I'm High - Blog Posts
She's on my mind.
She got there through the ear canal.
She's in my heart.
I think she got there through the lungs.
I loved how the universe manifested itself as her. And for that brief moment in billions of years, I was there for it.
I finally realized that sometimes the worst kisses were really the best kisses.
Like every time we tried to kiss and our teeth hit because we couldn't stop giggling and laughing.
Or when our lips were tight against our face, because we couldn't stop smiling at each other.
Those were the kisses we had.
Even after years of being together, those were our kisses.
Beautiful, memorable, awful kisses.
We loved with such difficulty,
We loved with tremendous struggle,
But it was always with great pleasure.
She said something about me being a good listener. I don't know, I wasn't paying attention.
It is written in the stars above - that we shall never meet,
any more than lovely moon - will ever meet the beach.
To gaze upon her pale shade - mirrored off the sea,
and have her waves break on the shore - for all eternity.
Eagerly I pray for tides - like the thirsty pray for drink,
to hear the music from the foam - and sea's tranquility.
I feel her pulling on my heart - with all her gravity,
a gentle language that she sends - spoken just for me.
Yet it's written in the stars above - that we shall never meet,
but when I feel her moonlit glow - I'll wait here happily.
I will love you into oblivion
my little disco Death Star,
in our secret society built for two.
your serial thrills my moth cult kills
you grow into my deep dark places
like mold upon my bones
the gap in the tooth and crook of your nose
my pretty baby full of grace
dripping red drippy drops along the floor.
The flowers do listen, like butterfly kisses. Along the wispy road.
Their crowns to the air, those ne'er-do-wells. With colors brighty shown.
No petals are broken, no fragrance unspoken. Barefoot along the path.
They sip morning dew, in gowns with deep hues. Their toes along the bath.
Slowly they sway, the wind combs the days. Away with gentle brush.
Each one a sister, the truth they do whisper. But lower than a hush.
Six Word Story
Last one alive, closes the door.
My thoughts of her rise to the top,
like fizzy bubbles in my soda pop.
A good life is lived on the half beat.
And is filled full with the absurd, and contradicts itself often.
And all our time spent is either sex and/or distractions from death.
And a lot of arguments begin with miscommunication and live on longer than they should because we make up excuses for our honor.
And money and comforts are wasted if they're not in service of big wrinkly laughs and smiles.
And is too short for me not to feel warm and rosy by the color pink or cry during good books and movies or care if other dudes think it's weird that I like Hello Kitty.
And is too long for me to hate people for loving who they love or what they believe in or when they cut in front of me at the market or lie to me about needing change for the bus but they're really buying beer, it's all okay if they come to me with a smile or positivity, because everyone deserves dignity and sometimes an asshole is an asshole and a nice person is a nice person.
it really doesn't matter to me if the earth is flat or round or that a god (or goddess) exists or doesn't exist or aliens built the pyramids because none of that stopped my step father from getting drunk and beating me or my mom and it didn't stop my mom from dying from cancer.
And seeing how free she was in old pictures, living like unapologetic wildfire, bending time and space to her terms I could finally love her as an individual and outside the context of a mother.
not being embarrassed anymore by how I look because those looks are the living history of the great women before me.
And that none of this is any kind of new revelation.
Do you ever think that if a dog sees a seal sunbathing on the rocky shore he would think, "Holy shit! A mermaid!"?
I am from Maize
and the Morning Glory
whose silent bent heads
bring memories of
obedient wives.
I am from pensive
and the introverts,
from fear and leather belts,
whose proud strikes
bruises bloom,
and the flowing crimson
tastes of copper.
I am from lands
where frail leaves
refuse to change
whose wilted and stunted
vines still remember
the mother root.
and the death of great women
whose stories remain
untold.
I'll not waste good chapstick,
on bad kisses anymore.
My ice cream is always exactly 15% ice creamier after I see her.
Her science holds up.
The Sun doesn't concern herself,
with the other stars in the sky.
She is too busy lighting up the world.
She says, I love you
but what she really says is,
"tell me you love me."
My silence
does not sit well with her
Like Eve of Eden
she suddenly becomes aware
of her own nakedness,
fashioning clothes out of bedsheets
pulling them towards herself
with a hint of disdain.
I don't blame her,
her reaction is justified.
I have been in her place before.
Screams of the city,
after autumn rains,
fills my heart,
if only for a moment.
City lights,
so unique.
sidewalks,
mostly the same.
I suck at rhymes but here it is...
I don't know when, but at a later date.
There won't be any more cookies to bake.
No love to make,
No earth to quake,
No hands to shake,
And no lives to take.
When that day comes, I hope to find.
A larger species of Clementine?
Or many more words without a rhyme?
Or climb-ier vines,
Or softer crimes,
Or smellier pines,
With straighter lines.
But until then it's up to you,
To find many more lines that rhyme with blue.
Find prettier views,
Find me lefty-er shoes,
And truer trues that speak just for vous.
Ah! But here I am taking all the
S P A C E,
And haven't left you a chance to grace,
This page with words you want to create.
Careful now it's not a race.
There isn't any first to place,
Only yummier taste,
Only bass-ier bass,
Only ever yourself,
No rules to place.
But before I do,
I realize-es,
I've gone and wrote this on
Electronic devices!
I hope this version
Lives to suffice-es!
Or will it be gone and sacrifices?!
I should have taken other advices!
Been nice-ier nices!
Tried creamier ices!
Tried dating girls with a little more spices!
Title: Love in the Time of Coronavirus
Medium: Digital Camera
Artist: Local Idiot
I don't think our love was like any storybook,
We worked like cold, clinically drafted plans.
She told me exactly what she needed to build foundations, as I did for her.
And we both learned to be architects along the way.
We learned to read instructions written in two different languages, the hidden meaning of gestures.
Reenforcing weakness and learning failure points.
It may not be as exciting as any great book but I know what it will look like in the end.
.... because she comes with a troubleshooting section.
The stains of human history
can never be erased,
only masked over until tolerable.
I once lived a very Eeyore-ian life. Now I am tickled pink at the absurdity of it all. The contradictions and hypocriticals of living an authentic life.
I crave you like carbs.
And all the salts of your body.
Her beauty was as rare as counting to infinity.
Exponential in grace.
Equal parts predictable to irrational and a dash of paradoxical.
But still she contained all the answers to the universe if one just cared to do the math.
She has phases like the moon,
each wax and wane equally predictable.
I live by a lunar calendar.
Pentameter Alexandrine
No one is beautiful,
Like she is beautiful.
THEORY:What if the canon events are not caused by the spider PERSON, but by the DIMENSION it came from or the spider itself? Because we know and seen that Jeff died in Earth 42 as the Prowler, then Miles-42 took over.So since the spider that bit Miles-1610 (the main character Miles) was meant to bite Miles-42 or Aaron-42, then they would've already been close enough to Jeff-42 to be a canon event?So Miles' spider had the canon event, but since Miles isn't from that dimension, he never had to experience it?I'm going insane I'm just craving more spider man stuff nxndndkndnsme.
math exam was so good it made me think, don't get men get maths fr