Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Ariel Baptista Jan 2015
Four old friends
Dead of winter small town
Germany.
Smoke rising from chimneys
From cigarettes, and pipes
From trains riding the rural rails
From city spires
And factories
From airplanes
Airplanes
and Airplanes,
From Airplanes.
Smoke dancing and laughing
Stinging and coughing
Smoke in my hair and jacket
In the pores of my skin
Smoke in my eyes,
Up the hill
And through the woods
Dead of winter
Small town Germany
Four old friends
Walk two by two
Three by one
Four and four.
Walk by the church,
Down the creek,
Up the hills, the hills
And through the woods
Small town
Germany four old friends
Dead of winter
Cigar smoke and beer
Cigarillos in a chain
Smoke from crystalizing breath
And fireworks
Smoke from bonfires
And tailpipes
Smoke from airplanes
Airplanes and airplanes
Smoke from airplanes.
Smoke stains and cigarette burns
Little circles in my jacket
Germany
Four old friends dead of winter
Small town
Smoke tears
Smoke promises
Smoke memories that linger
Like the faint nausea
Of what-the-hell-has-happened.
I watch the **** end of your last cigarette
Crumpled and fading
In the ashtray of that Badischer bar
And your eyebrow twitched
The heart-wrenching shiver
Of what-the-hell-has-happened.
And I whispered:
(airplanes)
airplanes and airplanes
I whispered airplanes.
That’s what the hell.
A merging of my experiences and those of a friend.
Alicia Jul 2016
My entire life, I've been around the police force.
Mommy, Uncle Tony, and Anita have always been my favorite.
My heroes with the shiny cars and badges.
In my eyes, they are reigning champions of
"good officers still exist" during times like this.

I've never seen a storm last this long,
and I've kept my silence for far too long.
I was stuck.
For all I knew was a good officer until my brothers
and sisters were exploited on tv screens and magazines.
Blood seeping down and staining shirts, eyes wide open,
and bodies lying in the street.

Growing up, all I knew was a good officer.
So my world shook when I noticed the bad ones, too.
They make it hard for me to defend what I've always
known to protect me. At some point, the bad ones,
we must ****. And with a corrupt justice system
that dismisses the actions that we see, it gets tough...
For both you and me.
"STOP ******* KILLING US," we scream.
But no matter how many octaves we reach,
they still aren't listening. And we are left to wonder,
"Who's next: you or me?"

We make posters with blank spaces,
prepared for another one fallen.
But it's apparent that they refuse to see
that our people are hurting; and that
the chains they put on us not that many years ago
are still bound to us as if they are the latest accessory.

I didn't celebrate the fourth this year.
My people are dying, and here I am breathing
and hoping that anyone near and dear isn't affected by this mockery.
"Black on black crime is a real thing." No denying that statement
but why say that first knowing that some of the ones
we are told to trust don't want to see you free?
Do you understand that any black man could be next?
Even though I'm a woman, ****, it could be me.
My *****, are you listening? Did you get word?
Homie said, "Set your clock back 300 years!"
How about that for a rude awakening?

Quit telling my people that this **** here is an illusion.
You wanna be "a *****" so badly?
Cool, my *****, this is our reality.
We out here dying every day, b.
Pictures of dead bodies and videos of the crime scene,
mothers and children crying.

I never know what to expect.
I'm just praying I don't get a call saying (insert name here)
died at (insert time here) for their melanin radiating
and minding their business.
#JusticeFor___: Trayvon, Sandra, Kathryn, Sean, Eric,
Rekia, Amadou, Mike, Kimani, Kenneth, Travares,
Tamir, Aiyana, Freddie.
Alton and Philando with six shots to the chest.
****, y'all know what's next and I'm so ******* tired.
I will say their names unapologetically
because my heart can't take
my people's hearts tearing at the seams
from the mutual pain we are experiencing.

Black kings, I will pray for you.
Black families, stay whole.
Black children, alive and unborn, I love you.
Apparently: a wallet, sleeping, Skittles, a cellphone,
loud music, cigarettes, cigarillos, shopping at Wal-Mart,
toy guns, failure to signal, CDs, and reaching
for your license and registration can get you all ****** up.

I've never seen a storm last this long.
I've never seen the good officers be seen as the criminal.
I've never seen a people so desperate and anxious
for light at the end of a tunnel...
Until the bad cops thought it was okay
to play illegally and get away.
*7716
I wish the bad police officers weren't overshadowing the good police officers out there... Especially because I know so many OUTSTANDING police officers. And I hate seeing my people be treated so unfairly. This hurts.

No audio... Yet.
@the_monAlicia
Ariel Baptista Nov 2015
Hair burned into beautiful submission
Face acrylically defined and chemically composed
Adornments meticulously chosen
Scent tested and approved
Smile practiced and performed
I am a porcelain doll
Sipping tea, at 6 am in the quiet of a sleepy-city apartment
Porcelain doll dainty wrists
Washing dishes, feeding cats
Folding linens, singing hymnals
Praying for peace and safety
Porcelain doll knitting sweaters
And folding paper cranes
Reading poems, setting tables
Wearing cardigans and pearls
Porcelain doll decorating cupcakes
Lighting scented candles
Watering potted plants and humming childhood lullabies
With my porcelain painted lipstick mouth


But lipstick can be dark
Eyes lined black as city alley ways
There is anger at injustice
The world outside the confines of a pastel doll house
It’s messy
It’s hard
It’s iron and concrete and coal
And I am too
Biking through the brick metropolis
Sunglasses and headphones
And anarchist literature
Evenings spent sprinting through the smog
Heartbeats synchronized to the crude drumming of the city
So hard to impress
I’m on the metro
Eyebrows structured and defined
And adorned with a calculated air of apathy
See me social justice march
Down highways with fervently entitled youths
See me armed against misogyny
Until my peers learn to better conceal it
See me smoking cigarillos
Drinking black coffee
Breathing the tainted air of the city that birthed me
And chanting manifestoes.

