TheHumanoid

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TheHumanoid
Clearwater Poet
Posts: 55
Joined: Fri Oct 18, 2002 12:01 am
Location: Miami,FL

Back-Yard Doctor

Post by TheHumanoid » Sat Mar 15, 2003 12:53 pm

<center><a name="#top2">Second Page Of Assembly</a>
<a href="#018">Primes of Three</a>
<a href="#019">Vinegar Sleeves</a>
<a href="#020">Auto-Poetic</a>
<a href="#021">Back Yard Door</a>
<a href="#022">Thermagrophy</a>
<a href="#023">Vend in the page</a>
<a href="#024">Vinegar Sleeves (revisited)</a>
<a href="#025">Citizen Distressed</a>
<a href="#026">The verse of a Madman</a>

<a name="#n">Short Stories</a>
<a href="#n1">My First Tattoo</a>
<a href="#n2">Seven Years Later....</a>
<a href="http://www.poetrypages.com/phpBB2/viewt ... 7991">Back To The Raw Materials</a></center>

<a name="#018">Primes of Three</a>

Shame to me,
My little girl is lost at sea,
And now she tumbles all in the deep
Like torrent martinis.
And now she searches for my archipelago-ology,
Wondering
Where I’ll be.
Shame to me,
That she cannot see
My isle long fingers reaching out for her cheek.
I guess the world has ulterior means
When my tears crash in primes of three:
One for tomorrow,
And two for the sea.
I hope maybe one day I’ll wash out the grief.
Shame for me.

“Primes of Three”
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<a name="#019">Vinegar Sleeves</a>

Farren listen,
In Friday’s serenade,
Singing sigh sorrow melodies,
Through miles of the day.
Death croons in daggers,
In broken strings we play.
Things will get better,
Though daddy died today.
Farren listen,
In spring’s masquerade,
Don’t veil the voice,
Of vinegar’s bitter pain.
Just know that I’ll be here,
Like the horizon’s vast array.
Just know those iron tears,
Can crash my shoulders’ grey.

“Vinegar Sleeves”
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<a name="#020">Auto-Poetic</a>

I was born naked,
Jaundice orange,
And soul blue.
With strings attached,
With destinations.
With black ink for blood
And grief for a hand.
Like a canvas clean,
Like a paint brush breathing.
In summer’s fresh chaos,
I was born.
At age sixteen,
I was angst against the teddy bear.
My tongue marched in riot gear,
Against myself.
I was at battle with the spirals in me.
For the next twenty four seasons,
I fought my wars with alkaline tears.
My spirit capsized in tidal minds.
Drowned,
Bloated,
Like swollen raccoons.
Bottoms, bottoms, I split the rock bottom.
My soul felt like pocket lent,
A wad of dust, I was.
At twenty-three,
I was born again.
From this page,
And from two friends.
I swallowed the seas,
In three huge gulps.
Like ash resurrected,
I rose from the Atoms and Evils of my youth.
I still hold the past like I do a pen,
But I keep it simple now,
Because I can.
____________________________
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<a name="#021">Back Yard Door</a>

[excerpt from my mind 3/15/3]

Hey babe, listen to me when I tell you that I’m under the whether with this weather in my head. These thoughts...This life, it’s all the tempest sending sadness in the rage of blue-migraine waves. I’m drowning out here, in a sea of clashing boulders. I spark myself down into pebbles; I speckle myself into ash. Boulders, pebbles, ash- I am just dust, the world’s unknowing creature, full of Atoms and Evils.
Someone once told me that I ‘create the balance’ of things. I used to love balance, now I crave for the tilt-a-whirl madness. Why can’t my life be like a cut-tooth saw; A jagged, rusted edge that I can cut myself on. I’ve got not scars to show that love is surgical. I’m just a back-yard doctor slicing up my soul with sterile knives that glide, like the language of you. Too many times, you’ve gone down to the idio-mat to wash my words. Babe, I want the spring clean and the whole damn truth. I want what I see, all around. Nature, sure has a way for paradoxes- The rock star with insecurity; the poet with no one to love. Babe, listen to me...People tell me that I ‘create the balance’ in things. But, where’s the balance in me?

