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Showing posts from December, 2009

nieton

So I'm meeting someone new tomorrow. I'm scared shitless. He's an interesting person, to say the least. He's brash, arrogant and one of the best artists I've seen. He spends all his time doing nothing, sleeping and vegging out I suppose. He seems like a nice guy, I think. He told me he didn't have many friends And a lot of free time. This is the first stranger I'll be meeting, And if anyone knows me, they know I'm not a very outgoing person at first. I don't have a clue what will come of this, I've gone from thinking he likes me to thinking he's making a joke of me many times over. I drunkenly told him I'd be his friend last night, And I have to keep my promise. I'm just scared. Obviously I must be worth something in his eyes, He seems the elitist type, only choosing to talk to a select few I know I've already exceeded his expectations, But even the strongest of foundations can crumble and fall instantaneously. If there's just

I think I'm onto something

A naked love. The secret youth of two anonymous bodies To me they are well matched in symmetry construed from words I read Congruous edges in pale hues of buff, or a pale peach. Dull eyes that fill with misconceptions transcending ideas that don't match up. Your hollow vessels carry the weight of preconceptions. Fill you with my experiences when I read a common word You say love, I fill you with my images of love. with my touch, my remembrance. You are kept alive with my yesterday. You are an image, pasted with dull color and deep like an urn and I dump my ashes of dead feelings there. But, in your cheeks and bitten lips, there is color that no amount of grey dust can kill. Your eyes are blue clear like sky, like the forever in your soul. I see your pictures the monochromatic image you've painted, Not only of pixelated profiles but layers underneath words. And the words beneath the layers, That reveal a broken frame once you let the world take you under. bones twist beneath th

pat

The world cuts a deep scar that betrays your tongue up your sleeve. A sentence you're saving for later. Dont try and save me from yourself you're only damning us both. From heavy beginnings You walk forward slowly. Dragging your palms across the badlands to keep your world spinning Always wanting to see the other side the corners of youth and crevices of smiles. Like A young puppy staring out at the night through a window wondering.

flash flash you green light

Like a staring contest with a one eyed lazer sullen cardboard eyes darkly brightened screen. Wearing the paint thin with my restless fingers and heart As soon as I walk away the phone buzzes. not like how it was before where I'd pick it up fractions of a second before an incoming alert. but no one can text that often for I pick it up on each silly whim. Always half waiting for your words to come back but you're too far away and I've lost them.

The corners of youth

I want to write again. Write as myself and not as those artists the slammers, the blessed ones. The shoes I'll never fit yet in a misguided stupor high off the feelings in their words I put pen to paper and scribble out silly notions, no revising, no revisiting. Just writing, in abandon silly phrases I know nothing of. Using my elbows to shove my way into admiration of strangers I know nothing of except they have come to this room to hear words. And I bombard them with my own attempting to validate my petty dreams My vanity alive in my words and my performance. God I sound dumb. Poetry readings have changed my life. How, not really sure yet. [i just dont want to end up like rene. no offence bud]

some messed up shiiiz.

I have no true touching stories behind my words. no metaphores to my poetry, no alliterations or hyperbolies or adjectives. no synonyms no thesauruses for my phrases. just a hand full of letters and commas, maybe an exclamat!on mark or a sem; colon thrown in the mix. just these bland back bone,, baritone, monotone, monochrome black and white photocopies of ideas and emotions. just these indentations before the paragraphs, the page numbers the blank canvas whites and the pre-dawn blacks, that halt before the steep slide, the drop on a rollercoaster ride. the primer, DNA polymerase, the enzymes, the catalists. the lag time as the heater in the car warms up, the speed-walk of the last 50 yards before you walk into a nice warm house. The I dont know, and the everything. before the everything. the possibility, the potential. the everything-you-need. the everything, but the nothing. because words are just words. theyre lifeless and cold, but with the voice that they're carried on, the fl

happy dream :)

i had the best dream last night. I was at my cabin with everyone that I loved. It was a wee mix between maekelburger village and my cabin, and my whole family was there Krista's family was all there, as well as petra and Marysia. It started off with being in a department store of fancy dresses and there were these really mean teenagers all prissy who were working there and my friend somehow stole one of the girls dresses and it was really funny. And then suddenly we were at a lake and we had this raft and we were saving certain animal from this really giant leech and we tried so hard to get this animal up onto the raft because we weren't sure if it was normally a water animal or a land animal. We finally got it out and it said thank you but then it went back in the water because it belongs in the water and it distracted the leach for us so that we could cross to this cliff down the lake. So when we got to this cliff, I know had been there before it was filled with huge semiprec

I want my mommy.

it breaks my heart. I picked up the phone already knowing who I'd hear. Already knowing my dad would answer And I had no real place. I waited till the ringing stopped dead. Heard a muffled and tired hello from his room in the basement below. I held the phone up to my ear and could only endure a few seconds a broken spirit behind a strained voice The voice of a defeated soul unappreciated and alone in a prison of her own flesh and blood in close proximity all pulled tight like guitar strings along a neck with the name 'moving day' but this instrument of sorrow offers no music only a harsh mash up of voices all screaming for their own supremacy. And I see her wire of sanity being pulled and pulled some more I can hear the tremors of her voice about to break. she's about to break.