Frequency

Empowerment, Internal Poetry, love, Peace, Poetry, The World is Beautiful

I’ve got little bubbles in me,

They’re pockets of technicolor energy

It’s effervescence bouncing constant, tension free

Contributes to my glowing frequency.

 

Effort, lessons of a germ turning I into we.

Equal balance giving extra for free.

Rehearsed colors painting air with glee.

Reverse colonists feeding back to the tree.

The worst clicking heels backward to flee

The first mimic heals to the bequeathed

A terse lyric feels the dangers of screens

The gurgling murk is a manger obscene

Filled up with emotional cocktails’ canteen

Of anger and spite where confliction careens,

So we never ask why, or “what does it mean”?

And thus dash our hopes down of returning to clean.

 

What an arduous task to escape from this trance,

When the key is locked up in a bright buddy’s glance.

When our pilot light’s dark,

And our flint will alone cannot kindle our spark,

To give love to another is to make your mark,

And resume your life with the frequency in your heart.

A Good, Hard Day

Empowerment, Fear, Internal Poetry, Societal Poetry, Stuff to do

The door slams shut. 

I pace over my torn carpet, taking slow, deep breaths.

I know today is a stress volcano, 

But I’m charging myself through its brunt, welding anthem in my pocket, hands first. 

“I can do this. I can surmount this. I am strong.”

 I’m becoming my own leader, rather than my torturer. But don’t get me wrong, I I have to make it a conscious decision to cup my fist. 

 I will not hang weights on myself through this day. 

 Im gonna make the bed. I’m gonna fold the clothes, grab my phone, read those pages.. 

 No. After the clothes I put in the money to get my next little book. It’s been too long. 

 Denial creeps itself up into my list. I feel the need to take a second and worry. But that’s why I went here.

 Im gonna take my worry and put it in the lines. I’m gonna wrap it up with a pretty verbal bow and send it off to market, where it’s fangs and claws can’t touch me. 

 And then, I’m gonna change my shoes and leave for the rest of this. 

 I’m gonna remember to get some vitamins next winter,

 Because the sun came out today and it felt like the first time on months where I could breathe, and open my eyes. 

Pompeii could unravel again before my open eyes, but I can handle a pocket-sized catastrophe. 

Lobby Day

Empowerment, Fear, Internal Poetry, Peace, Poetry, Politics, Societal Poetry, Stuff to do

It was a regular Thursday. 

Wax oozed from the walls and the pores of our faces. 

We stepped through the marble edifices of political gods, 

Men and women like most of us. The wax was doctrine. 

The surface deflected every scent but superiority. 

Quiet howls shrieked, smothered by business casual. There are no people here. 

Only lobbyists. 

Pentacles carved into these wondrous halls can’t be a coincidence if nothing is coincidence. 

I am not coincidence. They are not coincidence. 

So why I’m the world do we feel so out of our own skin? 

Photo opps, flag halls. Pseudo strategy. Stop the anxiety. 

The wax drips from these Corinthian bullies, 

Bright eyes in white guise stand marbled with intimidating decorum. 

If only we could connect with this history. 

Of Sarah, and patriotism, Oliver Ames, Amen I say to you. To history. 

Timidness stands where reverence deserves, 

The wax coats these bodies fully

And I haven’t the chisel to break it. 

Hurry up and wait. 

Heat the wax, so it may set

And paralyze us all. 

Why must this be so on Lobby Day? 

April Begins

Amherst, Empowerment, Internal Poetry, love, Nature, The World is Beautiful

I’m stretching my 110 percent 

With broken parts and missing pieces. 

But it’s okay, I play on repeat. 

The lazy day is gonna come later, 

Where luxuries like sleep can be embraced. 

That doesn’t mean I can’t relish the moment’s reprieve, 

Feel the sunlight on my skin with distant friends conjoined

And realize collective things aren’t that bad. 

It lets me climb the jagged obligation summit with a smile, 

If not just for a moment before my cracks begin facing strain again. 

This is the season of good surprises. 

Serendipity befalls missed expectations, 

And the Hazy picture in front of you gets colored in birdsong and granite steps, 

The kind that made you love Amherst all the while ago. 

There’s an hour left before the drums recommence, 

But the summit has a hell of a glow on the ascent. 

Some day soon I’ll sit atop this apex, 

And I’ll drink my Jasmine 

And write my glee

As nature’s love unravels before me. 

The spiderwebs we’ve weaved have reverted to dusty dungeons.

The repetition for results is a game of catch

Where lyrical acrobatics create the illusion of

“Yeah, I caught it!”

The game doesn’t end.

The colors all bled into each other, the light murked into a dull brown

Like oatmeal getting moldy in the back of a murky store room.

But we’re here again.

12:24 PM and the day’s already been lived-

Everything else is necessary overtime.

I swipe hundreds of cards but couldn’t unlock my own door.

My laptop, like myself, incapable of charging their battery.

I’ve listened to maybe three songs in the past week,

But everyone keeps asking me to describe how music makes them be feel,

And be smart. Eloquent.

Genuine feelings turn into pedestal soliloquies that fade away like background trophies you don’t think you deserve.

Teeter-tottering between drowning and flying away on the boat, I’m jetskiing into an uncertain future.

I don’t know what the hell’s gonna happen.

And I’m learning to be okay with it.

The first step to this peace is to start back in the things that made me feel alive.

The first of those, is you.

You reading this? Yeah, you.

Internal Poetry, Poetry, Problems, Stuff to do, Throwback

Write for the words.

Meditate for each in and out.

Run, cause you’re out of time.

Fly, to flee your feelings.