But my manifesto can be love
And love can conquer anger and fear
And hatred
Love can reconcile, it can erase timidity
And it can abolish resentment
Let it wash my face and take the need for vengeance from my spirit
Let it replace the thirst for power with thirst for truth.
I burn incense
And wear long skirts
Naked face and braless lazy days
Reading pacifism in the park
I walk far to find pure air to breathe
I sit and deconstruct my dichotomy
Under a wise and ancient tree
I trace myself backwards and forwards
I meditate on the paths I have traveled
I cry for the things I have seen
And for the things I have done
I contemplate transcendence
I drink wine and listen to folk music
On the terrace of my home
I bike barefoot to buy Indian takeout
And eat it in silence on the floor of an empty room

I think only of death
And resurrection
Of betrayal and redemption
Of opposites and compliments
And how to progress in knowing how divergent pieces of myself can learn to harmonize
I think about minimalism and materialism
Sentimentalism
And swords and pens
And how this race I run was rigged from the start
I think about blackberries
And the complexity of their literary and symbolic significance
I think about the number seven as I see it reoccurring in every possible sequence and equation
I think about God,
And TS Eliot
And If I dare disturb the universe
I think about porcelain dolls and ****** activists and ***** hippies
I think about war and peace and politics
About corruption and poverty and imperialism
About western ideals and conspiracy theories
And communism
I think about being radical,
And how both sides of this ideological war are defined by fear
And I think about love, as radical but defined by the absence of fear
The absolution of fear
And how I am fairly certain it is the answer
I think about the inevitability of art and war
how they create each other
how they destroy each other
inspire each other and annihilate each other
and how there is nothing that is innocent.
I think about pain and privilege
And stacked decks of cards
I think about dreams and nightmares
And prophesy.
I think about the darkness within me
Tendencies to lie and manipulate and steal
The darkness that I know could make me very great
But alone in the ashes of the world
I think of the curse of wealth and power
And I try to evaluate my motives
And the driving force of my ambition
But I don’t know.
I think about grace and all the things I don’t understand
And toil and fate and destiny
The shape of these things, their origins and culminations
And what this black box of secrets contains.
I think about so many things,
Until everything I was on the outside is gone.
My body is gone
My painted face and sculpted hair
My varnished nails and pierced ears
All my clothes and appendages and freckles are gone
My blood evaporated
My brain an invisible energy in the wind.
My home and street
And city
Are gone.
And even in such complete concentration
When it is only my essence and nothing else
And I transcend throughout my past and future
When I am spread thin
And stretched into the corners
When I fill the cracks and crevices
And melt into the pores of everything
And my spirit is awaked to a dimensionless reality
Even then,
Scio Nihil

I know nothing. .
It's long but an accurate depiction of how my brain works. Written this summer back when I had to much time to think about everything.
l{one}l{I}ness
hurts like
one
e   m   p   t   y
cup of coffee while another sits
cold in the late afternoon light
full and a little bitter
like your stomach
it stings
like
too much wine -- or *****--
against chapped lips
at 10:45p.m.
finding a ****** wrapper under your bed
of trapped in the corners of your sheets
or cigarette cherries falling onto fuzzy
knee
caps
while Johny Cash
sings you into drunken sleep
al{one}
at
11:30 p.m.
it throbs like heads
and unanswered text messages
and bruises on your knees
the day
after
blinking dizzily into grey-morning-afternoon-night
waking up in a single bed
when the fires have gone out
makeup is smeared
and you realize you forgot to put on socks
it feels like that look on your face
when calls go unanswered
and pretty lingerie makes your skin look
bruised
when a dress meant for a party lies
crumpled in the corner of your bed
or your bathroom
damp and wrinkled
from showers taken at
3.am.
to burn out the lonely that
clings
like
your hands in his when you stop
being alone
or like perfume on a
black tee-shirt that you
borrowed months ago
it is comforting like cheap coffee
and relaxed smiles
of an entire box
of off-brand reeses cocoa puffs
with almond milk
of the taste of peach cigarillos
it is sweet like sweet red and dark chocolate
on a tuesday night
when you are in your underwear
or like listening to sad music
while shaving your legs
and buying a bottle of nail polish
because of the pun in the name on its
bottom
it is also addicting like
the smell of their sweat or
seeing their car parked at the gas station
and holding your breath
to see them
or counting the *******
band stickers on their bumper
to the beats of your heart
untill the lights turn green
it is like listening to ingrid michaelson
in a cold car or sitting
in a cheap orange chair in a coffeeshop
by yourself.
it is like drinking a bottle of wine before
5 p.m.
or watching the sun rise
over naked
january trees
when you haven't slept the night before
or the night before that
or the night before
or the night
before
Jeremy Duff Sep 2012
I wonder if they're happy.
They sure do seem so.
They're always talking about stealing their daddy's Jaguars and having beer blasts and getting in to fights and being bros and getting tan and buying new swimsuits and getting a call from different modeling agencies and crashing cars and smoking cigarillos and drinking fancy wine and going to their beach house and deciding between Harvard and Yale or Porsche and Mustang and did we win the football game and making new friends and oh my God Stacy actually said that and dude, I totally ****** her and my math teacher is such a ***** and my parents are putting me into boarding school and check out my new Jordans and did you watch the sunset last night?

I don't know if they're having fun, but it sure seems like it.

