illiterate--poet - Tumblr blog

[illiterate--poet]

Maenad

A madness, a frenzy, an ecstasy 

tore through my mind

which wrapped around my throat like a panther’s 

skin

as though my words were

choked with irrationality, straining against my voice

My insane infatuation consumed, condemned 

you to my unhinged devotion

I’m out of control now, out of sorts,

manic eyed.

There are gunshot screams loaded on my tongue

Are you terrified?

I’m terrified.

It’s you I love,

euphoric smile, velvet wine, my God;

but you’re drunk on control now, 

watching me unravel,

so better by for me to test your hand

I spit raving profanities,

your quick-paced words begin 

to slur

I laugh at your flaming temper,

you sway

and feed the fire

I spin bold faced lies now,

watch your cheeks 

go red,

I criticize your every move,

you twitch 

despite yourself

I stared in the mirror,

love gone bad.

showed me a Bassarid,

I stared at our reflection 

as eyes glass over

addicts fallen apart

[illiterate--poet]

writing anxiety

In third grade biology, we once dissected a sheep’s heart

Not knowing much of what were doing, our tiny crowd of teetering children haphazardly cut at tendons like loose strings,

They didn’t break so easily though, they, like a fly caught in a web, put up quite the fight.

Their fate was inevitable, the scalpels we aspiring-scientists held were designed specially to slice through flesh

But the heart is the soul of the body,

And a proper soul can’t stop in its tracks for something as trivial as being dead

I remember, even as the muscles began to finally give, and the cuts came smoother,

this spirit didn’t dull, and the heart refused to secede

Instead of procuring a white flag, it produced a smell, acrid, penetrating through our clothes, clinging to them for hours, a hitchhiker weaving itself into the fabric fibers

Regaining some semblance of control at the last instant

As I sit now, attempting to spill my identity onto this page

I can’t help but flashback to that day,

Reliving it exactly, except, this time, I’m the one on the table

I’m not sure what prefaces the specific moment I’m stuck in,

But looking around I can clearly see I’ve been submitted to a future of dissection

Analysis at the hands of overeager students, who dutifully bend over their clipboards,

And begin:

Peeling through the layers of my body slowly, exposing each one to their watchful eyes

And their hallucinated faces flicker and frown as if

My already trembling body isn’t giving them enough material to work with

I’m ready to give out, but they keep digging, searching for more and

The hyper-stimulated nervous state I’m in refuses to let me calm down

To show them where to look

The disorienting deja vú breaks for a moment and I see that each motion of the dissection

Perfectly mirrors the rhythm of my real-world recitation of self

Every slice of the blade is something so familiar,

And it takes every bit of willpower I have not to grasp it in my hand,

To take hold of it like a lifeline and pass up my turn on the operating table,

To take over the role of doctor like an understudy swooping in at curtain call,

But my defense systems fail me, or perhaps it’s fate

Afterall, just as the muscles were always going to lose their battle to the scalpel

I was always going to lose to the desire to continue

Despite how terrifying it is, or maybe because of it, the need to write is magnetic and although I won’t go willingly, I can’t help but bear the sprint down memory lane if that’s what it takes

By the time I finally spell out the height of my piece it feels like it’s been hours,

And I’m so worn out that I’m almost done fighting, but not quite

I, like the sheep, release a stinging stench like a toxin,

A last-ditch effort at stopping the operation

At hiding everything I still can

But no one’s deterred

The staring scientists watch avidly as my heart begins to pour out of me

Their pencils scraping against clipboard pages

Whispers exchanged as they try to piece me together, better

Their senses overload me

And all at once it’s too much

I let go

And all of a sudden there’s something on the page

I’m too drained to think it through once more so

I take my exit cue

I suppose it's for the byproduct that now so must you.

[illiterate--poet]

raindrops

I wish I could write like rain drops dribbling down the windowsill

Soft smooth salt

Rustling through leaves

Pushing past bustling herds with hearts on their sleeves

Strangers pose no dangers, they come and they leave

I wish I could write like rain drops

Tiny little worlds

Colliding, crying

Their little pitter-patter on the glass like bullets flying

Tear-infused, they splash on the ground, backtrack to a golden era, dying

I wish I could write like rain drops

Relentless roaring rivers

Reminiscent rhythms

Rock-pop anthems plucked out on well-worn wood, better worn bass

Ripping through the shorn classical-esque mold, hard to ignore, so loudly in your face

