Archive for the ‘romance’ Category

Crazy Sexy Unsexy

Posted: April 13, 2016 in rap lyrics, romance, sex

I need to keep my fingers out of my own ears, doctors orders-
I need to stop drinking drops of my tears, that’s not important-
Enough to be crying openly on the MRT, during the day-
Trying to pry hope from misery in such a hopeless way-
Way off the edge of sticking to the middle path-
Lost instead in a sick riddle on a little raft-
Navigating the rivers of hell and old bad habits-
swelled up into an armor plating built around a sad rabbit-
lonely, but this androgynous girl on the train keeps staring-
if only we weren’t drifting the same deep uncaring-
attitude held together with contempt for random strangers-
with an aptitude to descend into the dispassion of cold players-
cause I’m old and grey or at least solid salt and pepper-
told I sound okay but could probably dress a bit better-
like I’m allergic to style and react to technology-
as if a person filing a tool shack from a fallen tree-

Maybe I’m unlikable, maybe all my past lovers were flukes-
Maybe I’ll only strike you as cool in a black hat or toque-
Maybe it’s not worth it, maybe stay good and free instead-
Maybe this shirt doesn’t work with this grey hoodie vest-
Maybe I’m just not sexy, boring like sugarless lemonades-
Maybe you wish I never wore spectacles but only shades-
Maybe I’m over-exaggerating, down with a fear in my head-
Maybe I just need to get my eyebrow pierced again-
Maybe I need more tattoos, or better stories for the ones I have-
Maybe it’s a sad truth that the only sweater I own is from grad-
Maybe I’ll never be a player, maybe never hit a home run-
Maybe I’ll never upload tinder cause I’m just too phone dumb-
Maybe I’ll go a whole year with no sex, like a monk-
Maybe I just haven’t met a girl or boy with enough spunk-
Maybe I don’t care, but than maybe I do-
Maybe it will drive me crazy like it’s supposed to-

Sex just seems like so much work I don’t get why we propagate-
All these dreams of love’s absurd set and designs to populate-
White father with an Asian mother pushing the baby stroller-
With a toddler making faces to juggle the way they hold her-
Like it all fell out of a diamonds are forever commercial-
Climbing the mall like a mine that will make you a better person-
Worth more on the scale of what we want on our shoulders-
First score in the detail of the desire gods and shareholders-
Of cool incorporated and the confidence clubhouse-
But the poor fools left jaded on the fence of the hub browse-
And try to look like they can afford to buy a membership-
With lies and crooked comforts they cry into no significant other’s pits-
Just a white glowing laptop screen and a youtube playlist-
And fight a growing sad sob story dream of loose patience-
Waiting for the faintest hint from the other human beings-
That one day one of them will relate as a lover who can complete-

Maybe I’m not the one, maybe there is no single individual-
Maybe we’ve got it wrong, maybe we make our answers too simple-
Maybe we need companions, or maybe it’s just a mirror-
Maybe I feel a substantial need to fill my bed out of fear-
Maybe I’d be good for you, maybe we’d make our lives hell-
Maybe you’d liberate me or maybe you’d harden my shell-
Maybe I’d be your savior, maybe you don’t need any saving-
Maybe all this behavior is a greedy instinct based on a craving-
Maybe it’s fantasy, maybe it’s a game we cleverly crafted-
Maybe all this dancing really is romance ever lasting-
Maybe true love exists, maybe I already ruined it-
Maybe a new trust can live in the heads that I’ve screwed with-
Maybe I do this on purpose, maybe I like dramatics-
Maybe despite all these words I’m still a sucker and romantic-
Maybe I don’t believe in love, but than maybe I do-
Maybe it will drive me crazy like it’s supposed to-

 