*I wonder if they're having fun. It sure seems like it.
They're always talking about hitch hiking to the next city over and going to shows and drinking PBR and sneaking out at night and yeah dude, that party was sick and my tumblr is so famous right now and check out my new denim jacket and smoking **** and getting in to fights and lifting cigarettes from stores and Austin and Katie slept together and Kyle broke edge and I'm still working at McDonalds and yeah I'm still driving my '93 Ford Ranger and smoking hookah and watching Mean Girls and yeah I love the ocean and check out my new Kicks and did you watch the sunset last night?

I don't know if they're having fun, but it sure seems like it.
Meaghan G Dec 2012
Today she told me she made it through every

try out round for

America’s Next Top Model and when

she went home to tell her girlfriend that she made it on the show,

she got her face beat in so bad, Miss Jay didn’t even

recognize her the next day.

She wasn’t on the show.

——

Today is roses,

wilted petals,

flowers from I-don’t-know-where

that have landed in our bathroom,

have sunk themselves in an empty bottle of ***,

two handles on the side,

the better to smell them with.

——

Today I am covered in a museum collection of

bug bites and lumps and

scratches and bruises

and leg rashes

and I don’t know where anything has come from,

not even

me.

——

Today he asked me how the poetry is coming.

I said it is slow.

——

Today I wanted to kiss a boy because it was his birthday,

and I don’t think he’s ever kissed a girl before,

and I think he should

if he wants to

on his birthday.

——

Maybe I will tomorrow.

——

Today has barely begun, is three hours in

was 6 minutes too late to buy

gas station beer

but we bought two cigarillos

and on the drive back,

talked to three kids who had just seen a UFO.

I missed it.

——

Today he threw a tomato at my face,

and it slid off and landed on the floor with a splat as I screamed.

There were customers.

——

Today I had to explain why I keep

leaving people.

I have to be alone, I said.

——

Today I dressed for myself.

Thank God.

——

Today I listened to country music and covered my ears

because they hurt but also it hurt

to not listen to it with my Dad in the truck, driving

anywhere

but today I picked a boy up and taught him how to swing me around

and he picked me up and spun me in his arms and

I think that’s how you do country.

——

Today my cis, male, white, Mormon, wait-till-marriage-to-have-*** English teacher

talked about **** shaming

and the patriarchy

and he gets it

and thank God.

——

She is auditioning to model, again.

There is no one to take her face away.
liz Feb 2014
tengo que recordar
que mis amigos
no son posesiones
sino extenciones
de mi existencia
de mi sustento

y mis amigos hablaran
de mi molestia
y de mi gloria
y cambiaran historias
de mis luchas

pero no soy una criminal
yo quiero sentarse n el coche
de ***** y oro
y no enterder la musica
que eliges

y cuando yo voy a mi casa
despues un noche
de cigarillos
y bufandas
yo quiero olor el humo
en mi pelo y mi piel
y recordara
que mis amigos no son posesiones
pero son extenciones
de mi existencia
y de mi sustento
Spanish is a second language, so I am still trying to understand and learn structures. I write all poems on my phone so there is a lack of accent marks.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2022
01004    (N18>N25>N86>N365)

i guess it was just one of those days that managed to be split
between two:
get up at 7am: shower, get dressed,
head out for the first shift as a supervisor at the London
stadium: starting at 9am... work until 4:30pm...
shake hands with the stewards at the end of the shift
for making my job all the more easier...
calling control (of the stadium) on my radio telling them:
there's a limping crow on the pitch, could we please remove
him? not so easily done, but done nonetheless...

finishing the shift having to master the art of moving
through spectators also leaving,
heading toward Wembley stadium,
starting the shift at 6pm and working until 11:30pm...
leaving the stadium trapped by more spectators
leaving the stadium... being | | this close to getting into
Wembley Park station: i was already planning
a swift return home... on the metropolitan line
to Liverpool St. then a quick train ride back to Romford...
obviously that wasn't going to happen...
**** man: i love this change of plan...
i watched as people were rushing to Wembley Central
station while i walked into a shop
and bought myself a bottle Coca-Cola for mixing
with whiskey at home, a packet of Sterling cigarillos,
a packet of 10: only £5.30...
a packet of crisps and a magnum milk and white chocolate
raspberry ice-cream... walked to the first bus stop...
PACKED... chicken-brain: hatch a man...
absolutely necessary to walk up stream to the origins
of the bus route... passed one bus-stop back:
packed... passed a third: packed... the fourth
at Wembley Central was empty: for a while...
before i noticed that Wembley Central was closing
and people started congregating...
oh **** this... i walked back to the fifth bus-stop...
or maybe it was the sixth...
no... no way am i going to get on a bus:
watch it get packed like a can of sardines
and stand there like a clueless *****!
i have walk back a mile and sit in the front seats
of a double decker on top: SIT... relax... after a long day...
than stick around with these sheepish folk
that would rather stand at a bus-stop with about
50 other people than figure up what salmon do...

ha! plan worked... sat up-stairs on the front two
seats... now i said to myself:
this is my favorite bus journey: from Wembley
to Romford...
first the N18... then the N25... then the N86
and finally the N365...
                                    mind you: north London grime
architecture is very different to east London
grime architecture... i prefer the London grime architecture
to the east London grime...

