Tradesies

Weird Poetry

Would I trade myself in

To get back the other me

And all the people who once came along

With her?

No matter how solitary I’ve become

I won’t be indulging in any trade-backs

Or games of tradesies.

What’s done is done.

You can’t unchange the changes,

Or unsay anything once said.

You can’t really unswallow a pill;

But you can choke down all the charcoal

And try though….

~~~

β€πŸ‘½

~~~

*** The pill reference is not a “red pill” reference. ***

Sleeping box

Weird Poetry

Right after she was born

I had terrible claustrophobia.

It only lasted a few days but it was

Mental hell.

When night time fell,

That always made it worse.

I was afraid to fall asleep

But also afraid to not fall asleep.

Afraid to sleep, to not fall asleep…

The frustration of that birthed an unfamiliar terror

That made me want to sleep

And to not want to sleep

Both and neither

Ever and never again.

Because sleeping felt like being locked in a box.

Because not sleeping felt like being locked in a box.

Locked in a fucking shrinking stinking box

With tingles of muted light breathing in through the little corner spots of the box.

And it felt like it was getting smaller with every collapsing breath.

It’s been a while

But I’m still recovering from that dark dwarfing feeling,

And sometimes forget

That I am not (currently)

Locked

In

A

Box

Though

I fear

That part of me always will be.

~~~

πŸ‘½β€

~~~

*** Just breathe…. It’s behind you now…. It was 8 years… or 8 seconds… ago. ***

Soul Quiet

erotic poetry

I hear you in the quiet spaces of my soul,

And write you between the invisible lines

Seen and read only by me.

When I expel the heart-heated breath from my staggering lungs,

I feel you on the breeze,

Slipping through my open-mouthed vowels,

Licking wild rivers down the silken insides of my quaking thighs;

They shake the flesh from the bone from how violently you rattle me, my sweet love.

Burn me on my dark side first

And unmute the covered moans

Hiding in the curled-up crinkled corners

Of me.

~~~

β€πŸ‘½

~~~

Definition

Weird Poetry

I am

At present

The very definition

Of the word hibernation.

Like there is no difference

Between the word itself

And what it means.

If you search between the letters

You’ll find me curled into a winter sleep

And drooling on the negative space.

~~~

β€πŸ‘½

~~~

*** Still waiting for the sun to return… But it’s on its way… so I’ve heard…. ***

Perch

Weird Poetry

Sometimes

I sit on a little easily-ignored perch

And someone will catch my eye

For one reason or another

And I will watch them

At length

Like a secret voyeur

And watch and watch and watch

With rapt attention and unquenchable curiosity

Sometimes unblinking

Until they either

Vanish from my sight

Or notice.

I am a tame voyeur, and a huntress without any particular bloodlust.

~~~

β€πŸ‘½

~~~

*** Basically a creeper, eh, Blue Eyes?…. ***

*** Sure. Me and everyone else. But at least I admit it. I lurk in all the brightly lit corners. ***

Monetized Mental Illness

Weird Poetry

Self-murderous mukbang madness

Gulping gluttony through a green-energy-made paper straw

And gleefully (sorrowfully) gorging on delectably delicious death on a styrofoam plate

After plate

After plate

After plate

All free

All day

Livestreamed on YouTube

For your viewing pleasure

And their profit

Mmmm mmmm good

We’re so loving it (duhduh-duh-duhduh)

Why read a book about running horses to the bone,

When you can watch it

For a fraction of the braincells.

~~~

β€πŸ‘½

~~~

*** Now THAT is how to profit off of a slow-mo suicide! Way to go, YouTube! ***

*** Some of you know that I get… uh… mouthy… at certain points in my cycle. I have a platoon of furious little gremlins stampeding through my bloodstream right now. Sorry. ***

Fakefuck

Weird Poetry

Facebook

Flakebook

Fuckbook

Fakebook

Facefuck

Fakefuck

Fuckface

Fakeface

Flakefuck

Fuckflake

Fluckfake

Fuckingflakeyfakefacefucker

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckityfuck

Fuckme

I can’t

~~~

β€πŸ‘½

~~~

*** Oh look! Another lazy non-poem! Keep it up, Sugar Tits! πŸ™„ ***

*** PΓ³g mo thΓ³in, Old Man. I have some rage at the moment…. Indulge me for a sec, wontcha? ***

The Silencing

Weird Poetry

I hear the silencing

Taking place

All around me

In all corners of life —

Real and virtual;

No one can hide from it —

No, not even YOU.

There is

A taking down of voice(s),

A collective replacing/erasing/enshrouding

Of thought

Of word

Of criticism and critical thinking

Of difference and deviation

Of discussion and disagreement.

A figurative burning

Of books and ideas

Of nuance

Of freedom of expression and speech.

Newspeak is our new language, people!

Fucking SPEAK IT (do it, you little bitches)

Or face the hunters at your door steps;

They’re waiting with their pitchforks and fires and their salivating chops.

So

Let’s all say it together

Because it is a part of everyone’s brand new compelled lexicon now:

BAAAAAAAH!

~~~

β€πŸ‘½

~~~

*** Fuck the world right now… seriously. ***

*** And fuck the Thought Police too. Yeah. I said it! ***

Bedroom Laugh

erotic poetry, Weird Poetry

He has the kind of laugh

That befits a sweaty and wholly satisfied

Post-coital situation:

Husky

Lustful

And full of private possibilities…

A bedroom laugh.

Parts of me clench and dampen

At the very sinful thought of it.

~~~

β€πŸ‘½

~~~

*** Eavesdropping again, Sweet Cheeks? Very naughty. ***

*** The ear overhears what the ear wants to overhear. Plus… laughter can be an afrodisiac. Plus… anything can be afrodisiac when you’re about to drop an egg. Fuck. ***

Woodstock

Weird Poetry

I was there

Even though

I wasn’t really there.

But I was there, man.

I took the brown acid

And hallucinated myself

Into being

11 years

Before I was born.

~~~

β€πŸ‘½

~~~

*** Feeling nostalgic for an experience you never experienced, Angel Eyes? ***

*** I experienced it. Many times… and many more to come. 3D isn’t my only reality, maaaan. ***