Category: poetry

winding 

OshanLeave a comment

Inflatable dreams at needle point aching to be popped

The angry pro stitchers fingers are getting sweaty grasping at the tiny needle

Their milk crates are dented from constant pressure and continued sitting

 

Thick dreams at night with orgies and oozing glitter

The stiff buttons are hard to press

Yet so satisfying to touch

And take-out fries are never the same as crisp virgin ones

Mouths salivating at the thought

Anxiety builds and the glitter orgy ends

 

Run your hands on the picnic tables getting as many slivers as you possibly can

Slur your words from the pain of the wood chips embedded in your skin

Wooden floors drip with blood

An endless search for the first aid kit

Iced hands that feel as heavy as blocks of wood

 

Those cigarettes are eaten for 20 dollar bills and the party begins to pick up

Grayscale nights with a bossy little personality to match

Crisp floating memories weighing heavy on your chest

your head

and your back

shards

OshanLeave a comment

I sit in the ladies changeroom again and again

cursing the broken glass in my fingers

when I grab something the wrong way

pain shoots through my hand

but I can’t find the shard or the invisible pain

 

I want blood

not this tiny sharp intruder that hurts when I twist

I have this glass in my finger

hiding me deep in the changeroom

 

 

Cricket Dream Land

OshanLeave a comment

In the beginning I was shy and bashful,

Not knowing what I wanted or what you knew.

We were quiet and in love,

The  symphonic sounds of crickets and frogs at night in the hayloft,

I had my first drink with you.

I kissed you and it felt amazing,

Your neck kisses made me so warm.

 

 

Now I hate sleeping alone and being alone,

and thinking alone.

Who will I tell when I cant breathe,

I cant breathe now.

I am repressing thoughts of you but they scatter the city.

We have spent years together,

I’m drinking again.

 

I really don’t know why I did it so fast.

 

I feel sick and I cannot eat,

I toss in my sleep only waking to think of a moment we shared and cry.

I wear the bracelet you gave me and I cannot take it off.

I feel your touch on my skin and I want to hold your hand,

I know the memories of your touch will fade and I will have nothing left.

I know your body better than you do,

 

Is this really best for any of us,

We were fine,

We got in some fights but we still loved,

We have different personalities but we still loved.

And yet we both long for the hypothetical love of another,

What, are we suppose to meet another and everything will change ?

We will have all this perspective and knowledge,

Perhaps that won’t happen,

But if it does I want you to know you own my heart,

As stubborn as we both are we have to admit that we learned a lot from each other.

 

I hate to write as if it is over,

I don’t want to type it,

It would make it real.

I want to live in the cricket fantasy land,

Live a thousand years in your loft.

Surrounded by movie posters, sleeping bags, and your body.

I want to live in a daze.

A fever dream,

But that can’t happen and we have to come to reality.

 

I love you,

I love you,

And thats why it hurts.

In the end I’m cold and vain,

Not knowing what I want,

Quiet and out of love.

 

Manic picsy gal 

OshanLeave a comment

Feasting on the wind
Only to preserve a pile

Picturing what it would be like

to be preserved

 

We are choking

Intangible

picture that

 

thick spit cascading from my chin

trying to swallow

they won’t take that

 

I hate myself,

and you hate yourself.

mutually

marbled and cool to the touch

 

Demand

OshanLeave a comment

I burn a deep rich green

Peeling into 21

I wear black

I want to feel it all

I bloom pink and soft

Later flowers are the most driven and solid

Thick hearty petals and stacked plant flesh

Afraid to be sexual?

“I think I’ve faked more orgasms than I have had”

I burn a dark luxurious red

Let the flowers open

Ask Or demand

Burn the colours you need to be

Burrito Boy

OshanLeave a comment

he smells like he’s homeless but he lives in Beaches

he’s eating a sushi burrito.

he’s all about pretend panic attacks and shiny excuses.

daddy’s money, daddy’s boy.

 

living on the 56 floor and doesn’t know how too cook

city living metro man

If you get what you are given,

Do you ever really get what you are given?

If you take what is there,

you take it for granted.

 

 

Holy Bedroom

OshanLeave a comment

The hungry bed waits for you,

with its sheets twisting and its pillows stiff.

 

Just take a bite of the apple,

let the juice run down,

dripping and sticky.

 

Warm milk in a plastic cup,

Just like grandma gave me.

The perfect temperature,

no bubbles or steam.

 

The bed is restless,

it wants to be full.

I cut the poached eggs

you watched the yolk spill out,

beading in small yellow drops.

Dribbling onto a spongy bed of rye.

 

Sleep my little angel,

tell your mom you are in good hands.

The bed has you now,

twisting its cotton sheets around you,

like little tricky snakes.

 

 

 

 

 

My Neck, mY bacK

OshanLeave a comment

And without a word they touched their bare bellies together,

Making slurping sounds.

Anna, with a drink in her hand said,

“It just made sense”.

“It just did” she repeated.

A ritual? A greeting?

Who knows.

Pink Noise

OshanLeave a comment

I stare at you and light a cigarette,

Beginning our repetitive toxic duet.

Fully knowing I will never move on,

Rightfully hoping we could just get along.

 

Hot and wet are my streaming tears,

Paranoid and irrational are my fears.

We get past our problems with looming doubt,

We carve out our future with promised drought.

 

But who could I possibly destroy next,

Who could I torment to death?

This is negative and greyscale thinking.

Smoking, fighting, and sinking.

 

 

 

 

Plantasia

OshanLeave a comment

And my neigbours are old but they are up later than me.

My spelling is bad, yet I still write poetry.

Personality, personality, writing needs depth,

No rhyme scheme no syllable counts no breath.

My bare calloused hands killing flies,

With sheets of polyester, pizza boxes and zip ties.

That line was hard to swallow,

Like cum and medicine and pills and sorrow.