as i sat down i thought to myself: what i really now
for this to be an "Emirates" journey back home
is for some pretty girl to sit down next to me...
hey presto! i'm a firm believer in luck of late...
i was lucky today...
she sat down... a sort of Camila Cabello lookalike:
but much prettier... Spanish... i can decipher Spanish
when i hear it: d'uh... i could never find a Spanish girl
i found attractive: Spanish feminists and French
feminists put me off from looking...
but there she was... sitting pretty... raven hair...
glasses... blue-grey eyes... skin tone: mocha with a hint
of cinnamon and bronze...
i felt an Adam's apple in my throat choking me...
will i speak to her?
a little nudge of the leg on her part...
a little bristle of arm against on arm...
then dozing off her head almost rested on my shoulder...
i just couldn't help admire the difference in size
of our two bodies...
by thumb alone i had a thumb 1.5x larger than hers...
i looked at my shoulders in the reflexion
in the glass lit up by streetlamps...
  then i looked at her petite exposed details...
she kept flicking her hair: at one point the detailed
a style that i greatly admire: no partition down the middle:
although she pulled it off stunningly because
her raven hair was slightly bouncy: not curly:
bouncy... but then she flicked her hair to one side...
so feminine details any woman could wish to have...
naturally gracing some ancient altar of
man's admiration...

  a crescendo came when some ******* came on the bus
and was playing some ****** rap music
for us to listen to... turns out he wasn't a *******...
he ended playing Coldplay's Paradise...
the entire bus erupted in song... everyone was
singing... she was singing: me? i was just smiling...
she then asked this guy who was standing over her
(because the bus was that full that people were
also standing on the upper-deck) about whether
the N18 stops at St. Paul's...
my throat loosened and i turned around to her:

no... what you have to do is get off at Oxford Circus
and turn left onto the Oxford St. and catch
the N25 bus to St. Paul's... and as i did what i instructed
her to do... i got up and realised:
she came a magical puff of smoke never to be seen
again...
          i knew this was going to happen...
make your heart small... make your heart small...
dangerous daydreaming to begin with...
i knew nothing would come of anything like this...
do people still meet people of their dreams
in random locations in life? on buses?
or is the whole dating experience all about profiling
yourself on the internet so that people
have a boring a priori knowledge of you?
that's why dating is so ****... there's nothing to unravel...
there's nothing to discover: absolutely no thrill...

but this is most certainly my favourite route...
esp. at night... and if you can time it perfectly...
you jump on one bus... jump off it then jump onto
another and a maxim you have to wait for the third
is about a minute: enough time to take off your shoe...
pull up your sock, put the shoe back on and not have
time to do the shoelaces...
i was going to get off the N25 at Stratford bus station
but as the bus was circling the station
i noticed a blackened N86 waiting...
the driver just managed to go down from the second
deck to his cabin and pour himself a coffee from
a flask... so i stayed on the bus to Ilford Hill...
but... i started to watch my back...
yep... just before Manor Park i saw the ******
speeding... quickly got the N25 and jumped
straight onto the N86...
i was in lucky... from Goodmayes there were
only three people on the bus...
we sped past Chadwell Heath and entered Romford
without anyone at bus stops or anyone
trying to get off...

walked to the last bus-stop and caught the N365
to Collier Row... then... talked to myself for a while...
literally... i talked to myself...
i only do this "talking to myself" when i tired
of thinking it... then thinking has absolutely no effect
on me: when i can't do any ego-tripping:
i talk to myself when i've exhausted all avenues
of feeling all "high and mighty"... i bring myself
to a level of conversation: since i can talk to myself:
but i can't think to myself... how can i?
i'm not even myself when i'm thinking: all that ego-*******:
shrapnel thinking...

did i hear my company manager just tell me
he gave me an extra hour of the second shift?
call me a legend... because i was the only person in the company
willing to do a double-shift? i must have:
that's why i started talking to myself: i think i misheard
him...
and wasn't i a supervisor today, even though modern
security standards require you to have an NVQ level 3
while i only have a level 2?
and my treating stewards with the utmost respect
having than talking down to them: gaining their trust
and mutual respect, isn't that something?
that golden rule: treat others like you'd like to be treated?

and to think: i was in the trenches and pitfalls
of madness for so long... my 20s are a blur
or psychiatric pharmacology and psychological
scrutiny...
while most people lost their minds during the Corona
virus lockdowns: i regained mine:
i guess people were a given a taste of the sort of medicine
i was prescribed for so long...
i returned like a phoenix... i exploded back into
the realm of human interaction with shedding
my straitjacket... why could it be so weird
that i hear a choir either ascend or descend in a church
and then in a heat of panic hear a great wind
disperse the choir?
what's so weird about that? doesn't anyone who fasts
and smokes marijuana conjure up such auditory
hallucinations daily? sure... sure... blame it on the ****:
i actually gained while others lost...
i returned to a state i remember myself as being
in high school: not-two-faced... just chameleon like...
i can be liked by almost anyone these days...
one guy who's prone to wearing finger-less leather
gloves and that famous Palestinian bandana takes one
of his gloves off and is so happy to shake hands
with me...

even today i walked into a chicken shop before the second
shift and met up with two stewards i've worked with
before... i ordered a spicy five wing meal...
they were waiting for their meal...
we talked about Miranda (the strawberry drink)
was any good... shift times... blah blah... i stood next to them
and ate... they were perched on stools...
we ate together... Somalis?! who cares...
it's not like England is America....
race is a descriptive investment: not a prejudicial
aspect... i need to say if someone is either Somali
or Samoan or Eskimo... it just paints a certain picture
that a white boy can be on level ground...
my greatest concern whenever dealing with
someone is... respect... the surest sign of respect
is: i'll eat with you... i finished my chicken wings ate
some of the fries... i noticed one of the guys
ordered a burger and a wrap... i couldn't finish
the chips... so i asked... hey...
there's some unopened mayo pouch...
i can't finish these chips: do you want them?
you sure: he implored... mate... i'm full...
he gladly took them thanking me...

