tacoboy013
57 posts
Latest Posts by tacoboy013
I went to see the palm reader today. She furrowed her brown, crinkled her nose and said, we all couldn't have been Joan of Arc. Sometimes it's our destiny to die in the dirt of the plague .
It's midnight. At midnight we do midnight type of shit.
I am drawn in by the dark designs of her curvature.
How she dances in the shadows of negative space like some wild thing.
She is enchanting.
I am enchanted.
She's on my mind.
She got there through the ear canal.
She's in my heart.
I think she got there through the lungs.
This time, it's personal.
I only will love you - to the end of your lips.
And immediately stop - right after this kiss.
Secrets always taste better,
as they leave the mouth.
I grow tired of my poetry.
It's all that you will know of me.
It really hasn't grown on me,
when I read it in my mind.
I loved how the universe manifested itself as her. And for that brief moment in billions of years, I was there for it.
I finally realized that sometimes the worst kisses were really the best kisses.
Like every time we tried to kiss and our teeth hit because we couldn't stop giggling and laughing.
Or when our lips were tight against our face, because we couldn't stop smiling at each other.
Those were the kisses we had.
Even after years of being together, those were our kisses.
Beautiful, memorable, awful kisses.
People have the wonderful ability to tell you exactly what they need; most of the time they don't mean what they say.
It just takes too much energy to keep you lit up little one. This is not sustainable, post renewable (Wait there's a poem here I think).
Redux the Revenge.
We loved with such difficulty,
We loved with tremendous struggle,
But it was always with great pleasure.
We never had a song together, but we sure as hell had a life together.
She said something about me being a good listener. I don't know, I wasn't paying attention.
It is written in the stars above - that we shall never meet,
any more than lovely moon - will ever meet the beach.
To gaze upon her pale shade - mirrored off the sea,
and have her waves break on the shore - for all eternity.
Eagerly I pray for tides - like the thirsty pray for drink,
to hear the music from the foam - and sea's tranquility.
I feel her pulling on my heart - with all her gravity,
a gentle language that she sends - spoken just for me.
Yet it's written in the stars above - that we shall never meet,
but when I feel her moonlit glow - I'll wait here happily.
I will love you into oblivion
my little disco Death Star,
in our secret society built for two.
your serial thrills my moth cult kills
you grow into my deep dark places
like mold upon my bones
the gap in the tooth and crook of your nose
my pretty baby full of grace
dripping red drippy drops along the floor.
The flowers do listen, like butterfly kisses. Along the wispy road.
Their crowns to the air, those ne'er-do-wells. With colors brighty shown.
No petals are broken, no fragrance unspoken. Barefoot along the path.
They sip morning dew, in gowns with deep hues. Their toes along the bath.
Slowly they sway, the wind combs the days. Away with gentle brush.
Each one a sister, the truth they do whisper. But lower than a hush.
Six Word Story
Last one alive, closes the door.
My thoughts of her rise to the top,
like fizzy bubbles in my soda pop.
A good life is lived on the half beat.
And is filled full with the absurd, and contradicts itself often.
And all our time spent is either sex and/or distractions from death.
And a lot of arguments begin with miscommunication and live on longer than they should because we make up excuses for our honor.
And money and comforts are wasted if they're not in service of big wrinkly laughs and smiles.
And is too short for me not to feel warm and rosy by the color pink or cry during good books and movies or care if other dudes think it's weird that I like Hello Kitty.
And is too long for me to hate people for loving who they love or what they believe in or when they cut in front of me at the market or lie to me about needing change for the bus but they're really buying beer, it's all okay if they come to me with a smile or positivity, because everyone deserves dignity and sometimes an asshole is an asshole and a nice person is a nice person.
it really doesn't matter to me if the earth is flat or round or that a god (or goddess) exists or doesn't exist or aliens built the pyramids because none of that stopped my step father from getting drunk and beating me or my mom and it didn't stop my mom from dying from cancer.
And seeing how free she was in old pictures, living like unapologetic wildfire, bending time and space to her terms I could finally love her as an individual and outside the context of a mother.
not being embarrassed anymore by how I look because those looks are the living history of the great women before me.
And that none of this is any kind of new revelation.
I use to like riding the metro around the city with with no predetermined destination.
