jmt1992
vultures circle my tea
& i am postponed
from drinking from the well.
i take my mouse in hand,
and click it,
feed it to the vultures
who give me nothing
but time.
I held a shotgun to my head
(like everybody else)
but instead of shooting it,
I ate it whole.
I slipped on wallpaper
until my feet could no longer walk.
I ate the shotgun and my wallpaper
feet were satisfied.
Steel, like wool, I lie
naked, a nail
on top of a carton of eggs.
Slowly, I sift up until I am
nothing, everything.
In between my toes,
I hustle to the next one.
Departure.
When we depart for Cambodia,
I have no idea how I'm going to feel.
Excited, yes. But will
my medication be able
to come along? I don't know
if I'm stable enough for this.
I'm not sure if I want to go.
You supported me through everything in your own odd way. When I told you I was bisexual, you thought I had said gay.
The tracking device was imbedded in every person at the time of their birth. It was used to make sure they did everything right. Pay your taxes. Do your chores. Get good grades. One wrong move, and... zap.
When she slipped and fell she wasn't embarrassed. She got up and continued walking down the aisle toward the royals. They would hate her more if she started crying and ran away. Their respect for her was low enough already without her showing such emotions.
we are all one
making up the entirety of
the universe; we're nothing,
we're the same.
she sleeps and thinks of
fairy queens, and knows the
tales are true.
the mechanism by which I write poetry
is not my brain nor my heart
it's something deeper, something that's
not just me, but all
everything
the mechanism by which I write poetry
is the universe,
the universal oneness
I hate trumpets:
the blaring sound of marching bands
where supposedly everyone is a dork
but at my school they were all rich
in order to afford their stupid trumpets
and i hated them especially during the
freezing warm performances.
load more entries