Sep. 5th, 2016

  • 11:08 PM
pridefall: (an atheist in hell | John Constantine)
the days we fell in love // the days we broke apart

 

Jan. 21st, 2015

  • 11:35 PM
pridefall: (Truest Words Ever Spoken | Anis Mojgani)
told a stripper once she could do better
than waging war against her father
breaking necks whenever she walked in a room
just to prostrate herself at these temple doors
lay herself bare to men out past sense
looking for good times and women worse off
told her she was smarter than, better than,
more delicately beautiful than gyrating hips
and Lil Wayne on repeat;
but she looked me square and smiled,
flashing teeth, showing sharp incisor;
so much of her a wolf, red lips the better to devour,
snicker-snack; hungry hungry--licked her lips
and looked me up and down,
'Was I even worthy?'
but she said:
"honey i've a PhD in astrophysics and zero debt,"
"and these men call me Isis, call me Aphrodite,
call me Venus, Porsche, Diamond, Sin--call me
everything they want in life, what they need but cannot touch
I am gospel in motion, their daily prayer withheld,
and this is my temple--Delphi by any other name;
your Shangri-La of flesh my well-worn path, my
monument to every brave woman taking back
the bodies your forefathers turned commodity;
I am neither beaten nor broken, never victim;
call me goddess, and I will allow you penance
in every drop of blood and sweat
lain soft at my feet."


-- she said call me "Antigone"

Dec. 15th, 2014

  • 11:22 PM
pridefall: (woah woah wait | Naruto)
this is a poem about sex.
a collection of words, this handful of:
fragmented moments between teeth,
hitched verbs caught tense between
curse words stretched out, wet tongue
taut against the curve of your lips:
touching the tip of what I bring to mind;
let me spell it out for you:
your favorite moment is an adjective
curled tight, arched hard against
words sandwiched between motion
and the act:
short and beautiful as they are.

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Dec. 15th, 2014

  • 11:01 PM
pridefall: (Here I lay my Burdens Down | Art)
tell me your satisfied poems
your big cat warm sunday afternoon
first coffee cup stretched back poems;
show me your indulgent poems--
the ones that lie down, yawn loud
every word purple prose matching
favorite comforters on cold winter nights;
show me your favorite poems and how
they resemble your grandmother's hands:
the way she whispered you asleep,
soft stroke of thumb, gentle voice
gentle song; gentle everything
tell me your grandma poems;
poems like too big sweaters, like:
hot chicken soup and mashed potatoes;
girls wearing your favorite t-shirts;
guys with strong necks and stronger arms;
tell me the poems that make you feel home
every night
every day
everywhere.

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Sep. 28th, 2014

  • 5:51 PM
pridefall: (Piss off | Soubi)
i am not a promise, not perhaps or
those little smiles in your darkness;
i am not "what will be, what might--
maybe I'm your second chance--
fuck that; i am greatness, motherfucker;
i am the first-last best thing, your
coffee cup fuck in the morning:
a holy experience; name me
orphaned child Moses, Romeo reversed;
call me promised land. Call me Juliet;
When God made love they took apart
everything i was just to get the feeling right
and used my words as kindling; the prototype
call me Ovid slinging ‪#‎hashtags‬; Chaucer stuck
think me beautiful, think me not unfinished stories
I'm not your dot dot dot; not your letter unsent
I've come back from war too many times to not be
heaven-sent

Tags:

Jul. 8th, 2014

  • 11:44 PM
pridefall: (Only Data Streams | Tron)
"Olvido de Cansancio"

