Sunday, July 17, 2011
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Runaway fast as you can
This one here's for the douche bags
This one here's for the assholes
This one here's for the scumbags
Every one of them that I know
This ones here's for the childless mothers
and the alcoholic fathers.
This ones here's for the brothers with misunderstood sisters
and the sister with insane brothers.
For the blind man that sees heaven
and the skeletons in the convicts closet.
For the celibate pedo
And the fatherless nun.
And the loosing football team
This one is for the bald chemo child
and the playground bully with low self esteem
This one here is for the class clown
without a best-friend.
For the second place prom queen
For the manic-depressed desk-worker at the office with his
cornflower blue tie and dead end job
And for the 2nd year collage counter girl at the cafe
down the street who's pregnant test just turned pink.
This one is for the rebels without a cause
and for the rebels with a cause
For the dirty red politic and the dirty blue politic
For the idiotic bank executives
And for the naive nation.
This one is for the rained on bench
and the dust that settles after the settlers
For the aching labor pains
and the still smoking coughing 30 years old pothead.
This one here is for the deaf man that sings hymns
and for the people who drives in circles from home to work
from work to home and repeat
This one here is for the ones that are stuck on repeat
This one here is for that couples favorite make out song
and for the divorcees living in hotels
For the sterile newly weds
and for the hoarding, spying neighbor
For the solder's mother
and the fire-man's wife
This one here is for the 17 year old convict
and the 84 year old convict also
This one here is for the Haitians earthquakes
The Japanese Tsunami
And the Indian Ocean Tsunami too
The Orleanan's Katrina
The Guantanamo Bay Prisoners water-boards
For the Tangshan earthquake
And for China's flood
For the immigrants and refugees
For the child solder's
This one here is for the street solder's too
This one here is for the only child
and for the youngest.
For the introverted smart kid in the back with just two friends
one of them being imaginary.
and for the lonely extroverted social butterfly.
This is for the ones who have to deal with the single to
its complicated status updates
and for the ones who have no new messages
for the past four days
For everyone
thats been puttin' up with shit on shit for just way too long
I think it's time for us to have a toast
Let's have a toast for the douche bags
Let's have a toast for the assholes
Let's have a toast for the scumbags
You guys know what do right?
If you dont then all you have to do is
ask someone who knows the plan.
This one here's for the assholes
This one here's for the scumbags
Every one of them that I know
This ones here's for the childless mothers
and the alcoholic fathers.
This ones here's for the brothers with misunderstood sisters
and the sister with insane brothers.
For the blind man that sees heaven
and the skeletons in the convicts closet.
For the celibate pedo
And the fatherless nun.
And the loosing football team
This one is for the bald chemo child
and the playground bully with low self esteem
This one here is for the class clown
without a best-friend.
For the second place prom queen
For the manic-depressed desk-worker at the office with his
cornflower blue tie and dead end job
And for the 2nd year collage counter girl at the cafe
down the street who's pregnant test just turned pink.
This one is for the rebels without a cause
and for the rebels with a cause
For the dirty red politic and the dirty blue politic
For the idiotic bank executives
And for the naive nation.
This one is for the rained on bench
and the dust that settles after the settlers
For the aching labor pains
and the still smoking coughing 30 years old pothead.
This one here is for the deaf man that sings hymns
and for the people who drives in circles from home to work
from work to home and repeat
This one here is for the ones that are stuck on repeat
This one here is for that couples favorite make out song
and for the divorcees living in hotels
For the sterile newly weds
and for the hoarding, spying neighbor
For the solder's mother
and the fire-man's wife
This one here is for the 17 year old convict
and the 84 year old convict also
This one here is for the Haitians earthquakes
The Japanese Tsunami
And the Indian Ocean Tsunami too
The Orleanan's Katrina
The Guantanamo Bay Prisoners water-boards
For the Tangshan earthquake
And for China's flood
For the immigrants and refugees
For the child solder's
This one here is for the street solder's too
This one here is for the only child
and for the youngest.
For the introverted smart kid in the back with just two friends
one of them being imaginary.
and for the lonely extroverted social butterfly.
This is for the ones who have to deal with the single to
its complicated status updates
and for the ones who have no new messages
for the past four days
For everyone
thats been puttin' up with shit on shit for just way too long
I think it's time for us to have a toast
Let's have a toast for the douche bags
Let's have a toast for the assholes
Let's have a toast for the scumbags
You guys know what do right?