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TheHumanoid
Clearwater Poet
Posts: 55
Joined: Fri Oct 18, 2002 12:01 am
Location: Miami,FL

Thermagrophy

Post by TheHumanoid » Mon Mar 24, 2003 12:46 am

<a name="#022">Thermagrophy</a>

[Excerpts from my mind, 3/24/03]

My name is just things,
I hate that word, things.
Things are grimy,
Things are annoying, festering,
Like little vultures on your eye.
Things don't tell you who you are.
I have a new name this evening-
Calamity Sol- King of the ladybugs.
I rule the things that torture me.
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TheHumanoid
Clearwater Poet
Posts: 55
Joined: Fri Oct 18, 2002 12:01 am
Location: Miami,FL

Vend in the page

Post by TheHumanoid » Tue Mar 25, 2003 1:22 am

<a name="#023">Vend in the page</a>

[Excerpts from my mind// 3/25/03]

I hate when people tell me that "I don't understand" or that "I can't imagine feeling" such...Especially about love. I may not be as experienced, but I sure as hell know what torture is. So, I ask once again, don't tell me that I don't know how something feels. We are all human here.
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TheHumanoid
Clearwater Poet
Posts: 55
Joined: Fri Oct 18, 2002 12:01 am
Location: Miami,FL

Vinegar Sleeves (revisited)

Post by TheHumanoid » Sat Aug 09, 2003 4:09 pm

<a name="#024">Vinegar Sleeves (revisited)</a>

Farren Listen in friday's sad parade.
We live in processions,
Sigh miles through the day.
Death croons in daggers,
In broken strings we play.
Things will get better,
Though daddy died today.
Rubber Ducky's in the sea, girl.
I am only me.
Hurrah, for the action hero.
But, my biggest fear,
Is what I can believe.
Farren listen,
past springs masquerade,
Don't veil the voice,
Of vinegar's bitter pain.
Rubber ducky's in the sea girl.
I am only me.
Hurrah, for the action hero.
But, my biggest fear,
Is what I can believe.

greetings eveyone. This was an older poem I had posted a while back and I transformed it into a new song of mine. Hope you enjoy. Thanks.
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TheHumanoid
Clearwater Poet
Posts: 55
Joined: Fri Oct 18, 2002 12:01 am
Location: Miami,FL

Citizen Distressed

Post by TheHumanoid » Thu Aug 14, 2003 1:18 am

<a name="#025">Citizen Distressed</a>

Citizen distressed,
Look alive,
Look alive.
Though in comfort we rest,
Keep an eye to the sky.
The vultures prey on idle minds,
Like chicken-scratch,
In a dove’s disguise.
They’ll squawk the soul,
Peck like time.
Fleshing,
Fleshing,
This skin is mine.
Don’t be fooled,
By their own device:
They'll call it 'peace,'
With a puppet string price.
You saw the grief of spring-
As the bombs bloomed in lily doom,
and the bush electioneering.
Citizen distressed,
With those black market sighs,
We’ve been put to the test,
We’ve been bartered for pride.
He’s trading politics for knives.
And I can’t decide,
If it’s your fate or mine?
Citizen distressed,
It’s time to decry.

This is something I wrote about six months ago, but I just rediscovered it and it still fits.
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TheHumanoid
Clearwater Poet
Posts: 55
Joined: Fri Oct 18, 2002 12:01 am
Location: Miami,FL

TheHumanoid

Post by TheHumanoid » Mon Aug 25, 2003 11:45 pm

See The Original Post :arrow:The Verse of a Madman

<a name="#026">The verse of a Madman</a>

These tears of you
Crash heavy into this trench-like drudgery,
Blending my wars with alkaline schemes.
God how your flow destroys!
Nevermore, I care.
What’s more to say than life’s a joke-
Some people get it, some don’t.
And what’s one to do when Ana loves
But to get tangled in her dreams.
Nevermore, I care.
I thought of you this mourning.
I thought about your madness affairs with my shadows and me.
I thought about how my whole damn life’s a blur in these hours.
This moaning, this morning, this mending- all smudged in one.
Nevermore, I care.
And as you now, with pigeon brown hair,
Sway righteously beside me,
I begin to slip into your cyclical eyes.
Funny....
....There’s no spiral where I land.
Nevermore, I care.

