HOME | DD

Description

i kick down the microphone
stand on stage and scream,

"are my words poetic enough for you?!"

—

i.
lagrange points:
i find myself at a conflict,
a climax,
a problem.

two large masses tug
at my shoulders and
wrists, not shredding
bones, but muscle instead;

all i can do is circle
around a prison of guilt
while two opinions deafen
the eardrums that have no
beat,

i am the ocean wave.

( i beat myself up a lot, don't i? )

—

ii.
insaaaNIty
builds a three story home inside of
all of us; it teaches the working man
how to tear his hair out, strand by strand

lock by lock

he invents himself anew, though,
it's not positive at all, he lives
as the negative charge to the atoms
that he discovers day after day:

he said that he was having trouble
counting all of them.

now he tosses his head back, shouting
towards the ceiling in a dimly lit room
as his voice crackles like the lightning
beating up the ground a few days ago;

as he yells, he thinks about the voltage
in the lightning and he wonders if that
was the same amount of energy in his veins
when he said,

"i love you."

( letting go only works if you're numb. )

—

iii.
i drew a box around myself
for comfort and now i find
myself stuck inside of these
lines i tied around the asphalt;
i throw my hands against the edges
before tears begin a marathon on my
face and my voice parts from my body:

( instead of helping me, everyone walks past me, ignoring the pleas for escape. )

—

i stand in front of a
jury of listeners, hungry
for words to tattoo onto
their wrists to remember their
lovers (who are going to leave them
next june, mark your calendars)

i say what i want to say, never what
i need to say; there's a burden that
would be too much for them to carry
if i ever spilled it onto the floor
and my anxieties are taking over again,

i whisper my final line into the microphone
and stumble sdrawkcab while my eyelashes flutter
against dust and the air conditioner;

the crowd stays silent: not the incredulous
kind, speechless: no, they sit and yawn, one
coughing while most hold their heads with their
hands and i find my heart
s
i
n
k

while my fingers twitch and i

and i
a
n
d

i

kick down the microphone
stand on stage and scream,

"are my words poetic enough for you?!"

( my stories have no resolutions: always capture yourself in the moment and never let g o )

Description

i kick down the microphone
stand on stage and scream,

"are my words poetic enough for you?!"

—

i.
lagrange points:
i find myself at a conflict,
a climax,
a problem.

two large masses tug
at my shoulders and
wrists, not shredding
bones, but muscle instead;

all i can do is circle
around a prison of guilt
while two opinions deafen
the eardrums that have no
beat,

i am the ocean wave.

( i beat myself up a lot, don't i? )

—

ii.
insaaaNIty
builds a three story home inside of
all of us; it teaches the working man
how to tear his hair out, strand by strand

lock by lock

he invents himself anew, though,
it's not positive at all, he lives
as the negative charge to the atoms
that he discovers day after day:

he said that he was having trouble
counting all of them.

now he tosses his head back, shouting
towards the ceiling in a dimly lit room
as his voice crackles like the lightning
beating up the ground a few days ago;

as he yells, he thinks about the voltage
in the lightning and he wonders if that
was the same amount of energy in his veins
when he said,

"i love you."

( letting go only works if you're numb. )

—

iii.
i drew a box around myself
for comfort and now i find
myself stuck inside of these
lines i tied around the asphalt;
i throw my hands against the edges
before tears begin a marathon on my
face and my voice parts from my body:

( instead of helping me, everyone walks past me, ignoring the pleas for escape. )

—

i stand in front of a
jury of listeners, hungry
for words to tattoo onto
their wrists to remember their
lovers (who are going to leave them
next june, mark your calendars)

i say what i want to say, never what
i need to say; there's a burden that
would be too much for them to carry
if i ever spilled it onto the floor
and my anxieties are taking over again,

i whisper my final line into the microphone
and stumble sdrawkcab while my eyelashes flutter
against dust and the air conditioner;

the crowd stays silent: not the incredulous
kind, speechless: no, they sit and yawn, one
coughing while most hold their heads with their
hands and i find my heart
s
i
n
k

while my fingers twitch and i

and i
a
n
d

i

kick down the microphone
stand on stage and scream,

"are my words poetic enough for you?!"

( my stories have no resolutions: always capture yourself in the moment and never let g o )