What’s in a Name

Whats in a name they ask

Alone sitting in a quiet cozy spot

Cuddled up Nsync with

The guy who parked in the Backstreet

We watched flicks and I dissed chicks 

That appeared on screen

What gave it away?

A phone without a case

Just a girl

Longing for an embrace

She grew up in poverty

Her whole life trying to gain sovereignty 

A semblance of cleanliness

A scent can mask this

She feels dirty and rugged

A whole life filled with luggage 

And when he asked her

As he gestured to the long broomstick like decor

“whats that’’

She clapped back, “its not a cat”.

It’s a ‘’cinnamon stick’’

It filtered the room

From her doom and gloom

It electrified and mystified the air

In an old apartment where it was hard to stare

‘’Cinnamon Stick’’. He searched.

Term unfounded

She laughed because she knew 

Whats in a name

A name that was not yet grounded 

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Bang Bang Bang and a Shot Gun Goodbye

She’s Sue Storm

the once seemingly downtrodden

the once deemed “damsel in distress”

daring to probe and provoke

questions to chip-engulfed

blinded folk

~~~~~

Her music and madness

headphones and script are her finest form of weaponry

her Artillery

her saving Grace

~~~~~

Bang Bang Bang

shot gun goodbyes

and brief cradle holds

prison locked and shell shocked

oh, but she’s equipped

~~~~~

she prefers to dwell in her own Universe

her own ideal capsulated world of peace and tranquility

because electro-brushed selfies

images of vanity,falsity

and alter personas of imagination and delusion

whilst witnessing a Touch of disturbing illicit frolics,

was and is not much of a thrill

~~~~~
Makeup and making out

was and never will be her imperative pursuits

music induces her deft pattern recognition

the predictability of

walking corpses

~~~~~

Sue Storm

invisible

yet insidious.

hidden yet very much aware

of What is really causing the blows,

the lows

the manipulative tactics of vultures lingering in the deep forests

possessing watchful eyes,

anticipating her next not-ever-existent fall

~~~~~~~~~~~~

She’s nobody’s fool

she keeps her cool

because

She’s Sue Storm

with a Bam Bam Bam

and her pocket full of Shazam.

*inspired by the character ”Sue Storm” in Marvel’s “Fantastic Four”- I found a part of me that can relate to her. “Shazam” is a music app for those of you lovelies who are unfamiliar with the reference :)) don’t ya’ll just weep during shot gun goodbyes ; (?!  whether exiting a mustang or beat up Buick -they always sad!!

 

Pretty White for a Black Sheep

I was a milk carton girl.
lost in my own thoughts
my own fears about life
love
happiness

I was a milk carton girl.
gone missing and gone fishing
for answers
anything that would make sense of all this
confusion
this out of reach comfort

I am a milk carton girl
face on and face off
seeking to be found
longing for completeness without
my compromises
compromising Me

I will continue to be a milk carton girl
trudging and stumbling
until resolution is to be discovered
to be attained somehow,
someway.

They call me ”black sheep”
well, I say
I’m pretty white
for a black sheep
for a milk carton girl…

 

Shapeshifting and Coke Sipping

Am I invisible?
Or is it merely Me,
shapeshifting,
overdosing on coke sipping,
because alcohol is
just a cheap escape?

I paid for my order 15 minutes ago,
though it feels like hours
decades
as I am supporting myself
on one worn out foot,
one drained soul.
The other
wrapped in a cast
disguised as an invisibility cloak.

Finally,
She looks up at me,
her innocent gaze.
I’m unrecognizable
a Poltergeist perhaps,
or a forgettable face?

In this moment,
I am Shapeshifting
into a frustrated
and ravenous being
who is merely inquiring about
my disregarded request.

I am unrecognizable.
And so I hand her my receipt,
proof of my existence.
Evidence of my physicality.

I’m a shapeshifter,
attention seeker.
camouflaged into
the zombie apocalypse
of today’s tedious
disappointments.

 

 

 

 

“Gwen Stacy”- Inspired by her intriguing character in the comics of Marvel’s Spiderman.

She’s the dead Gwen Stacy.

Just as her youthful self always whispered to her

of her future.

