Today at 1:35am |
when the poets put their pens down
you'll miss it,
you'll wish you'd paid more attention to their ruminations and prophetic scores and
you'll miss it.
there is no other art form so raw
so honest so able to
cause your skin to sweat hair to stand on end and loosen your lower back simultanously,
and for free.
the only fee paid is your undivided attention,
and perhaps,
if you'd like the extra ride, your empathy,
something that can be subtly ripped from you,
the tear causes tears to well in the corner of your eyes on those occasions you
see yourself
in a poem you see yourself as poetic.
when the poets put their pens down,
you'll miss it,
you'll wish you'd offerd just one personal note afloat a comment thread just
one time admitted defeat in a complicated situation you'll wish
you'd have told the story about how your father was always in passing
then passed or how your mother was deaf to your cries for attention due to her stressful situation ,
how your siblings,
are these disconnected charms that you wear on the ends of your heart strings and how you are skeptical
about if
your children would have liked you had you been courageous enough to try just one
more
time.
when these pens lay down their public display of
affection for words
phraes cliche's and poetic license ,
you'll wish you'd kept a hand written dictionary of all of the words made up in
stream of consciousness writing,
you'll miss the lists of requets made of the president you'll want
to know whats gonna happen next to the girl writing from the library becasue
her stuff was stolen but
her poetry, defied the defiling of her body and she pointed this out to you while sandwiched between a ph.d student and homeless unemployed student both
surfing for porn instead of livelyhood because
poets, can concentrate more better under duress.
and the men, walking their poems, smashing their masculinity into their literacy giving brief glimpses on what it feels like to
love her.lover not, love her. lover not while
being 'black man in america' sans the cape , add black out so incognegro will
keep thee safe from harm..
insh'allah.
poems
are
real,
any fictional accounts notwithstanding, poets turn trees into plantary systems with blue sapphire stars and
flowers that sing when you pass them.
poets
are real
turn skies and sunrises into dances choreographed by the thunderous drumming of the clouds
crashing into one another this is not an easy art
not something taken lightly by some
and
others have died trying to reply but did not have the words left to post
a suicide note with the needle they used to post heroine.
rip nuyorican
someone asked me once if i smoked weed.
no. i smoke poems, dislodge them from my famiy tree where seedlings grow in my memory and poems push through the earth into the sunshine inspite of the leaves broken off during the process.
when the poets lay down their pens
slap their laptops shut in defiance when they end
this run of soliloquies and monologs you
will miss them and wish
you'd offered
just one truth about yourself unbeknownst to others.
you'll wish you'd spellchecked them less and checked in moreoften.
poetry
is not about
cathartic exercises or
raising eyebrows this
is not for your entertainment or your pity we do not
write poems for our health or
well being there is no
poem too long or short or
badly written it
is not the poets responsiblity to explain or edit or show recourse or to give you an out during a rant about
gay marriage or
abortion or how god has alhiezmers, selecive memory or
just a fuckt up sense of humor this
poet
is not your responsiblity this poem
is not an anthem
you
will miss
the poets when they've gone ashore
the color will leave your homepage in a flash.
.and you'll wish
you'd loved
your poets more
you'll miss it,
you'll wish you'd paid more attention to their ruminations and prophetic scores and
you'll miss it.
there is no other art form so raw
so honest so able to
cause your skin to sweat hair to stand on end and loosen your lower back simultanously,
and for free.
the only fee paid is your undivided attention,
and perhaps,
if you'd like the extra ride, your empathy,
something that can be subtly ripped from you,
the tear causes tears to well in the corner of your eyes on those occasions you
see yourself
in a poem you see yourself as poetic.
when the poets put their pens down,
you'll miss it,
you'll wish you'd offerd just one personal note afloat a comment thread just
one time admitted defeat in a complicated situation you'll wish
you'd have told the story about how your father was always in passing
then passed or how your mother was deaf to your cries for attention due to her stressful situation ,
how your siblings,
are these disconnected charms that you wear on the ends of your heart strings and how you are skeptical
about if
your children would have liked you had you been courageous enough to try just one
more
time.
when these pens lay down their public display of
affection for words
phraes cliche's and poetic license ,
you'll wish you'd kept a hand written dictionary of all of the words made up in
stream of consciousness writing,
you'll miss the lists of requets made of the president you'll want
to know whats gonna happen next to the girl writing from the library becasue
her stuff was stolen but
her poetry, defied the defiling of her body and she pointed this out to you while sandwiched between a ph.d student and homeless unemployed student both
surfing for porn instead of livelyhood because
poets, can concentrate more better under duress.
and the men, walking their poems, smashing their masculinity into their literacy giving brief glimpses on what it feels like to
love her.lover not, love her. lover not while
being 'black man in america' sans the cape , add black out so incognegro will
keep thee safe from harm..
insh'allah.
poems
are
real,
any fictional accounts notwithstanding, poets turn trees into plantary systems with blue sapphire stars and
flowers that sing when you pass them.
poets
are real
turn skies and sunrises into dances choreographed by the thunderous drumming of the clouds
crashing into one another this is not an easy art
not something taken lightly by some
and
others have died trying to reply but did not have the words left to post
a suicide note with the needle they used to post heroine.
rip nuyorican
someone asked me once if i smoked weed.
no. i smoke poems, dislodge them from my famiy tree where seedlings grow in my memory and poems push through the earth into the sunshine inspite of the leaves broken off during the process.
when the poets lay down their pens
slap their laptops shut in defiance when they end
this run of soliloquies and monologs you
will miss them and wish
you'd offered
just one truth about yourself unbeknownst to others.
you'll wish you'd spellchecked them less and checked in moreoften.
poetry
is not about
cathartic exercises or
raising eyebrows this
is not for your entertainment or your pity we do not
write poems for our health or
well being there is no
poem too long or short or
badly written it
is not the poets responsiblity to explain or edit or show recourse or to give you an out during a rant about
gay marriage or
abortion or how god has alhiezmers, selecive memory or
just a fuckt up sense of humor this
poet
is not your responsiblity this poem
is not an anthem
you
will miss
the poets when they've gone ashore
the color will leave your homepage in a flash.
.and you'll wish
you'd loved
your poets more
