Your love — there’s just something about it
Your love….
I don’t know — there’s something about it
It just hits…different
Marvin Gaye plays through the shaky speakers
The CD always skips at this part,
But you don’t miss a beat
The smooth melody of his voice
Moves through your soul
Like a dancing cobra winding up your spine
Your hips sway
With the oceanic rhythm of the drums
Your energy
It just feels so …. Alive
While you’re lost in the rapture of Inner City Blues
I’m lost
In You
I watch you Quietly And wonder about you I…
Thoughts of THEM make me question who I am.
The Audience
The Critic
The Observer.
What will They think of me?
Will They like it?
What kind of sneakers are They wearing?
and why are They so mean?
THEY
The fictitious construct
that limits my expression
of who I am.
Faceless
Nameless
Critical
Illusions
Watching over my every thought, every word.
What is it I desire?
What am I convinced They can give me?
Are They the part of me who desires to be loved?
or my fears of whether I’ll be accepted?
and if I am rejected, what does…
The Dust
undetected
micro-beliefs
shaped by our reactions
to life
become dusty fractals
on the lens
of how we see the world…
and ourselves.
What is blocking your view
of the possibilities?
ABDUCTED
You know the feeling
When you wake up and wonder
If you said anything embarrassing
when you were abducted in your sleep?
If you talked to the aliens
too much
About the perfect
Tea-to-oatmilk ratio (3:1)
Or
Busta Rhymes’ videos?
When you feel like
The emptiness of your mind
Goes from being zen
To uninteresting
Boring
Lame.
If I am this nothingness,
How do I relate to the aliens
or to the world?
Disconnected and disinterested
In the day-to-day of society
Time has become a distorted illusion,
An attempt at awareness beyond my comprehension.
The loss of my brand
And the concept of how I am seen
What I represent
My vibe
Perpetually unobserved
Who have I become?
How will they see me?
Who do I want to be?
The Rebuilding begins.
A poem… I guess… poem-ish
My slippery fingers
Grip the plastic
Of the inner tube
That my body lay across
Floating down a cosmic lazy river
Just letting life pass me by
Drifting aimlessly past…
The wavepool
A mosh pit of wet bodies
Fat men wearing T-shirts
To block the shame
Tormented by their own minds
About who they have become
Battered by the waves
Of society
Drowning in emotional oppression
Unable to reach solid ground
Past…
The lifeguards
Whipping their whistles around their fingers
Looking on
Dazed
Daydreaming about when their real lives will begin
Past…
The waterslide
That slow climb to the top
…
Who lives in my heart
Sometimes …
We’ll sit on the crumbling temple steps of Angkor Wat
Sometimes…
We’ll watch the fiery sun rise over the Red Sea
Sometimes …
We’ll dance on the cliffs of Negril
And
She’ll ask me…
“Who
Is
It
You’re
Dancing
For,
Child?”
….
I’m thirsty
i should drink some water
but my glass
is wayyyyyy
the hell
over there.
4 minutes
What if…
My teabag
dreamt about
this day
and I didn’t
even
steep it?
Kim McCloskey
Contemplator. Imperfectionist. Brooklyn