If you dont then all you have to do is
ask someone who knows the plan.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Those Curious Knives (spoken word poetry)
The first time I heard the sounds of sex I was 8. Standing with fear and curiosity outside my parents bedroom door. Clutching a bag of stolen chips and a glass of grape juice. I was going to have a late night tea party but instead of innocent giggles of imagination I got very real debauchery. Even at the age of 8
my plans always had an annoying way of turning to shit.
And my over active imagination went for a walk down a dark path.
From the cries and pleading, moaning and groaning I thought my mom was getting murdered, mutilated. and stabbed. Which technically she was just not with a knife. Oh no not with a knife. I didnt investigate but made flight for my instincts to fight was undeveloped. And by morning the incident was already forgotten as most memories of childhood fade into the minds dark night. But in that moment standing outside that door a seed was planted.
The first girl I ever kissed was named Santanna. She had the softest lips. Two moth wings, virgin-touches brushed mines was the most tickling sensation I had ever felt.
If my black skin could blush I would have been a cherry. A cherry that I would have given Santanna to pop but wouldnt understand the intricate, delicate, meaning of such a gift in my prepubescent idles.
She had straighten permed hair. That laid flat on her head. Her skin was darker than mine. A kind of black that was purple. She told me she didnt mind it if I called her Blackie since I was special. But I never did. Because I was not a cruel school bully with low self-esteem but a girl with a love-crush. I thought we would get married in a tree and kiss in the leaves just because we could.
When I first realized that if I nibbled on Santanna's ear and tweaked her nipples she would moan my name, as if I was her God in that moment from that planted seed years ago a monster was born. A horny, curious, mannish little boy with a secret. The fruit dont fall far from the tree and I was definitely my father's daughters though. But I wanted to be the husband fuck being the wife, because boys had more fun.
The breadcrumbs of the pleasure are meant to be followed by the starved, and I had just tasted the donuts, croissants, french breads, gateaus of all cakes. Santanna was the filling that I craved, my own slice of American pie that I wanted to fuck in the kitchen.
When my father found Santanna and I kissing he gave me a wink and a round of applause.
When mom found Santanna and I kissing I received no standing ovation. It was a lazy afternoon, on my bed. Naturally, me on top. Santanna's Crying and pleading, moaning and groaning. Her lips still softer than rain so I drank. Every. Last. Drop.
With Mother listening with wide eyes, trembling hands, and silent fury which didnt remain silent for long.
I couldnt help but to wonder if her first thoughts, standing outside my closed bedroom door, holding the days laundry, were that I was murdering Santanna with my knife that wasnt really a knife.
my plans always had an annoying way of turning to shit.
And my over active imagination went for a walk down a dark path.
From the cries and pleading, moaning and groaning I thought my mom was getting murdered, mutilated. and stabbed. Which technically she was just not with a knife. Oh no not with a knife. I didnt investigate but made flight for my instincts to fight was undeveloped. And by morning the incident was already forgotten as most memories of childhood fade into the minds dark night. But in that moment standing outside that door a seed was planted.
The first girl I ever kissed was named Santanna. She had the softest lips. Two moth wings, virgin-touches brushed mines was the most tickling sensation I had ever felt.
If my black skin could blush I would have been a cherry. A cherry that I would have given Santanna to pop but wouldnt understand the intricate, delicate, meaning of such a gift in my prepubescent idles.
She had straighten permed hair. That laid flat on her head. Her skin was darker than mine. A kind of black that was purple. She told me she didnt mind it if I called her Blackie since I was special. But I never did. Because I was not a cruel school bully with low self-esteem but a girl with a love-crush. I thought we would get married in a tree and kiss in the leaves just because we could.
When I first realized that if I nibbled on Santanna's ear and tweaked her nipples she would moan my name, as if I was her God in that moment from that planted seed years ago a monster was born. A horny, curious, mannish little boy with a secret. The fruit dont fall far from the tree and I was definitely my father's daughters though. But I wanted to be the husband fuck being the wife, because boys had more fun.
The breadcrumbs of the pleasure are meant to be followed by the starved, and I had just tasted the donuts, croissants, french breads, gateaus of all cakes. Santanna was the filling that I craved, my own slice of American pie that I wanted to fuck in the kitchen.
When my father found Santanna and I kissing he gave me a wink and a round of applause.
When mom found Santanna and I kissing I received no standing ovation. It was a lazy afternoon, on my bed. Naturally, me on top. Santanna's Crying and pleading, moaning and groaning. Her lips still softer than rain so I drank. Every. Last. Drop.
