Month: March 2017

On a bus full of strangers,
freedom dances,
recites poetry,
sings, quite
like Tweety Bird.

Being caged
for too long,
freedom tastes
slightly bitter.

But the smell,
ah, like jasmine,
is sweet and
unmistakable.

It ignites in me
a hunger, quite
impossible to feed.

a girl

a girl is not her mother
and expending much energy
she strives not to be

longing for

often stumbling
on the rocky footpath
of finding her own way

a mother

a mother sculpts
her misplaced yearnings
into a daughter’s pliable flesh

longing

then bored
abandons her piece
before it’s finished

for herself

i almost died
you didn’t notice

herself

you almost cried
i refused to see

longing

We’re alike
you and me.

The world
on our shoulders
we keep
to our kind,

waiting.

Unable to tell
friends
from those
who seek to
destroy us,

unable to save
the world,

we wander.

When the world
was old
only the old
ones walked.

We drink
their memories,
feed on
their strengths,

thirsting

to save
our souls.

You’re the new kid,
pretty,
but harboring
your share of demons.

It’s hard to fit in.

Aware
that good and evil
often wear
the same face,

you play it
close
to the chest,
trusting no one.

Know your losers.

The misfit club
is open to
new members.
Take refuge.

Strive to be
normal.

Even if someone
puts a dead guy
in your locker,

laugh it off,
toss it out,
bury it before it
begins to stink.

This is high school.

Take a pill.
Soak the bandages.
The pain is just beginning.

We all live over a hellmouth.

Above,
our lives project
upon the world’s screen
in a series of home movie images
we entitle reality.

But below,
like the midnight run at your local art house,
an interior film plays,
starring
two-headed monsters
and nasty, soul-sucking demons.

We put on
our dating face,
our Sunday school smile,
and parade
before the cameras,

while underneath,
singeing the soles of our feet,
are boiling cauldrons
of hatred,
uncertainty and death.

Oh,
and sometimes love.