Clouds – Poetry

“What is a cloud?” a little girl once asked me.
“Is it a puff of cotton?” she inquired.
“Why yes!” I told her.
“Don’t make God mad, or he’ll squeeze it and make rain.”
“Or could they be eye lids to the sun,” she thoughtfully said. I looked on and smiled.
“They’re the chariots of spirits who look at us from above,” I said.
“And the marshmallows we eat after we die and live among the stars,” she told me.
“They’re Jesus’ bed!” I exclaimed with a child-like grin.
“They’re the gates of the heavens,” she added. “And the pathway is through the stars.”
Looking at her, I said  “you have to be soft, or they won’t let you in.” She put a finger to her lips.
“They’re mama and papa,” she said to me.
“And everyone we ever once knew” I told her.
“And someday sweet baby sister, it will be me and you.”

Manifested Destiny – Poetry

Manifested Destiny

Before my eyes can catch a glimmer of sleep, I think of you.
A manifested destiny in which we meet and you become my
personal exhibition – my visual stimulation, my heart’s liberation.
As I drift off into a daze, I think of the early morning haze
surrounding us, my eyes fixed upon your soft lips.
I watch you, in my sleep, as you sleep, the air breathing
life into the body that has awaken my spirit.
With my eyes closed I imagine your shut eyes, waiting for them
to open, like a Christmas gift – a present of glittering constellations
wrapped in the iris behind gleaming lashes.

You are my treat. My midnight snack when I do not eat.

When I fall into heavy sleep, I dream of how you fall in love with me-
we meet and you let me think I seduce you. We tumble through
the sheets where love is made fresh like the bread we break the next day.

I listen to you sing as I fall asleep -yes, in my dreams- as your voice
is my opus symphony. Chopin’s Nocture is nothing to your lullaby
and my eyes grow heavy  as your lips hold me with your harmonies.
You strum your guitar and I feel the chords through the sinews of my
body, with every note plucked, I am moved and I can’t believe that I am with you.

And after I fall asleep in my dreams, you wrap your arms around me,
I can feel your warmth and in reality I instinctively clutch my pillow tight.
I can get lost in my dreams with visions of you sleeping with me at night.

And as day begins to break, I am saddened that our night has to come to an end,
my manifested destiny with you will have to wait until it is night again.

Damaged Sticker – Poetry

Bullets are sprayed in the air
and I’m shot down
my smiles now are now replaced with frowns
my heart has been shot
feels like I’ve been stabbed in the back
a massive heart attack
has left me feeling like
one side of my body can’t sustain
as though I’m only half paralyzed with pain
because the other half has to maintain
that crippling facade that my
soldier soul can continue on
walking  strong
all the while my armor is ripped
from all the silent tears that drip
drop down onto the new badge
that replaced the one that use to flicker in the light
my new damaged sticker is in plain sight.

I’m the person that you put back on the shelf
the contorted version of yourself,
the one that no one else sees
the person with heavy insecurities
the one who can’t be found
the one chained and bound
to the sound of pure silence…

Didn’t Queen sing “another one bites the dust”
and yet, I feel like the one left in the dirt
with the blood of my mangled body on my shirt
the blood from cuts so deep
they won’t seem to heal,
body so cold, it can no longer feel
still crying even though I’m all cried out
trying to find a river to ease this drought
all the while you all see me and start to snicker
pointing and laughing at my damaged sticker.

H.G. Wells – Poetry

Mentally Constipated

Verbally emasculated

time spent on others, building precious presents filled with moments shared,

while I, the time traveler have not a minute to spare,

no fuel to go back to beginning,

and let loose a flood of liberation.

Pupils dilated, yet the future can not be seen-

just a blank screen

and blurred blurry brown eyes, puffy puffed eye lids,

clouded from capturing tears. Nothing left behind but the

thoughts of a shattered future swim around the broken time machine.

Lost in an O.R. – Poetry

what are we doing?

caught in the land of make-believe, in between the black and white,

drifting in the pool of gray, graying…

saying…

more nothings than

somethings.

lasting moments after the exasperation of our sweat soaked bodies

entwined in lines of linen…

silent kisses though we’re far off in the distance, away from what use to be…

burrowing tunnels, looking for distractions,

to wipe away my mirror of dissatisfaction.

you stay content with your silence all the while you build a wall beside me

how many feet above,

blocking love.

my once Pyramus building pyramids away from this,

your former Thisbe who no longer stands beside waiting on your voice.

 

All has become quiet on the western front.

 

i’m no longer certain anymore of what we are or what we have become.

two drones seeking a means to become real, to feel once more. 

or two halves of a heart, pulling steadily apart.

 

                   Floating         in            reveries

 

of what use to be…

 

 what are we?

Drinking More Sorrow Than Cola – Poetry (Performance)

 

 

 


One of my favorite original pieces that I’ve always wanted to perform, but never had the courage to. 

I recorded the audio (forgive me, it’s not the best audio ever)  and created a video with the words so that you may follow along. I hope that you’re able to hear everything and I guess, feel the embodiment of the time I was going through when I wrote this. 


 Hope you enjoy! 

