Poems from B&W and the B&W era
Poetry
Lonely little daddy’s girl. Vessel, vehicle, portal. I’ve primped and prodded myself into a veritable morsel, Yet no fish can I catch. No longer able to see the depths I wade out into darker waters. My heart races. The speed with which I’m snatched. Was it ever
Poetry
Consequences are mine to behold, sluggish with the weight of another. Morals I bought repeatedly sold, finished rebuilding my rudder. Mentally ill with a heart of gold, forgetting the feeling of rubber. Automatically doing what I have been told, my ancient dreams lay covered. Trimmed white sails, I dodge the
Poetry
You don't see the being inside of me. Surface level projection of your beliefs. A flesh Acheron inconveniently diseased. Nasty for the sin of being free. Unfit for you to live vicariously. I try instead to live for me. An attack you'd like to believe. But
Poetry
You showed genuine interest in what I love and I knew in my bones you were a friend
Poetry
Some things I write will never be seen I keep treasure close to my chest People out there can be terribly mean I am tired of them and need rest Whether their thoughts are kind or sullen It makes no difference to me They can think silly thoughts all day
Poetry
I lost your tree in a forest Even with a color so unique I saw you not for who you were But who my prejudice made you to be
Poetry
cryptic little notes I think residue of a painful past I write these for myself to keep the essence behind the mask
Poetry
I’ve killed hope in fear of the tiger Ferocious, jaws dripping with malice Intent to kill clear in its glistening eyes I stared at it long enough to see soft fur turn to charcoal scratched onto rice paper A fiction where my panic nests
Poetry
This isn’t about oxygen masks
Poetry
Pieces of me crumble I feel chunks being ripped off Deaf ears for my plea to stop Some are sharp None are clean Crackling marks over porcelain skin I lose sight Melodies turn to dissonant chords Doubt seeps in from monochrome norms This chest aches I broke a rule I&
Poetry
A mighty crusader enters the woods in search of a red herring. Eyes lost in distant treetops, a tunic in need of mending. He searched the canopy patiently, but somewhere along the path, Hope slipped away, swallowed by wounds past. Rocks and hard places buried a tentative nobility. The white
Poetry
Whether nerves or anxiety My face flushes just the same My heartbeat is ringing Vibrating betwixt a lonely pair Shivers tiptoe up my spine Years of cobwebs swept away Winding up my stiffened gears Aren’t you glad you came? Slipping out the pan Fire lapping at my sides I’