Pain
I would...shave my head shiny baldcut off my toes and then soak for days in aqueous saltshriveling, wearing and whenI’m done, take a long bath in the scorching sunwhile maggots eat me alivewith their gnawing pangs of liberty.then would come the beehivewhose angry bees would sting andcause me to roll over into the sandcarefully rigged with glass and tacks.these would become lodged into the cracksof my long sun-beaten pelt.there I’d writhe and thrash until my last forsaken gasp.then lay me down in the kiln to burnand put me in a cast-off urn.for all these things I’d painlessly yearnif you would love me in return.
Bridges
YOU MIGHT CALL THEM SOME KIND OF GATEWAY INTO ANOTHER REALM.OR A GREAT PASS OVER THE FLOWING PARTITIONTHAT IS OUR MURKY WATERWAYAND PROBABLY SO BECAUSE IT IS THESE THINGS, TO THE NAKED AND UNTRAINED EYEAS DECEITFUL AS THOSE NASTY POLITICIANS THAT LIEAND THE REDUNDANCE IS NO JEST; BECAUSE ONCE ABRESS THE FORGED METAL AND CONCRETETHERE IS OBVIOUS CHANGE AFOOT-SOMEHOW MORE TRAFFIC IN THE LANE COMING THAN GOINGAND A FEW MORE SIGNS THAT ARE TELLINGMORE CRACKS IN THE ROAD COULD BE ONE OF THEMMORE CRACKHEADS ON ROADSIDE COULD BE ANOTHER.THOSE MEN WHO PLANNED THIS CITYMUST HAVE BEEN UNADULTERATED GENIUSES IF YOU ASK ME.THREE VISUAL MONUMENTS OF WHY WE’RE STILLNOT FREE.FROM NORTH TO SOUTH YOU CROSS THE BRIDGEAND IT GETS WORSE THE DEEPER YOU GOCAUSE WHEN YOU LABEL THINGS ‘SOUTH’ THEN PEOPLE WILL KNOWTHAT THE LAND IS NOT PRIME, THAT LEVEL OF CRIME IS HIGHWHY AT TIMES THERE MAY BE DARK FIGURESLYING ON THE GROUNDOR MAYBE IT’S THE OTHER WAY AROUNDMAYBE WE CAME FIRST AND JUST KINDADEVELOPED THAT SOUTHERN MENTALITY.WE LIVE WHAT WE LEARN AND PLAY THE CARDS WEHAVE BEEN DEALT BY SOCIETY.MAYBE IT’S BECAUSE I’M ON THE “SOUTH” END OF THIS DEALI’M REALIZING IN MY AGE THAT THIS REALITY JUST SIMPLYSHOULDN’T BE REAL.BECAUSE MY SOUTHSIDE IS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THAT BRIDGE, AND MY DARKSIDE WISHES THERE WERE NO BRIDGES AT ALL.
Scatterbrain Says
Do I scare you? I don’t mean to. What I hold back is For your own good Because I don’t know how you’d react to these thoughts that I think might scare you. But I’m rambling. I’ll never be as interesting as you, and I feel like a fool half the time we do get to exchanging words. Mine are never profound. Yet yours resound through my mind all day. And you probably don’t think twice about what was said last night. But I have a way of overanalyzing everything. Maybe I should be a psychiatrist, right? And I can’t spel. And words oftentimes fail me. And I beat around the proverbial bush more than I should. And I’m long-winded- but you know that. And I’m abstract. But that has a new meaning now. And I’m nowhere near as deep as you. And you, you scare me, and I’m sorry. And the truth? I might love you… Did I scare you? I didn’t mean to.
From My Experience
Love is a thing with hues of grey and shades of black. When you love someone, don’t expect them to love you back. In fact, Expect the very opposite. Because nothing can, or will ever come of it. But that’s just from my experience. Now beauty Has but one definition: Someone who is skinny, has long hair, and probably Caucasian. Not to mention, She only speaks when spoken to And stands there the epitome of womanhood And we all should, Try our very best to be like that. And that’s a fact Just from my experience. And a friend is someone who leaves At the exact moment things start getting good. But they should. Cause heaven forbid your last memory Of that particular person is happy. What is ideal is that time runs out, And it’s hard to even remember what that foreign concept of “forever” was all about. A lost friendship never leaves behind any traces. But I don’t know...maybe I’ve had some bad experiences.
Tamarie Rocke (Medical Student in Cuba)
