Crushed Heart Room (poem)

Put my heart in the crushed heart room

With all the other pathetic clichéd souls

Who were stupid enough to give away 

Their entire being

Put my tears in the vat of those 

Who say they’d do anything for him

But would rather just cry

Put my mind in the nursery

Of wretched obsessive teenage girls

As Taylor Swift rocks the pink sponges to sleep

But they will never sleep

Spinning constant tapestries of endless

Implausible fantasies 

Starring the one who left them behind

Play the world’s smallest violin 

For the sucker who almost 

Put her foot in her mouth

Thank God I found out before 

I wore my heart on my sleeve

But he just put his hand inside me

And crushed it

Before I could even tell him anything

So does it matter what I did?

And this isn’t poetry

I’m not doing anything really

Just trying to be alive

But why?

Trying to lose weight

For what?

Trying to keep my job

To survive

What’s keeping me here?

I can’t stop thinking that it isn’t true

That you were misquoted

But it’s the end

I can’t feed that poor brain 

Any more love propaganda

Without resistance

Acid reflux

How fucking romantic

He doesn’t think I’m worth being with 

So why should I be worth anything to anyone?

He ruined all the other guys for me

I let him do that

They’re just hot guys

I’d never date them

I just don’t know what to say or do

Can’t bother to rhyme

This isn’t a limerick

Or a Shakespeare play 

Or a Doctor Seuss book

I don’t know where to go

Why do anything?

I have to see him all the time

Hang out with him

He wants to string me along

Like a little balloon that he’ll...

...release to the sky

When he’s bored with it

Float up to the blue endless sky 

Tears blown away by the wind as he 

Walks away as if I was never in his hands

As he grows smaller and smaller

Irrelevant

Published and new poem

I can't say I'm not published now, because I am officially published in a literary magazine!  I found out about their call for submissions on Writerscafe and one of my poems impressed them, so now it is in a magazine called "Wednesday Night Writes."

https://sites.google.com/site/wednesdaynightwrites/current-issue

I also wrote a new poem, which I just finished editing today.  I don't even remember what riled me up to write this but it is kind of a culmination of my feelings on the skinny beautiful women we admire and tear apart with media.  While women are a victim of all these fads and diets and trends, I have a certain dislike (hate is too strong a word) for the people that wholeheartedly follow these trends, whether they help to enforce them and to create them or whether they are outside the trends and simply follow them...

I don't know if I should be saying more with this poem, but it has gone through a lot of adjusting (rhyme scheme, evening out the amount of lines in each stanza) and I feel proud of the finished product.  Maybe I will change it later.  I don't know at this point.  I personally like it.

Crumbling Under a Feather:

You strip naked and then

Display your protruding ribs and your gentle curves

Bask in the lust and admiration of drooling men

Glued to their MacBooks, fingers pressed to nerves

You think you are a sex symbol

Your beauty commands respect

Strong and nimble

Attention simply what you expect

But you’re wrong about your power

You’re weak, tied with a tether

A fragile, dainty flower

Crumbling under a feather

You do what they tell you to do

Tiny tits are better than sagging thighs

Body hair like buzzing flies

Cellulite

Overnight

You are a socialite

Swallow pills so hearty

Starve day after day as you become more vein

Stay up all night at parties

Prolong the pain

Hover over the toilet below

Half crying, half vomiting, hungover

Your guilty pleasures are reality shows

The Biggest Loser, Extreme Makeover

Love, sex and lust

Drive you to do this

Or maybe you just want trust

For someone to care instead of dismiss

The powder from the thick white sponge invades your nostrils

It is the bread, your red nail polish the wine

Vogue and Cosmo your glossy gospels

Your closet of designer shoes a shrine

Cocktail dresses and Gucci are your new burger and draught

Finding nourishment in Martinis, icy words

Why do you think this will make up for your past?

All it does is make it worse

New poem

I wrote a new poem at 4 am since I couldn't sleep, although I eventually did.  Lately, due to lack of classes and stuff to do, my sleep schedule has been 3 am to 3 pm.  It's exam time right now and all I have left is a vocal jury.  For this exam I sing five pieces for three "judges," which is like American Idol but the songs are better and the judges know what they are talking about.  So all I've been obligated to do is practice an hour every day, if that.  I hope I can go back to normal or somewhat normal soon...

Here is my poem...


Beer:

Cat call in the distance at three am

Someone far away is hot

And someone far away is horny

Decisions made with beer goggles

As you half-sleep in a bubbly, pleasant haze

There’s more evidence for evolution

Than skeletons and theories

I think as I hear a college girl

Shriek just like a chimpanzee

Below on Spruce Street

Far away noises sound so close

They are inside my tiny flat

Invading

How frightening it would be to venture outside so late

On a saturday night

And soak up the stupidity

Violence at the slightest provocation

Passive-aggressive friendliness

Walk past a bar

Would I make it home alive?

