~*~
1.
Spoiler
he sounds like love,
his words transforming into
briars of silk that twine up over
the concrete petals that
refused
to
unfurl.
his words transforming into
briars of silk that twine up over
the concrete petals that
refused
to
unfurl.
~*~
2.
Spoiler
The white-picket fence
disguises the demon rats
and Poverty's offspring,
transforming them into
puppy dogs and clean children
with button eyes and
sewn on smiles.
disguises the demon rats
and Poverty's offspring,
transforming them into
puppy dogs and clean children
with button eyes and
sewn on smiles.
~*~
3.
Spoiler
Do you remember us?
Remember the easter egg chocolates
and lollipops that tasted like summer?
You bought them on sale in October
at that tiny, grocery store I hated,
(I always said that love was impossible)
chipped front tooth biting those lips,
as you gave them to me,
(Maybe I was wrong.)
in that stupid 'Have a nice day!' plastic bag.
I would lie on the beat up couch
and let the sun tease through the dusty blinds,
the faint scent of Chinese/Portuguese/Lebanese/Americanese
dancing in the screen.
Sometimes
I'd eat one or two,
try to let the taste of July overtake the November air.
It would never work.
(Maybe it was impossible for me.)
Remember the easter egg chocolates
and lollipops that tasted like summer?
You bought them on sale in October
at that tiny, grocery store I hated,
(I always said that love was impossible)
chipped front tooth biting those lips,
as you gave them to me,
(Maybe I was wrong.)
in that stupid 'Have a nice day!' plastic bag.
I would lie on the beat up couch
and let the sun tease through the dusty blinds,
the faint scent of Chinese/Portuguese/Lebanese/Americanese
dancing in the screen.
Sometimes
I'd eat one or two,
try to let the taste of July overtake the November air.
It would never work.
(Maybe it was impossible for me.)
~*~
4.
Spoiler
It smells like incense
and it's burning my eyes;
My hands are sweaty but it's just so
cold in this room, in this house
but my body(ies) keep burning up,
fire licking up my(their) throat(s),
trying to make me(them) cough up the tar filled words that
killed me(them).
Dead flowers are spalshed with gylcerin
and
prayers are whispered,
in hope that we can make them last
forever.
and it's burning my eyes;
My hands are sweaty but it's just so
cold in this room, in this house
but my body(ies) keep burning up,
fire licking up my(their) throat(s),
trying to make me(them) cough up the tar filled words that
killed me(them).
Dead flowers are spalshed with gylcerin
and
prayers are whispered,
in hope that we can make them last
forever.
~*~
5.
Spoiler
She doesn't wear her wedding ring.
In place of it,
a thirty dollar cubic zirconia
from the classy counter of her local Wallmart.
She doesn't wear her wedding ring.
But wears the fake rather than nothing,
to avoid the whisperumors that
she was that old and not married,
those eggs won't wait forever you know.
She doesn't wear her wedding ring.
She hasn't since that night,
when sharp knives
and even sharper words were thrown.
She doesn't wear her wedding ring.
Keeps it in a dusty keepsake box,
where pressed letters and dry, browning roses
sleep.
She doesn't wear her wedding ring;
hides it between fluttering butterflies that danced in her stomach and
and sobbing in the shower, a loud guttural thing.
She hides that ring between
the memory of yesterday
and the thought of tomorrow
In place of it,
a thirty dollar cubic zirconia
from the classy counter of her local Wallmart.
She doesn't wear her wedding ring.
But wears the fake rather than nothing,
to avoid the whisperumors that
she was that old and not married,
those eggs won't wait forever you know.
She doesn't wear her wedding ring.
She hasn't since that night,
when sharp knives
and even sharper words were thrown.
She doesn't wear her wedding ring.
Keeps it in a dusty keepsake box,
where pressed letters and dry, browning roses
sleep.
She doesn't wear her wedding ring;
hides it between fluttering butterflies that danced in her stomach and
and sobbing in the shower, a loud guttural thing.
She hides that ring between
the memory of yesterday
and the thought of tomorrow
~*~
6.
