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 Nov 2013 Abeille
Jenna B
****** and calm
deficit inside of me
showing it's ugly teeth when it wants too
ripping me up suddenly
growling and fierce
wild and rabid
how could I possibly tame this demon?
I did, with a bit of simple convention
I could, if I follow a few rules
I will, one day
but right now I'm still a rebel
allowing this thing to feed off my anger
Tonight, at work, I asked 10 people
if they knew of what had happened
at Los Angeles International Airport (henceforth: LAX)
not 30 hours earlier.
Only 2 had heard of it.

One, because a cousin was traveling that day
and, the other, because a regular at his restaurant
also had family who had left LAX just before it happened
just in time to be stopped with the rest of the traffic
for two and a half hours.

I find that sort-of strange;
information, even if misinformation
spreads too quickly and ubiquitously now-a-days
with our cell-phones, internet, satellite radio and media sensationalism
for a mere 1 in 5 to have heard of this,
and even then, only because of Family's accounts.

Apparently, he acted alone, wearing military-like clothes
and walked into LAX at about 9:20 AM PST on November 1
carrying a very cost-effective Military and Police AR-15
concealed in a bag with over a hundred spare .223 rounds
and a note with words of sociopolitical dissent
and an apparent intent to **** several Travel Security Agents.

He mortally wounded a single TSA agent, after two shots
and non-fatally wounded at least a few other people
including two other TSA agents.
This thorough chaos warranted sopping traffic, air and ground alike
for over two hours, until his apprehension
after being shot in the mouth and the leg
by valiant officers of the LAXPD.
Luckily, the Police had trained for
"this exact situation not three weeks before"

Wait, what was that?
Oh, that's.. impeccable timing.

Anyway.
Few know about it and even less discuss it
even a day and a half after it happened
only 550 miles from here.

I figured it'd be a bigger deal than this.
What is up with this?
It's rather srtange...
quite queer indeed.

The Suspect is in the hospital for his wounds and is now awaiting trial
for ****** and Inciting Violence in an International Airport.
Many people of Office cry out for the death penalty, even here in California,
where we like to think we've "grown past that"

The Travel Security Administration was established in the wake of 9/11
It is a branch of the Department of Defense.

It took me much digging to find all this information on this event. Here it is for any who seeks it.
Quoth one of the unknowing co-workers:
"It seems coverage on this event is rather LAX."

No matter what I do, this post gets marked as explicit. That's... weird.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-us-canada-24773025
http://www.latimes.com/local/la-me-tsa-dislike-20131103,0,5433501.story#axzz2ja2mvpZI
http://www.infowars.com/lax-shooting-police-trained-for-exact-scenario-3-weeks-ago/
http://www.cnn.com/2013/11/01/us/lax-gunfire/
http://www.infowars.com/will-lax-shooting-be-exploited-to-arm-tsa-agents/
 Nov 2013 Abeille
softcomponent
Tomorrow is a sliver of custom
and today is just tradition seating the young for fairy tales written in Sanskrit.

she sees through the veil, only because the water split by divine intention,
and confusion is left beached and butchered in a slab of brain meat way up there--
trapped in the solstice of carrion baggage and the summer months of mind.

I wonder if she'll forget me
as the morning singes the corners of the earth and crumples whatever idea I had of nothing
and nothing and nothing and nothing

reminds her, exist only in detail, in prose:
so roses are red, violets are blue,
eruptions occur, and the water sees you

the water sees you.
Poetry should go for a walk at night
Through the park
lay in the due sprinkled grass
and gaze up at the sky lit by stars and a Hunter's Moon
With you

Poetry should put on a crimson red dress
With blackened leather boots
And sing for all of the ladies and gentlemen
Who drove for miles just too hear her voice

Poetry should put on her blue and white polka dotted galoshes
Dance in the rain and jump in puddles with the kids
and let the rain drizzle upon her head
With not a care if she gets wet

Poetry should sit down and curl up by the fire
sip some hot chamomile tea
And read a captivating book that Richard Tyler would befriend
Until she drifts into sleep

Poetry should paint you a picture of love
One that starts with a smile, blue sky's, the brine flavored ocean
And ends with your lips running across my chest
while my hands caress the nape of your neck
and yours entwine with the tangles of my hair

Poetry should make the colors of the leaves turn
as clouds creep into the sky leaving a blanket of crystals on the ground
Poetry should thaw out your forgotten memories
that froze like the once trickling creek
so you can know that every second is worth while
Re-vised from a poem I wrote 6 years ago which was inspired by a poem that starts out with "poetry should"..... these are my poetry's should.

