and by no means

Am I jealous
I seek no pity
I found no friend
Not even a follicle
 A dissonant smile
 
A seizure disorder
 Medication restoring appetite

 I did promise myself
Out of respect to myself
but my spirit, but my spirit
could not resist such tyrant’ness
your legs ever so crossed 

 they greyness of your shirt
spoiled cuffs –  poor posture you

 Academia in a sperm cell, pardon me

 I cannot contain myself these days

* A breakup is a worthy bronzy penny; it leave a rusty resemblance – a tiny tincture of existence – there – a clear undiluted motherfucking metaphor. Something we strive to feel, to be, we spend our entire life, shelving, rearranging our adulthood to blame everybody else expect ourselves, yes yourself, you are your mental health, only you can solve yourself within yourself, no I am not claiming to be an expert in the matter just a molecule in the fall, and in the rise of myself.

I can prove this – I can – I loved a man you see; thought I did. I loved his tales in the most trying times of my life I allowed myself to be a character, a fictional character on his sleeve – and this is the inspiration behind this short – yet full * circled * cycled * poetry * review of myself within myself *

 Thank you for following this blog!

May your spirit soar with kindness!

-M

 

Prophet

image

And mice

I don’t want to know this

I do keep it drawers

The smell of humidity

Wakes me, it shatters

The rhythmicness

Of my sleep – when you

Sit next to me – your hands

I see – I have no fear I too am this

A space in sound

A gap once stitched

Dedicated to family friend

Teacher, Buddhist, Godfather

-  Aguilar Almendares

Peripheral

image

I was refusing – sure for us once

Etheral as hell, the side effects

The blue butane, too good to sketch

My better parts; split optically

Yesterday a man climbed upon my bed

Megaphones of war, little voices

Widened, dear lord,  amplified

If I lose ever so lively, back to my spine

Again, a dictator – I must want, an empty

Boot, a common night, too topical

For poems   . . .