Grown-up

I asked my daughter,

What dya want to be,

When you are a big girl?

Her answer made me

Want to dig my own grave,

On a stolen plot somewhere,

And jump in, without a tank

Of Oxygen or Oxycodone.

What an oxymoron!

I didn’t even want the grave marked,

For she said she wants to be a “socialite”.

Asswipe

“I am God”, said an asswipe.

Blew his horns, sounded from a pipe.

All you bloody did was see a shrink,

Who helped you get outside of hell’s brink.

Like a Jungle-man beating his chest,

You proclaim that you are the best.

You can walk on water,

Do things like in the gutter.

Make wine out of pee-pee,

Glamorous gold shit-shit.

Fucking whores on a schoolnight,

I’mma choke your windpipe.

Don’t mess with me, dickhead,

Might light fire to your fucking bed.

Warped

Brain noodles,

Polynesian poodles,

Yahoo doodles.

Unibrow model,

Half throttle,

Fizzless bottle.

American Rubel,

Aristocratic strudel,

Lawyer mogul.

Scatting yodel,

Zero subtotal,

Rhyme, McDougal.

Bloody fences,

From your menses,

Diva cup frenzy.

Glitterati, Illuminati,

Take it nonchalantly,

What’s with the shite-shitey?!

Extra shirt buttons,

Who is that glutton?

Got’em by the dozens,

Bitch, pick your cotton.

Bleeding brain noodles,

Writing Warhol doodles,

Mush in your puddle.

Return, hillbilly,

With ass in chilli,

Boo! Scaredya totally.

Babble

Oh you don’t my cackling laughter?

Why, I will just giggle like Barbie.

Oh you don’t like my one liners?

Why, I will just say oops like Barbie.

Oh you don’t like my stinky bombers?

Why, I will just eat kale like Barbie.

Oh you don’t like my slam poetry?

Why, I will just draw hearts like Barbie.

Oh you don’t like where I’m going with this?

Why, I will just take my top off like Barbie.

Unleash

Fuuuuuuccccckkkkk you!

Fuck me.

Fuck everyone.

Fuck arsonists.

Fuck firemen.

Fuck doctors

Fuck diseased.

Fuck lifeguards.

Fuck drowning.

Fuck pilots.

Fuck planes.

Fuck water.

Fuck boatmen.

Can I just get a wrecking ball,

Or a baseball bat,

And smash everything?

Or should I just walk in deep waters,

And attend my own sea burial?

**No offence to any professions. Respect. Just rants of a fucked up woman

Money

Yes, it’s true what they say. Money cannot buy you happiness. But it sure can buy you 5 star vacations and that’s about as happy as a grown-up can get. Sure, there’s the unhinged, unwavering, unwarranted happiness that is in a child. But that child grows up, in a society fret with problems. Problems created by grown-ups who build schools and colleges to help solve those problems. Talk about going in circles.

I have been on the planet over three decades and I can narrow down to two moments of sheer joy: one, when I married my now adulterous husband, and two, when I saw the man holding my baby in his arms. If that isn’t true love, I fail to see what is. And that same man denied me a hug a minute ago because “he needed some time apart”. I don’t even have any Valiums on me to counter that shrug. All I can do is whine to the world, where I know I am not even going to be heard. This man, he cheated, lied, and beat me up and blamed me for everything. I have started thinking that maybe I am the monster who torments someone so much they want to beat the shit out of them.

I have sobbed, slept on hotel floors, waited for a taxi at 2 in the morning because I was thrown out of the house, made to leave my child behind, been called a whore who can’t even sell her body for sex, and beaten up black and blue; why? Because I asked this person why he needed another woman in his life.

Five tequila shots down, I finally have the courage to share my story. I know there would be several women out there going through this and worse shit possible. If you are one of them, leave a message and the least we can do is give a metaphorical shoulder to cry upon. YES, face it, world! Women cry. They’re not being melodramatic, they’re just being real.

And if you are one of those wife-beaters, please, for the love of whatever you love, stop doing that, no matter how much she provokes you. You were born out of a woman. And just because someone annoys you or you are filled with rage, does not give you the right to hit a woman. Women are not the weaker sex. Women are the smarter sex. That’s why “housewives” is more common than “househusbands”. That’s right, we put our pedicured feet up and send the man to make money to buy us shoes.

In spite of everything, a woman would do anything in her power and beyond to protect her family. She is not just a mama bear to her sons and daughters. She’s mothering you as well, the “breadwinner”. She’s the glue that keeps it together; without her, everything would fall all over. RESPECT, mofos, RESPECT!

Whoops! I just farted.

Lucky nobody’s around.

Smells terrible too,

Like a corpse in the ground.

There’s no meaning,

To anything in the world.

It’s all there and not there,

At the same time.

I am trying to rhyme so hard,

It hurts, because words were made,

To communicate, not heard.

Payback’s a bitch, you’re right Stephen K,

But there’s also good karma,

And all that bullshit people sell you.