With Mother listening with wide eyes, trembling hands, and silent fury which didnt remain silent for long.
I couldnt help but to wonder if her first thoughts, standing outside my closed bedroom door, holding the days laundry, were that I was murdering Santanna with my knife that wasnt really a knife.
The And Series
Ball and Chain
I want to love you.
I said to my body.
A type of feather-light love that wouldnt
strain bone, crack spines or
bruise my lips when I lie.
Body. I said, this shit aint fair
what your doing to me.
Your too heavy and I am sinking
into this wine too hard and too fast.
With your heavy love feeling like the
ball and chain around my thighs
My thighs are, sore thighs.
With the amount of strangers that keep
falling in betwixt and between.
I want to love you,
but you make my arms too heavy.
Honey I said, this shit aint fair
what your doing to me.
As I sink into
the winetoo hard and too fast.
--
Dependency versus Cruelty
Dependency is not a weakness but a default in ones character that is priceless.
Cruelty is never being able to spend another night in another arms.
Afraid of waking up to them fucking me bloody, bruised, red, and raw.
---
Blood and sTeam
I fill the hollow inside your bones.
And pounding on your ear, till I become known.
Do you feel me run my
fingers calmlyalong the sides your chambers?
I have no choice but to float
as you force me, pump me, and push me.
Do you feel me behind your eyes
As I see you before mines?
I turn cold inside your shivers.
So please dont feed me too much
sugar and clog up our world with too much
fucking syrup and honey.
--
Dehydration and Sex
Lips softer than rain
I drank. Every. Last. Drop
--
The Bed Spoke and Smiled
The bed was crowded; not that it mind. Havin' a day off from bein'
weighed down by her loneliness was refreshin.
---
Untitled and Melancholy
Hope only breeds eternal misery
When you look into the abyss
The abyss
will be looking back into you.
So be careful in what you hope to find,
you may receive hell within
your own confines.
---
I dont love you anymore.
Her stare was hard.
Like a rock that was thrown from her hand
and was caught by
my face.
I can taste blood
from where I accidentally bit the insides of
my cheek.
And fuck did it hurt.
the stare. Not the rock metaphor used
to describe the stare.
That was all figurative
But the 5 words that
followed was the actual pull of the trigger
to the gun that released
the metal bullet which pierced
my heart and literally killed me.
I want to love you.
I said to my body.
A type of feather-light love that wouldnt
strain bone, crack spines or
bruise my lips when I lie.
Body. I said, this shit aint fair
what your doing to me.
Your too heavy and I am sinking
into this wine too hard and too fast.
With your heavy love feeling like the
ball and chain around my thighs
My thighs are, sore thighs.
With the amount of strangers that keep
falling in betwixt and between.
I want to love you,
but you make my arms too heavy.
Honey I said, this shit aint fair
what your doing to me.
As I sink into
the winetoo hard and too fast.
--
Dependency versus Cruelty
Dependency is not a weakness but a default in ones character that is priceless.
Cruelty is never being able to spend another night in another arms.
Afraid of waking up to them fucking me bloody, bruised, red, and raw.
---
Blood and sTeam
I fill the hollow inside your bones.
And pounding on your ear, till I become known.
Do you feel me run my
fingers calmlyalong the sides your chambers?
I have no choice but to float
as you force me, pump me, and push me.
Do you feel me behind your eyes
As I see you before mines?
I turn cold inside your shivers.
So please dont feed me too much
sugar and clog up our world with too much
fucking syrup and honey.
--
Dehydration and Sex
Lips softer than rain
I drank. Every. Last. Drop
--
The Bed Spoke and Smiled
The bed was crowded; not that it mind. Havin' a day off from bein'
weighed down by her loneliness was refreshin.
---
Untitled and Melancholy
Hope only breeds eternal misery
When you look into the abyss
The abyss
will be looking back into you.
So be careful in what you hope to find,
you may receive hell within
your own confines.
---
I dont love you anymore.
Her stare was hard.
Like a rock that was thrown from her hand
and was caught by
my face.
I can taste blood
from where I accidentally bit the insides of
my cheek.
And fuck did it hurt.
the stare. Not the rock metaphor used
to describe the stare.
That was all figurative
But the 5 words that
followed was the actual pull of the trigger
to the gun that released
the metal bullet which pierced
my heart and literally killed me.