69 to 72 of 100


What are you running from
She asked
Searching for the sinister

Mental illness

Offering the obvious, and
Smiling somewhat smugly
She replied

The haters
They will try to rob you
Of your simple joy

Because they don’t understand
The should-be-nothing
Risen for some reason

Throws them all for a loop
And instead of being joyous
She feels threatened

And jealous
But the should-be-nothing
Just keeps on running
Like the free and beautiful wind

And with levity
Comes wisdom
Wisdom is love is heaven is
The purest freedom!

Mental illness

Putting it plainly
Poignantly, with pride
The gone girl regurgitates

Oh, and exchanges her naive smugness
Embraces her questions and Her Highness
Loves her no less and invites her to the palace

Because hate
Is just the most stark naked!
And in this way
The most beautiful
Cry for love
Of self.


Do we play the lottery
And not go to work?

I should be thankful
Grasp at your dangling carrot
Be so moved
So touched
So compelled
To reach out
Like you have not
Tell you I need love
Please love me!
Like a beggar in the street
Like a mutt in an alley
Desperate for a handout

Oh how tender the copy and paste!
Oh how touching the post and the haste!
Oh how fake the sentiment and the ubiquitous things you say
On your self-fulfilling falsely-deficit-filling obstacle-making toward REAL goodwill-taking on the book of Face!

And you said
It might do some good
And I vehemently disagree!
You see,
I am that one you speak of!
I weep alone
I read your one post
Amidst your million!
Of your dogs and home and family and friends and children!
I ask
Where is my invitation!?
So I should be
By your
Facebook annotation

Zombie nation.


And other times
There are times
The haters gonna hate
In a slick way
Haters gonna demonstrate
The life they lead
Of what they preach
Like a parade
They want you to come see
You come see
They so happy
Watching you watch thee
Eyes wide pan-fried at their trophies
They mistake our gaping mouths our do-withouts
For envy jealousy I too want these
Things, they don’t see
Our oral gapings, caves, holes
In fact reflect
Shock, disillusionment, alarm
At witnessing these
Soul rapings

Zombie nation.


I told him
You are very good
At whatever it is we are doing
He asked
Why is it whatever it is
And not…

I’m coming to Spain
I’m not coming to Spain
I’m sorry

I just walked and walked.

I am going to Boston
I am not going to the Ivory Coast
Because I love a good story and an electric who knows

I run.

I told him
I can’t do this anymore
I thought I could
I tried
He asked why

Because I don’t love you
Because it’s the thirtieth of November
Because the sky is blue
That’s why.

À propos de Stina

If I could tell you about me in a neat and tidy definitive statement, I don't think I'd be writing this blog.
Cette entrée, publiée dans Poetry, est marquée . Mettre ce permalien en signet.

Laisser un commentaire

Entrer les renseignements ci-dessous ou cliquer sur une icône pour ouvrir une session :

Logo WordPress.com

Vous commentez à l’aide de votre compte WordPress.com. Déconnexion /  Changer )

Photo Google

Vous commentez à l’aide de votre compte Google. Déconnexion /  Changer )

Image Twitter

Vous commentez à l’aide de votre compte Twitter. Déconnexion /  Changer )

Photo Facebook

Vous commentez à l’aide de votre compte Facebook. Déconnexion /  Changer )

Connexion à %s