Short Stories
See The Original Post :arrow:My First Tattoo
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<a name="#n1">My First Tattoo</a>

I'm writing a creative autobiography involving my sense of community. This is the first piece. Let me know what you think.


“Ouch,” Nick yells sharply, as he pulls back his left hand to cradle the unbearable sting jolting through his index finger. Xio sits across from Nick, grinning sympathetically on her bed with a sewing needle pinched between her fingers, “It’ll only take a little longer,” she says. Nick looks down at his hand, it is raw and swollen where Xio has been pricking the needle deeply into his skin. He thinks about how cool people at school will think he is when he is able to show off his new tattoo. “Okay, but hurry up. I think my hand is about to fall off” Nick pleads in subtlety. “The pain is all apart of the fun,” Xio chuckles as she dabs the needlepoint into a bottle of black Indian ink and returns to stabbing Nick’s finger.
The pain did eventually resolve into a numbing throb and Nick was able to relax his body a bit more. He begins to listen to Xio’s little sister, Jackie, in the next room, talking to her friend Michelle about a new Tori Amos CD she had bought. Moments later, Jackie and Michelle walk into Xio’s room to play her new CD. There were no objections; everyone in that room had a personal connection with ‘Boys for Pele.’ “Are you almost done?” Jackie asks as the first soft serenade of Tori Amos stretches across the room. “Yeah,” Xio says with such intent focus on Nick’s finger. Jackie pulls up her shirt and turns around to show Nick her own home made tattoo she had done earlier in the week. She reveals a swollen peace sign along the crest of her back. Michelle, who was sitting quietly on the edge of the bed, extends out her hand in front of Nick’s face to reveal a crescent moon she engraved into her finger. “Ohh, I like them both. I can’t wait when mine heals up. It’s gonna look really cool.” Nick eagerly says. Like Nick, the other three were also excited to show off their new tattoos, but hesitant to go anywhere near their parents. As the story of every teenager goes, they live life in a two-fold: all heavenly for their parents, all swaggered for their friends.
A few minutes later, Xio finishes Nick’s tattoo. “There,” she says, “do you like it?” Nick looks down at his finger and under the blood, ink and festered swelling he could see the astrological sign, cancer, floating under his skin. He looks up at Xio in a hurried look and says, “But I’m not a cancer. I’m a Gemini!” The room froze in expressionless anxiety and for a few seconds all that could be heard was the wail of Tori Amos belting across the speakers. “I’m just kidding,” Nick laughs and the room swells with excitement once again.
For the rest of the weekend, Nick could do nothing more but stare at his finger and anticipate Monday. He would stand in front of his bathroom mirror, and practiced smoking cigarettes with his new tattoo. He also checked what angles his tattoo looked best at. He was so eager to please a certain group of kids at school. Maybe then he can fit into a crowd he has desperately tried to become apart of.
Before school that following Monday, Nick wrapped a band-aid around his finger. Considering the majority of the group he was trying to impress were not in honors classes, Nick thought it would be better to conceal his tattoo during his ‘smart’ classes so the ‘smart’ students wouldn’t look at him in horrific stupidity, thinking to themselves behind eyes of the same expression: “Why would you do that?”
During lunch time, Nick walks down the ramp leading to the front of the school and removes his band-aid as if it were shackles to his identity. He was gleaming as he strolled over to the side of the school. Off on the side, under a great tree, Nick could see a small gathering accumulating. During lunch time, the side of the school was considered ‘the spot’ for anybody cool. At the center, under that very tree Nick was rearing off towards is the hub of the popularity and backstabbing. This is a group of kids who smoke cigarettes, drink excessively, go to lots of concerts, have lots of sex, cool piercings, wild hair color and are esteemed by every grungy kid in school. Nick usually stayed on around the borderlands of this group during lunch, occasionally mingling with someone within the second ring. But today is different he feels, he is bold in his step and keen on showing his tattoo off to them. With his legs feeling diminished, Nick takes second depths about what he’s doing. For a high school kid, he’s putting a lot at risk. He’s seen these kids at shows before, he smiles in recognition as they pass down the halls, but never, ever, has he tried to talk to them and never have they smiled back; except for one, Lori. Nick sighs discreetly as he approaches the group and Lori greets him. Nick thinks Lori is a very cool girl, not