Tag Archives: Journal

I Avert My Eyes

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Eye

Image by aepoc via Flickr

I wrote this one today. I often feel like this in public places. My emotion starts out as self-consciousness, then gradually spins into something else entirely.

Your gaze meets mine.

As nobodies,

we pass on the street.

Is it stranger danger I fear?

Too scared to murmur a polite hello.

I avert my eyes.

 

You’re my new co-worker.

The friendly, spunky sort.

I like you,

what you’re saying.

We could be friends.

I avert my eyes.

 

I recall a peculiar Kevin.

Fourth grade. I didn’t mean to stare.

He was just so tiny, I was intrigued.

He’d catch me gawking, glare at me.

I’d avert my eyes.

 

I catch you looking at me.

Perhaps we’re at a bar.

Dimly lit. Smoky, like the good ol’ days.

Maybe you were about to buy me a drink.

Too risky—

I avert my eyes.

 

You’re a girl about my age.

I love your scarf. Your nose ring.

Your whole vibe in general.

I should compliment you.

Instead—

I avert my eyes.

 

I look at you, looking at me

as we pass in the grocery store.

Is there something on my face?

Only my obtrusive optics.

They’re too bright.

I avert my eyes.

 

Do my eyes…

Pierce your skull?

Burn your soul?

Why do I feel mine can’t dare meet yours?

Do you fear your secrets exposed?

Don’t worry…

 

As your gaze meets mine,

we’ll simply pass as nobodies,

on the street.

I know now they’re

Dangerous. Daunting. Electric.

I’ll avert my eyes.

My friend, Jerme

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This one is about a friend that has recently come into my life. A perplexing being. I’m trying to understand him as a person, but am coming to terms with the fact that I may not ever entirely.

Existence 1

Image by Vincepal via Flickr

He’s brilliant, book smart.

Bright, but unglowing.

FASCINATING

if he gets the Floor.

 

Not ugly, not beautiful.

No sadness, no joy.

He just exists,

and that’s enough

for HIM.

 

Thee single solemn soul

I’ve yet met

to NOT care to seek

companionship.

 

Does he possess

a lesson to be learned?

Are our concerns

to love and be loved

Narcissistic?

ELEMENTARY?

 

A MINISCULE particle

of our existence

chalked up to

Human Nature?

 

He’s content

all alone.

No warm body

next to his

in BED.

 

I imagine “LONLINESS”

poetically described

to him—

He’d scratch his head,

cocking it slightly

to the side.

 

Life to him is

simply

existing.

“REALISM”.

 

Perhaps this perception

isn’t hard & harsh.

Just maybe

It’s what we should all see.

 

For in his eyes it’s simple.

Plain.

Neat.

People, places, things—

All just NOUNS, to his being.

 

Looking at a still life,

What does he see?

“A bowl of oranges,” he says.

Are you fucking KIDDING me?

 

Maybe his intelligence

reaches outside my mind’s realm.

For his thoughts are

CRISP

black and white.

Mine are a

HUGE

GRAY

swirling cloud.

The Window

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Deutsch: Jalouisie. English: Venitian blind. F...

Image via Wikipedia

This poem is how I start almost every morning. I wrote this one about a week ago. 

THE WINDOW
The alarm clock blares.

My eyes stare

at the ceiling,

HATING

the morning time.

I abusively fondle

the clock.

The alarm stops.

 

UPRIGHT

I bolt.

Slowly I turn,

glaring at the closed window blinds.

 

The day. Outside. Is it…

Sunny? I wonder.

Warm? Doubtful.

Chilly? Windy?

FREEZING? Most likely.

 

I slowly peek out

between the blinds,

too fearful to open them

ALL the way.

 

Snow? Nope.

WHEW!

My head tilts back

as I sigh in relief.

 

NOW the blinds can come open

All the way.

Start-of-Winter sun slips in;

A warm and golden light

Floods the room.

 

Tomorrow,

Mother Earth and I begin

AGAIN

The battle

That is

Every morning.

 

 

Father

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Here’s a poem I just wrote yesterday actually. Rhyming isn’t usually something I do well, but I feel this one came flowing out pretty decent!

FATHER

Until I was old enough

To have true insight,

My father was perfect,

Us together—just right.

 

Reflecting on it now,

My childhood was a lie.

It was Mother who was there for me,

Not Dad, when I cried.

 

Where was this man,

When I was too weak to stand?

It was Mother next to me,

Holding my hand.

 

The best memory I have

Is a crinkled photograph now.

My cousin and I,

Putting on a play for Father Cow.

 

We’re performing our hearts out,

Thinking he’s watching intently.

The basketball game on TV

Is more important evidently.

 

Dad is well-liked by his colleagues,

As they don’t know his true self.

“My life is an open book,” he says;

But it sits closed, on the shelf.

 

I’m grateful to have him in my life.

My dearest friend doesn’t have the pleasure

Of having a father present,

And falsified memories to treasure.

Perception Of Self

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This poem I just wrote a few days ago. It’s quickly become one of my favorites. The words just oozed out of me so naturally for this one.

PERCEPTION OF SELF

The mirror.

It must be wrong.

Who is this girl?

Today

I like her.

Today

her eyes are bright

enough to burn your skull.

Today

her hair flows & glows

down her chest.

Today

blemishes are bygones.

Today

she smiles back at me;

Her eyes twinkle along.

Tomorrow

A MONSTER will reflect back.

Tomorrow

her eyes will be dim. DULL.

“Baby shit green,”

Mother has said of the shade.

Tomorrow

Her hideous hair will hit

her shoulders HORRENDOUSLY.

Tomorrow

the vivid zits will look

VOLCANIC.

Tomorrow

she will NOT smile.

Tomorrow

Self-esteem

will be too low to force

those FANGS out.

Tomorrow

she will STARE

back at me

and ask:

Who is this girl?

The mirror.

IT MUST BE WRONG.

Cleavage

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The first recent poem I’ve posted. I still can’t believe I’m sending this out into the world! I love it.

CLEAVAGE

Rock foliation. Sixth grade.

“The only cleavage I know anything about is this!”

Says Mother, and tugs at the collar of her T-shirt.

Unhelpful with homework however humorous.

The Media says

Cleavage is sexy?

A walking Oedipus complex temptress.

Apocrine glands. Nothing More.
Wrong.

Uselessly used

As a barbaric rating system.

An entire restaurant chain

Dedicated to

Proudly displaying

That fatty tissue.

Producing salivating, slobbering “sirs”.

Willing women. Attention loving ladies.

Some more well-endowed than others.

Inadequate adolescents.

Foxy females feeling

Grotesque.

Cleavage means to me…

A somber shadow

That happens to fall

mid-chest.

Jealousy?

At times.

Vanity/worth issues?

Naturally.

Everyday?

Nope.

True beauty’s true value

Prevails.

With a little help from two

Flirty freckles

Amidst that somber shadow.

Joan Jett jams;

“I know what I am,

I am what I am.”

All You Need Is Love

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This poem I wrote back in 2007, after seeing the movie Across the Universe.

ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE

Escape. Can I?

Try. Will I?

Who am I? Am I true to me?

Am I the things I hate?

Is the world so truly terrible?

Why must we search so hard for goodness?

Reliant on who? But only ourselves to trust.

Dog-eat-dog. Man-kill-man.

Is this who we are?

Where is my place?

This is what I love. This is what I hate.

Trials. Tests. Passing. Failing.

Loving ourselves. Hating ourselves.

Being TRUE to ourselves.

Do we know where we stand?

I believe deep down we do.

Only one way out. Take good care of you.

Find someone. Love them pure and deep.

All you need is love.