship, where we’d grow apart fondly, with memories

clipped to our dashboards now facing separate directions. Yours, pointed to your fairy tale misconceptions. With your eye fixed on a perfect fairy tale life, glazed to subtle the flavor of inevitable strife.


You seem to forget, I got to know you a bit. Buried your nose in your so called “support” that would never

quit to praise your sadly distorted ambitions, and agree that my warnings were trespassing suspicions. But you never allowed them the transparency I saw, to gaze straight through your Disney princess façade.


Now you desperately grasp for validation with your newest unwitting vessel of self-inflation. You mold yourself hastily to fit in with his life. Tricking him to believe you’ll of course be his wife. When just like the dance you put me through, you’ll get tired and look for something else to do.


That poor young bastard has no clue that there is no way of really pleasing you. With your head in the clouds and expectations too high. You’ll ignorantly fly from him to the next guy.


One day you’ll burn out and PRAY begin to see, that if you’d just sat down and had listened to me. I’d have shown you a more realistic support, and stop racing away from the source of your short-

comings, consistently

fettered to your soul since you’re the cause of your own pain-soaked love letters.


But I owe you one tiny note of praise. Your timing in cutting me out of your days

aligned just the right way to set me up in a daze

with the new love I found, who’s a wonderful dame. If I weren’t so angry I’d spare you the phrase, “she puts you to shame.”


She’s understanding, secure, smart, supportive, thoughtful, and kind. She loving, goodnatured, even when in a bind. My gratitude to you is,

I never would have thought, that I’d find someone else who’s everything were not.

How Do I Celebrate Valentine's Day?

 

Can’t there be a holiday for the lonely people?

 

People walking around in a daze

 

Makeup running down their cheeks

 

Reflecting on the one who slipped through their needy fingers

 

Or cursing their solitude

 

Wishing no one would have to share their quiet worthlessness

 

No

 

Instead we pile teddy bears onto shelves like shitty food onto cafeteria trays

 

We cram chocolate into heart shaped boxes

 

Packed tightly, claustrophobic

 

Like the air tight monogamy of a committed relationship

 

We buy women expensive lingerie

 

Only to tear it off the minute it’s in front of us

 

We buy overpriced cards so Hallmark

 

Can tell our partner how we really feel

 

And we do it all in the name of love,

 

Or at least whatever we’re calling the social contract conjoining two people

 

Who enjoy talking to each other almost as much as fucking

 

I want a national regrets day

 

Just some sort of terrible liquor on clearance

 

And a note pad where everyone can write down their mistakes

 

Could I finally make my friends jealous as they awe at my expansive scroll?

 

And what about slutty people?

 

Where is their holiday? (If we’re not counting Halloween)

 

Divorced, widowed?

 

I think they deserve a holiday as well.

 

Some people have good reason to avoid relationships

 

Perhaps they had the romance of the century

 

Until an untimely death or illness

 

Maybe he turned out to be a cheater

 

Maybe she turned out to be a he

 

But alas,

 

I get on with my point,

 

Valentine’s Day isn’t the celebration of real love

 

It’s the annual cornballathon ode to our obsessed, idealistic vision of it

 

Love is powerful and incredible

 

But it’s also brutal and gross

 

It has sharp elbows not found on a cuddly teddy bear

 

And when you celebrate love

 

You’re also celebrating jealousy, revenge and despair

 

It may be too darn starry- eyed for one to suggest we stop pretending love is anything you’d be able buy in a store

 

But my non- conformist, abominably angst ridden heart is unrelenting in its pursuit

 

Start enjoying what we really are

 

Not what the commercials say we should be

 

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Violet

Violet.

You looks as though,

You're swimming in a goldfish bowl full of vinegar;

As if,

You're locked in a  cage

Full of snarling , biting dogs;

As if,

You're being slapped by 100 belts.

 That's how I look because;

That's how I've been treated.

And you are bitter.

You are very bitter.

You can't imagine.

Let's go get a drink Violet.

Yeah, let's go;

Forget all that.

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tags:

Coffee

An object warm and white,

Cup-like with a handle at its side.

Halfway filled with a liquid,

A liquid with a name,

Its name being coffee.

 

Eager am I to hold this cup,

Equally eager am I to drink

From its rim which my lips shall touch.

Slowly yet quickly I do tilt the cup

And the liquid pours into my mouth.

 

The liquid's bitter taste,

Yet sweet and warm it is.

Satisfying is the taste,

So gleefully I do drink more

And indulge myself in this sweet galore. 

 

Freely does the liquid

Move around in my mouth

As it plays with my tongue

Tickling its taste-buds.

Around and between my teeth it goes

'til I move it back with my tongue

To the back of my mouth

Where the coffee meets its doom.

Down my throat it goes,

The aftertaste the same as before.

My thirst craves evermore,

Thus I drink some more.

 

Sour Puss

Folder: 
human beings

the mind gets filled with decaying debris,

months and years of empty words,

like a cluttered closet never cleaned

 

cobwebs begin to form and spaces fill

dying matter clog the once well lit corridors

with unresolved differences

 

silent inner wars, like tremors 

below the fault line rise,

passions left ignored collide

 

between an empty page and an empty life 

lies her heart that yearns to speak, 

but utters only anguished cries 

 

bitter reminders of more rotted cavities

inside the tightly packed memories

boldly labeled 'forbidden'

 

she lashes out,

and for another moment,

what she has resisted for years is hidden

 

 

 

 

9:08 PM 7/3/2013 

©

 

 

...........

Author's Notes/Comments: 

about repression.

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The days of old

The days of old...
Pass me bye,
Gone and lost, like some kite,
Floating upon high.
And as the ticking continues,
The middle hand shadows its brother,
Old age creeps into your bed,
Like a familiar lover.
In the sea of faces
I am lost, and retreat back into the fold,
One of the many,
Now faceless and un-bold.
Not getting my stardom,
Not gaining the wisdom,
I am the hollow,
A lonely soul,
All one can do is follow,
Wallowing in sorrow,

Now is the days of the new...

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