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Saturday, October 03, 2009

expiriment (my perspective) / heart (her perspecti

expiriment

I am selfish to the core.  I am capitalist
at heart.  But i cannot feel the pain of others.
It is something i do not understand.
Yet somewhere in this bag of bones,
somewhere in time, i made the choice
that sacrifice for the good of others
was my purpose.

somehow, i must steer
this hulking mass of neurons and stimulati
in front of a car,
partially for dramatic effect, and
to save a life.
It's got to be my body that i spend.
Skin grows back, but my brain won't grow at all.
Sometimes i swear
it's all i have to give.

And my self esteem.
It's not needed to reach my goal.
I always figured that
i hadn't worked hard enough
to deserve happiness just yet.
So each blow my self esteem takes
is another helpful reminder,
an alarm clock to the soul,
to shake me away from my worldy pleasure
and remind me of why i'm still here.

When he put his hands on Rachel,
I snapped at the opportunity.
I flew with strength both human and otherwise.
And for a second,
the last second,
I think I fell in love with her.
thank you Rachel.
5:07 am - 0 comments - 0 Kudos
Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Historians burning through paper / Shyness and the

Answer me, Vanessa.

Please, please answer me.

I've waited by the phone,
danced around like a goddamn buffoon,
thinking maybe I can get away with
speaking what I feel and
going where I please.
Fuck Bush and all the others;
Brittany, the lifeguard down the street,
Scottie, the cousin the same age as me.
No, I need them to tell me
when I've lost and when I've won.
Of course, we all know what we want.
We all want to be playas.
We want to reach the point where
our nerves are fed with non-stop
positive electrons and
exponential stimulation, where
we become this limp sack of pleasure.
We'll trade years to the devil for a taste of that drug.

I'm sorry, God.
But no matter what I say,
it always comes back to you.
6:54 am - 0 comments - 2 Kudos
Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Speaking the pretty words. Stroking the virgin so

My heart is tossing out
ink blots for me to identify.
I keep looking to
give them a name, but
I'm just not strong enough.

Instead, I give the old run around,
pass time while time passes me.
It can be said that everything I do
is within earshot of you.
Otherwise, it's not worth doing.

Vanessa, she's not
going to tell me it's alright.
No, she wants a man,
something I can't give her.

Every word.
Every word, and I pray
that something comes back that warrants my being there.
No, it's not about success.
It's not about becoming someone.
It's about justifying what I let myself become.


Grow up, Ben.
6:40 am - 0 comments - 0 Kudos
Sunday, December 14, 2008

This does not sound like EaglesTalon

The chill from the window keeps me awake
so I don't wreck down I-63.
I told myself that this wouldn't happen,
but you can't teach an old dog
to think with his head instead of his gun.
Instead, I have this murky cloud
of reasons why this is wrong
to contend with.

It all comes back
to the same old argument
between me and my father
between me and my wife.
I'm just the same junkie I've always been.

6:48 am - 1 comments - 0 Kudos
Friday, December 12, 2008

No Fire

The fire under my pen has left me for good.
Replaced by this lonely feeling
that every dragon has been slain,
and every damsel saved.
I count the days until
the last drop of venom
is spat in my direction.
A last ditch effort to take me with him.

Instead, he will leave us,
never to return again,
and I'll be left with
this unnerving feeling
of contentment.

I can take the dagger out
from underneath my pillow,
keep my doors unlocked
and move on.

But I'm a soldier.
My father brought me up
fighting at every turn.
I've lived off of
blood drawn and arms twisted,
unaware of any other life.

I woke up this morning,
and saw he wasn't there.
So I didn't write a poem
10:49 am - 0 comments - 0 Kudos
Tuesday, December 09, 2008

Philosophy / The sound of silence

Full Title:
Philosophy
The Sound of Silence
The Rambling Mind / ADD
Think, Think, Think
 
 
Body:
I: D#
ii: E
iii: F#
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Do you enjoy listening to yourself think?
How you struggle for the words.
How footseps become numbers.
Do you like the rules?
Or do you break them
for the sake of freedom?
Or maybe, you break them to say
I just want to do it
my own way.
Do you like words?
Or do you like the canvas?
Do you like to hear yourself think?
Or do you pine for noise that takes you away
from your bickering, unfriendly mind?

Do you not want to think about what I just said?


2:05 pm - 0 comments - 0 Kudos
Tuesday, December 09, 2008

Sheila / West Virginia

Like dust
like sand
insignificant as I am
I walked up the side of
the Appalachian
hoping to find God
and pray to him all night long
"please oh please,
make me a man"
 
Instead, I found Sheila.
Her father's an alcoholic.
Clumsy as he was,
his tongue
cut
like a biting wind against your back.
It seared the flesh, took your eyes
off the road, so you lost track
of how tiny he really is.
"He talked to keep the
wind beneath his wings"
 
So she tied her sheets to her bedpost
and hopped out the window.
 
[to be continued]
1:11 pm - 0 comments - 0 Kudos
Tuesday, December 09, 2008

For Sheila

Scrawled on the wall by Sheila:
 
 
 
 
I miss you.
I miss the promise you held
though you'd deny it.
I miss looking for my father in you.
I'd spend hours, looking for truth in your words.
 
Damn you, adulthood
for showing me that it was a lie.
10:08 am - 0 comments - 0 Kudos
Friday, November 21, 2008

I've lied to you

I wanted to write something that

would pave the way for me

to loosen up, relax, and have fun doing nothing.

I don't know what the future will bring me,

and I have no eloquent words to bring you happiness.

It's a vain pursuit, really,

to bring you happiness.

I'm really just asking for you to say you love me,

say that I could make the world a better place,

or that I could do a bride justice

if someone ever found me to be loveable.

I know the regulars here will probably see this as

mindless, cliche banter.  Well all the power to you.

You were right about me.

I'm not another poet in your little clique

though I tricked myself into thinking that I was.

I'm just a lonely lonely man.

There's nothing pretty about that stack of words I've piled up

(don't let the pretty font fool you).

In the end, they're just words

and if God taught me anything

i am just dust.

I need bones to latch on to.

While you're all going out into the world

earning degrees and making your personality

into a sprawling empire,

I'm drinking up every slight compliment you say like it's alcohol,

dropping into every conversation

to see if you want me there.

I don't expect anyone to read this,

let alone get this far.

If you have, you have the heart of a saint,

and you'll have a much easier time seeing through my bullshit

(including this sad attempt to get attention).

If you don't want to associate with me anymore, I understand.

This isn't here to win you over.

I don't care about winning anoymore.

I just want to ask you

do you know what I mean?

4:49 pm - 1 comments - 1 Kudos