A story of something (poem)

There is a poem in you somewhere,
between the freshly inked rose and your rockabilly pose.
Your core once rested between my index and thumb,
I should of known the sound of your happy goodbye was-
the sound of a starting gun.

The transition from a Werthers original to a Ferrero Rocher-
swooped the hipsters into pastel shaded tornadoes,
and now the party goes wherever she flows.
Underneath your sweet layers I know there is a crunch-
where the aesthetic really does not matter all that much.

They say the language of the lovers is in the books-
but for my sake, I pray it’s in your venomous dirty looks.
Now the warm city glow is just the amber in a-
dysfunctional traffic light and I know there is no
direction left for me to make this right.

In a darkened club with leather sofas covered in vomit-
there’s a piece of paper with my name scribbled on it,
and there was once a girl who clamored with excitement-
to find a vodka rinsed pen,
that same girl erased those numbers and never dialed again.

It broke something when she declared herself busy-
the girl who could not help herself to once miss me,
debated with myself where it all went sour-
but sometimes you can be on time for something
and still be late by the hour.

Asking (poem)

Your laughter muffled by the icecream,
the hectic fairground in my daydream-
did you know that you’re the queen?

The coal in my veins-
curdles at the thought of you leaving,
but as I feel the mountains take a closer look,
I soon realize that I am living in a book.

When the tide foams at your feet
and the sand becomes slushy but soft,
does your mind think about quicksand-
or a memory that time swears you forgot.

I know words can be powerful-
but your Bruce Lee kisses have that uncanny sting-
where you know they could be simple whatevers,
yet they could mean everything.

Making you mine is no simple task-
it’s a marathon just to ask,
and your feelings are frisbees-
hoping they are returned back.

What do you guys think?

so this blog I mostly post my poetry here and there, I kind of want to do a little bit more on this blog. Now I’m thinking to perhaps indulge a little bit more of my personal life on here (dun dun dun!) and use this as some form of diary perhaps. Talk about certain topics I feel strongly about. Simply, bring a little more of myself to this blog, show the person behind the poetry I guess. I understand that sometimes the poetry tells a better story so I am not going to force this on my readers, just a thought.

What do you guys think? (what would you like to see more of?)

Masquerade (poem) (Stories from nowhere street – part 3)

‘You can either make yourself happy
or others, but baby your heart or pocket, cannot afford it all.’


As the poor paint their sheds;
royal blues and carpets of red,
for this imitation-
their backs they bled.

The judges panel,
located by the washing line-
wearing clothes scrubbed thin-
and bearing downloaded smiles.

The material masquerade,
the party where you are obligated to stay;
darling, your worth is your mask-
not in the things you say.

Happiness a lavish luxury,
all spent out on others you see,
we pander to a strangers eyes,
neglecting the vitals inside.

Stories From Nowhere Street (part 2)

‘The drugs, the routine and the circle’

Only a God can make drugs feel great-
to the kicked out kids,
man, there is nothing in my body-
that God hasn’t put in my soul.

What is the point of being squeaky clean?
To end up six feet below the earth,
tell me man, what is the difference?
In the end, we all lay in the dirt.

I’m not saying that-
doing what your not supposed to do
is the best way to live,
but for the people of nowhere street-
it is all know to get by.

The hot pursuit of the high is eternal-
the drugs never change,
just like the kids they infect,
only the date and name changes.

This is a tragedy of greatness-
it never comes to all
and for the few
not being great enough is the tragedy.

Some follow their own battle call,
some answer to a God,
but in nowhere street,
no one even tries to cry.

Stories from the nowhere street (part 1)

You study fashion,
always unbelievably cool
I don’t own a leather jacket-
guess you’d call me a fool.

I would buy you a drink in your city,
but I know you’d turn me down,
because you cannot bear to be seen-
on the cheaper side of town.

I know how to drive,
but not owning a car isn’t exactly a plus,
I would still let you take the window,
but I guess you are too good for the bus.

Your way of making me feel good,
is telling me what I could improve on,
babe I know you’re right,
’cause two of us cannot be wrong.

My friends cannot see you the way I do,
but that isn’t your fault,
yeah I know that their just jealous,
cause they don’t have what I think I got.