stonefoxdork

[stonefoxdork]

Some (heavily) inspired birthday poetry fit for a real OG. 😎

DISCLAIMER: I hereby declare that I do not own the rights to this music. All rights belong to the mad, mad genius that is Nicholas Britell.

[stonefoxdork]

Reign of Terror

An ambush of giggles

Falsetto ones, no less

A lifetime of tickles

With no time to rest

A face sore from smiling

And non-stop teehees

Serves you right for daring

To be my main squeeze

[stonefoxdork]

Semper fidelis

November 17, 2015

Here's our now: it's where you summon me in syntax and I drop everything to go on a journey with you. These are all the Yin yoga classes near your house this week. Your headaches came from the sugar you ate, just flush it all out with water. Ooh, good link, I will remember to read it when I'm in bed and need to get sleepy.

I've learned how to pray. "Please God, please never make him stop texting me. I'll be good this time, I promise I'll be perfect."

But then I'll stray and wonder how deep and how far I can cast these words before you snap and snarl and I have to back off. I am drama. I am a child. I am thirty. I am sorry.

Then I wait. Then I stop caring. Then my phone lights up and once again I am on a cloud. It's actually a wheel, and I keep falling off. Maybe I'm not engaging my core enough?

You never call me Princess anymore, and when you're harsh I get called by my name. When you preface or end sentences with "B," I think, "This is my reward for being such a trooper."

Sometimes, I stop believing that we can still make each other happy again, as each one's other, and I feel so much lighter. I fantasize about how I no longer have to keep things that aren't of me inside me, and there is so much space.

So much space.

I get giddy.

There's beauty in this. We've stood across each other, fangs flashing, prepared to draw blood—our absolute ugliest. Still, we somehow keep trying to be part of each other's present, like a soldier's code.

You once asked me to please stay for as long as I can.

I try and bridge this memory to this moment, and the pieces won't fit. Maybe it was really good kush. Maybe I made you come. Maybe you remembered you were about to get older, and you wanted an ally in surrender.

Are you having trouble with this puzzle, too? Tell me so I don't feel so alone.

And tell me, how much more should I grow? How much more should I bend and flex and twist and fold and contract and expand, to hold space for a pinch of a droplet of a smidgen of an iota of a crumb of a hair of a crack of a chance for some tenderness?

Where your eyes lack, mine overflow. Oh, my love. Forget the Systane. I would give you all my tears in a heartbeat.

[stonefoxdork]

Unpetty crimes

This is your sentence for misdemeanors made For what you have pilfered a price must be paid Terrible lounge music A cell for a room Walls with no windows Not one good cartoon Polka dot polyester to cover your shins Three week old bagels to eat for your sins A joke with no punchline Full evenings without dark You owe me the moon, bunny, for stealing my heart

[stonefoxdork]

Transcendence

This is the rock where the pompous fish wriggle They mastered the tides but rejected new bones In the nitrous air slack gills betray them Fins and tails twitching with Olympic grace

[stonefoxdork]

Bad Poem No. 1

Make me simper Make me ache Make me shiver Make me quake Make me sigh Make me swoon Make me giggle Macaroon

[stonefoxdork]

do you like me? check one: [ ] yes, [ ] yes, [ ] yes.

[/] hell yes

[stonefoxdork]

Bad Poem No. 2

Invade my spaces Command my fleet Conquer my bases Be my sweet Abandon your charges Surrender all arms Fear not, my darling This bloodbath of charms

[stonefoxdork]

I'm trying to remember the exact coordinates of the point in space and time that we zagged when we should have zigged and ended up in muddled states

'Words are overrated,' your sheepish monotone insists

and my mouth grants yours its mumbling approval

A night of ideas and fears, theories and dreams dissolves

into a dance of spit and cum and soaked queen size sheets

With the same swiftness that our warm bodies collide

the edges we live to conceal pierce through to the surface

They hurl verse upon malicious verse, mocking the absurd

chewing our limbs rotten, milking us dry

[stonefoxdork]

A Confession

This is probably the thirteenth text message I have typed out with no real intent of actually ever sending it to you. My thumbs are forming a worker's union for being so incredibly overworked yet so incredibly unfulfilled.

I should form an official committee to address my body's various labor issues.  My fingers have not laced through yours in days.  My eyes have not locked your gaze in almost a week.  My ass is restless and livid.  In my head, there is a subpoena with your name on it.

I've asked you once before to forgive me for disturbing your peace. That was obviously a bluff.

You are a champ; I am raw and have nowhere to hide.

If I break anymore than I have since having met you, I would be measured in parts per million. Already, bits and pieces of me have washed up into a thousand glimmering beaches, have flown with the winds into the clouds and fog in all the world's continents, have fallen deep and taken root into the earth of countless lands.

Fates, I beg you - do be kind.

[stonefoxdork]

Of a disordered relationship with words

See, I have been writing about my inability to write for the past two and a half hours.

The irony here is three-fold.

One is the fact that it has taken buckets of passive and unproductive sweat over a span of eight days, in a moment of near-hysterics and desperation tantamount to what most people would consider is a legitimate breakdown, after having failed to meet two critical personal as well as professional deadlines, for me to be able to write.

Another is that while I have produced upwards of seven hundred words in this emotional and mental prose-purging of sorts, this prayer not included, none of these words contribute any sort of advancement for any of my overdue articles (the submission dates for which are the same ones I have missed).

The last one is that I’ve written all around town and thrice around the next one, when really, all I have been wanting to say is this: I have come to hate writing, but since it’s the lone tenant occupying my proverbial bag of tricks worth considering, writing is about the only thing I ever get hired to do (this in itself is another irony; however, this one is a twofer as it is an ironic tragedy).