Carnal Caretaker

I’ve always had a carnal appetite

The indulgent kind

Of molten lava

Cake and irrationally strong

Protection.

My inside often

Volley with volatile vexation

To emancipate the masculinity

Of this savagery.

Relating more to the simple

Set of stress induced

Recession

Found more commonly

In animals,

Deference  clings to their boundaries

but wonder if  a more careful

caretaker could have calmed the

cautiously unkempt being.

Development followed drunken

Murmurings, sickly sweet in singles

And festering fury in folds.

Natural than

The quick slam of a door

With automatic hinges,

The variety of which

Accidentally startles,

And secludes.

Overwhelming femininity

Bursts occassionally,

Not trained to pertain

Then

To reason.

This appetite never remembers

When it is quenched,

For memory holds long

Onto scarcity

With teeth.

 

Death on your Tongue

I’ve been thinking about death

A lot

Lately

The aftertaste

And the slippery sensation

Of a life through fingers

Whats claimed

in an ending.

Its profound

But its not.

Simple equations

Of action

and reaction

Care taken

and odds managed,

What was the feeling of you?

Thats what I think

about most

Of all

A selfish kind of

desire

To be

that

person

Who is

missed

Who lived

big

Through small ways

An energy

That continues

to vibrate

In the people you

Shared air with

Once

Or more than

Once.

Instead of just

fading

Out.

Meaningless.

Its selfish.

And yet,

Its shaping a quieter

Formation

Of space

Inside my every

interaction.

I bring death with me

Like a box of sweet mints

A way to cope

With the souring of

What I have to

Swallow

Before I get there.

Intimate failures

Most people think
Self righteousness keeps me company
In the cold.
But they don’t understand how bitter it tastes, like the sourness of anxiety and forebode.
It is believed I have swallowed these pills from the hands of strangers,
But how strange it is to recognize intimately the hands they actually come from.
They cannot be swallowed with anything but cold,
Nor do they move through my system swiftly.
Isolationist propaganda is hung from the support beams,
And the quiet reveals only the echo chamber.
Thoughts clammering for acceptance in a way that is not possible,
Solutions begging for urgency that is not feasible.
Tensions brewing in a way that is not reversible, but perhaps transformative.
A faint outline draws on the tenancity of strength and softness.
How to bend with breaking, even when delicacy sounds every alarm.
And is forgiveness possible if only through the breath in the lungs it reverbates first?
Terrible, giant, uncomfortable necessary
Thoughts.
Being an old soul and understanding how to manifest its existence..
Always a test worth failing.
Because thats how you learn you can’t succeed.
Its not the sort of thing you can ever win.
Better is the best score.

Routinely Out of Order

When I put one foot in front of the other

And end up tripping myself

I laugh through the stumble

Not believing I could purposefully do

such a thing.

But when I leave five minutes

After I should have,

Everytime,

All the time,

I drive white knuckled and swear,

Upset at anyone who delays me.

When I stare at a pile of clothes,

An unkempt mixture of laundered and worn,

I dread how I will have to carve

Out

a big chunk

of time to fix it,

But tuck the morsels of not doing it

Right then and there,

into my “Im too busy”s,

As they catch up on Netflix.

Oh yes, I always envied the houses

Where drawers had one purpose,

Someone calling out to you

“It should be in there!”

Knowing it would be,

Whilst I prayed in my own house

“It Should be in there!

(Please be in there.

Please. Its gotta be right in there. I swear I put it there. Where else would I have put it?)”

Yes, life has handed me chaos,

But I’m the one paying her decoratoring

Expenses.

I should probably look into doing something

about that.

Next week.

 

 

Morsels

Putting a bunch of shorter Poems from various days into this post. A lot deal with anxiety.  

 

2-26-18

Brushing my teeth

won’t remove the green

stains of jealousy

rotting my ability to

communicate. No, the

harshness of fear translates

ugly on the surface,

leaves others

with a prickly sensation.

Poor mental hygiene

is to blame.

 

12-23-17

Filtering thoughts

Overflow from work

Thrown headfirst

into a burst

of negativity

from all sides

no compromise

Christmas Time

and fielding lies

Finding truth

in only that

which matters to me.

Love divine

Irrational Signs

of cosmic symmetry

 

12-9-17

The barricades are rolling

up

over my toes and

up

around my ankles-

The prick of the wire

barbed and foreboding

makes me feel stuck

and I can’t

will myself to move

from this place

of fear.

 

1-?-18

Like the fox,

I won’t let you hurt me,

Not with your presence,

nor with your threats.

Instead I will watch

patiently, until you retreat.

Then I will tremble onward,

alone.

 

2-23-18

You.

An overdone sequence

of beginnings.

Declarations of intent

with no strength

to follow through.

Chewing on pens.

Later, later, later.

Why bother?

Reminders tacked to nuerons

firing yourself for trying.

Over before you started.

Begin again,

a bigger process

of learning to overcome

Nature

Nurture

(or lack thereof)

 

Summer-2017

I am the constant

swing of light

from day to night

I am the echoing

reverence of a silent church

My palms are flattened

from the support they offer.

I am enough to make

you wonder about.

Death becomes me

but I will not become death.

A removal of soul

beyond this physical realm.

My shoulders can dip

and shimmy into

outspread arms,

through valleys of truth,

the kind you spit out,

but doesn’t accept returns.

 

?-Summer-2017

I can walk you through battlefields from the confines of my memories,

A palm on your back to gently lead you around the landmines.

It is only later I will venture back alone

to talk to the ghosts there,

the figments of trust, love, nurturing, and safety,

and I will stroke their shimmering corporeal beings

in greeting.

We know one another too well,

and yet they still wonder why I continue to haunt the physical realm.

I remind them that they would not be visited if I ceased to lead

these new souls through their graveyards,

if I didn’t create plaques of poetry inspired by them.

They laugh,

because I don’t even believe me.

 

8-12-17

Living in a world of constant stimulation,

validation plugged into our fingers:

Tap, swipe, like, repeat:

We don’t make room for sunshine

and other necessary things.

The only way to conquer this constant pull is to

live with deprivation sometimes.

No outside inhalations.

Only those within.

Taking the time to sleep, organize, rifle through thoughts that have gathered.

If I let them all collect dust, the bunnies will outnumber my sanity.

 

?-?-2017

Anxiety is swirling around

the back of my throat

like a Bubble

Drowning

Cutthroat

the lining of my

vocal chambers

burn hollow

from the water in my lungs

Tongues

which have forced their

way into my

energy channels

Swimming upstream

Nightmare dreams

The desire to expel

but the lack of ability to tell

myself

how to accomplish this.