Men Who Stand Too Close

I can't be won by hollow compliments
And plastic foliage.
I know their thoughts
As their chairs inch closer,
Their hot breath on my neck.
Some are tall and white,
Others dark and handsome.
Inside is the same man
With one line
And one intention.

But while they whisper their transluscent words,
While they pour out
"You're so beautiful"s
I realize I'm no more important to them
Than their girlfriends,
Who have no clue
Where their perfect boyfriends are.

Their hands move closer to their desired destinations,
Suprised when pushed back by mine.
They wonder why I don't fall for their lies.
The reason is simple:
I know that I deserve respect,
I know they won't give it to me.
To them
A pretty face,
Is nothing more.
What they don't realize
Is I am not
A pretty face.

***This poem is still VERY rough***

If Honesty is the Best Policy

I'm a hypocrite.

I lie,

And I hate it.

I like attention.

I hate listening to people's problems;

I really don't care.

I'm anti-social;

I pretend not to see people in the hallway.

I'm insensitive to others,

And sensitive myself.

I'm jealous.

I'm hurt.

I'm resentful.

I'm not always okay.

Now for once- you tell the truth.

Of Callous Hands

The merchant stepped of his vessel,
Talisman in hand,
With no intention of luck
Except for luck in love.

A dark haired beauty
With sapphire eyes,
He only dreamed to touch.
Her rosy cheeks
And calloused hands
Sent him thousands of miles away
Marooned on his island
Of stars and daydreams.

He had been told,
“It’s just a phase,
It will come then pass."
But her fragrant hair,
Like raspberry and pears
Always brought him back.

The merchant stepped off his vessel,
Talisman in hand.
Across the way
Her radiance shined
Ravaging through the air.
Her daring smile
And olive skin
Sent images of a future bride.

With a faint smile
And mumbled hellos
He handed her
His treasure.
A silver wreath
On a golden chain
Sent her all a flutter.
Then magnetic hands
Broke the breeze
As they drifted along the way.

Those heavenly years
Flew right past,
And the merchant found himself at his vessel.
Once more he stepped off
With his talisman in hand
But no sapphire eyes to greet him.
No fragrance of raspberry or pears,
Nor a daring smile to melt him away.
All that awaited him:
An occupied tomb
And a mourning heart
Full of memories
Of calloused hands.

Birth Day

The room is red,
The floor is cold.
A baby
No one knows,
Shattered across glistening tiles.

You had few options, true.
But-
They were
Options.
To save a live,
Or watch it die.

Door number three was found.
And your solution
Did not involve nine months of solitude,
The embarrassment of Planned Parenthood,
Missing out on teenage normalcy.
And why make life more difficult,
After all?

A drink,
No, two (Or three)
Could drown this cell out.
(Four, to be safe)
But you’ve forgotten,
It’s not a cell,
Not at all.
It’s a baby;
It’s a boy.
It’s breathing, beating,
And now dying.
Another drink:
Sends him spinning,
Vision blurring.

And what alcohol didn’t solve
Smoking did.
This human
With black lungs and a tiny cry.
Is now heaving,
Coughing,
Wondering what his mother is doing.

And you knew what you were doing:
Not listening--
Not growing.
Expelling the undesired
Consequence.

Now
The floor is red,
Her face is white,
Ear splitting screams crack the silence,
Of her baby’s.
Lifeless.
Heart.

A Prayer

Calling all space aliens,
In praise of guns- and roses,
In search for homes with orchards
And freshly cut grass,
With all the lust allowed by law.

I don't trust these imperial views,
These slaves of gossip.
While others survive on controversy;
I simply need air.

I don't understand
The pay off
Of gaining land
While losing credibility,
Of where the bridge to nowhere
Begins
Or ends,
Of how the times betrayed
Its values.

But I keep my faith
That we are learning:
Alliance,
Purity,
And patience.