Misled – Poetry

I don’t know when I became Miss Led.

Ms. Led on too damn long.

Ms. Led to sing that same god damn song.

When did I become the follower and forgot to lead?

When did I forgot the importance of my needs?

Last time I checked, there wasn’t a Mrs. in front of my name,

and I shouldn’t have to go through this round-about game.

I don’t know when I became Miss Led.

Ms. Led on the wrong path by the same ol’ guide.

Ms. Led to into believing truths when they continue to lie.

Ms. Led thinking that you’ll always be around.

Ms. Led thinking there was something good to be found.

Ms. Led always trying to see a better side of the same token.

Ms. Led thinking that we could possible fix what was once broken.

I don’t know how I became Miss Led…

Especially when it’s not my name.

 

 

 

Playing Games – Poem

Amazing-
I consistently find myself in these awkward situations
amused by seemingly promising and provoking conversations
then left in a state of silent infatuation
degraded,
deflated.

I’ve opened Pandora’s box and find the lid too heavy to shut
second guessing,
ever questioning,
the mixed feelings and anxiety wrestling restlessly in my gut.

Stalking,
gawking,
looking for some glimmer of a response, a clue, to find
what’s going on to give a little ease to the thoughts in my mind
hoping to put these puzzle pieces in a straight line.

Confused,
at first amused, but now bemused
I refuse to be in this trapping contraption
attracted by attention and undone by dejection
waiting for the other shoe to drop – or should I say
flip-flop.

Phasing,
getting ready to start the process of fading,
putting memories into the furthest recesses for bating
as I can no longer provide energy to keep concentrating
on my infallible ability to attract derogating.

No more debating.
No more waiting,
tired of being the patient to this impatient torture of never knowing what lies beneath
just to learn there’s nothing below the surface that I seek.
Tired of being the mouse-turn-cat in this chase
just to end up losing the race.

This time I’m resigning from the game before the stakes get to high
no poker face
no saving grace
I fold and leave without the little tid-bits I’ve already sold.

No More – Poetry

Some days I wonder to myself
“What’s the use?”
the back and forth’s been
going around in circles
and we can never get to a
point of parallel lines –
going forward with no
inteferring intersection.

It’s humorous how time
can make barely existing
troubles stew into
never ending shouting matches –
dreams disappear and from
the shadow of doubt
nightmares take its place.

Why do we bother?
What love do we have to keep us
united when silence slowly
tears us apart and we both don’t
care to mutter words to keep it
together.

What we once had was beautiful,
but it seems almost impossible
to recover, it seems like
“Once Upon A Time,” we were
requited lovers.

But now, the dust has settled
and what we had feels lost.
The stars are going and maybe
it’s time we finally made our lives
uncrossed.

All I Ask Of You – Poem

I don’t ask for much.

Give me some time, any moment you can spare.
Give me some attention, so I won’t have to share.
Just a kiss or two when you’re standing close.
Just the trail of your finger going down my nose.

I don’t ask for flowers – I don’t care for roses.
I don’t ask for love letters – I don’t need your proses.

I don’t ask for much.

I don’t need dinners at fancy restaurants.
Your arms wrapped around me is all I can want.
Your hands on my stomach as we go off to sleep.
Your laughter in my ear as we watch some TV.

I don’t ask for rings- jewelry is not my thing.
I don’t ask for money – I don’t cost a thing.

I don’t ask for much.

Just hold on real tight and don’t let me go.
Kiss my neck and nibble on my earlobe.
Hold my hand when we walk down the street.
Give me your lap whenever I need a seat.

I don’t ask for your name – I’ve got my own.
I don’t ask for any toys – I’m way too grown

I ask for your lips, so that I can have them to kiss.
I ask for your heart, so I know that I’m missed.
I ask for arms, so I can keep your embrace.
I ask for your eyes, and the contours of your face.
I ask for your skin, your voice and the wonder of it all.
I ask for you  during spring, winter, summer and fall.

Update – Same Ol’ Same Ol’

Hello all,

Felt it was time I did an update. It’s not going to be pleasant, so here it is:

Haven’t written anything new, in regards to my novel. As you may have noticed, I have been posting poems and bits of prose more often. Things I actually thought you’d like…as it was a constant stream of literary work from the brainchild that is MOI. Guess not. BUT, it’s a step in the right direction, as I’ve been actively writing/typing.  But alas, I haven’t added much to the novel. Does that mean I will stop writing it?

NO!

As a matter of fact, I’m actually holding out from writing a lot more on the Game of Hearts novel because I plan on using it as the foundation for NaNoWriMo this year. That’s write right! I will be participating in NaNoWriMo this year and I intend on completing this novel or at least the required amount of pages/words this year.