of the two best quote i have yet to topple:
Bukowski: some people never go mad...
what horrible lives they must live...
and?
there are variations on this one...
quos deus vult perdere, prius dementat
ha! those whom god wishes to destroy,
he first deprives of reason...
there's a double take on that...
point in mind: to destroy: not... to be destroyed...
meaning? if a deity requires a change of pace
for humanity... it's not a maxim directly related
to Hercules...
  to destroy doesn't imply: to be destroyed...
quem Iuppiter vult perdere, dementat prius
is more precise in that assumption...
those whom Jupiter wishes to destroy,
he first deprives of reason... then again? no!
destroy what? himself or the world around him?!
i've seen the world being destroyed...
if the gods truly wanted me sulking, mumbling...
in some mental institution... i would be just there...
but i'm all in the open... i've regained my strength!
i haven't destroyed destroyed myself...
i've regained myself: perhaps it's not the old me
i remember with a rich cognitive-narration lodged inside
my head: but? instead it's lodged in my read:
that's how the Cartesian dynamic works...
you can begin with the "solipsistic" res cogitans...
but end up after a psychotic transformation
as being a res extensa: what you think about in sketches
you write about in a narrative that's "escaped"
the hell of your supposed "thinking"...
couple that with experiences of auditory hallucinations...
letters, words... are better coupled to writing
than anything the Beatnik attempted with exploring
language with hallucinogenic additives...
believe me... first comes music: then music notation:
then... the ambiguities of what's being spoken...
after all: you can speak language in a rainbow of accents...
but you can't exactly play an instrument
idiosyncratically: it has to be universally arrived at...
otherwise it's particular, i.e. out of tune...
whereas music is universal: language is particular...
sure... the strict obligations of the written tongue
being universal... but? how it sounds? there's nothing
universal about language beside the fact that language exists
per se... English is not a universe language:
it's a modern version of the medieval Lingua Franca...
but... how many versions of English are there?

there's a version of English in every language
that already exist...
on the N25 bus i overheard some Hindus giggling
and dropping loan-word-bombs prompto:
chicken... nuggets...

hmm... something strange happens when you strart
leaning on the res extensa (extended thing)
rather than focusing on the egocentric (cogito)
of the res cogitans (thinking thing)...
a res vanus (empty thing) is spawned...
of course in the realm of res extensa you can
mix-up your own thinking with strange hallucinations
that are cognitive in nature and can be misunderstand
as sensual: on the basis that "thinking" is "audible"...
for example:
Matthew: you're a genius.... a strange expression
for an ego to have: given there's a denotation
of a noun, a given name:
a chair doesn't reply to: you're a great table,
does it?
ergo? an "i" doesn't respond to: you're either genius:
or a Matthew...
an i is an i... a hammer is a hammer...

oh god no... Descartes is yet to be properly invested
in intellectually...
he gave the really proper antithesis of
Christian trinity theology...
Freud just created cages for modern modern
to be behaviour-ably: un-stimulating....
predictable: all that ego super-ego id schematic
is ****-pants worth when pointing a finger back
and telling people: just do what as i do:
do some Cartesian-revisionism...
it will do you much good...

you heard that joke about a bilingual "schizophrenic"?
apparently he's exponentially squared and squared root
of a quadratic...
i think i regained my senses by going mad first...
second came the destruction:
given the damage already done:
i had nothing else in me to destroy... the world needed
a fire... so great that it would have to experience
a shackling to either luck, fate, or? circus...
or all three! ha ha!

it was truly a bountiful day... that N18 bus ride
with that pretty Spanish girl gave me flickers of hope...
heavenly Islamic harems exist...
if only... wait... she did have one or two "awkward"
flickers of freckles.... freckles? moles... those "puns"...
i terribly hate people who make millions
scribbling sensibly guised never-good-byes...
i'm supposed to be picking up a second bicycle i'll
be using to go off the road today...
5:30am... i'lll sleep until 1am then thinking about it...

n'ah... two bicycles... i always loved the idea...
one day i ride on the roads...
the other day i ******* into the woods...
chances are i'll come across a blind rabbit..
as you do...
mind you... even with todays? yesterdays!
yesterdays! shift... i was mostly dealing with the early
leavers..
but it's Coldplay... it's not like the Red Hot Chilly Peppers...
if they're doing a world tour...
and they have the same set-list?
i already heard their two best songs
when they play them first... Paradise and
Adventure of a Lifetime...
  Yellow? i couldn't care less... Fix You...
fix constipation first fix diarrhoea thirst...
don't panic, no? we all live in a beautiful world?!
J J Feb 2024
We will go together, you and I, into cities
strange,splendid and waiting to be taken by us so loving and so cruel

Passerbys can give us funny looks
and call us queer if they so please

Arms knotted at the elbow, so

Anyone else's thoughts will mean very little

We will trace our tiny feet along arcade flooring
adjacent to monumental parish churches

That scare you as if you were some son of Satan
And in that case I can role play as a son of Sam. All
we need now is a hound to pin our blames on.

Since coming of age
I've dwelled on Augustinian confessions
As forms of atonement

And you don't care
To hear of my sins that are not sins in your eyes,
That's why I've liked you for so long

Yet you strive to change me into something I am not
And that's why we never last and won't last. Still, the sky hangs

dimly sunny overhead and though miles divide us the sky's predictable mutation
impells planning like scripture does those who care to
worship and spread and undo and renounce

And I cannot wait to wander lost again,
this time with neither of us able to guide the other

And if nothing else, I am glad I could make it so you don't fear being lost as much, you're still

A nascent in my eyes although I first saw you as a father figure.
Isn't it funny how much you can watch someone change before

your very eyes? I hope you are dressed
and wearing your most robust boots,
seeing that those strange cities may call for us any moment now.
And I said nonono O ladyday!