The city lights cast a morning glow 

on the trees and the now-grey sky

It looks as if the sun is rising

But, no, I’m still here in my warm, fluffy bed

Half-asleep, half-awake like most nights

When will I escape this vampire’s schedule?

I long for the early mornings of my youth

Seven am, the darkness lingering

Birds chirping, parents yelling,

Reading on the school bus

Innocence, naïveté, thinking life was so difficult then

But it wasn’t

That was just the beginning

The jock population skyrockets after two am

Because nothing good happens then

Birds, maybe robins, singing at four am

Everything is backwards at this hour

And so much more frightening

Terrified of even leaving my room

Down the dark, empty hallway

Maybe I’m just jealous 

I wish I had some friends to be stupid and drunk with

Some men and boys too

Even just some alcohol

A cold glass of beer

To help me sleep

To taste

So bubbly and bittersweet

Pop with a punch

I must imagine my glass of water as a mug of beer

And hope...

Wallflower

I haven't posted for a while, but don't give up on me if anyone is indeed reading this.  I just wrote this poem a few minutes ago.  As you can see it is about my experiences in school as a shy person.

Wallflower:

Little wallflower at the back of the room

Sitting pretty, waiting to bloom

Watching the others in their gaiety

Dreaming of tiny steps to spontaneity 

If you have something to say, say it

But even when you do, you delay it

Sitting in the back all alone

Where have you hidden your backbone?

You wait it out until that perfect silence

The challenge, the defiance

Of delivering the right answer

When everyone else just stands there

But it seems it will never come

You’d rather they think you were dumb

Instead of watching the heads turn

And feeling your throat burn

And it has to be something meaningful

Something wise, beneficial

Because this is the leaf upturned

This is the incense finally burned

You must be wise and reveal a profound truth

Or the silent one will be seen as the dumb mute

But not too weird and different either

Or you might as well be having a seizure

As you speak there is such an unjust silence

And as you finish an applause like raw violence

For despite your careful wording

They will never pay attention to anything but asserting

Asserting, asserting is gold

Asserting yourself and being bold

Being confident, being nude

Being exposed, being rude

Even if you proved the professor wrong

Even if in three seconds you wrote a song

Even if you recited a hundred digits of Pi

All they care about is that you are speaking and that you were once shy

And that

my friends

is a spectacle

Divorced Men

A poem I wrote last night.

Divorced Men:

I miss you
You always smelled like flowers
Like a woman
I wanted that scent
so I could breathe it in every day and feel you
picture you
put in on and become you
I still want to become you
You're perfect
Your dirty blond hair
Your moon-shaped glasses
Your shoulder bag
Your salads
Your smile
Your quick wit
Those rebellious ears that stick out
Just like you do
In a crowd
The freckles and tiny hairs on your arms
Your slim fingers
So perfect
So immaculate
So precise
Your forest green cardigans and white dress shirts
Your tweed jacket and pants
Your ancient blackberry
Your voice
Smooth as milk and honey
Your exercises
Your books
Your mind
Your ring
Which you no longer wear
What do divorced men do with their rings?
Do they make love to them?

Ugly choir girl

Okay, I lied.  One more.

Ugly choir girl:

She always sits in front of me
Face full of zits
Frizzy tight curls
Tacky clothes
Thin as a pencil
You're so greasy
You're pizza
You're macaroni and cheese

Why are all the girls in this choir so hideous?
I get sick to my stomach
when I look at you
you are the smell of sickening sweet
an arts major
insecure
fishing for notes
following the leader

And worst of all
you're blocking my view of him
You negate the bliss I feel when I see his face
He's looking at me now
But you can't let him see me
I think he loves me
But you're blocking his view

Who else would he want in this section?
And then I glance behind me

Big busty girl
Blond greasy hair
Bangles
Eighties chic
Blue eyes
Brown coat
Big tits
Red pouting lips
She's not ugly
But by logic she should be

And I realize I'm a fool
It's her
He can't stop looking at her

I'm getting annoyed
He can't control his head
Always turned to my corner of the room
What does she think of this?

But she's gone
I won't see her until tomorrow
Was he looking at someone else?
At me?
I ponder the mystery
Leaving choir and the pizza-faced girl
with a smirk on my face

Maybe I'm not an ugly choir girl

The Walrus and the Narwhal

One last poem for today.  Note: I want to make most of my poems into songs, so some of them have choruses and verses and such.

The Walrus and the Narwhal:

The results are in
I couldn't resist
I had to find my future
So I opened the box
and had a little fun
All I ever wanted
was the narwhal and the walrus

I dusted it off
the plastic green box
from my days of innocence
full of tiny noble animals
from every kingdom
So precious to me
I couldn't ever give it away

I dusted them off
and put them in couples
everything in pairs
everyone in pairs
Just like our world
And I wanted the walrus
but what choice did I have?
So I added some consolation prizes...