Green EyEnvy – Poetry

This is a poem I wrote…

GrEEn EyEnvy

Looking at my learner’s permit, you’d see that they list the color of my eyes as brown. In fact, they are green. Envy is a funny thing. I don’t mean for it to happen, but it just takes a hold of me. It’s a little plague that boils up and out of me whenever I see something that isn’t me–pictures of stylish girls having a night out on the town and an empty corner where my smiling face could’ve been. My eyes go green.

Curled, crimped and trimmed hair sends flashes of red anger through my eyes and down my spine. I don’t want to be this way. But, I can’t help but mix yellow and blue hues when I travel back and forth to a part of town I wouldn’t otherwise be in, to do work I don’t get paid for and watch brand name big bags hanging from manicured hands swaying to the beat of the high priced high-heels clacking down the granite hallway.

I don’t want to be mean. To take my mind off of things, I come up with every way imaginable to explain why those luxurious gifts aren’t meant for me. And when my thoughts stray away, a calm relief washes over me, adding more yellow and a splash of red to the concoction. And I can see again. And I can breathe again. And I feel like a person worth being.

Then as sure as time waits for no one, a pain leaves my chest and grabs at my neck, beckoning me to release that pent up tension. Sexy stilettos step in front of me, reminding me of my of a life I can’t have, a party I was denied because people found it easier to not invite me, and an ensemble I could never wear–peacock colors I would never be brave to dare step out in with a semi-permanent disfigured ankle. I envy the feet that dance all night long, to music that I wouldn’t be able to sing along to, at places that would never be a part of my memory banks.

Hunter. My eyes grow ravenous, thinking only to tear down what isn’t mine or can’t be mine, while deep down inside I don’t want to be that hungry. I don’t want that yearning because I’ve grown to like the person that I’ve become–two sides to this one being, who has yet to walk out in her shoes, bought for the sheer fun, but have never graced the murky sidewalk. I don’t like being greedy and so sometimes I starve myself. Then the green becomes moss and the hunger grows…

I try to think about other things. I try to make it seem like my eclectic tastes and my random wit and my distorted nature makes up for me being uniquely excluded on the ritualistically included norms of everyone’s everyday living. That my difference doesn’t hinder me, but gives me a way to see things differently. That my weird is a science only I can understand and what some find intriguing- a whole new world that some venture into with open arms, while others look away with blank bland eyes.

Though, if misery loves company, then my eyes must be filled with something full.

I don’t mean to be mean, and I don’t want my eyes to be ever-green. I don’t want to want, but I can’t help that when I see things, my eyes open wide, the colors change and I feel different inside.

My id says that my eyes are brown, but they can be green sometimes…though, I wished they’d just stay brown.

Manjun – Poetry

8/30/10

Manjun.

Ever look up at the sky when the moon is full?
See the continuity in its form, the opaque silver color
create just the perfect blemish in the night’s skyline?

Ever notice the way it sits there, almost tauntingly,
asking you to partake in its beauty? I stretch my hand
and reach for its embrace, flying away through the blissful
night’s air, with the stars kissing my cheeks.
Speeding blindly towards its full lips, with my heart beating
in my chest and out into the atmosphere

 and then at once

I explode, into the universe, learning all the cosmic secrets of existence
And all my thoughts and energy is turned to you- your sand soaked feet
Dancing in the wind, your curry stained dress in all its wondrous intoxication…

Red fingertips and mandarin flavored lips.

How like the moon, I longingly wish to hold you.
I was born for you and only you.
Forever my Layla, I am your Manjun. 

 

 

 

 

An Issue I Cared About/Eyes That Can’t See – Poetry

I use to call you my friend, with my eyes tied, blindfolded by your lies.
I pushed past all your deceit and retreated to your corner whenever you wanted a loving ear to hold to your lips, spewing misery and tender moments
open arms ready to embrace you whenever you needed,
outstretched hands whenever you fell…

I use to care about you and so I blinded myself to all your faults,
because that’s what friends do– we look beyond the surface to what
lies beneath and help the meek as we would want to be helped…for at
the end of it all, it is we who will inherit the earth

But your layers ran deep, a dustbowl in the heap
of what I thought was a sincere soul- you’re cold and selfish and if I were a witch
I’d turn you into the beast you truly are but I don’t have to…
for a beast by any other name will still stink of stale meat.

The turn of the time has removed the tinted shades from my eyes and now
I no longer feel what I thought was a friend but have come face-to-face with
a foe, no longer wanting to be wrapped in your woes, I’ve grown too old
to play these childhood games, especially when we all know who’s to blame.

No longer did I want to care, no longer did I want to hear you, your voice
now the shrieks of banshees, your words dripping with disdain and surprisingly
I truly feel no pain. I let you go, long before you had a chance to know. My lips
may have been shut but my eyes have been wide open…and this was the catalyst
to expedite the termination of this–our one-sided friend relationship.

All you know how to do is take and never give, and that’s the kind of life you will live,
continually selfish until your potbelly expels all your negatives and surrounds you
in a pool of your own inner madness, drowned in a universe of your  internal sadness and my eyes that couldn’t see before, will turn away and let you drown.

You are no longer an issue I care about.

3/1/11