24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
It’s time to get these skeletons out of the closet
bone-by-bone
thrown on the floor
like a child having a tantrum
They have been kept inside for too long
it’s time to air the dirty laundry
don’t stand in my path
or you could suffer my wrath
Closets are dark
with good reason
it’s a place to hide
and a place for things to be hidden
Mine has a musty odour
I think it’s time to close the door.
I live in a beautiful
neighborhood,
I am safe and protected,
not by the cops,
not my the army,
not by my family,
but got protection
for those whose
names I can’t pronounce,
but I love and respect,
their skin is black,
their lips are thick,
their hair is curly,
their eyes are deep,
their soul is gentle,
they are the city lions
and my heroes.
You hide in th stuffy darkness,
Between a million identities,
They swallow you whole till are
A mere memory scrunched at the bottom of the closet.
I am fighting to find inspiration to write a poem, I’m lost in my mind where I always roam, words being texted into the phone, does anyone have a pen they’re willing to loan?
Content warning – sexual content, assault, alcohol use
I am whole and I have no missing pieces.
When I was 14, on a Monday with no school, “watching” Lord of the Rings for the first time, and felt someone else’s fingers on my lips, I did not give away a piece of myself.
When I was 16, in a diabetics basement, after losing miserably at phase 10 yet again, and I felt someone else’s pleasure in my mouth, I did not give away a piece of myself.
When I was 17, in previously soaked clothes, having been rained out of the amusement park and split a bottle of rum, and I felt the joy of going without latex, I did not give away a piece of myself.
When I was 18, in a drunken stupor, left without a prom date, and I felt the pain of waking up knowing someone did not ask for my permission, I did not give away a piece of myself
When I was 19, in the anonymity of the internet, falling head over heals for silver-tongued bastard and making sure they knew it with the videos I kept coming, I did not give away a piece of myself.
When I was 20, in the spirit of “when in Rome”, drunk on the attention of the bartenders at the Irish pub, I let an art teacher tell me all about the Fontana dei Fiumi, I did not give away a piece of myself.
When I was 21, in the depths of a beer glass, being thanked in bourbon aged beer for waiting until I was “of age” to visit, and I watched my reflection shake in a mirror hung on antique wallpaper, I did not give away a piece of myself.
When I was 22, in an especially humid summer, writing a cover letter every week only to be ignored, and I was comforted by a face and more between my thighs, I did not give away a piece of myself.
When I was 23, in the witch city, judging all of the Mai Tai’s I could get my hands on with a person I could kiss for hours, and I decided to enjoy a different drink in the back seat of their car on a Thursday night, I did not give away a piece of myself.
When I was 24, in the full view of George Washington and the public, on a particularly hazy evening, and I couldn’t tear my gaze away from a cherub’s eyes to enjoy the fog in the garden, I did not give away a piece of myself.
When I was 25, on a stage with a spectator sketching my bound form, a protective sheet of plastic beneath me, and I shouted yes please until I couldn’t anymore, I did not give away a piece of myself.
I am whole and I have no missing pieces.
God must’ve planned
Rested
Eaten
Stretched
Before moulding you both
Through every storm I stand
Boosted
Tho’ stricken
I’m blessed
Because I have you both
The web of life is a tricky thing
Intertwined with each person you pass
Even for a moment
Without realization you may become a key moment in their story
Yet always hoping the web never sees the wind
Local bar with one man band
we are upstairs drinking
attempting conversation
over butchered Jimmy Buffett
he has his mike setup on a rail
positioned right by his mouth
and walks around downstairs serenading drunks
while grandma dollars go into his tight leathers
he decides to come upstairs
singing to people who awkwardly squeeze by
trying to get down the stairs
he comes over to M and I
passion and happiness on his face
smiling as M sits up
then frowning with a defeated nod
as M burps into the mike
and it echoes throughout the bar
to total silence.
Bewitching
Death came for Mother dear,
when I was trapped one day.
Death, the trickster devil,
had lured me away.
At long last I was freed
when another took my place,
alas, too late for Mother,
and Death left little trace.
I raced off after Mother,
hoping to set her free,
a bent grass here, a broken twig,
I followed through the trees.
The path, it narrowed winsomely,
a tunnel carved from leaves,
beguiling to my grieving heart,
my senses were deceived.
Yet on, still on, I followed,
through forest glade and glen,
until at last I caught them,
Mother’s body and the Raven.
I brought forth Old Man’s golden dome,
crafted of sun and rain,
Death, he could not abide it,
this shield from mortal pain.
Mother’s eyes, they opened,
her body drew its breath,
the witchy glen grew golden,
a space now free from Death.
Many years have passed now,
Mother and I are free,
we live on in our forest glen,
forever young, and happy.
They are listening,
They are watching what you do,
Oh, little sponges,
Taking in information,
That is not appropriate.