only because she is in a band, but because she is in a lot of his honors’ classes this year. Out of the ten people in that group, Lori is the only one who has ever recognized Nick as a living being. As she greeted Nick, about five other kids either turned around or looked up to see who it was. Nick is petrified, he has no idea what to say; tongue tied and twisted. He rattles a few thoughts through his brain, say hi back, or ask for a smoke. Yet, in dumb-struck panic Nick blurts out, “do you have the notes to history class? I...er...I couldn’t get them all down.” Everyone staring at Nick turn back around and Nick swore he heard a small chortle coming from one of the kids in the group. Nick is wholly embarrassed now, in fact, he already has the notes from history class. Lori offers him a seat next to her and hands her notebook over to him. He jumps at the opportunity to sit inside the ring. He could only wonder what the people on the borderlands are saying about him. At the moment, Nick could not give a care in the world; he had made it inside ‘the group.’
Nick sat there tentatively jotting down notes that had done an hour prior with his ears to their conversation. Every once in a while when the group would laugh, he would laugh as if he understood exactly what they meant about trying to get rid of some bright red, yellow or purple hair color off your scalp. One of the kids next to Lori, Scott, had just finished telling a story that he once tried to remove some hair dye off his forehead by using comet and he ended up burning his skin. Everyone was laughing for a good while. Nick was laughing a little louder this time; yet, he was still unsure why anyone would ever try to wash their face with an abrasive cleaning agent.
As he continues writing down Lori’s notes, Nick hears Scott say, “What’s that?” Nick didn’t look up, assuming that Scott would never be talking to him. Scott asks again and Lori nudges Nick to catch his attention. “Oh, me..” Nick asks confusedly, “these are my history notes....” “No, not that,” Scott replies arrogantly, “On your finger. What is that?” In all the excitement of just making it inside the hub, Nick had completely forgotten about his tattoo. His body surged with such vast excitement, he is recognized, he is an interest. Boasting so proud, Nick holds out his hand to the center of the group and glamorizes a swollen knuckle with a murky tattoo entrenched into his finger, “It’s the cancer sign, I did it at home” Nick provides. Scott looks at it a little closer and starts to laugh as he sputters, “It looks like a sixty-nine across your finger.” At this point everyone in the group joins in and the laughs become robustly painful. Their cackles were like finger points prodding deep into Nick’s gut. He looked down at his finger and realized how it did look like a sixty-nine. He was so ashamed, humiliated and afraid to look back at these people in their faces. Nick only had the tattoo for three days and he already regretted it. If he could have run away, he would have, but instead he laughed with them, at the expense of his own integrity and pride. A few minutes later he acted like he finished copying Lori’s history notes, thanked her and went back over to the borderlands where Xio was eating lunch. Xio saw Nick coming from ‘the group’ and was eager to hear why Nick was over there. “What were they just laughing so loud about?” Xio asked him. “Nothing,” Nick says, “something stupid I’m sure. I really wasn’t paying attention...I was just copying notes from history class.” “You could have copied them from me,” Xio says as she internally questions his true reason for being over there. “Oh yeah,” Nick says, “well, I couldn’t find you at first, so I went over to Lori and asked her, okay.” Nick ends the conversation right there and hopes that word about his crappy tattoo that looks like a sixty-nine would never get around school. “Okay,” Xio drags by in slightly irritable tones, “well, let’s go find David. I told him about our tattoos and he wants to see how they came out.” Nick looks down at his finger and rubs his tattoo as if it would magically disappear. He walks off with Xio and hears ‘the group’ laugh one more time. It’s probably about me; Nick thinks to himself, I’m sure they can’t wait to tell the entire school.
This hung over his head for a remainder of the day until he felt a little relieved and upset when he came to the conclusion that no one cares that much to be gossiping about him.
Over the next few months, Nick would stay up late with razor blades and lemon juice, trying to ink out his tattoo. He would rub salt in the wound and even put wart removers over his tattoo, but nothing helped. It never faded. Every time he stared at his finger, he could hear shrills of ridicule and mockery. Teenagers can be very cruel and that is why Nick could not wait to finish school. This was one community he would never understand and a space he could not find comfort in.

