Poetry

Oh, Happy Pain

Artwork by Miss E,
a good friend

When I awoke at morning,
I felt my skin cracking,
‘n my heart burning,
my head exploding,
my soul bawling,
my legs melting,
my eyes raining,
my lips bleeding,
my face swelling,
my ears splitting,
my cries deafening,
and my hands awanting.

Truckling down to ennui-knees,
mirrors sliced my humanities,
I put up with my indignities,
I grasped at my sanities,
I fought my absurdities,
I resisted my Tofranils,
I licked all my injuries,
I snorted your decries,
I puffed idiosyncrasies,
I tipsy, dallied with deities,
I ran, and sang as remedies,
I lay happy, soaked of Chiantis.

Standard
Poetry

The Interview

Hey! Mister China Man,
take your lusty toad eyes away from my chest,
and focus on what I’m saying about my best,
instead of undressing my respectable black shirtdress,
and allowing your gaze to pierce through my black-laced breasts.

Hey! Mister China Man,
keep your crooked deviant smile away from my bare skin,
and take in what I’m saying about my wins,
instead of ravaging me with your repugnant grin,
and allowing your mind-germs to attack me like vermin.

Hey! Mister China Man,
tie your slimy viny outstretched hands away from my body,
and listen to what I’m saying about my summa cum laude,
instead of asphyxiating me with your clammy phalanges,
and allowing your near-touch to violate me utterly.

Hey! Mister China Man,
chain the one-eyed thing away from the fruit of my flower,
and look beyond the blinding cover and see the heroine under,
instead of pillaging my maidenhead with your shrivelled monster,
and allowing your papier-mâché ardour to crush my hard-earned valour.

Standard
Poetry

This Morning

The light broke my eye-windows,
and I saw you lying beside me,
with a smile on your just-awake face,
your soul walked into mine,
and pulleyed my heart closer to you.

Millions of miles apart,
yet I feel you so near,
I could hardly catch a breath,
as your breathing hugs me,
and your heart-arms capture me.

Lying with her, I wonder,
are you thinking of me,
in my wild bed of roses,
full of thorns and pricks,
waiting to kiss your tortured soul.

For this morning, at least,
you have me in my mind-arms,
drunk in the water of love,
taken hostage by your crazy eyes,
and the sun in your red hair.

Standard
Poetry

Push

All around me are faces,
pushing each out of places,
into corners, edges, walls, cases,
branded with names, logos, emblems, copyrights,
shame, slut, disrepute, fame, disclaim, stain,
all pushing each out of spaces,
to claim victorious, some airtime, some me-time,
the manymes face/off in a shame-off,
to see who is the next biggest slut-face.

Standard