Apprehension stemmed

from her heart’s vast knowledge,

insight to which her congested mind 

couldn’t comprehend.

 

And so she was hesitant,

tortured

and was hopelessly in love

with the vision of romance

that she so felt undeserving of.

 

She clung to that frail piece of Rope

the one that failed to save her.

You see, she never needed salvation.

She merely possessed a longing to be loved 

by the one she was infatuated with.

Her personal symbol of security

 

The Rope snapped

and so did she.

Her body in the literal sense

And her soul in theory.

 

She may be a perished Gwen Stacy.

But that is not all she is.

For now her depth is as deep as the 

kind green eyes she once upon a time

reluctantly fell into.

Over a delerious decade ago.

 

 

 

In a Daze of a Unicorn

She’s trapped in an everlasting

bubble catered to her innocence

one that prevents her from

touching

stroking

embracing

it’s the one thing that keeps her distant

from society’s Normalities

 

She longs to hold on to you

though the trembling

and shaking has put a

doorstop in front of all her simple fantasies

 

She’s Untouched

held captive by her isolation

that dawn wishes to breach

though Night is her only day

she so very much wishes to dwell in

 

she wonders why the disconnect

the indifference

the numbness

prevails when her soul feels

any ounce of gratitude

showed by those who admire her

 

Perhaps she doesn’t feel worthy

for Unhappily-Ever-Afters

are all too familiar to her.

These peculiar ideas of

contentment 

complacency

or that term her peers speak of

‘’Happiness’’

is as much Fantasy in her eyes

as the unicorn that is residing

in the Attic above her haunted bedroom

 

He Who Sheds Light

she asks me why my lips are in motion

yet no sound is heard

I told her it’s just a notion

that what she hears

or lack there of

and what He listens to are

of identical reverberations

 

that the walls I built

and that the walls she sees

are for only Him to glide over

while she must dig

to find answers to questions

queries of age old

misconceptions that

I was never that innocent

 

and while I stood there

feet width apart

caressing those tear stained pages

the ones that our ancestors shed

crimson salty droplets on

I realized it was and never will be in vain

 

these thoughts that consume me

are of nothing but Him in that moment

when everything is faded

and then His presences is the only

sensation that I experience

 

she may still be digging

wondering if I still zone in

or if my outward appearance

and actions

mirror anything of what

my soul’s desire of connection

is

 

And then I realize

I’m okay

I’m alright

bless be He

who sheds light

during the darkest of night

 

Welded in a Frozen Frame of Mind

Why is it

during those vast and endless rays

of hope

your absence is prevalent

as if you had never existed

 

and when the tides shift

and my emotions turn morose

and bitter

I can almost feel your presence

lingering

juxtaposition

my cold and trembling body

as your hand caresses my

bloodstained shirt

and you whisper into my empty

and aching ear that indeed

you are ”here now”

 

yet at that moment I feel warmth

as if we would somehow

be welded together

in this position forever

until those cycling rays will have come to a hault

and from the darkness you will have disappeared

evaporated

 

crimson tears will have not been shed

you were just a dream

my most beautiful

and almost tangible

nightmare

one that I will hold onto

for safe keeping

with me

forever

 

Until Kingdom Come

words eminating

from sandy shells

it’s not music you say

just noise drowned out

by vultures and gulls

on an enormous rock
she sits
staring into space
only the stars she cannot
see

the melody is heard
as she gracefully
sways to the calming
chimes
the ones she has heard many times
before

”rescue me”
she whispers
the chopper hovers over her
though by no surprise
she refuses
to lift her delicate
face

it’s too late
all is sealed
in a time capsule
only to be reopened
in kingdom come

 

Bullet Paced and Teary Faced

There she sits

in an empty lounge

of the dark ward

thick tears

hitting the ground

bullet paced

 

muffled sniffles

she keeps her hope hidden

buried

so that sanity

appears to be in tact

 

oh serenity

where have you been

she questions fate

it’s been a while

 

calamity has been her only peer

illness was her weakness

she could never let go

from those thoughts of desire

 

and so she whispers

in her broken french

je t’aime mon amant presque

all is quiet

but nothing forgotten