is not the same as living
it’s waiting to die
is not the same as living
it’s waiting to die
I love the beach but alas, the sun does not love me so going during the day is not a great idea. However much to my delight, the beach at night is a completely different experience. The crowds are gone, the sand is cool, as is the ocean’s breeze. The tranquility and calm washes over you.
water lapping feet
as we walk along the sand
moonlight softly glows
I‘m tongue-tied and vague
a red-headed harpy let loose by the sun
I’m the price of a stiff drink
in a one horse town
I’m a dusty floored attic
and you are leaving footprints as you go
I’m a wild summer night
driving too fast and screaming
obscenities out the windows
I’m the grey-green glow from the instrument panel
I’m the nubby-brown tack
of nicotine stained curtains
in a secondhand room
I’m incense in a closed space
I’m falling asleep in front of the TV
on a school night
I’m decadence made plain
I’m a whey-faced creature
coughed up by the earth
I’m butter-yellow sunshine
and I live in your eyes
I’m 10 feet tall and raggedy red
I’m desperately trying to make you see
I’m the sticky peeling pain
of sweat on vinyl
I’m the summer dusk from childhood
I’m wishing on stars and dandelion puffs
I’m fairy dust and magic wands
I’m the moon on an October night
I’m the orange-grey haze
falling on wet pavement
I’m rain on leaves
on dead tree rings
Do you know who I am yet?
I’m a blue-eyed
dime store queen
I am who is
and might have been.
I originally posted this here on May 2nd 2013 so it’s the poem’s anniversary 😉
*yes, those are my eyes and that is the most of me I’m willing to post!
oh woe is the state of me
am I beyond repair?
if’t be true mine heart lies at the city centre
wherefore doth it not get along with its neighbor brain
which dwells near by in northern suburb?
thoughts after all bringeth forth emotion
and though synapse art wearied and has’t suffered damage
they doth still transit thither
***I asketh thee, please forgive mine feeble attempts at sounding “Shakespearean” and the resulting butchery.
His smile was like some kind of magic
As was the sparkle in his eyes
But she knew it would be some kind of tragic
if she once again went for the ride
no man could exist
no boy child would be birthed
Take back your power
Take back your control
we are the teachers
we are the nurturers
We can make change happen
Teach responsibility, not blame
Teach love, not hate
Teach peace, not war
Teach your children
that they are enough
that their lives are their own
and that they alone
who and what they are
that they alone can define
what happiness and love
look like to them
that they can choose not to
continue a cycle of violence
but live instead in peace.
the man may
make me melt
in naked need
with but the steam of his breath
and the growl of his voice
leave me dripping in desire
yet that does not make me his
does not make me a prisoner
after all I am a woman
born of the universe
wild and free
and his eyes,
though they do beckon
and warm me,
they do not really see me
for all that I am
with an excited gleam in his eyes
he hands her a package
silently she opens to find
a fantasy of silk and lace
sea-foam green and barely there
he directs her to undress and put it on
wordlessly she complies
he observes as silk slides across young, pert flesh
he commands her to model it for him
to move with the music
she complies as he watches with hungry eyes
brusquely he pulls it off and tosses it carelessly to the floor
pushing her roughly to the bed
he can’t be bothered with undressing
he just takes what he wants from behind
when he is done he notices the delicate green silk crumpled under his boot
he tosses it to her and says
“Wash that and re-wrap it before your mom gets home.”
a reblog, this poem is in my 2nd book of poetry.
which is available in full color, black and white or on Kindle.
a resource for moving poetry
Writer, Poet, Dreamer
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