I wish I could write like rain drops

Flutter like feathers through whipping winds

Float on down past the Tamborine tree-limbs

Catching in Kleenex, scarves like tornados,

Spinning through, some mile wide crescendoes

I wish I could write like raindrops

Too bad the words ebb and flow like a worn-dry swamp instead

Sticky, sticking to the memory glue that holds them in place

Overflowing, not going where they should

So carefully crafted but this lions mane won’t be tamed

Shouting and calling, taking their own names

I wish I wrote like rain drops, calm, pretty little things

Instead the washed-up pond-scum spits out on my page

It’s a whirling mess, it’s me, it’s my pride, it’s my shame

[illiterate--poet]

nothing gold can stay

"so this is what we've become" he whispers once more

face contorting with an untold rage

phrases echoing, mere murmurs moving, softly, under his breath

his hands laying still within my chest

our hollowed hearts clinking against one another so far past their breaking point and yet, still cruelly intact

the overflowing pitcher of our past

has us filled with a lurking desire that represents everything we could have been and the nothing that we've become

these golden children have rusted

i guess underneath our charmed sparkle we really were no different from the crowd

there's an unrealized satisfaction spoiling the aura around us

an unsaturated world, just

black and white-- our broken brains slowly losing all recollection of color

the landscape is filled with melting dreams and momentary whims falling in to one another

glances and gazes wander, stumbling against reflections of what they once were

portraits of their glory days now overcome with cobwebs and shadows

these star studded students aimed their shining pupils too high,

too high...

much too far away to ever realize

that the sun they aim for will burn them alive

we used to be dreamers too

with bright smiles and rosy cheeks

our hopes wrapped in soft celebratory satin and a laughter that rang in tandem with songs playing on the radio

so melodious, enviable, sweet

too bad we didn't notice our gifts until they'd been handed down to the next

over the years we've watched as the world seeped the life right out of our eyes, our hair, our bodies

empty,

together only in our solitude

now

we sink to the earth

the ground that we used to bound so vivaciously across

these steps that betrayed us

the memories floating around like phantoms

impossible possibilities

our hearts beating only to spite those who warned us of this future

if only we'd believed them when they told us that this potential was on just on loan

ha

imagine that

maybe then we wouldn't be stuck in this

a last ditch effort to prove our former teachers wrong one last time

as if our misfortune was their doing

fantasizing that this obstinate nature wasn't the thing to plunge a dagger into our chests,

pretending that our stubborn stares weren't what got us into this mess

we always thought we were immortal and i suppose that's why

we're near-dead so young

we didn't make room for anything permanent because we thought we owned this world

so as the death march plays and our funerals remain deserted

we laugh and we cry alligator tears

for no one else is here to pretend that grief is streaming down their cheeks

we tell here

a tale of two wasted lives

burnt-out and yet still burning bridges

bitter talent now stale

upturned spirits rotting

souls resting but certainly not in peace

[illiterate--poet]

simple truths

there are certain undeniable truths about oneself,

or so i'm told

a specific stagnancy, the blinding consistency of a light house

keeping you grounded, helping you navigate this enigmatic world around you

but what happens when you start to question these roots

these foundations that shaped your very core, suddenly ripped out like garden weeds

without the rug underneath you where do you fall?

a whole world of truths can be constructed from just one statement- isn't that odd?

principles and ideologies take root in one simple identity you hold and never let go, even when you do

following you around like a phantom shadow that you can never hunt down

[illiterate--poet]

life float

it feels kind of like i’ve been drowning forever

stuck in the water

flailing, gasping, reaching

but i can’t swim

and then you come along

like one of those life floats

and you pull me up

i’m still almost fully submerged

but my head’s up

i could breathe again if i wanted to

for the first time in a lifetime i can see something better

the light at the end of the tunnel

so, despite every instinct i have, i take a breath

smile,

take your hand,

and let you teach me how to swim

[illiterate--poet]

does anyone else simultaneously romanticize and tear themself down?

it’s like half of my brain is constantly on the run to places i’ve never been

i’m laughing field of wildflowers, having picnics on bridge rails, recklessly driving through the city, enjoying a minimalistic life

but i’m also wealthy and traveling and well-recognized, respected

a lawyer or doctor or ambassador

a poet, photographer, author

i can never make up my mind because the world is so big and bright and beautiful and i want it all, every minute completely worthwhile

but this vision, this desire to experience it all and not waste a single second

it is my downfall:

i want too much, too fast, for too long

and how can i possibly achieve every perfect desire i hold so closely to my heart?

i can’t and i won’t--

not now not ever--

the knowledge destroys me

knowing that one day i’ll have to choose which impossible fantasy to chase and which to delicately destroy

every step that i take, every tear i shed, every breath i release will never be enough

i will never be able to satisfy myself

i will never make myself fully proud

and that kills me

because every moment in my life i’ll look back and wonder if i made the right choice

no matter how successful i get, i’ll never be truly happy

because i could not do be enough

and for this: i loathe every ounce of my being

[illiterate--poet]

thought jumble

Sometimes I just Feel nothing? It’s kind of like I’m floating in a void somewhere Maybe I’m— an astronaut lost in space Or the captain of a sea wrecked ship A ghost or hallucination not

