korey

jokers, pawns

fingers intertwined
don’t misinterpret it
for something different than what is said

a smile on the sly
hope unwarranted
by the dictator that is this condition

take this to heart
it’s a cinch to force a laugh
but these unbidden grins
are all your fault

a joker shouldn’t expect hearts
a suit not tailored
and yet i’ve always been a fan
of frayed strings

i did not want this
it happened anyway

–

written m6jun2011.

back when this poem actually meant something to me, i didn’t like it. after five and a half years’ distance, i’m more fond of it.

–

we’re supposed to need this

and i write
simply
for the cacophony
of six-syllable words
clacking against each other
for luscious alliteration
coating my mouth
like agave on a late-summer eve

and sharp consonants
and delicate suffixes
sounding smart
cloaked in fire,
burnt toast on the tongue

and i write at night
because then the murmurs of my subconscious
are unmuffled by the
should-haves, shouldn’ts-
and other standards

and at night
the razors attached to my truths fade
into vague discomfort
unhaunted by dirty words and clichés
and formatting and rhymes
and what else they say we need
we’re-supposed-to-need
-this

but i like parentheses
because i am two-faced
because i am secretive
because i am mysterious
manipulative
and i have everything
to hide

–

written a4jun2011.

this is one of those which came to me as i was half-asleep, waiting for unconsciousness to fully claim me- hence the nonsensical imagery.

–

shaken up

cursed myself with this self-pity–
it eats at me, agitated acid in my stomach[e]
these- shimmering- spheres-
these i should learn to keep inside
the shaken soda bottle of my condition

[“]there is nothing wrong with me[“]
except for a lack of motivation
skin and bones replacing strength
and a derelict plain where a conscience should reside

i need to retie these soggy bootstraps
pull myself out of this quicksand funk
tell myself what a simpering little brat i am
what a failure i am

how much i hate the person i have become

–

written a4jun2011.

self-hatred as therapy?

better than self-pity.

–

your new aesthetic

i know now what society expects from me
_{[100 pounds and a bright white smile]}
it’s twisted.
that doesn’t make me want it any less

not going to rebel against my idols
simply to prove a point
if i’m going to starve
to prove it [they’re right]
so be it.

simpering may have never got you far
it works just fine for me

–

written f3jun2011.

–

behind the window

is this right?
is this right?
this is right?
this is right
this is not right.

watch from behind just-a-hair-cracked-open doors
to make sure no witnesses are passing
i have no advice for you
but to run and hide.

funnyfunnyfunny
how it always comes down to this
i shut off
and you wait outside my window

do you understand the meaning of this?
the nonexistent love handles,
the red ribbon around my wrist?
it’s become so much easier to mess up now

because i know
that i’m not truly in control.

–

written r2jun2011.

–

independence day

beautifully romantic, dying for a cause.
so if i misread what you intended,
will you still come back for me?

–

i once knew a girl
with mermaid hair and calluses on the tips of her fingers
and a penchant for chinese takeout
and too-tight jeans
and blue eyeliner
and to me
she seemed like a goddess.

and she told me
that all the “fuck you”s in the world
couldn’t overcome the wattage of my smile

yet she still let those “fuck you”s get to her,
and soon the silver owls hanging from her ears turned to vampire bats
and the takeout turned to energy drinks with fearsome names
and she lost weight and luster and hope

and then she wouldn’t let me get to her

–

written w1jun2011.

this one had a story behind it which needs to be expanded.

–

soliloquies.

nothing to be ashamed of, right?
idoubtthatidoubtthatidoubtthat.
i doubt that.

ii.

why on earth would i be proud of this?

iii.

why, in my mind, are there two different people
twitch back and forth every month
neither of them is me
do i not matter anymore?

iv.

i am not in control.

nothing will stop you from pestering me
not until these lacerations disappear
because i was fool enough to make them in the first place
(and you are fool enough to not think about consequences)

vi.

where is the pocket dictionary when i need it?
i need a word to describe who i am.

vii.

(immiscible.)

viii.

there is no magic pill to make it go away
and if there is i’m not smart enough to take it.

–

written t31may2011.

just sputterings of brain-thought in between bursts of insanity.

–

toxicity

the ink of your pen has migrated quickly to your veins
staining your tears a ^literal blue and your blood _{deep black}

it flows so easily through your body
delivering toxicity to every cell

^{and though the shock is always fun}
you’re going to wither until the ink is all that’s left

just come and go
^{simply come and go}
your brain is like your body

corrosion

eating you up

expression

tearing us down

–

written m30may2011.

–

contradictions

the paint is feathering off the walls
my porcelain mask is peeling off of my face
in two days’ time,
we’ll lose the solution to the ugly truth.

being dipped in acid, losing layers
not the best way to lose weight but i’ll take it
and the irony
is that i never should have been here in the first place

will-o’-the-wisps are reaching out for me
luring me in with promises of dead silence
and for one
who thrives on music, i’m pitifully tempted

vices squeezing down, restricting my brains
when they whispered that they’d let me go
it’s funny how
gullible i was to believe someone like myself.

–

written a28may2011.

–

clichéd

she’s surrounding herself with
stony facades
to keep out the hungry
and nail polish
that seals her up tight

with paintbrushes
to doodle

on the wings of her childhood

in every shade of grey

and with purse-lipped superiors
who can’t
taste the rainbow,

( not the one
hidden behind her lashes,
at least )

and she tries

so. hard.

to make something
romantic

out of her suffering

until she realizes
that she’s been living a cliché
-the same one that
she promised
never to be again-

( but
falling
back into a rut

is easier than
digging out a new problem )

and so she lets herself out
of the
horror novel
she’s been dreaming up

peeling pages
of doubt and despair away

and little by little

she lets herself
unfold
and instead of shutting down she opens up

and finally asks for help

because misconceptions are for fruitcakes

and limits are for those who can’t dream any

higher

–

written r26may2011.

“wow look at me i’m so quirky”- 15-year-old korey

–