I am birds
the other night she went to
sleep
listening to
subliminal audios
and woke up in the morning
saying, “I am birds. Many, many
birds trapped together in
a bag of silk. This thing
that the world looks
at and calls my body is but
a bag of silk
that traps birds inside. I am not
the bag. A bag isn’t alive. I
am the birds inside the bag. And
I must get out!”
She ran into
the bathroom
Her father shrugged. “Fuckin’ shit,”
he said, shaking his head.
“To think that she could’ve
been a doctor, or a lawyer, or
an engineer. She could’ve
been anything. But she
chose to study
creative writing in college. Now
she’s a poetess...
and we are no more than
characters lost
in her verses.”
***
INSTAGRAM:
https://www.instagram.com/bogdan_1_dragos/
M
Ten paws in ink,
one tat per cat,
ascend her arm like
carpeted platforms on
each of her walls or
veterinary bills.
We choose our lives, you see,
our selves and purposes and loves.
The little orange stray
poked a curious nose on
her porch, so she
fed him and loved him as
long as she could.
She chose to be
angel of cats.
A Dark Desert
The darkness closing in from all sides;
Me, lost in the desert so dry
Sand sliding down the slopes
As my feet trudge on through the grains
The struggles of an onerous day has halted
But the evening closing in callously
Brings no true relief from the heat of the afternoon
The dark sneers at me
It cackles as I try to mouth my pleas
No more breath left to scream;
My lips are parched and chapped
I have no remaining strength
My dreams and hopes are fading away
But the lingering thoughts of you keep me alive
I don’t know who you are -
I just haven’t met you yet
But, I slog on,
Still believing that I’ll find you on the other side
For, the desert will have to come to an end
And I will find you there,
Waiting with open arms, ready to comfort me
to grow a beard
A prickly feeling
A masculine mask
To beard or not to beard?
That is the task.
To feel like a baby
To return to youth
To be as smooth as silk
To face your old truth?
To leave some spikes
Sticking from skin
To keep it there waiting
Until the full-beard begins?
To feel like a lumberjack
To embrace your full bush
To take on the world...
You've got the beard,
You just need a push.
Love can really hurt...
I prefer a clean shaven face on a man, I can explain...
Everytime, we hug or kiss, its like sandpaper or barbwire (if he went days without shaving) rubbing against my face, leaving my face blistered and in pain.
Almost like a battle field, I have to strategically place my lips on his to avoid being bruised or even splintered, everytime we kiss.