Pray cause it’s lent.

Be good, or you’ll find trouble.

 

It baffles me how easy it is to forget the real reasons we live.

What’s your reason for doing what you are right now?

I’m unplugged, the light’s been off and I’ve forgotten where the switch is.

I’ve turned friends into false idols to dominate my time,

Self-constructed monsters run amok through my headspace,

Cause the mice will play when the joy is away.

But all it takes is a simple flick up, when you know where to touch.

And channels of friends, love, direction and reasons come flooding into view,

And you sit dumbfounded to see it never left in the first place.

Disconnection is a hell of a drug. So it goes, and flows,

and flows,

Washing every trash statue erected in your insecurity away like a Listerine tsunami.

Clean enough for the government to redirect it towards those Florida gated communities.

Death never smelled so shiny.

Rebirth, easy as a smile with the light coming from inside.

Mid blessing, a piece of birdshit plopped inches away from Osbourne and my hand.

The path of righteousness put me just outside the radius enough to see I was in that blessing.

Acne turns to cartography when the third eye opens on a fresh zit.

Cosmetic, or cosmic?

We can’t tell for ourselves, but only hope.

Hope is all we could ever do.

Hope is all we could ever need.

Empowerment, love, Peace, Poetry, The World is Beautiful

My Own Time:

Amherst, Empowerment, Internal Poetry, love

There’s a reason why things move slower in Chadbourne 420.

12:43, nine minutes past my ideal but the channel still becomes clear.

It’s open and waiting for me,

But I’ve decided to scrap the binary between

Pleasing everyone and doing everything.

I’ve submitted to the comforting chill of my self-important path.

 

The free caffeine I nabbed to speed me

I grabbed from Peets so freely,

It pleased me, breezing from knee deep to key’s sheen.

And it all unlocks.

 

There’s a somberness you get from seeing portals close unattended to,

But there’s solace in the fact that it was never your responsibility to make it.

Prioritizing between the musts and cans has turned the poetry of my to-do

Into insurmountable beasts growing heads that sound like my father.

But no more. Now, I write.

More than Welcome

"Man, I'm Pissed Off", Dingus, Family, Internal Poetry, Poetry, Problems

I hear the words stumble off your lips

And cringe-smile somewhere in between

At the ridiculousness of it. Six whole days?

Passing up the space to be loved and flourish in

For a house to myself and nobody to go to.

Feel more than welcome to forsake your other life.

Again.

Yet here I am, it’s Thursday, and I’m a damn damsel in distress.

The plans I’ve weathered this loneliness for are, of course,

Matters you’d be more than happy to take care of.

I feel like I’m being tricked whenever I hear you get sweet.

I feel like I’m being trapped when I’m here for so damn long.

It’s just a week, but you occupy far more than I’m comfortable with.

I’m marooned on an island I bought a one-way ticket to.

No growth is potent enough. No high is high enough.

There’s no “enough” of anything I can do to be satisfied with this.

I won’t mess around and it’s frigid-ass cold out,

My friends are towns away and I’ve got nothing but my feet to make do till Sunday.

 

You’re more than welcome to fail again to live up to your promises.

You’re more than welcome to leave your friends wondering where you are again.

You’re more than welcome to keep your cousins missing you without reason.

You’re more than welcome to let her drink her “together” booze alone.

You’re more than welcome to turn away from the love Western Mass has to give.

But she’s going to drive you back, right?

 

I’m livid. Enough to mindfully consider breaking my Lent promises.

And what in the hell do I get from this place?

A couple handshakes and a fancy suit don’t justify this.

This clogs my pores and frays my nerves.

I hate missing the bus. I hate missing my family.

It feels like cars and friends have been reduced to strategic isolation

Masked up with duct-tape comfort and half-assed words

That don’t need to be meaningful because I’m STUCK.

It’s the same sugar I see the dogs walking behind their barrier for.

And now I’m trying to do that same thing to someone else to get some meaning from all of this.

I’ve got two and a half hours left to defy this restriction.

But any effort I make will prove unsatisfactory.

I’m livid.

I want my own home again,

Because every time I become a son

I start feeling y’all pulling at me again.

Ghost:

Dingus, Internal Poetry, Problems, Uncategorized

Before we get to that point

Where I become fascinated at first glance,

Before the first (real damn heavy) word leaves my mouth,

A preface:

 

I’ve got a cousin that met Bill Murray once

And I’ve got a chip on my shoulder.

Trouble’s gonna come with a disappearing act.

I’ve already ran the numbers,

They make my head dizzy and still don’t give me the specifics

Of just what in the hell makes it so damn hard

to acknowledge

I exist.

We’re all busting our asses to the bone

to make something of ourselves

people will smile at.

We all have better things to do than deal with than the

worry poison

melting a hole in us from the inside out.

We’ve all done it before,

save the saints and the savants who’ve

been wise enough not to trifle.

You know the feeling of how stupid you get

when you realize somebody that you didn’t give the time of day to

was worth millions more than what you gave?

It still pumps through my veins with every beat.

Ba-bump, you damned moron.

Ba-bump, you weren’t worth their time.

 

The patient ones are always the best of us,

They receive disappointment like a skill to practice

And have become used to making a plan b.

Even though so many of them CLEARLY know what’s going on,

They give their space to the blockheads

Who don’t think hard enough to question their

damn flapping gums.

I feel like I’m stuck in cement between gaining patience

And being too oblivious to see fault.

Maybe there is no fault, just the way things are.

If it is, there’s tonight’s dose of disappointment to make me strong tomorrow.

to make me strong tomorrow.

 

Hallelujah.