ever

fully

there. Is it numbness? Or do I feel so much that it overwhelms me Until its all gone Like a sponge, soaking up everything around me until- I’m wringed out Damp but dry and empty So very empty What even is a sponge without its water           Am I seriously comparing myself to a sponge right now? But it kind of does make sense, doesn’t it? Because sometimes the things that just don’t work are the closest we can get to the truth Because, in all honesty we don’t work, We don’t make sense I mean the odds of us even having a place to exist are 1 in 700 quintillion 700 quintillion known planets in the universe          +1 for us of course That logic in itself is flawed It doesn’t take into account so much more how was this tiny fragment of time the perfect one for us? how could we survive the famines and droughts and diseases? Not that it matters anyways, However the math turns out, we’re really just a microscopic blip on the cosmic scale An overlooked mistake that shouldn’t exist but did and still does somehow It kind of gives me hope (In a weird unnerving way) Because if our tiny blue dot could survive for this long, If she could beat the minuscule odds put forth Then maybe I can get through it too.

[illiterate--poet]

unrequited

to drown in thin air no one (in sight) you and i but i could barely breathe this love your love my love-- for you-- it suffocates me choking me the way i wish you would, if only to admit that you want me dead that you might even feel anything for me at all would be more than enough but you don't, do you, dear? do you understand that you're hurting me more than death ever could, do you, dear? do you know that the thought of your kiss your lips your skin leaves me mad, do you, dear? how could you ever comprehend the fact that you are a fire taking up my oxygen . not stealing, (because i'd gladly let it be yours)          because my body          my soul          my mind belong to you already just as they always have, do you, dear?

[illiterate--poet]

quiet

There’s a world out there

Peaceful

Quiet

And there I can retire to my thoughts

Small 

Dark

It's a lonely little world 

Just me, myself, and I 

But i 

Don’t mind

No. distractions 

and 

no-stress

No. more-judgment

Decompress

Tired eyes 

Tired mind

To free myself 

I might have to be blind

                 just let me black out,

it’ll only take a minute

I crave this place this whisper of a life

but there’s more to life than just something going on

than just my lonely little quiet place

And i need to return to the real world at last

[illiterate--poet]

wind

Blowing away 

Dust 

flies

Leaves 

Crinkle

Branches 

crack

Gray sky

I try… 

           To find 

                      My way

                                   Back home

                                                 But i can’t

                      i can’t

[illiterate--poet]

sistine

Moving
 through the halls
 i pass
 golden light
 enters my sight
 i sigh
 in delight
 kings, crowns
 regal they stand 
 frozen in paint


i’d
 never thought
 Anything
 could be 
 so 
 Incredible


but then
 i enter
 the Chapel engulfs me
 with 
 it’s-Art, 
 it's Beauty


i forget 
 the crowd
 And:
 Stare 
 And: Stare
 i'm not disturbed
 by the Glare
 of Light on Stained 
 glass-panels
 or
 the kink my 
 neck-Has-developed


Clock
 strikes 2
 they try to pull me through
 the doors
 but the 
 Sistine
 my 
 Sistine
 still Calls 
 out to 
 Me

[illiterate--poet]

cello

melting

slipping

through Tight fingers

the notes fall in

into one Another

sliding 

Colliding

Singing their song

bowing 

engaging

follow along

I have no control 

for it must lead me through

if I want the music

to hold on to pitch and tune

Close your eyes 

Listener listen carefully

for deep inside

you will feel the melody

effortless, calm 

Steady your bow

mellifluous, sonorous 

hold-on

cello 

[illiterate--poet]

dreams

Drift to sleep 

And find your dreams

Lie with hope

At peace with night

Start your flight

Throughout these dreams

and - Fold yourself

Into soft spaces- and

Hide inside

Your blessed blanket- and 

Dreams be peaceful- and

Dreams be calm- but 

Dreams are delicate

Dreams are gentle- and 

Dreams must last- or 

Life will be wasted

Love will not happen

Dreams carry us through

Dreams inspire us

Dreams are the future 

Dreams are everything

-a dream is the light

-that helps us through dark

Dreams are everything.

[illiterate--poet]

cold

I resist shivering 

But it’s freezing 

And I must give-in

I have striven

To endure this

For much too long

And the very earth seems to hiss 

A warning in the form of a song

Telling me to go back

And I try

But the ground slips beneath me

And I fall like a sack

I lonesomely cry 

And in that very place I lie

The frigid air 

And the wind pulling my hair

The snow on the ground 

No people around

Everyone inside

But I’m facing this chill

I’ve tried to get up

But I’m stuck

Glued to the ground-still

Until the cold melts away 

And in I tuck-into myself

Waiting and waiting for somebody else

[illiterate--poet]

requests

if you have any requests or ideas for what i should write about, please direct message me. i love you all so much!

[illiterate--poet]

home

returning home would be a dream in itself but first we must find it; returning home would click the heart shaped lock within my chest into its place but what's inside; returning home would be foggy and glossy and fresh and everything and nothing at once but home is no more than that globe-shaped greenhouse empty, but for our echoing voices pinging against the glass