You, Again

Hey!! Bet you can guess who/what this one is about!! One day I will fucking get over that man!! Hope it comes soon!!

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You, Again

I still hurt to my very core.

Anything that even remotely reminds me of you

makes my breath catch, my chest seize, my eyes go red,

makes my heart physically hurt.

I’m suspicious of everyone now.

New people, old people, friends.

What do they all want from me?

Am I acting correctly according to them?

When will they leave me?

All at once,

or will they go marching

out one-by-one.

I’ve never liked being drunk.

The fuzz in the head, not being in control,

possibly feeling like I have to puke.

But now, it makes me feel real,

feel alive. Feel something other than pain

when I think of you. But even then, I still feel pain.

I drink ‘til I can’t hold my head up,

until it’s as heavy as my heart.

I drink until I pass out.

The only time I can’t feel anything

is when I’m unconscious.

I can barely even look

at one of my favorite photos

of a Black & Tan at my favorite bar.

Because one of the last things you ever said to me

was that you liked that picture.

Fitting, that one of your favorite beverages

is helping me get over you.

Heartache Ain’t A Thing I’d Recommend

So, I'm going through a rough time right now. The two previous poems are also about what's going on. The title for this poem was taken from a Ducky Boys song. The band's lead singer, Mark Lind, is my favorite songwriter mentioned in the poem. My favorite comedian is Christopher Titus if you want to check out some of his stuff. Not my best poem ever, but let me know what ya think (Please)!

Just snapped this photo of what's beside me as I type!! :-)

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Heartache Ain’t A Thing I’d Recommend

My favorite comedian once stated

that when a girl gets her heart broken

she automatically slips into an

“eat cookies and cry period.”

Well, I take a slightly different route,

with a drink whiskey and write period.

My favorite songwriter once said

to never trust anyone

who hasn’t been broken by life,

who hasn’t been kicked while they’re down,

because they can’t imagine how it feels.

If I had only listened to him,

I wouldn’t be so broken, again.

I wanted to sit outside,

in the rain, and write.

I wanted to watch raindrops

blur the blue lines of my notebook

and the black ink of my pen strokes together.

I wanted my notebook to look

how I feel: washed-up, used,

left out for the elements.

Instead I’m huddled

on a whicker couch in a screened in porch.

With only yoga pants, a worn-out hoodie, and a Superman blanket

to shield me from the 39 degree winds.

I shiver as I write,

pull my blanket tighter around me,

move around in my seat

on my unending quest to get comfortable .

This’ll do, I think

before I run inside to refill my glass.

MicroPoetry

So, I don't know how long this has been going on, but over the last few days in Twitter I've been reading #MicroPoetry tweets, AKA poetry written with 140 characters or less. I'll probably be writing more as the days go on. Here's my first attempt, not too shabby I think!! :-)

The picture is of Marc Orrell, my absolute favorite guitarist. Because this photo makes me way happy!!

I wish I could
grab your shoulders
shake you
Yelling until you understand
but I'll sit here placid
strumming my thoughts away

I Still Have Some Crying to Do, But...

I don't really want to say a lot about this one right now. The person knows who he is. Me being 100% honest. Something the subject has asked me to be many times.

I Still Have Some Crying to Do, But...

You broke me

when I thought I couldn't fall any further,

you kicked me down even more.

You said you wouldn’t abandon me,

that you could handle me.

I guess my craziness

was too much for you.

We talked about getting out,

driving away from the city,

to the mountains, to Montana.

I told you about my dead dog,

named after Montana.

We connected over baseball,

then we shared our love for hockey.

You listened to all of my crazy punk music

even though I knew

you marched to slower drummers.

You called me pretty,

indulged my crazy plans

to steal guitars from my favorite musicians.

You gave me a virtual kiss goodnight.

But my emotions, my insecurities,

got in the way.

(And right now I can barely see what I’m writing,

blurred by my tears.)

I can’t blame you.

I don’t blame you.

I know I got in the way.

I don’t know how you felt,

if you cared for me deeper

than just a random acquaintance.