(Now I love you like a brother)
Carla Marie Jan 2012
One day
My children will
Stop by
On their way
To somewhere else…

To
Kiss their old mama
See what I need
Fuss at me
For not eatin’ right… or
Stayin'
Out or Up
Too late…

If
By chance
I don’t open the door
Cuz I’m busy
With
A Good Smelling Man… and
Aretha Frankin

Sippin’ wine …And
Smokin’ Cigarillos…

They will blow up my phone…
And be all upset... Reprimandin’
My old self
When I finally answer
Speech softly slurred

(Aretha... moanin’ in the background)

Cuz I didn’t check in
In a timely manner...

Makin’ folks worry…

I will simply smile the learned smile
Of tried and tested mothers …
And have
A little more wine…
And
A little more Aretha…
And
A little more good smellin’ man…
One day…
Carl Velasco Dec 2019
Their backs heavy
with the burden of
one more evening
shared without knowing
each other's names.
Smoke from their
cigarillos billowing
thin, floating in the
room like ghostprint,
steam from the
carcass of an affair.
A small lightbulb
and two shadows
barely moving.
We're talking two
boys, two bodies
on the bed.
Swimming.
Sinking.
Sailing.
The faucet drips
faster than the wall
clock ticks.
I count.
     one drip, two drips
There are too many
things I want to ask him.
But after *** there
is only endless pause.
He lies there with his belly
rising and falling.
I time my breaths
so that his stomach
is up when mine is down
     three drips, four drips
On the bathroom mirror
there's half a fingerprint.
I wonder if someone had
wiped the other half.
or whoever left it was
incomplete.
     five drips, six drips
I like the sounds you
bring out in me. The
way I'm primal with you.
A creature. An animal
enduring the whiplash
of almost having all of
you, and all of this,
whatever it is.
     seven drips, eight drips
I used to think we have
*** because we like the
anguish of fleeting
****** contact. But now
I understand. There is
a sacredness to the way
we don't want to acquire
each other. That the
passion burns in a vacuum,
away from distinction,
from names. I'd want more
soon. I know myself.
     nine drips, ten drips
But for now, this will do.
I twist the faucet close.
And wipe the rest of the
fingerprint.
Pippi Aug 2017
The news broke out on my timeline that an eighteen year old black man
was killed by a police officer in Ferguson, Missouri. They said he was a thief,
that he reached for the officer’s gun—
                                                           if perception shapes our realities and all
I have ever witnessed are the actions of bad cops and a shady justice system,
then I couldn't help but feel in my soul that they were lying—
                                                                                they said he was a monster.

And someone has to slay the monsters, right? Someone has to be the hero, right?
I saw the pictures-slight bruises on his face, two bullets in his head. I made the
of watching the video and it replays in my head every time I hear his name—
                                                         Seeing his lifeless body lay in the August sun was
a painful reminder of the disregard this country has for black bodies, and I thought that
I would have been desensitized to this by then but angry, hurt tears welled in my eyes—
                                                                              I felt extreme guilt that in forty-eight hours
I would be celebrating a new year of life as his just ended, watching that video, I felt
like a little piece of me was murdered and I became a murderer too.

Contrary to what was said, I didn't believe that he was a monster. I didn't know him
but living in this black body my whole life, I felt him. I didn't see a man robbing a store
for cigarillos—
                                                         I saw a boy my brother’s age, I saw a boy who could
be my brother, I saw a young man in his green graduation cap and robe with his whole life in front of him.

And if our perceptions shape our realities, it is hard to tell who is the monster and the hero
sometimes. We have all witnessed them lie, we have all witnessed on camera executions
with no convictions, no indication that anything will ever change—
                                                      Watching these videos of someone die eventually has to weigh on you right? We have all become victims and accomplices too;  we have witnessed  unarmed black boys and men become martyrs—
                                                                             become heroes to a movement that they
never asked to be a part of. And if history is ****** to repeat itself then someone has to be
the monster. Someone has to slay our heroes.
Dedicated to the life Mike Brown and to all the past, present, and future victims of police brutality.

I wrote this actually three days on the third year anniversary of his death. I began writing it last year but never finished. Him and Tamir Rice really touched me and they're forever in my heart.
Karambitties Nov 2019
Smoking cigarillos to the crutch
Burning fingers reaching for a head rush but it don't come.
Life was better when I lived on the run. Tired of being in pain but it's better than feeling numb, maybe I should just bite the bullet if to die is really to become.
I break mics, make em bleed, like punches from Mike, iron sight
Fist tight, I'll take all of your might, dont even front a fight, iight
We coming with the wickedest, vengeance, catered to sickness
Manifest, off the demon infested,
Yeah I'm connected, to the underworld, so dont disrespect it, before ya be resurrected,
I took jesus ****** cross, hung it like tree moss, flip the coin toss,
You'llfind me,in the valley of the lost, skull rallies, been the boss,
You suckas fallin, like Olympus Mr Snuffalufagus, plus the surplus,
All out maxed, Redd Foxx insults, graphic, as the Dutch Shultz,
Surrender your rights, see the shadows, hovering the night,
Smooth as a kite, winded suckas pretended, I'll end it flint,
The stones, cigarillos cherry foam, chase the taste, of ozones
I'm gone, watching the footsteps of rosemary's, baby slay me,
Naw I stay peaced, with the unseen, soul divine supreme, cream
Shattered many dead souls, added to the gehenna scrolls,
I'm just a disciple, with the laser eye rifle, cyclops the bible,
Raging in wrath, feel the thunder, lightening standing giraffe,
Catch the hands of nature, glad to hate cha, innovator, mater,
Let the saga continues, through graphic venues, I'll end you,
rip ya out ya skin, and leave blood on ya shoes, open portals of vessels,
Muscle man, champagne driven by my freaky women, giving,
Me they souls, bless they jellyrolls yo, I'm out of control,
Just another brothers,with the grit of johnny cash, bank rolls,
We beat the payroll, advoid pay tolls, that's how real Gs roll,
Watch cha know, split the kabbitz, lay out yachickens, gizzard
Poetry wizard, stick my tongue out like a lizard, keep lyrics exquisite,
Tip of ya toes, close down the shows, ya know how it goes,
It grows, more than the temptations, got the accommodation,
Change ya station, if you in hesitation, blaze gun nation,
For sticky situations, all of one one of all, never cease at downfall,






