Mean Mister Blues

rhymaphilia

Mean Mister Blues pitched a tent in my shoes

last night as I did sleep.

Now in my womb, he made it my tomb.

He came for emotions to reap.

I’d try to fight to keep light in my life

but that result wouldn’t come cheap.

The windows unlocked, I just couldn’t act shocked,

and over the sills poison seeped.

I would scream out but that’d give him no doubt

and he’d find me before I could go.

Gnashing my teeth with such pain underneath,

that could only set Blues’ heart aglow.

If I lie still and give up my free will,

the tortures I might undergo

would leave me a shell while my pain is excelled

until agony’s all that I know.

Trapped in my mind with so much undefined…

it’s my happiness I will forsake.

I let him come and consume till I’m numb,

stoking his fires with…

View original post 32 more words

Advertisements

Clueless

 How dare you disobey by skipping town!

How dare you threaten suicide this week!

As far as jerkwads go, you take the crown!

I’m so damned mad, I almost cannot speak.

Who told you you could act like you’re a star?

Who told you those were okay things to say?

Who told you you could go and steal a car …

who taught you how to do that, anyway???

So figure out a way to get back home.

And come up with a good excuse (this time).

That ego that you’re using’s just a loan,

with which you perpetrate outrageous crimes.

I’ve never met a man as cheap as you.

I can’t believe the liberties you took.

When I say I’m surprised, it’s ’cause it’s true–

This wasn’t in the outline of my book.

 

Acid Rain

The tension flows freely and fills up the room,

condensing like dark clouds that bully the sky,

with clustering pustules that fester and bloom …

those unanswered questions about how and why.

Expanding balloons grow enormous and pop,

broadcasting a mist over all in their wake,

refusing to wilt, as their poison, they drop,

corroding facades, and exposing the fake.

Acidic remarks lash harsh stripes on the wall …

transmogrify love into caustic defeat.

They crush good intentions to dust where they fall,

ensuring destruction is swift and complete.

Stripes become solids, their coverage increasing.

Resentments pile high, exponential in growth.

Permanent statements– they live without ceasing–

obliterate all that was precious to both.

Unearthed

I constantly discover whom I am,

each new experience, a catalyst,

a psychoanalytic self-exam …

an invitation I just can’t resist.

 I learned, one year, that both my thumbs are green,

that horseradish and mustard stole my heart,

that I’d maintain an exercise regime,

that really, it is not too late to start.

But other things, I didn’t want to know,

like how harsh I can be when it gets tough,

that things I’d hoped were always, I’d outgrow,

that sometimes, words would never be enough.

 It’s tempting, to avoid perceiving more,

to skulk back in my cave and latch the door.

By The Gate

We stood there waiting for our boarding call,

the flight before not fully deplaned yet,

when something happened that would make me bawl,

a moment that I never will forget.

We heard the thick applause from near the gate.

It spread, all heads directed toward its source.

Six soldiers marched, returning from Kuwait,

their uniforms: Untied States Air Force.

A little girl stepped up, who’s maybe five,

and all at once a hush fell on the crowd.

She said, “Please Sir, my daddy’s not alive.”

And down to her, the gentle soldier bowed.

“Can I please have a hug before you go?

You look like him. I miss him really bad.

I wish he could be here to see me grow,

and with a hug, I wouldn’t be so sad.”

No eye within the crowded gate was dry.

The soldier swooped her up and held her tight,

as even he, too, would begin to cry,

along with all the men who fought the fight.

Saluting to the mother and the girl,

the soldiers left our gate with hard-earned tears,

the men who fought for freedom ’round the world,

immersed in grateful, patriotic cheers.

Before the men would disappear from sight,

they turned to find the girl and give a wave,

a gesture that would fill her with new light,

which she returned in kind back to the brave.

The Inevitable

Again, this May, I gained another year.

An extra inch or three are on my waist.

The lines upon my brow grow more severe.