Also much love if you know who Richard Tyler is and no, not the fashion designer.


<3
You avert your eyes like I wronged,
But I did not,
    Did I?
I’ve waited so long,
You fell, and I caught,
    I am not the bad guy.
You want to push your chances,
Don’t.
    You will not succeed.
I don’t hold your glances,
You just won’t,
    But still I plead,
    And bleed.
    And give,
    And live,
    For You.
April 10th 2013
 Nov 2013 Abeille
NitaAnn
It’s funny…because no one ‘gets it’.
And the coping techniques that are ‘offered’
Well, they’re like putting a band-aid over a wound that needs a tourniquet!

“The little girl is suffering a loss and grief that she will need your permission,
patience and love to help her with.”

That’s what Dear Therapist says.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.”
Matthew 5:4… that’s what the Bible says.

“I need to “grieve” and “mourn” that which I never had?”
That’s what Nita asks.

Really?
Is this mourning?
Is this what mourning feels like?
A hole in the middle of your gut that gets
Wider and wider each time you try to plug it up?
The bleeding that continues no matter how much pressure you apply?
Is mourning talking about what happened to you?

What comes next, after the mourning period?
Is it “closure”?
And what does that mean, exactly, ‘closure’?
Is closure when you’re supposed to realize that all this
Is just something you should ‘get over’?
Like losing ½ your money in the stock market, or staining a favorite white shirt?

Is this the period of time where I pretend it’s ”business as usual”?
Or is this the time I should “pour out my grief”
“release my anger” and “face my emptiness”
Then feel comforted because you care?
Or maybe this is the time where I call upon the aid of my friends and family
For support, a shoulder to cry on
Someone to walk along side me down this road of pain and anguish.
Sit with me while I grieve the fact that I will never have a childhood,
And that deep down at the very core of my being,
I will always have a feeling of emptiness…
Yet I should rest easy because I shall be comforted…
And somehow find peace with that?
I don’t understand why I can’t do that!
Why I instead I feel myself dissolving.

I sit in your office, my eyes filled with tears,
As I reach for another tissue I actually pretend that you really care.
Maybe in some strange way that makes me feel better
That somehow  to think you actually understand
How hopeless it all feels so much of the time.

You know, when you grow up
unloved and unwanted and abused
You become almost super human.
You develop this ability to disappear
Even when it looks like you’re still there, present, in your body.
You can scream but nobody hears a sound escaping from your mouth.
You are invisible and you can fly far away from your body.
You are the thing who was born normal…
But that was so long ago you don’t even remember what it was like.
You don’t remember, you only remember “this”.

The band-aid doesn’t work,
The blood is continues to seep through
I continue to bleed and to grow weaker each moment.
But it doesn’t matter.
It doesn’t matter…just bleed out, Nita.
You know the rules.

Just bleed out.
 Nov 2013 Abeille
soul in torment
Pillow

stuffed

inside your

discarded shirt

brings such

sweet

dreams
 Nov 2013 Abeille
Reece
Forgive such indifference, sat beneath a peach tree shaded
Cocksure, word of mouth, rambling through the straw
Squirrel gnaws bark on the ground, and leaps away vibrant
The sun was wild, in the sky she sings
The heat she brings, Mother watching, smiles
Sir, did you see the Big Sur. Sure did, young sir
Australia weeps for she misses the heroine in a green dress
- and with spry wrangling hands, gliding from a cliff-top
The endlessly named Mrs of the fire does soar
Forever on the shore
Forever and some more

Turn to the moon and remember how she swooned
Mother nature's child, oasis in the wooded world
Long leaves of the languid days
Beneath the peach tree she lays
Lighter in the breeze, swinging chaotic
In voluptuous trees, she's symbiotic
The new sensation of grass at your back
When the cold brick saloon in memoriam
is only Sunday's idea of boredom
and the grasshoppers are chirping
and now the city is quiet
For it waits, for her
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