Who called it writers block anyways?
more like usually writes but not today
jam tomorrow jam yesterday
but never clever enough to stuff the pin cushions
roll up the bills feelin’ unstitchings
saves time nine sink kitchens
wishing the elephant was an automat
check the status of that closet hatched
still full of dustmites
that crust sights flicked with a finger licking
sting lights at the mingler picking
one nurse hurt for the doctors heart
start calling out numbers art
post-it notes cover a wall unspoken
broken wheels on a spell potion
maze anagrams with the goblin King
spring summer monk temple fling
moon shines handmaiden sings
acid sunday’s girl from the prairies
isn’t really from the prairies
barely windy enough to make a crush
rush the pill to pillows untrust
thrust into a forest subtropic
the topic is drugs and hot chicks
and flame sticks dancing like back home
marty mcfly in the delorean
scoring plutonium on moms door again
biff’s got the book all bets are off
being john malkovich charlie coughed
caught the bus to bee-alzebub
rub a dub give Aladdin the tubs
catch the carpet for the snub replay
too sane for my say
blue face-paint from the free shelf
we don’t serve that kind of elf
wait outside while the sabers dance
prolapsed chance to save the universe
for what it’s worth
still bleeding ink blue perverse
this side of a sideways hangover
one rung short of a come over
exercise on the year of the monkey bars
all-star almanac and flying cars
and weird futures like impossible
one year ain’t that long just improbable
yet unstoppable I kiss the girl at the airport
summer of love, summer too short
now I’m in a forest and its god’s court
gold watches are so last year
tennis players commercial for beer
and I fear the desert is un-insurable
purple t-shirt worthable
worthers originals with Grandpa
replaced Wilford Brimley switched with David Bowie
and all the crazy just knows me
flows and grows and breeds
like bees kept secret from the Vatican
I’m my own clown fetish in a vat again
of mixed up chemicals
carrying fixed up decibels
to jungle mountain festivals
and back again
sunday distorted
on track again
from the mist imported
luck dragons and garbage bin bullies
didn’t know me since I spun soul leaves
in an avatar avalanche shirt bender
word turf mender
on all the quilts of yesterdays
who called it writers block anyways?

All Love For the Motherland

Posted: January 20, 2014 in politics, romance, sex
Tags: ,

I woke up this morning feeling political-
A little window to the world intra-mystical-
Sometimes you buy something just to throw it out-
Sometimes you find something or you just grow it out-
On it’s own, or it wasn’t meant to be owned-
What are you a pharaoh?-
You expect the moon to be showered clean in a Camaro?-
And she’ll let you finger her at the red lights?-
I know you’ve seen some sights-
But your not the only prince in the tuxedo-
There are others that remind her of Jared Leto-
And she reminds you of your mother when she was younger-
Still you tongue her-
Tell her friends to go away-
Listen to pop music get drunk all day-
Just like last weekend-
Did we even pass a new year? No meaning-
They don’t even got a name for our decades no more-
It’s a shame we’re headed for-
A yacht with a sarlacc pit for a floor-
I really wish Jesus would come back-
Then Putin would not have done that-
Things being done to sex in a new age of repression-
Aren’t we intellectuals-
Have full agendas I guess-
It’s high time I digress-
Russia and the PR battle-
Saddle up gay cowboys worldwide-
We need some terms divide-
Hide the Turpentine-
Hide the hair products-
Where’s Waldo in all this logic?-
Of rainbow suspenders and news anchors censors-
Have to use Youtube to tell the truth-
Everything I see is juice-
RT you can’t hardly hide behind been seen as smart-
As if CNN isn’t just as bad a part-
Of this whole world news sex gloss over-
Talking sharp with padded shoulders-
Teleprompter like a mother whispering lullabies-
Why is the world full of these sellers of lies-
As if truth was a boat full of Jews we got no more room for-
Or a floor pounding boots Nazis shining shoes to the score-
They like their symphony music-
That’s good public sympathy let’s use it-
TONIGHT…
WE RAISE OUR DRINKS TO THE GAY MOTHERS OF RUSSIA!
HOPEFULLY THE THINK TANKS OF THE OLYMPIC
PROPAGANDIST HAVE LOVE-
FOR THE MULTI-COLORED FLAG
OR THE EQUAL SYMBOL-
I’M GOING TO RAISE MY VODKA GLASS UP
IT’S THAT SIMPLE!
Love for the gay brothers that have to hide it in the streets-
Bring it out in the twenty teens-
I wanna see people kiss who ever they wish-
I don’t want people scared of being on a list-
People should not fear to exist-
All our lips should be open-
Here’s hoping we can-
Spread love for the motherland!