But I can admit now

that I fell in love

with your spirit, your character, your outlook on life,

your confidence in me.

I was too much to handle.

I don’t blame you, I can’t blame you.

Peace

Peace is something I can find in many, many places: sitting on the dock, inner peace in the middle of a mosh pit, with friends at the bar, sitting at home by myself.

Peace has been hard for me to come by lately for many reason.

dVerse prompt today was peace!! Here's what I came up with while listening to a new punk CD that came in the mail today. Let me know what you think, please!! Thanks!!

Peace

Guitar in hand,
watered down whiskey in reach
Sitting cross-legged in a corner.
Notebook open, and a pen, in front of me.
Quiet, except for The Band playing
on low from my computer.
I lean back and smile.

Inked Memories

I read an article today in which a member of my favorite band was talking about a new song, "Rose Tattoo," what it is about & why he wrote it. Something he said reminded me of something I do every-so-often, and it inspired this poem: "Oftentimes, I just catch it out of the corner of my eye and it literally changes my mood when I think of him and what a strong individual he was."

The article:
http://www.npr.org/2013/01/01/168406178/the-dropkick-murphys-a-rose-tattoo-tells-a-life-story?sc=tw&cc=share

All lyrics from "Rose Tattoo" By Dropkick Murphys
http://www.plyrics.com/lyrics/dropkickmurphys/rosetattoo.html
http://www.dropkickmurphys.com/news

This is for dVerse Open Link Night!! Let me know what you think!! :-)  (Seriously, though, I would really appreciate the feedback!!)

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Inked Memories

Towel drying my hair,

back to the mirror,

I look behind me

and catch sight of my

three green and black tattoos.

“This one means the most to me”

The first, a K with a clover

 on top, links me to my brother.

“Stays here for eternity”

“This one’s for my family name”

Further down, another clover,

green & knotted

surrounded by Gaelic:

Máthair Athair Deatháir.

Mother Father Brother.

“With pride I’ll wear it to the grave”

“You’ll always be there with me’

Opposite side of my spine,

a long Celtic knot,

green highlighted a double-helix design.

Surrounded by names

of departed family and friends.

“Even if you’re gone”

“I signed and sealed these words in blood”

I look down at my left thigh

while pulling on my jeans.

Black, red, gray.

Lyrics, lines, a rose

for my favorite band.

“I heard them once, sung in a song”

“I ain’t winning no one over”

I trace the stars and swirl of clovers,

gray, green, purple

with my finger on my right thigh.

This one’s mine alone.

“I wear it just for you”

I smile

as I cover up my ink

with clothes,

and I quietly sing

“I had these memories all around me

So I wouldn’t be alone.”

Untitled. Poem About "My Place" & the Newtown Shootings.

The day before the Newtown shooting, I wanted to write a poem about my favorite place to escape to when life was getting away from me, or just to be alone, or whatever. I was also listening to my favorite band play a concert in NY over SiriusXM radio. And well, it's kind of hard to write a poem about a calm place when you're listening to a live punk rock concert. I thought I would write it the next day. And well, obviously, I didn't. I was itching to write it today, for whatever reason. It's set the day of the shooting but all else is very, very real and accurate.

Yesterday I listened to my favorite band

sing “All I Want For Christmas Is An AK-47.”

Today I watched in horror as 20 children

were gunned down with an assault rifle.

I read an article last week that stated,

“Atheists don’t deal well with death.”

I threw up in the in the shower today.

I guess crying and puking in the shower

is an okay way to deal with death.

I wanted to write about

my favorite get-away place yesterday.

Today I just want to be there.

It’s at its best in winter.

Then it’s quite, unless you count

the wind running through the trees;

I don’t, I like that sound.

Down a hill along a gravel road,

a little walkway across the water

to a wooden dock. I can sit

out there for hours.

Just me.

I can look out on the lake, and only see a

fisherman or two. No one

to deal with or worry about.

Calm, things make more sense.

I wish I was there today.

I wish I could make sense of today.