See The Original Post :arrow:The Ghost of My Tattoo

The Ghost of My Tattoo

This is the continuation of "My First Tattoo." It's all apart of an autobiography project that I'm working with...Enjoy!
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<a name="#n2">Seven years later....</a>
{Excerpt from Nick's diary}

It’s four a.m., day after Christmas; winter’s chill means nothing to me. The smell of my love lingers on my pillow like ghosts of her honeydew perfume. She came over tonight, Michelle, that is. She brought over a bottle of merlot...I’m thought-sloppy when I drink. My belly is warm, head is dizzy-full. Life’s funny, I guess fate is all to blame.
Dear Michelle,
Do you remember Michelle...Being eerily romanced about how we had crossed paths, so many times before? We did our tattoos together, at Xio’s house and you sat on the bed right next to me, quietly. Who would have thought seven years later I would be writing rampant poetry about you, or admonishing my lust to not scare you away?...life is funny, I say.
I remember as a child, when I used to bowl in a league, there was a lady who would always come to watch her grandchildren bowl. She would smoke those long skinny cigarettes...Virginia Slims, I think they were. She was the kind of smoker who never ashed their cigarette. Watching her smoke made me so nervous as the ashes grew longer and longer. Finally, when they dispersed onto the floor, I would be able to breathe again. Why is it, I can’t remember ever meeting my only grandfather when I was five, but I can remember this woman, who at age seven, meant nothing to me? Life is funny Michelle, and this is why. About four months ago, as we were looking through your photo albums at your house, we came across a picture of this very woman sitting inside of a bowling alley, smoking cigarettes. My jaw dropped, my body goose-pimpled. “How could you possibly know this woman,” I thought to myself. Turns out, she was your grandmother and you were in the same bowling league as me.
Whenever strange coincidences appear in my life, I don’t generally shrug them off; it assures me that I’m on the right path. I consider them checkpoints. Things are planned Michelle, and when odd twists of fate, like seeing that photo of your grandmother, revisits me, it tells me that I must be doing the right thing; I must be heading the right way. Why else would I remember your grandmother so vividly if it weren’t that she would somehow come back into my life? That’s what made me realize that it was only a lingering of time’s absolute solitude until we started dating.
I wish you could see that now.
After I graduated from high school, I never saw you nor thought of you again. Like I’ve said countless times, I try to forget that point in my life. Then, six years down the road, by fate or coincidence, you come back into my life…we start working together. I didn’t know then that we had shared such an interlinked past and neither did you. What I did know was that I was attracted to you from the second you walked in... My darling Cherokee. Then one day, I looked down at your hands, because I was fantasizing of them caressing my face, and I saw a crescent moon tattooed on your finger. I was astonished to see it. I couldn’t...could not believe it. That’s when we both realized who each other were. Fate Michelle...Fate. Everything linked up; it all seemed perfect. At first, you understood what was supposed to happen. And it began to. We were to fall in love, get married, and live happily ever after. But, I soon discovered you grew out of fairy tales. It’s a shame you don’t want to be my Cinderella anymore.
I tell everyone I’m over you, but I know I’m not....I would like to believe it myself, but right now I can’t, because I know I still love you. After we split, I distanced myself not to show you that I can go on, but because whenever you are around, I simply dissolve around you. Things could have been different Michelle. Things should have been. What went wrong?
