|11 Poems (standard:poetry, 0 words)|
|Author: AJ||Added: May 31 2001||Views/Reads: 1833/1071||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|11 short poems|
My Favorite Metaphor You are my favorite necklace That has a broken clasp. I wore you Every day for two years. Until something snapped And beads clattered to the floor. And every time I tried to fix you More beads slipped off. So I put you away. But now and then I remember how much I used to need The feel of you around my neck. Even though you were sometimes heavy And wearing you made me ache. Sometimes I take you out And try to see what made you break. When I thought you were so enduring And I wish you could be whole. I'm the one Ceetee fell down But I'm the one pained She is bruised But I'm the one maimed She is ashamed But I'm the one blushing She is cut But I'm the one gushing She is hurt But I'm the one dying She is sad But I'm the one crying I can run wild While she's the one creeping She's scared to step While I'm the one leaping She's so numb While I'm the one feeling She's scared of the sun While I'm the one peeling She needs me But I need something I'm the one who's never had Open Your Hand But you've closed your book already You've made your beliefs a quarter That you clench tight in your fist Afraid you might drop it. But Kevin, open your hand up You won't lose your precious quarter I can fill your palm with money If you can take the risk. Daddy Don't You Know? Doesn't he know? He has the right To call his father up And show him a picture of those haunted grey eyes And say, "Look Daddy, You gave me these grey eyes And you soaked them with tears With your balled-up fist That should have been an outstretched hand. Daddy, don't you know? I should have been your son Who sat at your right hand Instead your son Who sat under your right hand." And while he's at it He should show his daddy a picture Of my hunted brown eyes And say, "Look Daddy, How you made me hurt Another." My Days Are Colored My past is colored With a thick waxy crayon coating Each red thing that happened Looks like a fire engine aflame And each black thing Looks like ink running down the inside of a wet black silk blindfold. My present is colored With a thin watercolor wash Each shade is evened out to grey Each breath I inhale Tastes the same as the one I just exhaled. Liar Jason is the pilot flame People think Oh such a cool Blue little insignificant Light that never Hurt anyone. But the click of a switch And he erupts Into red orange bristling hot fire Only I See him alight When there is no sign Of that calm serene blue in his being Because he has yielded it to me A beautiful blue That spreads. Poem In An Envelope You get an envelope from me You rip it open And the tears spurt out To splatter on your clean shirt Like blood When you cut yourself with my brother's razor How do you feel When you take out the soggy pages Spritzed with my pain perfume? Click here to read the rest of this story (45 more lines)
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