I am mostly a lonely thing-
At home with my poem remedies
For a solemn soul.
Call it attitude. Call it habit.
Call it a trap that went off-
And has had my legs caught
Since I was a teenager.

My eyes too used to their own depths,
My mouth, too used to chewing itself.
My hands too familiar with clutching
These blue-lined white coil bound notebooks.

To look for another.
To taste foreign tongue,
To hold hands and promises,
These are other hunters prey.

Rather I am the self-devourer.
The provider of my own sustenance-
Slowly dying, running out..

A clogged heart sends aching signals
To a dust weary brain.
Both slaved to an ant-eaters snout,
Cleaning the ants from the pockets
Of clear plastic bags of sleep deprivation.

So hold your lovers close,
While I shuffle along lonely-
The Night Walker.
Ashing my contempt
On the sidewalk of your happiness.

Fingering the plastic vial shackles
In my pocket
While I continue on.
Towards a bed with nothing but
Crystal specks strewn over the egyptian cotton.

Like stars shining across endless expanses
Of cold, lonely space.
I will curl into my shards, a god,
In the fetal position.
Stuck awake in his timeless temple
of disassociation.

A poem for anyone’s imagination
That may have stretched
Like a yawning tiger into the dark jungle
of bad luck romance and ketamine addiction.

I suppose those interested are as few
And far between as the moments
My skin knows a warm body.
Instead of the cold fresh rush
My nerves demand,
Fingertips call for,
the moment of euphoric relief.

The moment before the jet planes
Of consciousness launch from my mind
And I cuddle into the motion wave
Of the emergent dose.
The gentle hole I gladly fall through
Like Alice returning to Wonderland
For the one-hundreth-and-eleventh time.

Can any lover bring a solace
So clear, inviting and full?
Can love exist for a mind that unclings
Its’ ego, uncoils its’ mortality,
And undermines the lines of the matrix?

The answer is a no,
Spoken so slowly,
Drawn out over the fifty years echo
Of the oblivion chamber.
Noooooooooooooooooooo…

I’ll grow old with its’ syllable
Haunting the ones who tried to touch me.
The hole of an “o” that becomes a zero,
And encircles the whole of my life
Like the ice rings of a planet
With no moons.

For I am mostly a lonely thing-
At home with my universe in a plastic vial.

Sexuality Metaphor Checklist

Posted: February 15, 2013 in romance

-Overcoat

-Whipcream

-shadow of my erection in endless summer

-Feather

-empty bag

-used ice

-bent out of shape mindgame

 

DeAr CaLyPsO

Posted: January 24, 2012 in loneliness, madness, romance

I still NEED your love

there’s no reason

to talk about it or even think about it

Certainly I SHOULD NOT be writing about it

You have your happiness

I chase my dragons…………..

(with broken pitchforks)

“Let’s save each other….”

you once said

now saved for what?

saved for our own brand of desolation?

I should have said;

“Keep your eyes on the road,

You demon, you temptress,

you future Medea!”

You would have surely poisoned any children we would have sired

what a poetic tragedy that would have been

(just as your mother diseased you with raging parasitic desperate leeches)

Your father said;

“You’ll have it good some day…..”

but it was his own wishful thinking

his plans drying up under the heat of the sun

the bleary wear out of time

the last orange embers of our life together

running down your cheeks

breaking into my chest

a heart-ache six year sized tumor.

Letters in a bottle

turn into LIES

on the electric highway.

It was my mother that informed me

of your marriage date

I turned my head

saw a city pass by

the same city

and felt like a lost sailor swam endless leagues away from an island

but NIGHTmares

of the ISland

we pushed each other

that haunts me

those silent car rides

I had often thought

of grabbing the wheel

of your Saturn

and ending us into

the crunch of oncoming traffic.

I never did that to us.

bird (girl poem)

Posted: May 9, 2011 in romance

holding the phone

in both hands

waiting for it to sing

like a little bird

but i fear the bird

on the other end

is asleep

or simply not as

interested in me

as her chirps

and twitching wings

would have me imagine