You’ve broken my heart thirteen times in seven months. The last time, I could no longer sustain. I had made you something very special for your birthday. I made you a box set. I cut the wood, constructed the box, I sanded, painted, I engraved for you. I burned all the cd’s that I knew you would love most, Tori Amos. I never forgot when you told me that your entire collection was stolen. I made labels for the cd, made art for the covers, made a piece of art for you. I spent more than time into this gift: love, sweat, blood and spirit. And the night I was going to give it to you, the night before your birthday, our relationship ended. I’ll never forget how you stood in your doorway, in a white tank-top and my grey boxers. You knew exactly what to wear; you in my boxers is always the key to melting my soul. You said that you were sick and you needed to sleep. And even though you knew I was on my way over and you could have called me at anytime during this, I let it go, I wasn’t upset. I just wanted to make you feel better, but you just wanted to sleep. So, I left your house and drove around for a while. I spent the rest of my night thinking, this was my downfall. I thought about all those times you screwed me over or left me marooned. Like the night I told you how I felt about you and two hours later you kissed your ex-boyfriend, Danny, in front of me. Or the countless times I waited in my car in front of your house because you waned to hang out, but then you never showed up. I swear Michelle, half the miles on my car and in my heart were spent waiting for you to come home. The next day, you would call with some lame excuse, like your dog was sick, or your mom needed help with something. And even though I knew you were lying to me, I let it slide because all I cared about was being with you. I figured that one day, you would see how much I loved you and then our relationship would be perfect. I thought we’d make a good team... that I wouldn’t need the support of my friends or community to guide me anymore. I was wrong Michelle. I was had by you. And as I was driving around and around, I was paralyzed by this emptiness. You treat me like shit Michelle, and I have fallen for it, so many times. So many times! I thought we’d be perfect together, all those signs of fate proved me wrong. It all seemed so right. And after I left your house that night, and after I drove around for two hours, I parked my car and thought about calling you to see how you were feeling. I didn’t though...I thought you should get your sleep, because even though I was still furious, I was too weak to confront you. So I sat there, wondering what to do, depressed, lonely, enraged that you would do this to me again and that I would let you do this to me. So, I decided to get a cup of coffee to relieve my tension. I went to the Starbucks by your house and I sat in there for hours, watching couples walk by me so happy and in love. I gnashed on the side of my cheek with tension and pain. And then as I was staring out the window, I saw you walk by. I thought I was seeing things, so I went outside. And there you were, with your ex-boyfriend. You destroyed me. You never saw me. I was so collapsed with disbelief that I had to make sure it was you. I never wanted to point the finger unless I was certain. So I walked out into the busy sidewalk of Mayfair, where I could see you best, and called your cell phone. I saw you pick it up, look at the number, put it back in your pocket and lean over to your ex and kiss him. God damn, why Michelle? I did nothing but love you. Do you remember the poem “Sara Breathe” I wrote for you:

Sara Breathe,
In your eloquence,
In your infamy.
Light the winter in my cries,
Blaze the winged tongue, I say.
Ash it all,
Because nothing seems to bleed the love I’ve been looking for.
This time,
She’s ticking,
Like the beats of my junk town jive,
Like the brazen jazz of your smile,
Like the brash and crash of loving you awhile.
This time,
She’s ticking,
With vicious pitch and style.
Sara Breathe,
In aurora sighs,
Like the morning,
Scared to die.
Ascend the flame,
From the growl of your tongue,
And breathe me into wild words,
Because I’m gasping for the fire of your sunbeam soliloquies.