Gory road, move to a general,from a street lieutenant, innocent
Bystander, catch the wings, of a hate activate ya mental state,
See hostility at the alarming rate, wake for the leeching snakes,
Grip the peace, like a python, still let by gones be by gones,
I'm so gone, all I see is wrong, souls ringing like a gongs, its on
Caught the caption, blasting tactics steels of a black smith,
Hot ****, bound to ya melt ya with these classics, black magic,
I make it look so easy, but tragic suckas become mastered,
To the slaves of the intertwine, curved spines, of a feline,
See the horns incline, from her hair lines, sin never been so fine,
Apple decline, in the garden, step back to the game like Harden,
Charging, the game on credits, yall on debits, blacked out cards,
250K monthly, see what I see,
Naw probably, not you be hit harder than Ronnie Lott, guard ya snot,
Ya leaking, see the guns flickering, flashlight of a beacon,
Been a sinister deacon, silence the weaken, every first weekend,
See me peaking, speaking, paramount, calvary scout,
Lay out the KC, masterpiece barbecue sauce, it's the mosh,
Pit set up,I'm dead up, cant wait to this touch up, paint job,
9 to 5 robs, late night til the sun bright, soaring the heights,
Keen sight of an eagle, I squeeze through, out ya flesh,
Like beagle, bullets sniff you, now you laying like a vegetable,
Despicable, crews I bruise, leave em for the early mornin news,
Dont blow ya fuse, no truce, haters beware ya in for a scare,
Lay more scars to ya face, from unfiled ****** case,
No need to lie, what the **** for, naw I embezzle the muzzle,
Spread you out like puzzle, piece soon to be released,
Coroner, operations mud situations, change my caliper occupation,
Went from middle men, to a high man, baby bird assassins,
Who asking, about me, dont be part of the last dying trilogy,
Yo im the D to the o p e flows ***** craniums
Im crackin' em egg yoked smoked jokes
Don't provoke the black loc guns is tote
Stainless suckas become brainless
RoboCop a block black sheep of the stocks
See me props
My raps bang harder than pops crops
Get planted roots handed down to me
Got that Miles Davis trumpets blows
Snows ya mental floss instrumentals
Vocals go detrimental lyric criminal
Black bush storming Arabian nights
See me flashing guns like headlights bright
High beams to low beams extort ya cream
Industry mafiasos blowin cigarillos
Laced with traces of money faces ya faceless
To braces of fouls mouths deep up in the souf
We in the house like Jerome gold toofs chrome
Venus sulfur rains eating up your terrains
Leaving no remains bald to hair grains
Fool hangin' on like Homers strains
Lifes is pains your pains my ultimate gains
****** ****** stains samples ghetto preambles none could handle
The child prodigy from another Galaxy
Where many dont get to see x'd my files
Flows extraterrestrial better get maaco
Steels paintin' ya ****** interracial
See the dark and the light same flight
Ain't no stairs to heaven lucky number sleven
Twins pillars I got many bullets that'll heal ya


Check this one
Ash May 2021
White centered

“If your skins colored you don’t matter”
You can get robbed, shot, stabbed, and smothered
And no one will blink twice
You can wake up with chills of sweat soaking down your sheets
Screams created from gunfire and and bullet wounds dying on your lips
But if your colored, it didn’t happen.
You can grow up playing make believe with syringes as planes and the empty carton of cigarillos as cars
Left Unsupervised as your parents get high
End up lost to the streets or running them with blood money
Spending your days Scraping at your skin with bitter yellow nails and hazy red eyes, desperate for that next fix
Until the days bleed together and crust over like thick yellow **** from an infected wound
“Just say no” they’ll tell you
But when it’s Sarah? With the pretty smooth hair and thin figure
When it’s Sarah with, her pale skin turned alabaster and gaunt from crack
Well that’s a different story
When it’s Kevin who wants to burn the world because the nightmares have begun to bleed into reality
Well, that’s a different story.
So they teach us when we’re young, to keep our heads down
How to avoid cops, and what to wear to look the least threatening
How to cry where no one can see, how swallow your pride and how to look the other way
How to be proud to be called an Oreo,
Black on the outside
But with a White Center
Check it, 1986 I was made in the 1985 mix, December, 9th months later,
Til September, yo I remember, crying into the earth, sinful tears, the world hears,
Another baby, invoked with fears, I couldn't see the pain that was near,
Taxes to corporate, sure to get they licks, my parents failed me quick,
Got ****, I gotta make moves quick, its grimy, playing for keeps,
In the street life, tryna stay away from heat, so I embrace the heart of the cold,
Look at everyone as a foe, while lighting my cigarillos, it's hard to chase to glow,
Friends by what we know, see you grow, they quick, to puncture ya mental,
Saw tyson in his prime years, studied his moves by, his combo spears,
Dont believe everything you here, the folks they say they want the best,
Out of you, they really just testing you, to see where they could glue,
Ya pride to a wall, wait for ya downfall, in the end they was on very call,
Ringing from these demons singing, every day new harms is bringing,
Us to hate each other, while they politics with colors, sisters to brothers,
Wake up, and the real yo stop being apart of the scenario, racism let it go,
Midday martyr, I'm feeling smarter, up my energy, every third quarter,
Aditya Roy Aug 2019
We welcomed the war in the confusion
On our souls with shrieks of haunting derelicts
Reminded our parents that we were wrong, whispers of the honorific Hakagawa bows
Predating the caitiffs of the pejorative context of the peace talks in the city light bowing out
Trenchantly expressing ourselves in vapid cigarillos, looking for another kick
We got kicked out of the missile nation and ended up on the radar of meritorious icicles
We smoked up the clock latching on the count of tacit reason
Blessed by reason and cursed by ignorance, wandering the blue skies in wedlock
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2021
let's not be these tender creatures:
these tender creatures who delude themselves with:
oh all the love i can give...
oh all the love i am willing to offer:
the love a white knight
the love of a princess:
i once heard that people live in castles
in the clouds... where psychiatrists charge
the rent...
concerning a queue in a petrol station...
two men...
i must have been one of them...
the man in front... middle aged... pushing it...
besides buying petrol he
bought a tub of ice-cream and a packet
of condoms...
well... obviously his night is settled...
he'll ******* into some rubber and dream
a long dream...
i asked for a packet of 10 cigarillos
while also placing two bottles of the finest
beer available...
Franziskaner - weissbier...
i'm yet to find a better beer...
then again: no! Guinness is Guinness...
it's not a beer to begin with: it's a stout!