My keys and purse are constantly misplaced.

I have to have these bifocals to see.

My sunglasses near cover my whole face.

At times, when I am tickled, I will pee.

I always carry safety pins, in case ….

Just yesterday I found a hair that’s gray.

I value having comfy underwear.

  Those memories I’ve cherished fade each day …

if there’s an app for that, I’m unaware.

I wish  I could remain composed and calm.

The problem is, I’ve realized I’m my mom.

Freeze Frame

I’ve never seen you look so sexy as you do right now,

your sweet blond locks combed back with not one hair that’s out of place,

the signs of effort showing in the lines that grace your brow,

the sideways glance that’s hinting at the smile upon your face.

The muscles in your arms are taut, and ripple as you flex,

as they would do if anyone would use them as you are.

The light from o’er your head has caught your eyes’ soft hazel flecks,

illuminating, on your cheek, your fifth grade gym class scar.

If I could freeze this moment, I’d relive it everyday.

I’d take it out and cheer myself if I am feeling blue.

Of all the special characters that you, at times, portray,

the one that washes dishes makes me want to say, ‘I do.’

Spontaneous Combustion

Without a warning, I can feel my heart explode in flames.

The tendrils curl and lap, consuming all its bitter juice,

incinerating ancient scars incised by lovers’ games,

extinguishing emotions that were never any use.

As lipids, dense, and rife with fuel, will burn and smoke so long,

my heart continues smoldering each day and every night.

But if enduring heat like this will make me brave and strong,

I’ll stem this conflagration raging on, no end in sight.

Asking For Help

askingforhelp1

Asking for help can be harder than not,

because both cause a pain that is real.

I hate to admit this is all that I’ve got,

and that this is the best I might feel.

askingforhelp2

I’m a young woman and shouldn’t need help

since most strangers assume that I’m fine.

I feel like a dog squeezing out a sad yelp

’cause I realized this body’s now mine.

askingforhelp3

At once, overnight, I became old and weak,

so I didn’t have time to adjust.

Suddenly, I couldn’t chew food, see, or speak,

and into Sick’s midst I was thrust.

askingforhelp4

 A placard at 19: admitting defeat!!!

It’s a thing I was so loathe to do.

I’m now twice that age, and perspective, my seat,

as I look back on what I went through.

askingforhelp5

I so wish that back then, I’d let ego go.

I wish I’d not cared what they thought.

I wish I knew then what I’ve since come to know

and the truth that the future has brought.

askingforhelp8

It’s not a character flaw to be sickly.

It’s okay to ask for a hand.

I’ll get there eventually, slowly or quickly.

Who cares if the world understands?

askingforhelp6

Sometimes I’m weak and I need extra time,

and sometimes I park by the door.

Sometimes I can’t talk, and it’s not a crime,

and some days, just to eat, is a chore.

askingforhelp7

But here, from my seat, in this tower of age,

with the wisdom I’d hoped would shed light,

I see the intensity’s not been assuaged.

Still, to make myself ask, is a fight.

Mating Rituals

You see the bowerbird collecting trinkets to adorn

his bachelor pad so he’ll attract a mate?

He only picks blue glass and wrappers, ribbons that are torn,

arranges them obsessively, then waits.

Now look at tall giraffes, who have some curious foreplay.

A male will smell her urine, have a taste.

If he detects she’s ready, it’s a go for them today.

He then proceeds to mount her with due haste.

My human male, anticipating intercourse tonight,

prepares, like any species on the prowl.

With music playing he will get the ambiance just right,

complete with Kleenex, candle, and a towel.

All Those Things We Never Said

Let’s say all those things we never said.

Let’s sit down and talk until we’re done.

Let’s rewrite our history instead.

Let’s pretend our lives have just begun.

All those things we never said are here,

all those things we owe the other’s heart.

All those things we held back are so clear.

All those things demand that we re-start.

Let’s carve out new paths that intersect.