Aside from that, I wrote a poem for the first time in a long time. And I mean wrote – as in physically held a pen in my hand and placed it to paper and let ink run out on the page. It felt good. At first it seemed forced, but then it all of a sudden took a life of its own. Don’t know if I want to type it up though. Doesn’t seem like you guys are too keen on my poetic outlet =\

Anyway…that’s what I got so far. I’m currently working on some non-literary projects which takes my time away, but I’ll  keep you entertained.

i should tell u – poetry

there’s so much i want to tell you
…i should tell you…i should tell you…
but i fear that you’ll think me weird.
i’m scared really that maybe you’ll see me
in the way that i see you,
fresh like the misted dew but
…i should tell you…i should tell you…
that whenever we’re together, i feel this spark,
little flickers of light sparkling in the dark
like a mini fourth of july just unraveling on the inside
and i desperately try to hide the twinkling in my eyes though…
…i should tell you…i should tell you
when you’re not around my little world dissolves…
into a jumble of mathematical equations I can not solve,
tumbling with grey overcasts and gusts of winds so brisk that
I sincerely yearn for the warmth of your kiss and something like this
…i should tell you, i should tell you…
you mean more to me than an early morning sunrise,
more than God’s green earth, the color painted skies,
you are my eden, my utopian paradise…but i
…i should tell you that i…
would love to have you, for more than forever
to hold on to you and let go never,
i couldn’t ever sever the bond that we’d share
and all the while i truly fear…if…
…i should tell you…i should tell…
i see your face more often that you think,
i see your eyes when i close mine to blink,
and I can just sink into a moment of reverie…
whenever I picture you next to me and
the thought of what we could ever be…
…if i could tell you…i should tell you…

Untitled Musings #3

He seems like the kind of guy you could hold hands with in public. The kind of guy who isn’t ashamed to throw his arms around you when you’re walking down the street. He seems like the kind of guy who will purposely make loud smacking noises when he kissing you so you can feel a slight tinge of embarrassment and instinctively check over your shoulder to see if anyone is looking.

Continue reading

Killing – Poetry

I don’t know where I was going with this…it kind of just came out some time ago…

Killing

She just sits, staring, sighing, silent, alone

No one to help her get over the fact that she’s quietly dying at home,

Shit – she is the real reason that I’m writing this poem.

Blank faces, contemplating, never smiling, forced but not appreciated the way she takes care of another woman’s child and,

The pain that spews from his mouth is anything but mild and,

Wishes taking her back to when she was child again,

Wanting to genuinely smile but then,

Present situations violently hit her membrane,

Wanting to keep her cool but past instances temps to drive her insane,

Her cool was never too cool more like an Iraqi’s bomb,

Explosive attitudes ticking,

She calms, and thinks about her mom,

Trials and tribulations that took place in and out her home,

No one here for her defense or to tell them that they’re wrong,

Voice of a songbird she doesn’t even sing a song,

It’s more like she cries it,

Pushing and packing them boxes with bloodshot eyelids,

She told herself she would always push through the odds when,

They ever met her,

So stealing and raping her cheddar she said to them, “that’s ok, one day I promise, I’ll do better,”

But those noisy nights have never seen cheeks any wetter.

Micro-Story – The Once Was: A Handicapped Man

There was a young middle-aged looking man with sandy blonde hair and dark sun glasses. He looked Scandinavian in ancestry and wore a business shirt and trousers nearly about this moderate frame. He walked through the train, holding onto the pole with his disfigured hands. his fingers were unevenly spaced and looked somewhat arthritic. He held each pole as best as he could, as he must have grown accustomed to such a simple feat.

He caught sight of an empty seat and moved toward it. The man next to him with “normal” arms shared a courteous laugh or joke or pleasantry of some sort. They sat side by side, both with newspapers in their hands. The deformity of the blonde man with sunglasses extended pass his hands to his arms which were shortened and seemed to be missing elbow joints. Thus, they stuck out strain in front of him. He maneuvered through his newspaper (as he must have grown accustomed to) with ease flipping through and folding pages with no trouble at all for the rest of his transit.

Micro-Story – The Once Was: An Asian Girl

There was a little Asian girl no more than twelve, whose metal filled smile was always beaming with sweet innocence. Long hair contained in a single low ponytail and bright round eyes behind her small framed glasses. Adorable. She was accompanied by an older while male, quite possibly in his late 40’s. Her adoptive father, maybe. He stood with her, talked to her and constantly made her laugh. He fixed her lunch sack on her arm. She groaned, the way children almost always do when their parents tell them to do something they don’t want to. He looked on her the way parents look over their children to make sure everything is OK to ensure that their bundle of joy is safe and sound.