Poetry · Writing

hidden quiz; makeup. on.

sometimes, this is difficult

to beg for answers

everthing is truly a test

but this should have been open book

games being played

answers written on your hand

and i can’t even see the scantron;

laid it down

you, the one in the gown

pride of the hometown

strutting, wearin’ that crown

not ready for that showdown

but this is that countdown

wear it on my chest, i’m that proper noun

but i’m the one that looks like a fucking clown.

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Poetry · Writing

success magazine; mothra

i collect memories

store ’em in a binder

under my bed

deep under past the monster

blow the dust away

they start early

half eaten by moths or accidents

birthdays and birthdays

a success photo shoot

that fucking kid billy that i hated

(take that one out real quick)

flip to the back to these empty pages

no dust no moths no sad endings- yet

a place i come often

a sweet reminder that the previous pages

don’t tell the end

moths will get to them just like the beginning

will put it back, with out guardian monster

take our books, pens and camera to the park

and look for butterflies

Poetry · Writing

the fixer; down wind

problem is

i always want to fix everything

things that don’t need fixing

instead of just caring

loving being more then a piece of tape

problem is

carrying weight that’s not my own

no one asked

carrying backpacks up mountains

nothing but a bottle and a tent

crashing down

broken arm

put tape on it

Poetry · Writing

Mr. Logan

it’s over.

the smiles of the veterans

stories of war

memories of their loved ones

all in a photo

i’ll remember you Mr. Logan,

it was just a place of business

like any other

your stories made it like any other

i am going to miss it,

wish i got the chance to tell you

that will be gone

to point you to a worthy place for your stories

an ear that would care;

i’m sure you’re having a drink with your son right now

reminiscing;

enjoy the day bud,

you’ve earned it

Poetry · Writing

the wanderer

the wanderer has no reflection

a boulder tumbling down a road

left bloody by her wife

wonderous by her mistress

alone by her husband

the wanderer has no reflection

they; walk

to find

something

a no name feeling

a response to a question

on a dotted line

written in invisible ink

revealed by

well

the wanderer doesn’t know

if you know

and you see the wanderer

on the road you avoid most

let her know

she misses her wife

Poetry · Writing

cake; princess diaries

i see it in your eyes

a hunger for more

every piece has your name on it

if you can see it

you’ll take it

a bloodlust for happiness;

but when your head rest on my chest

the breathe slows to a mild sigh

i see the kid again-

chasing a dream on a t.v screen

trying on string like a queen on the screen

it’s your favorite scene

we watch it on repeat it’s our routine

in the mirror it’s a queen at thirteen.