Poison

May I be a pair of ears to listen to your worries? May I hold you when you stub your toes along the way? May I catch you if you trip while in this hurry? Will you forgive me tomorrow for what happened yesterday?

No one is perfect, and I'm somebody.

"Hate isn't worth it," said everybody.

How can I end this poem with proper closure? It's poison like I am, and in giving myself exposure, I hope the light keeps the demons at bay.

To Vicky

Today is the day,

it's a day for two,

half for my brother,

and half for you.

In the battle of the sexes,

We often fight and fear loss.

When we're caught up in whose right.

We're also caught up in chaos.

But occasionally you find two halves of a whole.

Were seeing the combination of one today.

So Vicky, take care of my brother.

And make sure he never loses his way.

Like a bike tire and tube, you'll be rolling along.

And often you'll have to climb the hills.

You'll be pulling up wee lads and lasses,

as you figure out how to pay the bills.

And you'll fall, get lost, burned and bent

as you make your way through a rusty path.

But he'll be there to pick you up too...

After all, he's really good at math.

Vicky, I'm scared, because it won't be easy.

Your life will not be some cake walk.

But maybe like two commits in orbit,

you'll be one another's rock.

Stay strong, stay stable

you're well and you're able.

I'll be there in a familial solar system.

May I be the supporting brother?

For when you choose to call yourself mother?

I'll always offer you

all of my wisdom.

Trash

A conduit of tears

is flailing through the past.

And as I sit and linger,

I wander toward the last

thought that crossed my mind.

These people, ever rash

don't seem to even bother

to pickup all their trash.

And I wonder why

I look like the ass,

as I'm trying, failing

to just maintain my grasp.

A conduit of tears

is falling as I passed.

Empathic Anger

Empathic Anger

I have apologized for another man’s convenience. Even though I didn’t commit the slightest grievance. The deeds I committed were of the right, but I was forced to submission and pushed to plight. No longer will I lay down for my foes, they’ll have to account for their wrongs and their woes. I’m tired from the mistakes you’ve made, and weary at the plans you’ve laid. You have a grand design in your little mind, but despite your misgivings, I am still kind. Of all the schemes of mice and men, yours appear innocent all to often. Just a little oops and a tilted maybe, the kind of “magic” that would trick a baby. I see right through you with no need to make you disappear, because I know you better than you, what you feel, how you think, and what you fear.

Corey Hudson

Does your chain hang low? Does it wobble to and fro? Do it shine in the light? Is it platinum is it gold? Does your chain hang low?

--

Or, rather, is it solid steel? Heavy as hell, metal, iron and real? Your visions are escapades of the present's sight. And their methods are reshaping all your means and might. A tangenting badass, herculian strength, this too may pass, but not without length.