I used to stay up all night reading that poem when I missed you. Those very words, those very lines all decayed after I saw you kiss Danny. The Beatles were right when they sang, “Happiness is a warm gun.” I ran from what I saw...back into my car...drove to a parking lot...can’t remember where. It was dark; I was the only one there. I sat in the car, with tarnished cheeks, red eyes, cooked by anger. My soul felt oven-hollow. I grabbed your present, stepped outside the car and smashed it against the asphalt. Your gift shattered, cd’s rolled down the street, wood split, plastic cracked, heart splintered under my strength and resentment. My head was knotted with anxiety, anger, and sorrow as your pretty noose twined around my heart. I grabbed my phone and called you. If I didn’t expel these fumes in me, I would surely choke from this lethal rage. Of course, you didn’t answer, so I left a message. “You know what Michelle, you are the rudest person I’ve ever met...” I paused, trying to figure out what I was trying to tell you without sounding stupid. I wanted to come out on top, but it was difficult to be honest and open to my own loneliness…So I screamed over the phone, “I’ve...I’ve done nothing but love you.... You make me embarrassed to even know you...I saw you tonight, with Danny...Kiss his lips, kiss those fucking lips Michelle, kiss the lips of a man who will never respect you, who will leave you at daybreak…at least I now know what you deserve...don’t ever call me again...” These are the things I remember saying to your answering machine. I don’t regret them. I’ve always wondered what your reaction was to my message. I would never find out though, because when I saw you at work the next week, you didn’t apologize, didn’t say a word to me. And inside, deep inside me, that hurt me even more. And you knew it did. You were always out to get me Michelle. You knew my weakness and fleshed it out of me.
And now, six months later, you just left my house, from a night of cheap sex and cheap wine. And I’m still waiting for an apology, something to show me that you’re sorry for what you did to me. Tomorrow is going to be an ugly day...I’ve let myself fall for you again. Why is my love so circular? Poets are weak creatures. My demons self-destruct. I guess I need the sorrow for my page. So now it’s time to let you go Michelle. Goodbye Michelle, you’ve done nothing for me...I’m even questioning why I invested so many pages on you. You’d probably just laugh and get high from knowing that I still care about you this much. Too bad your blind eyes cannot see when someone treats you with the love and respect that you deserve. But do you deserve it? Why don’t you think about that one? Do you remember me telling you how I was glad to graduate high school and get away from all those kids who treated me like shit? Well, I should have left you behind with the rest of that group. But when we met again, at work, I thought it so symbolic about our tattoos. I thought we were stuck together, I thought we were permanence, but I was wrong. You belong with that community. Fate Michelle? Fate? Fate means nothing to me anymore. Goodbye Michelle. Goodbye. This love for you will dissolve with the rain and through this page. Goodbye Michelle, go backstab another fairy tale for me.
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Last edited by TheHumanoid on Thu Sep 18, 2003 1:49 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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negatvone
Deranged Marshmallow; Leader of The Twin
Posts: 1170
Joined: Sun Feb 29, 2004 9:53 pm
Location: Anywhere my head rests
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Post by negatvone » Fri Aug 12, 2005 2:53 am

Under re-construction as of 8/12/2005.
Welcome to my world. I'm doing all I can to make this an active archive. Enjoy the ride.

Jim

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negatvone
Deranged Marshmallow; Leader of The Twin
Posts: 1170
Joined: Sun Feb 29, 2004 9:53 pm
Location: Anywhere my head rests
Contact:

Post by negatvone » Fri Aug 12, 2005 4:46 am

Edit complete 8/12/05. 7:47 A.M.


Jim

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heinzs
The Fat Cat
Posts: 8419
Joined: Tue Dec 18, 2001 12:01 am
Tag line: Do no harm
Location: Novato, CA
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Post by heinzs » Sat Apr 21, 2007 4:37 pm

alphabetizing
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An' it harm none, do what ye will. Blessed Be.
Image
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My Poet's Page Archive | Topics I've started

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