Category: Poetry

My blackened soul she still shines bright,
underneath yon wicked black light.
I hold out hope that some look close,
past the fluids & trauma gross.

Forewarned is forearmed I tell you now.
There be triggers beyond safe prow.
So many times gone Pow! before.
So much stitching you can’t ignore.

I’m rent & waste of time & flesh. 
Naught of mine but spirit be fresh.
Drugged by men & most robbed in course.
Love has long been from me divorced.

Still I hope whether wise or naive. 
That soon may come just one lucky eve.

Because planets align from time to time… 
& I’ll be there sifting reason from rhyme.
Fishing for proof of a kind, gentle love. 
I will find it without Challenge’s Glove.

There to prove my wild dreams real. 
There for me at last to feel.

I am…I am Peter Pan & I’m happily not quite there. 
I am…I am Peter Pan & I can fly anywhere.

I grew up under a haunted house & as I grew I broke it. 
Every time I learn something, conveniently I forget.

I am…I am Peter Pan & I don’t remember love. 
I am…I am Peter Pan & I’ll never know the grave.

I exist inside my own world & most of you can’t find it. 
I’ve collected a couple more & all of us got true grit.

We play games of love & war, but never truly get it.
We keep our hearts behind our walls protecting them from pirates.

I am…I am Peter Pan & I got my friends right here.
I am…I am Peter Pan. We’re all lost in our own sphere.
I am…I am Peter Pan & I got my eyes from stars. 
I am…I am Peter Pan & I fly above my scars.

Meter by: R.E.M.

I wannna die laughing & everyone’s there. Making a joke in one last act of despair.
I wanna leave em with a smile on their face & a flush in their hearts to take my place.

I wanna die laughing at my own jokes & be the only fag left whose looking for smokes.
I wanna die laughing so that I can retire knowing I kept them all warm with my fire.

I wanna die laughing so loud at the sky 
so all I have left for any “god” is my sigh.

I wanna die laughing with a whole room crying…
shit!
 Now I’ve tipped my hand, ‘cus you know that I’m lying.

I really do hope that the laughter is there, 
But, a “whole” room of people? Eh, who’ll care?
  
nah…

I wanna die laughing at a ripe old age…
with naught but my words left bare on my page.

and… 

If I go sooner, that’s fine my dears. 
Just huddle close & lend me your ears.

I wanna die laughing even if it’s tomorrow…I’ve got a couple gems squirreled that you’re welcome to borrow.

in time…

Don’t gimme credit for laughs reaped from my will. 
Just remember my face when you share them & kill.

trust…

Fame woulda beat me far quicker than sickness. 
So I kept it all tight for the future to witness.
Here I am lying again, cus I’ll miss this. 

Talking in boxes to people I knew.
Time whittling them down to the most precious few.
 
last…
If you hear a laugh in the thunder that sounds like mine.
It’s prolly me worshipping my own goddamned shrine!

I wanna die laughing with a smile on my face

…and

then…

I wanna be done with this place!

All of us are our own gods.
Existing here despite the odds.
We grow & learn, we win & lose.
We love & hate; then change our views.
Pride’s a cross that just won’t lighten.
Each god born of hungry Titan.
Religion’s myths still haunt our lives.
Aureate clouds or bones & knives.
If all of us are our own gods
…then so are cads and so are bawds.

Eyes wide open my heart leapt to the hope I was awash in.
I bridled all my feelings with the leather of keen caution.

Lady Luck’s a femme fatale I know better than to treat with.
Drunk from ardor’s wishing well she solicited her mean myth.

So here I am, back underground, peeking through my periscope.
Attending all with watchful eyes & nursing my forlorn hope.

It may appear to witnesses I’ve surrendered in defeat.
Though kissing frogs is sweaty work…which is rarely nice & neat.

So I await another chance to put my heart on auction.
Keen for love I may well be although never without caution.

A light so bright it burns, may not be the place to warm your bones.
Diminishing returns, like paying age for your golden tones.

Vanity never thrives, when both gravity & time are known.
Yet graceful age survives, where gratitude for living is grown.

The winner stands alone, ambition breaks the ties that bind us.
Our future lived on loan, ensures that now can never find us.

The loser too well knows, that the present tense can’t be ignored.
The future’s made of foes, when the ills of now remain uncured.

We miss many things pure, if against perfection all is stood.
Of one thing I am sure, tis wise to favor can over could.

Awash with white this blankest page it waited here for me.
Awhile the season shifted round the evergreen fir tree.

Accounted for were my attentions; blown was my routine.
Away was my inspiration; no writing to be seen.

Aswarm with people were my days & many of my nights.
Afire it seemed the homesteads were with blinking singing lights.

Amended was my raison d’être; giving was the thing.
Arrested were my wee creations; dammed was my wellspring.

Awaken now my sleeping page, I’ve tickled you enough.
Abreast I’ve lain the words you’ll wear to cover up your buff.

I wonder should I leap & should I take a chance?
I see my heart askew & look at risk askance.

I trust not Lady Luck when it comes to falling.
History proves she’s treated me so appalling.

I can’t shy away from all just to shun the bad.
Yet I won’t be blind & find that I have been had.

Giving up is not a choice or else what’s the point?
Though, life is not just two straight lines finding their joint.

In the end I’ll draw my path cautious of terrain.
I’ll hope the love I chance is worth its innate pain.

Haunting the kaleidoscopes in visual minds are the poltergeists of trauma.
We feel & revisit these visceral scars; recall them & relive the drama.

The only way out of its gauntlet is thru to the other side bruised & bloody.
But it abides in the wings, while we play at life; our covetous understudy.

Our wounds trip us up again & again; even more if we don’t deign to face them.
Yes indeed, our monsters command our respect if we hope to survive their mayhem.

Injuries eventually knit into scars which remind us what we’ve endured.
We tend & we treat our harm so it heals; forgetting frailty assured we are cured.

A quilt is no less than a sheet for its stitches…in fact, I’d say it is stronger.
Trauma’s a map tattooed on our hide that takes a lifetime to read…maybe longer.

Moths & butterflies, squirrels & rats; different as day & night.
Though, afternoons have their eves & what would the dawn be without light.

We  connote value & appeal by granting names with innate worth.
Taxonomy of the reviled & adored our grasp over Earth.

We label offspring to inspire our love & our esteem for them…
Willfully ignorant both are imperiled by opinion’s whim.

The love we garner & esteem we earn are born of our actions.
One of which has been to name the world & break it into factions.

Across the universe we lord our power while accruing blame.
For in the end outcasts will rule by defying what’s in a name.