Let’s embark on journeys as a pair.

Let’s embrace those feelings we neglect.

Let’s no longer hide the love we share.

When We Kiss

I so love the way you still look at me when we two kiss,

’cause each time we do, there’s a wonder alive in your eyes,

as though no lips brushing on yours ever felt quite like this,

as though I intoxicate, giving you fabulous highs.

I think of a child with his presents when Christmas time comes,

your face lit, so grateful to find, such a treasure, you own.

The whole cake is not what you run for; you relish the crumbs,

like tasting my kiss is the greatest one pleasure you’ve known.

It makes me so tickled to know my lips bring you such joy,

that they are the cause of the grin you display on your face,

which shines through your manliness, showing your sweet little boy

who’s spent all his life searching for my warm kiss and embrace.

Home, Sweet Home

homesweethome1

There’s nothing like returning home when I’ve been far away …

no, nothing quite as comforting as that.

I breathe in those familiar scents. In dark, I know my way.

I relish being where I hang my hat.

homesweethome2

My mattress isn’t perfect but I welcome every lump.

I know what to expect when I sleep there.

I never need good posture; I can slouch and droop and slump,

and check my email in my underwear.

homesweethome3

I need not amble through the lobby if I want to eat,

I make my own food and it tastes just fine.

I go about my business with no shoes upon my feet,

ecstatic to be in this place that’s mine.

homesweethome4

When I must leave here on my way to do this thing or that,

if I could pack and take my house, I would,

complete with driveway, mailbox, and of course, my welcome mat.

I’d even bring my quiet neighborhood.

homesweethome5

But it might be a good thing I can’t bring that stuff along,

that I must go without things I adore …

for being far away from them, and not where I belong,

just means I, then, appreciate things more.

Splat

goats-173940_640

*picture courtesy of PeterDargatz on pixabay.com

I’ve never observed you before with that look in your eyes,

your hair at attention, the veins bulging thick on your neck.

It took me a minute to comprehend, for me to realize

that you threw the punch that had put him face-down on the deck!

I promise you we were just talking; it’s not how it looked.

But still, it’s a compliment, you so protective and stressed.

I know that if he’d laid a finger, his goose would be cooked.

You sure made your point. He’s aware it’s for you that I’m dressed.

I’ve never before had a man start a fight for my hand,

and now that one has, there’s no need to repeat all this fuss.

You let me know that when it counts, my man will take a stand

and fight to ensure we two live our lives out as an “us.”

Enabling The Future

A Global Network Of Passionate Volunteers Using 3D Printing To Give The World A "Helping Hand."

Everywhere Once

An adult's guide to long-term travel

the poet's billow

a resource for moving poetry

James Windale

The official blog of James Windale

Shadow and Clay

Adventures in Attempted Authoring

Writing Madness

blog of author charlotte cyprus

Catpaws Cafe

Random musings from my virtual fountain pen

Always Rebecca

A Mathematician attempting to swim in the ocean of writing.

Shanan Winters

Interpreter of Inspiration

La Belle Epunque

The Blog of Artist, Poet and Author, Alira Alomien Rosi

Pickled Words

a place for pickles, a place for words

To Tilt With Windmills

countless worlds at your fingertips

Red and the Big Bad Wolf

The story of me - Red living with Myasthenia Gravis or the 'Big Bad Wolf' as I prefer to call it

Wrong Side of the Glass

My Journey Through an Undefined Illness

One Fierce Mama

Unapologetic, uncensored, opinionated, and a mother.

Autoimmune Warrior

Life with Invisible Illnesses

the myasthenia kid

Life with possibly undiagnosed myasthenia gravis, diagnosed severe autonomic dysfunction and ehlers danlos syndrome

Experimental Fiction

"Come with me, and you'll be, in a world of pure imagination" Willy Wonka, 1971

Myasthenia Gravis Blog

MG Mind, Body & Soul Blog

%d bloggers like this: