untitled

I don't feel much older
the steps I take towards old age
seem childish
and fake.
But I'm growing older
and I suppose I'm getting wiser
along the way.

stranger

i want you, yes
i want you to wrap your arms around me, stranger
and be safe within them.
stranger, yes stranger
because that's what you are, a stranger to me
do i know you?
does anyone know you
are you a stranger
to yourself?

haven't felt
these feelings
before

they are
strangers too.

suffocation

words and words
and plans
and worries
and fears
and love
your best intentions, like octopus arms
strangle and constrict me
until I am squeezed dry
of compliments.

I'm being surrounded, backed into a corner
and made to smile.

one more best intention
and I just might
suffocate.

infinite repeat

play that same song
you know which one I mean
the one that you think you wrote
in your dreams
put in on infinite repeat
and let it play forever
because it's the only thing
that will last.

Beauty-a slam poem

You see me, but you don't see me.
What you see with your eyes means nothing
because beauty lies
lies underneath a microscope, makeup can hide blemishes of the skin
surgery can fix a nose or double chin
but it cannot fix an ugly soul.
Beauty, they say, lies in the eye of the beholder
but nothing I'm being or holding matches
those magazine starlets
glossy picture queens
who let themselves be air-brushed
tucked, snipped and pulled
as six year old girls see themselves as ugly
and pine, for a body no real person can have
and buy, things they don't need to look like someone else
because they think that they are not beautiful
they need to be someone else
to be enough.
Enough!
Enough of the lies, lyin about beauty
and the pain of not having
and the crying
and the cutting
and the eating
and the not-eating
counting every calorie and gram of gum
and deciding it isn't worth it
because no one wants to fuck someone like that
someone who is fat.
Fuck it!
All of this for beauty
all of this misinformation, exaggeration, trepidation.
Beauty is a construct, baby
and they'll make you feel good about yourself
for five easy payments
of self-esteem.

progress?

The moving, brooding machine of progress
it churns out ideas and processes
crushing opposition, cementing over the past.

The future is progress
but what is the progress?
What can you do better?
Faster? Stronger?

We are no longer a race of people
but automated robotic machines
Ones whose sole goal is to finish the objection
know how to limit interaction
to a nod or a wave.

We are each alone
Alone now more than we ever were.
Our material things will only comfort us
because our real lives cannot.

I am more than the sum of my parts.
I will not be harvested for them
like some junkyard car.
I am more than the sum of my parts.

I will not be happy today

I will not be happy today, no.
I appreciate the nice things you say and you will say them, I'm sure,
but I don't want to hear them.
I will not be happy today.
I need to feel and angst and moan and gripe and complain
I need to mope for a while
so let me spend the time doing so.
I will not be happy today
so don't try to stop me
let me brood and mood
in peace.