I'm bound to get one of them
The Walrus who slouches
The Ant who never listens
The Turtle who talks to himself
The Whale with the deformity
The Praying Mantis (too religious!)
The T-Rex with the family situation
Or at least the Shark who seems a little gay
I entered with seven ballots

So I paired the world off
the animal kingdom
inter species was the point
but it couldn't work
I got the seal
Probably beautiful
but not who I want
Dissapointment ruled me
And I had to know what happened
Maybe I just wanted power?
Well they all found other species
Probably forgot about me
even the Walrus
he got an old Elephant

The feeling was dangerous
nostalgic
but all I ever wanted
was the Walrus and the Narwhal

Hospital Whisper

Hospital Whisper

Your voice was so cold
when I told you
Different, inhuman
I never experienced that
I guess I thought telling you
would change you
into a superhero
who would save the damsel in distress
The girl who lost her mother

Pitch black
But my eyes had adapted
I knew from the start
you were a douche
But I've become blind lately
It was just like
Just like you were
Talking to a patient in a hospital
at night
As if you were about to rape her
Maybe you're a vulture

But I don't think you feed on that meat
It was just so fake
And I regretted it
Thinking I could trust you
You don't care
I guess
Why would you?

I want to know
how you work
How you've become this
but it's too late
I leave tomorrow at eleven
No time
No time to even give you a chance

And we both say "you" so much
Me because I loved you
You because you wanted to lead me on

I guess that's all it ever was
just trying to catch a fish
And every time you asked me about school
it was just to know your fucking deadline

I still hope it isn't true
I pray for flowers or nice words
But I know deep down
nothing will happen tomorrow
Time will tell
Just prove it to me

Maybe I have to cry
I was really hoping not
But the way things are going
it probably won't take much

I loved you
It seemed you were the only one
who noticed my glasses or my hair
No boy ever could before
Now I know why your act was so important
Or do I?
What's in it for you?
I'll never know

And I still hope it isn't true
I wish for flowers or nice words from you
But I can tell you're bored stiff
You know all the tricks
and you just want the loot
you'd rather stare at my flat chest
And daydream until I'm trhough

Mom would never approve of you

Spring Cabana

I decided to make a different post for whenever I post poetry.  This is probably the one I'm most proud of of the poetry I'm posting today...

Spring Cabana:

Like a holiday in a person
The ultimate diplomat
Gilded with tweed
Won the Euclid and the Fermat
Child prodigy
And a perfect gentleman
A perfect gentleman

You were Atlantis
when I first met you
I was so terrified
that I couldn't impress you
You were so perfect
So beautiful
You smelled like flowers

Had to know what the smell was
What flower?
Where are you from?
What are you?  Who are you?
A breath of fresh air?
An angel, a fairy?
A devil, a liar?

You packed up your Viper's tongue
Your lyre
Your childish analogies
It seems you have a taste for
skinny pale intellectuals
with unusual but not improbable hair colours
And now you're in Florence

Did I scare you away?

Today

I think the time is wrong on this blog.  It's 1:24 am for me but it says 10:24 pm or something on here.  I don't know what's going on and I don't know who to change it.  Just letting you know I am 3 hours behind the times, which is fairly depressing.  I'm so tired.  I can't wait to sleep.  I should be doing my french homework, but I will first post this poem I wrote.  It's repetitive at times because maybe I will turn it into a song.

Today is my last day
I having energy drinks
I am giving them hope
No one will see this
Who would know where I stole this snippet from?
Very vague
But I don't care
I have to write this poem
I don't know if it's a song yet

I stared blankly at the screen
for a couple minutes
What the hell does he mean?
Is it the last day... forever?
But maybe it's the last day
and then he has a big vacation
recovers from that back injury

Today is my last day
I am having energy drinks
I am giving them hope
Drugged up like the guy
who went to Vegas
How could you understand me?

But that woman said she missed working with him
Does that mean he's gone?
Does that mean he's leaving?
Leaving me?
How could he?
My heart is crumbling
I wish this was a bad dream

I used to long for Today
Today is the last day
I am having energy drinks
I am giving them hope
I'm sure it has nothing
nothing, nothing to do with me

Feeling hollow inside
I have to stop caring
about that nerd
with hidden depths
hidden depths
he's a puzzle
I'll never finish
never finish

Today is my last day
I am having energy drinks
I am giving them hope
When there is none
And I'll miss you (you don't miss me)
I'll miss you (you can't miss me)
I'll miss you (you never kissed me)
I missed you (you never missed me)
I guess I missed you
You never missed me
You never missed me
Have a good one