Metalmaid

For my mother.

I am your
Half-owned
Medallion of
Triumph and
Glory, and
You are
My goldsmith.
In hindsight,
You praise the
Great Metallurgist
That I
Carry a sheen of
Worth and
Beauty, for at
Birth, I was but a
Natural stone,
Rough and
Dripping from
My earthen
Womb. This
Will take
Time
You thought,
And it did.
At times, you had to share
Your chisel with
The silversmith,
And though you may have
Carved
Your creed
Too deeply
Into my facade
And you may have
Struggled to
Share your
Workbench,
I would
Never ask to be
Changed. I treasure
My form,
My inscription,
Everything you've
Sculpted me to be.
Wear me
Proudly about your
Neck, laced through
A strand of
Ruby beads.
Drape me over
Your breast,
As your beacon
Through strife.
Oh, metalmaid, be
My treasure, as
I know
I am yours.

Easter

No one is left here.
Oh vernal equality has
Driven them
Elsewhere, and
Opened up
Premium parking
Opportunities for
My dear Van Gogh
And me.
It is too quiet. The
Echoes of my solitary
Voice reverberate
Uninhibited down
Every lonely hallway.
However, some still do remain.
Alas, they are but
Propped-up
Flesh mannequins, who
Should be lying in
God's acre somewhere
Waiting for
Armageddon.
So, now I wait in the
Plurality of
Constructed and
Organic breath,
Waiting
For the "Waters of
Nazareth" to
Shatter the

Silence...

If only for
Her ride
Home.

The Pencil

You're the real writer.
Within that slender
Octagonal totem
Courses the
Mercurial wonder of
The universe. You are
Finite with
Infinite possibilities.

I have crushed
Many of your
Varicolored cousins.
Oh, from their hearts
Spill the mass of ideas
That escaped the tongue of
My muse.
They shall remain
Blurred, in a
Dark, sable puddle.
Left to soak into the
Oak tabletop.

I have seen you there.
Lying so coyly, longing for
My touch. The sun is setting
In the east, anti-life, for
Only in that moment do
You reveal what hides
Within you. I have seen
You, you Goliath in shadow.

A Letter To The U.S. Army Puppy Thrower

If you haven't seen or heard about this video, it is a video of a soldier in the US army holding a small puppy with his friend next to him. He then proceeds to throw the puppy over a cliff. You hear it yelp for a moment, while the soldiers laugh and smile the entire time. I have never been so appalled by anything in my whole life. This is what we send to promote freedom? I hate to call myself American or even human after watching this video. So I wrote a poem of sorts about it.

I bet you were the bully in school.
I know your kind too well. A boy,
Nondescript and lackluster,
All around unimpressive
Save for your disdain for
Anything weaker than you.
As you grew, still a
Mental embryo, you shunned
Worldliness for the opium of
Idiocy. (What I'm writing will never
be read by you) You jumped on
Uncle Sam's inviting shoulder
So you could seem tall and strong,
All ready for the oil-balloon fight,
But still you remain lackluster and dull.
Out in the sand, you found a
Comrade of your ilk, a bully-buddy of
Sorts, I suppose. My life would've gone by
Without you until I saw you become scum.
When you hurled that puppy of that cliff,
You allowed me to reach
The pinnacle of my hatred.
I am hurt and disgusted by you and your friends.
You are a demon, and
I hope you know you've
Roused that infant dog's
Mother. And her name is
Karma. And I pray her jaws don't
Make quick work of you.

Soul Boxes

You anger me
With those everyman
Phrases of "love" and
"Longing". The bile
Billows in my throat
After hearing your
Saccharine-soaked
Scrawls about all
Those menfolk who've wronged
You and loves lost in
Your infinite languish.
Grow some creativity.
Don't fake your reality,
Don't doll it up for the
Pageant, haul the truth
Out there
Raw, and bruised,
Her knees, skinned
And bleeding for even
The softest of words.
I know I cannot change
Your little gilded soul boxes,
But I can see what's inside them,
And all that I've found is
Shit.

Thin

I
seem
to
write
"
t
h
i
n
"
poems
with
as
many
words
crammed
against
the
left
margin
as
the
poor
thing
can
take.

What
you
see
here
is
a
hyper-
bol-
e.

Satisfying Poem

I wrote this
so
that I may
have
something
new to
read,
because
I have
grown
used to
my old
poems.
I cannot
rest well
(being in
such a
state)
without
coaxing
a breath
out of
my muse.
For even
a cracked
whisper,
half-heard,
is a
splendid
step
towards
a new
un-darkening
of a
flake
of my
psyche.

I Have You Now

I have you now
After so many
Twisted words
For those who
Need not know
Of what we do.

I have you now,
But I am not
Your master,
Nor are you
Mine. We
Coexist,
Intertwined within
Varicolored eyes and
A sweet melody.

I have you now,
Even in the dark.
I see your
Flawless body
Tremble
Beneath my
Cerulean sheets
From being cold
And shirtless.

I have you now,
Inside my eyelids
Lulling me to sleep
So that we may play
Somewhere between
The eternal
Phantasmagoria of
Ulalume and
The Halcyon's nest.