sunshine vaccine
the sunshine that once was
was tubed in a plastic vaccine
injected forcefully
by the hands of a mass movie scene
until their eyes were awake
to sunflowers and cranberry perfume
you had smiled at the people
but it felt like no one smiled at you
so you went back for an extra dose of cheer
maybe this time it will be you they will hear
maybe you’ll forget the pain
it could last for a year or a day
and you’ll forget all the sad parts
as the genuine slowly wastes away.
too bad all the organic laughter was lost.
too bad the whole world has to pay the cost.
but look at us now, we’re smiling.
regret underneath keeps piling.
the sunshine that once was
was tubed in a plastic vaccine
now injected by choice
as they decided
they’d rather not be seen.
sucks
it sucks to know you didn’t suck
the whole time I thought you did.
turns out you’re a stand alone character
like a gmo pure boy hybrid.
unattached by gnarly roots underground
holding formalities and filters galore
you send me glances across vacant masks
a rainbow when life’s a bore
it just sucks i know that now
now that it’s much too late
that i passed you with uniform judgement
when you were one to appreciate.
blue-collar father, white-collar son
After an endless day of working in the miserable heat, Russell drives his son, John, to a quiet area just off the road where he would be picked up to go to a prestigious state university. The silence filled the muggy air surrounding them as the rundown, hefty truck slowly inched to a stop, and they both, without speaking, headed out to unload the luggage as their beloved dog, Buddy, pranced happily behind. When the last suitcase was carried out, Russell plopped down lazily on the running board, John sitting up straight beside him as they gazed at the blank space around them, determined to avoid eye contact.
Although the environment was undoubtedly uncomfortable, Russell caught a glimpse of his dashing son, dressed properly in a pristine white suit on the brink of his college career, and couldn’t help but be proud. He glanced down at his blue-collar work uniform, stained with the frustrations that came with his years of labor, and knew in his heart he did it all for this moment, all for John. His son now has the opportunity to be a white-collar man in a white-collar world.
“So, uhh.. how you feelin’ about all of this John,” Russell grumbled in a deep tone that was difficult to understand.
“Good, good,” John muttered back softly.
“Good,” Russell mumbled, continuing to stare into space. He wasn’t one for talking.
Buddy skipped to where the two were sitting and put his head solemnly on John’s leg, as if to say ‘goodbye’.
To ease the tension, Russell popped in a cigarette from his pocket, thinking about his own future, thinking about the great things his son would accomplish. John heard it first - the rumble of his ride coming into view - he popped up his head to look at it, quickly realizing the newfound respect, class, and honor that was coming his way.
Monday
listen to the chimes of the wind
as they sing to you
Monday
Monday
Monday
the bells of the whistles
every blossom every thistle sways to
Monday
Monday
Monday
The air senses you’re feeling down
The sun rains down to you tomorrow, smiling
Monday
Monday
Monday
Today is your day prove it to the
Bumble bees, green grasses, waterfalls cheering
Monday
Monday
Monday
It’s just another day, with an unbreakable stigma
Start of a routine, start of something exciting and new
Monday
Monday
Monday
eye contact
it stings, burns wildly
an accidental glimpse at the sun
dart pupils away quick, swiftly
a habit, a reflex to encounter none
survival of the frickin fittest
i feel their gaze looming sideways
i stare down at a black screen of nothingness
(Act natural, scrolling as if to say - “hey that’s cool” - pathetically played)
i would rather look at
the dusty concrete
the mocking screen of “no notifications”
and my own two feet than
look up!
look up!
just look at them! wave! look up!
no thanks.
and then they’re gone.
i am myself, a talking embarrassment
i fear the attention i would attract
so i stare at the abiotic vast spaces
too anxious about making
EYE CONTACT.
deadly butterflies in her stomach
go to sleep, go to sleep
afraid of day and night
anxiety burns, broken ash
lost of sense, blinded sight
sunset orange butterflies
flittering folded wings
habitat of a pitted stomach
the lovely nightmare sings
eyes tinted bloody red, cracks
under shields of wrinkled lids
she tries to float to dreamland
keeps replaying what she did.
hearts pounding, brains taunting
the knife she held the day he died -
no one knows, a secret for herself
but how long could she hide?
...
go to sleep, go to sleep
afraid of day and night
anxiety burns, broken ash
lost of sense, blinded sight
ALONE
“a little odd, not emotional”
her heart locked secretly
no entry, though they try
her love shown discreetly
they try to crack her
to see a shift in tone
to visualize her unique reality
but she would rather be the person the therapists describe her as.
she would rather stand
A
Little
Odd,
Not
Emotional
because no emotion means
no heartbreak
no vulnerability
though strange
though alone.