Poetry

Sorting Sorrys

Sitting, sorting through
All the un
fin
ished business

Fuck That Freight Train:
I Am
Sitting Here.

Just sitting here sorting through
The unfinished business
Theirs, mine

The things that I’ve
Learned
Oh my God
What the fuck …

The sorrys that should’ve been spoken
The hearts you split wide open
The headaches that felt like pressed death
The unbelievable stress
Sorting. I’m sitting here
Train horn blowing my ears
So loud it’s deafened and all of my fears
Are usurping senses ALL AT A TIME…
I should’ve been listening
When you were still crying

I had no idea how
You suffered
I thought
You were just an asshole
Who lost
A lot
Of control and couldn’t adjust

I gave up on every step I took
As you pushed me back
I stood right where you pushed me
And looked
Away
From your dismay

Who even were you?
When you left
Your heart
Battered and broken
Alone in the dark?

Who even were you
Going to be?
Before you gave up loving us
Outwardly?
Before it took you
Flipped you in
side out
And wrecked you again and again?

Who even were you?
I guess I’ll never know
My Mother
My angel
My shepherd away from hell

Wonder Years

The wonder years are over
Hunger’s part of the process
A one-liner can strike a chord
A two-liner can start this
Process over [Stop the presses!
Halt the nonsense!
Get back on a train to conscience!]

I have to work twice as hard to stay as strong as I was yesterday
Were these underwear always brown?
I don’t think I can be myself anywhere, anytime
Now. Any time now I’ll decide what to do
With my life
Right? No – more likely I’ll just wait and simply live
To die

I can’t rite without wrhyming
I don’t care about spelling
I don’t care about smelling
Like I’m always dwelling on shit

I’m not a ball of anger anymore
I am just a ball
I learned to let the anger go
Now I’m fuckin old

Colossus

          A dog leftover from a love once lost
          A cold, dark morning in a long-lost cause
          Life is a series of mistakes   The cost of
          Feelings loom on you like confined colossuses

          Milk left on the counter
          A postcard on the fridge
          Everything goes sour
          When you mishandle it

Cream on the tip of your finger
Touched to the tip of your tongue…
Mistakes may just make
Twenty-four a
Terrible war
s wage inside your head
Colossus This  and colossus  That
Are clawing at your insides and
Trying to bust out of them

          …a postcard on the fridge
          Will not let you forget
          How quickly love can sour
          When you mishandle it…

You stand and you stare blankly
You down the milk 
And frankly
Don’t give a
Fuck

Milk left on the counter
Poured over and around your tongue
Cream on the tip of your finger…
Today’s a terrible one
A postcard on the fridge
Will not let you forget
How quickly love can sour
And then you’re

Puking
Your decision
Puking
Up your mind
Colossus feelings fighting
For a moment of your time
Collapsing by the dog who’s
Lapping at your puke
Magnets fall from the fridge
And the postcard 
drifts 

to 

you…

Then I walk in and find you
(I’m sorry, this part’s just a dream)
I look at you smiling
As your kitchen and your heart come clean
I crouch down and offer
A loving hand to lift you up
You reach  and   reach    and     stretch
And stretch
And then you wake 
Up…

Then you wake up
up Then you wake
wake up Then you
you wake up Then
Then you wake up

Staring at the postcard that landed by your head
Stained by milk mixed with blood.. pink what once was red
Just like all the roses that keep coming from him
Red when it was love 
Pink now that you’re friends

Nala

Sugar gives the world a shiny face
And it comes from your…

The queen of the jungle
          Your cunt rumbles
                    My brain

I am humbled
          By every touch of
                    It’s mane

Short sexy hairs
That cannot compare
To a single thing
I can think
Of

I’m in a daze
When you’re naked

I partake
The most masculine ways
To enslave
Your candy
To take it away
To a private place
Where I can lick it all day
Taste it all day
And fuck it 
All 
Day

And then
When night lays…

Your silky, tasty ways are what make the stars stay
And wait
For another taste
A smile from your delicious place
Gives the world a
Shiny face

Sugar gives the world a shiny face
          Your candy coats my smile with a sexy glaze
                    The stars stick around for another taste
                              They want to lick it all day
                    Taste it all day
          And fuck
The queen of the jungle
          Your cunt rumbles 
                    My brain

Blastula

Oligodendrocytes burn when you antagonize
AndIGoIntoThy rage
Squeezing a leaking brown on a very well-written wage
Glue the mate
Glue the mate
You always overcompensate
Glue the mate
Glue the mate
I refuse to have a fate like glue
I refuse to have a mate like you

Withdraw from desire
Pliers
Are a handy tool
Pulling out what I’m without when I act like you
My brain is on the floor
My ears are on the floor
My nose is up my ass and my mouth is running more
Than it has ever run before
26.2
A moronathon with you
I fucking hate the blastula
I always turn into

…

Oligodendrocytes:
As part of the nervous system they are closely related to nerve cells and like all other glial cells, the oligodendrocytes have a supporting role towards neurons. They are intimately involved in signal propagation, providing the same functionality as the insulation on a household electrical wire (with the rather large difference that while household electrical wires are in a non-conducting medium – air – the axons run in a solution of water and ions that conduct electrical current well).

Diseases that result in injury to the oligodendroglial cells include demyelinating diseases such as multiple sclerosis and leukodystrophies. Cerebral palsy (periventricular leukomalacia) is caused by damage to developing oligodendrocytes in the brain areas around the cerebral ventricles. Spinal cord injury also causes damage to oligodendrocytes. In cerebral palsy, spinal cord injury, stroke and possibly multiple sclerosis, oligodendrocytes are thought to be damaged by the excessive release of the neurotransmitter glutamate.

Blastula:
The blastula (from Greek βλαστός (blastos), meaning “sprout”) is an early stage of embryonic development in animals. It is also called blastosphere. It is produced by cleavage of a fertilized ovum and consists of a spherical layer of around 128 cells with a large fluid-filled space called the blastocoel in the animal pole of the embryo. The blastula follows the morula and precedes the gastrula in the developmental sequence.