Poetry

Random Poetry

I've been writing poetry off and on for years now, and have decided to share a few. Finding that this website was made for my art, it's easy to identify poetry as well as creative writing forms of art in itself.

My poetry stems from many factors of my own life as well as the world around me. I find many things surrounding this current reality interesting, including references to past events.

Crimson Record

Character Poem

It plays then clicks.

Clicks.

Pointless really-

I switch out the disk

and turn freely– but the light is red,

and I'm alone- so I look at the record

And,

watch keenly.

It plays a lovely tune

unhinged and rude,

laced with static

that

can only make me ecstatic-

because each scratch, each ripple of electric,

makes me feel oh so apathetic-

So preen myself in the mirror so-

waiting for a man who will not show.

Each strand of my hair, each slight flush gives me such a rush;

because my body is static and I feel ecstatic, for a shadowy show that only makes this grow-

and then clicks

and lipstick sticks.

Click.

I turn my head, looking as if I bled, lip to chin-

my patience ran thin.

Rat

Free Form

Ah Virginity,
A rat, distasteful and disgraceful.
Hands on body.

Daughter or Son, who'll it be in the end?
Heart up for rent.

A rat, hissing it'll spat.
Nothing but skin and sin.

Cursed in the end, let you become salt and sand.

Who is that rat, do you understand?

Breathe, you will always be seen.
Woman or man, skin and flesh.

Hands break, fingers they shake.

Art in your blood.
Body of love.

Hands can creep,
Dark and fair.
Watch them scurry past,

Rats.

Who needs words, when you've got the world.

Painting

Performance Poem

Like the Goddesses before,

body is art,

and body is war.

Paintings and sculptures capture art,

they speak to the blood,

seven muses of love-

Curves and arches,

perfect postures-

lax and beautiful, grand and great.

Watch their faces,

soft and delicate-

petals of flowers, fine wine drinkers desires.

She watches and is proud,

her body is loud- Unashamed,

unashamed-

Perfect in every way.

Now where has that gone-

washed away by bloody rain.

Down drains into sewer plains-

Rats scatter, roaches the only ones who matter.

Thin faced small waist,

fair hair a pretty air-

Submissive they'll bend,

something to be dominated, made to beg.

Videos play,

pictures are made-

something to satisfy the hungry-

only know how to break and bend.

Hide the paintings,

hide the art,

starve yourself-

push away your plate-

To look like those models' pretty face-

Cinch your waist,

brace yourself for waste,

your body isn't yours

it is not great.

Because those videos play,

little birds are made to lay,

lay throats ripped for

Those who think they're great-

Some big animal,

with yellow teeth,

who never learned to love-

hated like the Sun.

Videos are the truth,

pictures that'll rot your tooth-

now bite and tear for something better

- that isn't there.

No Goddess of love,

not anymore a dove-

chained to a mirror do you see what you fear?

Curves and stretches,

a stomach filled restless.

Look in your eyes and forever cry,

not a body of art,

just a body to be torn apart.

Hide your skin,

dress dark and never be seen-

or perhaps tear your clothes,

wear skirts and shirts

that always show-

Either way you're filled with sin,

nothing but a devil with skin.

Videos tell the truth,

that is what is youth-

Be pretty, be fair, thin,

lose all your hair.

Because those videos are the truth,

Those pictures do more than rot your tooth.

So walk wherever,

smile or cry, it's your despair-

for they say your body isn't art,

just a toy from the start.

So walk and,

walk

talk whatever talk-

bring yourself somewhere strange,

just watch others play you like a game-

Walk and

walk-

walk and bring yourself to the start.

However you do, however you can-

stand in front of that painting

and look at her,

so grand.

She's curved and nude,

with a smile anyone

would choose-

She isn't bent,

she isn't in debt-

she's proud and sure,

her body

her curves-

Art.

-and let her bring you back to the start.

Whether boy or girl,

someone small or grand-

let her smile so bright,

let it blind you from that blight-

let her say,

“Fear not- you are back to the start, you've found it- you are the art.”

?

A Love Poem For The Future

Wake me up, what a bleary sight.
My tousled hair, bleak eyes,
We both know I don't sleep well at night.
I reach for something, maybe my glasses-
and trace the room with a flickering glance.

I hate it.

I'll then stare at you,
and find myself making a fool of something I won't ever understand.
I might reach out,
caress my hand against your face, saying-

“How long did I sleep?”

Then it’ll be up to you, tell me,

“You’re late-”

Oh,

-watch me scramble-
Up I go– searching for a shirt

“Why didn't you wake me?”

I'll whine as I make for the door- tripping on the bathroom floor.
A dog or a cat, make your choice
I'll name it and you'll feed it-
lays next to the tub.
Another flail of rushing hands as I paint myself
quick.

What do you think?
Aren't I silly?
Don't I look mature?

Answer as you please-

I please, brush my lips against yours as I pass by.

“I did, you fell asleep, again.”

“Next time, harass me-”

Domestic, has always been the vision.
My hair is a mess, and my face isn’t the best-

but we can beam in any light,

- better than all the rest.