for the love of women: hardly...
rusty limbs and not enough: "target practice"...
if i were younger i'd be the "angry young man"
stereotype... how i'm growing older...
i don't suppose wiser is part of it...
i also don't suppose i can love women when...
#metoo etc.: by my standards: not, enough!
it's hard to love when you're not getting
enough practice...
freely: as freely as the 1960s made out "it" being
so readily available...
what a shamble of shackles of nostalgia...
and more: if there was a ****** revolution:
sure... it gained traction with all the women
and a minority of men...
hello: walking abortions...
hello: walking abortions with d.n.a. genocide
sputnik projects: at best while doing
the no. 1 & no. 2: subsequently the no. 3
on the throne of thrones...

i drank one beer and smoked one cigarillo
next to the police station...
it's getting nippy... isn't it?
my ******* are blistered from all the fresh
air as i cycle...
mind you: it's still June...
so cycling into the centre of Romford
to look at the slaughterhouses (night clubs)...
earlier in the day
cycling into central London and...
women... some in niqabs some in...
dresses that could be little more than
the skin they themselves don...
a city that seemed like nothing but
a playground...

if it means anything: i will feed a fill of feeling
melancholic... i just passed the numerous scenes
apathetically...
i don't even hold sway for a moralist's
disgruntling: a clash of competing arguments...
such is their freedom...
a few construction workers were doing a late
shift attempting to crane-lift a bulk of pipes:
one woman among them:
absolutely content with the banality of:
animate objects moving about inanimate things...

mind you: i never liked nightclubs...
they never played the sort of music i'd like
to wriggle a dance to...

come to think of it... scribbling in katakana is
limited: for me... probably not only me:

lao che: jestem psem - i'm a dog...
i'll just focus on the noun for dog:
pies...
           i'm a dog: jestem psem...
oto pies: here-there: there you go: a dog...
beside the freedom letters:
the vowels and N in japanese...
you can't exactly find: two consonants coming
together...
i.e. you can't write: i'm a dog: jestem PSEM...
the rules are rigid...
consonant is followed by a vowel...

alternatively: KITA: a fox has a KITA...
a furry tail...
          キタ ... i imagine some relaxation
of rules: perhaps just a simple...
prefix-              -suffix labour in the chiral
mirror:

          TA- (タ)   could be mirrored to get at...
-AT (let's just use ƒタ for now)...

- nightclubs were an expected disappointment...
i was yet to visit one that
might have played:
'you will give your rifle a girl's name...
because this is the only *****...
you people are going to get...'
something akin to combichrist...
some... tool: stinkfist?

maybe my i.q. was below par...
  perhaps... the times i encountered women
they tended to run wild: mostly away from
my vicinity...
perhaps honesty was an acid...
it's not exactly easy to... show affection
to a cat encountered randomly during
the night: foxes are harder to come by...
running a stampede with a harem of nags
is even rarer: esp. if the stag is missing:
congesting traffic... i ran those deer back
into the forest...

no: clearly i'm not missing out on much:
in the flesh-market:
it's just a shame that there are so many
readily available colts willing
to be duped...
Le silence est tel que je parviens à l’entendre —
la brume caresser les murs extérieurs de la cabine
âme parmi les grands pins qui laissent
constamment leurs épines sur mon porche.

Parfois même le silence est tel
que je parviens à entendre les étoiles tomber de la voûte.
Le silence est tel que dès la nuit tombée
se distinguent les éclairs du Catatumbo
les éclairs incessants, qui donnent la parallèle au lac de Maracaibo —
et pourtant aucun bruit de tonnerre.
Le silence est tel, quand le calme intérieur séduit le calme extérieur
Je l'ai laissé s'évader, le ton de ma voix
Au profit de ces paroles que je donne à l'encre

Je la cherche — la Raison de mon existence
Alors que la Nature, elle, ne prétend s'expliquer
Derrière, presque à l'horizon sont
les amis, les amants et les parents
les cigarillos et les bouteilles de verre
les codes et les institutions
Devant, presque à portée de main sont
la cime des montagnes et la musique mélancolique
l'hostilité des hautes altitudes
à qui j'y laisserais bien le stock d’air de mes poumons
car le silence est tel, que seul je parviens à distinguer
le rythme de l'air passant ma trachée
je respire la brume et la brume me respire
Nature je suis.
La voici, la raison de mon existence
le 10 mai 2025

— The End —