The Dating Scene is an Abyss,
And guessing games? Its River Styx;
I am Dante hounding Sisyphus;
Tired burning broken sore;
And too fucked up to care anymore;
When numbers given are texts ignored;
well chasing you is just a bore
and men they say we rhyme with
chores and whores and nevermore's
so never more again will i obsess
with girls who only cause me stress
these thousand lines of recompense
are conversations stuck at: Yes?
Cuz' yes, oh yes: we are a mess
A networked stream of loneliness
our hearts affixed to thighs and slits,
of dresses stressing thighs and hips;
So kiss us all goodnight with broken lips,
And lay me quick, and tell me this:
"Why lie about your interest?"
We're born from broken, honest mess
but dishonest-ness seals every flaw
I never wanted you to hide; this dark:
a tide tumultuous between you and I;
And I: Eurydice sans Orpheus;
staring at my message read:
one day, three weeks, five months; a year
Fear in me: a ship of bones and teeth,
my hopes point North; but I'm lost at sea;
these nights, you see grow long and cold
and Christ, I'm old; so old--too old to care
about women leaning more Dis than Pair.
despair, you see is madness defined:
the same result with difference in mind;
So here's to you, and her, and her, and him:
us better-halves betting half our lives that:
"True love does not exist,"
I'll sing to you these hymns, our hymn
of every lover who did not quit:
And those that crossed the River Styx;
And those that crossed the River Styx.

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Oct. 17th, 2013

  • 1:46 AM
pridefall: (an atheist in hell | John Constantine)
 this is what it tastes like:
i bite my lips to drown out
the words i want to say
insane; i say things like
let's get back together
because i love you and i 
need you and it's like
a fragmented metaphor
for what we used to have
and being bipoalr tastes like
lonely nights in a city
filled to bursting
where whores on the corner
look like men who never got 
enough love and here i am
wondering where love goes
when you pay all of yourself,
but don't have any change
and there's blood in my 
mouth on the tip of a gu--
cigarette because it kills you
slow down, slow down;
life is filled with ups and
down in the ocean
because there's others fish
but the sea is a weight in my
chest like a hole, like a 
chasm of memory devouring--
and insanity tastes like
screaming into my pillow
and crying until nothing
wet is left within me
and i am a husk of need
of jealously rending,
feeding itself
an ouroboros
and my tale is told
twicefold--I go forward
but not back
because someone said love is like
burning up from inside out;
a forest-fire,
a temple to forgotten gods,
a hero come home,
broke and beaten
bruised but victorious
and then he
well
he died.

Tags:

Feb. 3rd, 2013

  • 3:38 AM
pridefall: (an atheist in hell | John Constantine)
 22-26

it's curling up into a ball,
your knees tight at your chest,
while the world marches on.

xxx


it's being in the mafia,
and waking up to a betrayal:
your bed has become a homicide.

xxx

it's swimming through a maelstrom,
and trying your hardest not to drown,
when your heart is now an anchor.

xxx

it's saying fuck this page
i dont want to feel like this anymore
make it all go away

xxx

It's a dank bar with nothing but whiskey and gin,
A woman with legs that go on forever,
And finally understanding the Blues.

Dec. 23rd, 2012

  • 3:07 PM
pridefall: (I'm a super hero! Really! | Invincible)
Nuyo-Puerto-Rican Blues.
there's a saying my pops says that goes:
"two Puerto Ricans, three different opinions."
and I can't help but wonder what makes this true.
ask any person what they think of you,
and I think you're liable to get three different answers:
the first one is usually a lie, coached in pretty language;
the second, when they know you, the truth.
but when they're angry?
when there's conflict in their eyes,
but all they've got for you is silence?
that's the truest hallmark of them all.
and so: where do Puerto Ricans come from?
What's the genealogy of the term,
stripped of pretty language and Empiricism,
even though red-white-and-blue Borica Flags,
are all we ever hear about anymore?

this is a thought that keeps me up at night:

and i've never understood it,
never quite had anyone to ask,
but what's the difference between a Nuyorican,
breathing salsa, red, white, blue, and dance;
and their latino cousins south of the panhandle:
those Puerto Rican brothers and sisters,
best known for their Ricky Martins,
their Miss Universes,
Their Hector Lavoe?
New York City ain't all that new,
and have you seen Old San Juan?
These cities could be twins;
long lost Caribbean sisters,
each from a different side of the melting pot;
we got blacks and asians and white folks down here too,
So what's all that new about your two-named city,
this home away from home,
that just applies to you?