Spoiler
Don't do that, dear.
It's creepy.
You're not winning her heart,
you're scaring her away.
You see how she nods to what you say too soon,
and looks everywhere but your face,
her eyes lingering on the door and what lays beyond?
Go clean up, run a comb through your hair, maybe wash it first,
you look dirty.
Like a sewer rat,
or one of pesky roaches that flee to the corners and crevices when you turn the light on.
You didn't see the look on her face when she saw them,
but I did.
It was a mixture of pity and disgust, like she wanted to help them, but mostly to get away.
Kind of how she looks at you.
She pulled her dainty little skirt up a little higher to get away from the frightened, survivalist roaches,
then pulled it down when she saw your staring eyes.
She wants to leave so badly
but she can't because you come from money
even though Dad and Mom haven't been very supportive since you dropped out of Harvard.
What'd you think?
That'd you make the next Facebook or something?
Maybe.
But now all that's going for you in an excellent career as a cheap exterminator.
You were always good at stomping on and kicking things,
first Mom's glasses,
then those wretched bugs
now this girl's chances at finding true love
because Dad and Mom will love to hear that you're engaged and
her Mom's greedy, blind eyes care about nothing but repaying all that debt
and she doesn't have the guts to say no.
That's not love in her eyes, dear.
It's not even respect.
That's fear.
It's creepy.
You're not winning her heart,
you're scaring her away.
You see how she nods to what you say too soon,
and looks everywhere but your face,
her eyes lingering on the door and what lays beyond?
Go clean up, run a comb through your hair, maybe wash it first,
you look dirty.
Like a sewer rat,
or one of pesky roaches that flee to the corners and crevices when you turn the light on.
You didn't see the look on her face when she saw them,
but I did.
It was a mixture of pity and disgust, like she wanted to help them, but mostly to get away.
Kind of how she looks at you.
She pulled her dainty little skirt up a little higher to get away from the frightened, survivalist roaches,
then pulled it down when she saw your staring eyes.
She wants to leave so badly
but she can't because you come from money
even though Dad and Mom haven't been very supportive since you dropped out of Harvard.
What'd you think?
That'd you make the next Facebook or something?
Maybe.
But now all that's going for you in an excellent career as a cheap exterminator.
You were always good at stomping on and kicking things,
first Mom's glasses,
then those wretched bugs
now this girl's chances at finding true love
because Dad and Mom will love to hear that you're engaged and
her Mom's greedy, blind eyes care about nothing but repaying all that debt
and she doesn't have the guts to say no.
That's not love in her eyes, dear.
It's not even respect.
That's fear.
~*~
7.
Spoiler
She whisper-giggles the secret in the way
that little girls do, dancing through the grass and
kissing the rain before perching on a withered branch and singing taboo songs.
Before she grew, up she went on the swings, high high high, until her fingers
brushed the clouds and petals bloomed across the sky.
She locked her eyes on mine and breathed her lullaby lie into my ear;
Daddy, I'm pregnant.
that little girls do, dancing through the grass and
kissing the rain before perching on a withered branch and singing taboo songs.
Before she grew, up she went on the swings, high high high, until her fingers
brushed the clouds and petals bloomed across the sky.
She locked her eyes on mine and breathed her lullaby lie into my ear;
Daddy, I'm pregnant.
8.
Spoiler
Light up my acid candy,
set my blood on fire;
Shatter the bottle against the wall
and lick the liquid from the floors,
cut your tongue on the screaming glass.
Fill the porcelain tub with my blood,
lap it up like a dog.
I love
that crazy-eyed look that
only you get when
your hitting me
up.
set my blood on fire;
Shatter the bottle against the wall
and lick the liquid from the floors,
cut your tongue on the screaming glass.
Fill the porcelain tub with my blood,
lap it up like a dog.
I love
that crazy-eyed look that
only you get when
your hitting me
up.
That's it! xD I think it's funny how out of 34 poems, I only liked 8 of them. Thanks for reading!
I love the idea behind this poem and I just love how you worked it out! I especially love the beginning:
