maybeapoemortwo

[maybeapoemortwo]

Keeping Them With You

Mounted on walls and dangling from mirrors.

Laid in glass cases or pressed into diamonds.

Hung around necks and in town squares.

Gone forever but alive on display.

As trophies or warnings or even to mourn.

Made into a thing that can be worn or put away.

And if there is no trinket or space to store it?

We will drag those corpses behind us each day.

[maybeapoemortwo]

Flowers.

Talk to them.

Listen and ask.

Ask them about the ones who pick them.

Are they friends?

Ask them about the beds their petals cover.

Are they firm, soft, airy, or dense with root?

What is it they say to the ones underground?

Something comforting and bold, for sure.

Ask them as you are laid to rest.

Or if you're lucky enough to score a lei,

Ask them to pick you again someday.

[maybeapoemortwo]

Unicycle-corn-y

Don't look for a horn.

She's mechanism not mare.

Rare, simple machines.

[maybeapoemortwo]

Why Do Beavers Damn?

To alter the rivers course?

Or because they can?

[maybeapoemortwo]

Still inverted.

Is it speed and gravity?

Am I a dew drop dangling from the bottom of a leaf?

Tension gripping different ways.

How long can I stay?

[maybeapoemortwo]

I try not to gossip.

Mao said it's counter-revolutionary.

So I will ask about you, politely.

When you don't give, you don't get much T.

A disadvantage at narrative control, tactically.

It's still my perferred way to be.

But give me a few sips?

Make me a little angry?

Well, I've sunk a few ships, matey.

[maybeapoemortwo]

Laundering

I was waiting at the mat.

Sitting on the edge of the machine.

Suds and fabric swirling underneath me.

When my theighs started to sweat.

So I slid back and slipped in.

And gasping for air, I washed away sins.

My old skin cycled fresh, red, and thin.

When I finally got the timing down;

I leaped out of the spin.

I stumbled head first into the dryer.

Humbly I tumbled until the door opened.

So i could hop out hotter than fire.

My polished skin bruised but unbroken.

[maybeapoemortwo]

My Younger Friends.

I have accepted my fate.

Have your victory dinner, dont save me a plate.

I'll never see the future we're trying to create.

Head home without me. Don't wait.

I've been fighting for the only clean slate.

Hoping you can live lives, you're free to dictate.

If you find my body, burn it prostrate.

[maybeapoemortwo]

Poems on a Train.

You never had to.

So, I will never pay the fair.

But i'm still a passenger.

Until they come for the ticket.

Call me stalling.

I know my stop is near.

And, when those doors open?

You know, I'm out of of here.

[maybeapoemortwo]

Ask me About my Art.

In some afterlife reality.

Hell, for sure.

Art is just beauty.

And nothing more.

Poetry tells a story.

Or tallies some score.

Music is not a necessity,

It's an atmosphere for a chore.

But all creation ain't so pretty.

Although heaven, for sure.

When painted sincerely,

Intimately, from some core.

Writing the words that address the ugly.

Knowing the poet ain't superior.

Composing ourselves and dancing messily.

As if every song were the only one we came for.

[maybeapoemortwo]

Dog on Fire.

It wasn't her first instinct to save the pups

Waking up choking on smoke.

The masters house was all around in flames.

Her first thought was not, it was action.

A gasp of air was just a sprint away.

But outside the fire, she wouldn't stay.

Listening for wimpers in the in the embers.

How many could she save?

The answer was a deep breath.

And a sprint toward the blaze.

[maybeapoemortwo]

Empathy Apex

Whatever it takes to get you there.

Fantasy.

Math.

Envy.

Wrath.

That's who's surviving here.

The ones who take to give it back.

[maybeapoemortwo]

Medium

The individuals are rarely in question.

Only ego pays.

A one of a kind sells for millions.

But is it easy on digestion?

Eating paper weighs,

Weather green, or stained vermillion.

Hope on power in separation,

Will not a village raise.

Who brings food to your pavilion?

Will they still have motivation,

When hunger rises and ego fades?

Find a place in billions.

The only hope is assimilation.

No single faith can sustain.

But our numbers are resilient.

[maybeapoemortwo]

A Glamping Trip Ruined

We went on more vacations in five years than I had taken in three decades.

Let that decadence sink in, deer.

See, I've had fun in the most torturous vocations and trades.

You calling me away was so easy on the ear.

I answered it without hesitation when I should have been afraid.

Who was that in the headlights back there?

[maybeapoemortwo]

Some Trick!

To hell with Eshu.

Denial or not, just go for broke.

You should (low-key) shift chaotically.

Be mischievous in honesty.

A Coyote near the livestock;

Sleeping peacfully, but woke.

We may not all be Anansi.

But we have enough legs to stop a spinning spoke.

[maybeapoemortwo]

Waiting for You to Shutup

My peers swear they hear voices in their head.

Whether it be some echo of divinity or fractured personality.

They swear their internal worlds are intruded on by some other entity.

And like them, I hear a voice incessantly.

But it's always me. My motives aren't a mystery.

Who's telling me to overtip the waiter?

It's me, and I know why.

Who's telling me to jump the fence?

It's me, and I know why.

Who's telling me to help my neighbor?

It's me, and I know why.

Who's telling me to drink the rent?

It's me, and I know why.

Who's telling me to excellarate around the bend?

It's me, and I know why.

Who's telling me to sleep with your best friend?

It's me, and I know why.

I will apologize. But never deny.

I hear voices constantly, but the forum in my head has always been lonely.

[maybeapoemortwo]

Some Rhymish Journal Shit.

It's not always "trust nobody."

Although it is mostly.

But I'm nobody.

And I'm tired of not trusting me.

And I yearn so badly to trust somebody.

I mean, trust them differently.

I already trust the worst in everybody.

I even embrace it when it comes to me.

But secretly...

I'm dying to trust myself and others more triumphantly.