They call New York the Big Apple,
And down here we have some too;
every latin mamasita has that apple-bottom figure,

every homeless man holds his hands out in penance;
like Eve or Adam reaching for that original sin
Our tired and poor are your tired and poor too, cuz;
doesn't matter where they've been.
Our every bar blasts salsa and reggaeton,
and our flag's just a white as your's-
no pun intended of course-
because

but
so i'm sitting here wondering:
all through this discourse,
why I gotta justify myself for being me,
to people I don't even know.

They call you expatriates,
and I know I am one too;
grew up all over these united states,



Dec. 23rd, 2012

  • 3:02 PM
pridefall: (Here I lay my Burdens Down | Art)
angelic
i was never an angel.
i was not plucked from heaven and given form,
shaped by desire and lust and good intentions;
i am an idea,
a thought-form conceptualized by the media,
religion,
and chance,
and my birth was not so much planned for,
as it was random happenstance;
random, random, random happenstance.
random, random, beautiful,
powerful,
heartbreaking,
miraculous,
chance.
i am the zero-sum gain of a lifetime a choices,
a saint dwelling in a valley of shadows;
my belly is full, but wanting,
and my mind an open book;
a house where everyone remembers growing up differently,
and as I grow older, I find myself thinking:
how does one do right by those that made him?
how does one become more than a share of chromosomes,
than the end-result of one passionate night,
where two people decided to bring life into the world?
It makes me uncomfortable to think it --
about my future, not my parents naked --
and the answers i've found is that there are no answers,
no guides,
no book that can tell you how to live your life,
because living for someone else,
is a limiting as never allowing yourself to live at all.

Jun. 23rd, 2012

  • 2:12 AM
pridefall: (fml intensely | Naota)
a short poem )




help, help. i've seen someone in a dream and fallen in love again.

Jun. 18th, 2012

  • 2:02 AM
pridefall: (Truest Words Ever Spoken | Anis Mojgani)

6/17/2012

No Father; No Fathers
I have no father.
That word is much too small,
Is far too narrow to describe,
The kings that raised me.

It is a word weighted in experience;
A combination of six letters with infinite definitions;
My fathers were athletes and businessmen;
They taught me to run, jump, and climb,
And sat my ass down to practice writing and arithmetic.

They were video-gamers and storytellers who stayed up all night with me;
Whether we were counting stars and telling ghost stories,
Or sitting around talking about nothing with a beer in hand;
These men taught me what it was to be a man.

 They were soldiers and mad geniuses,
Doctors and role models onto themselves;
I may have climbed mountains and rooftops without them,
But never once I have felt as tall as I was when seated on their shoulders.

My fathers raised me to believe in very simple truths,
And in my life I have done my best to live by them.
You love those around you without asking for anything in return;
Speak truthfully and strong, without s-s-stuttering or screaming,
Because even the most smallest, most quiet voice,
Is like the voice of God when spoken with conviction.

You fight for what you believe in, even if the mob thinks its wrong,
Even if the world tells you that you're insane,
That you must change to fit their example,
You plant yourself firmly and say:
This is who I am,
This is who I was raised to be,
And I will not sell myself short for anybody.

I was raised to believe that anything was possible,
That nothing, not even myself,
Could get in my way.
And I am still fighting this fight,
I am still here, still breathing,
Still living up to the giants that made me,
And in them I am finding the will to carry on.

I have no fathers,
But I do have a Dad,
And I do have a Papi,
Because father is just too small a word,
To describe the men who raised me.

Apr. 17th, 2012

  • 11:49 PM
he doesn't come from a broken family,
he says,
softly whimpering in the dark.