The world isn’t dead, just not “woke”,

For every struggle two hands go through,

There’s six more to help you.

Is this good enough to rap, I wonder,

Heck, who cares, as long as the beats are thunder.

I have so much to say, I forget what it is;

I pay a shrink to remind me this.

Catharsis is getting it out of your system,

But what if your system is full of holes?

Shouldn’t all the pain escape through the pores?

I make no sense, but I see the light.

Not at the end of the tunnel,

But right here by my side.

LBD

As my Michelin paunch strolled down the road,

My four eyes spotted a skinny mom,

Not a hair out of place,

A little black dress,

With a toddler at her heels,

Bet she’s never heard of crisps.

Then I looked at my shoes,

But oh my!

The lipids got in the way.

The ogling goblins,

In their mid-forties,

Would give an arm,

Just to see her charm.

Can’t blame them skinny women,

They work hard and reap the rewards.

While us lesser mortals with a glass of wine,

Dream of a fairy tale like a swine.

Like a pillar,

That can blink.

But cannot move.

Goes around the focus,

But never in focus.

Take me over,

Guitars and cymbals.

I have love to give.

I know not where.

My head spins,

I jive.

The mother and children,

They wait.

To sleep and forget.

The agony.

Clouds in sky,

Clouds in mind,

Rain in blue.

Thirty four years,

And four years.

Intertwined.

The love, for two men.

Dotted by tears and smiles.

Happy and sad,

Part of life.

If death comes by,

I am camera ready.

Diablo

Winter,

Spring,

Summer and

Fall.

They came, they went.

Something thawed.

A night owl,

Hooted aloud.

A bat hanging,

Screeched from the bough.

In dark robes,

Weilding a scythe,

A faceless figure,

Glided in the night.

Roaring and thundering,

He beckoned the sleeping,

To worship him and bring,

The blood of the weakling.

Stranger thoughts were never thought,

Scarier tidings were never brought,

The seasons changed from winter to bright,

And yet this monster would not slide.

Tired of waiting and wanting,

He moaned a hideous whisper,

Left atop a shrine that was pointing,

To neither heaven or hell’s emperor.

Cried he, not from the hunger,

But from his weakened surrender.

Back to the forest, he glided,

Until the new man was knighted.

 

The Brothers Karmazov

Walked in the drizzle,

With a heavy heart.

Stifling the groan,

The groan of sadness.

Stopped by a store,

Bought a cheap wine.

Asked for a cork screw,

Popped the bottle open.

Made a call, sat on the ledge.

Chugging and talking to a fantasy.

Heartbroken and inebriated,

Recipe for disaster.

Oh, the monsters, you are funny.

Y’all spread happiness,

Y’all spread sadness.

The lines are getting blurred,

Confusion reigns, very strange!

Six degrees of separation,

Disliked the theory now.

It was better in the clouds,

The candle wanted to burn on,

A woosh, a whiff, a whisper,

And the flame is gone!

 

 

Untrending

Hey Black Porsche!

Why do I see fumes from your rolled up windows?

Are you just baking in there?

Hey Blue Eyes!

Why do I see the mist in your sparkling iris?

Are you just irritated with the smog?

Hey tall drink!

Why do you look so gloomy?

Is the pink umbrella making you too cold?

Hey mighty eagle!

Why do you soar so low?

Is the prey you were after already dead?

Hey shining sun!

Why do you shine so bright?

Are you glaring at the sins of us morons?

Hey pretty bug!

Why do you wriggle in the jar?

Are you stifled in there without holes? 

Odium for the Podium

Born decrepit, a tired spirit,

A shabby soul, a foul mole.

Swinging on the branches,

As the storms passed by,

Holding onto self,

And nothing more.

At the cliff, it danced,

Like a swaying shrub,

Petrified of falling,

Yet savouring the surge.

As the moon rose high,

And the wolves howled,

The derelict searched,

For a sanctum of peace.

It made a home,

Warmed it’s cold heart,

Not knowing the pastures,

That lay underneath.

Scavenging and hunting,

Foraging and gathering,

The despair in its bosom,

Withered and died.

Six feet under, 

It buried itself,

The anger, the fear,

Turned into dust.

When it rained,

The drenched grave wept,

For six feet under,

There was still pain.

Six Degrees of Separation?

Shorts were made to not wear pants,

Pants were made to hide the legs.

Legs were made to walk with,

Walks were made to emancipate.

Emancipation was made to free.

Free was made to not hide.

Not hiding was made to do good.

Good was made to run the world.

World was made to be a better place,

A better place was made for the innocents.

Innocents were made to be trampled upon.

Trampling was made to prevail upon.

Prevailing was made to conquer all.

Conquering was made to usurp the lands.

The land was made to be covered in snow.

The snow was made to make snowman.

The snowman was made to have fun.

Fun was made to live happily.

Happily in shorts, now that spring is nearing!