Bad Blood

a bride walks down the aisle,
staggers on one foot,
& you can hear a poet
stutter like her footsteps at every step.
she hides her form underneath her veil,
wears her father’s corpse on her face
like the holy candle praying for a future.

when the piano starts to play, we can

hear frogs croaking to an unfamiliar rhythm, from
deep down throaty laughs of a certain someone
or people

alongside ruptured chords.
we all stand,
not sure what the bridegroom’s lips call
to the altar.

Bad Blood by ad_poet

Time Travel

she’s sitting
on the other side of the couch,
eyes on the clock. watching it tick slowly, taking it in
like the constant taste of the cat-o’-nine-tails;
with the want to skilder another life
from death.

i see her
waiting
at mordecai’s grave, with an expectation to turn the time;
hoping he’d tell the dead king that
a jewess’ still trapped in the past, [the month adar];
& wishing the fog of war clears from her head.

it’s a pity she can only turn back time
with memories; but
one could breathe in the peaceful journey of a future,
with death.

Evolution

count dust
like a complex organism. form
jasper from lily &
a rainbow from a glass prism.

wish feathers
from a wishing well, dive in & splash.
turn father
to something with a bill & escape
with the wind, far from whatever you see below.
fly like the dust
let your bald head cave in to an eagle’s nest – an epitome
of the ethreal, make it real

that shadowed visage of a black bird
make it yours. steal it from someone’s theory
& turn this world to your notion.

grasp that single thread, hold on to it;
find the plane at the border and float, will ya.
create your pool from the mirage
with evolution

& hope it goes well.

We’re always too focused on making others “the right ones”; always imagining that “the right person” would do this and not do that. Do we ever ask ourselves if “we” are the right ones to certain people. Always seeing things from “your” perspective can mar your view of others.

We always want to find that “perfect person” for ourselves. Have you asked yourself if you’re perfect enough for who you’re looking for. Humans will always be selfish, the way I see things. It’s not bad to want good stuff; but are you good enough to earn it? Work on yourself before searching for one you think is “perfect for you”;

then you won’t have to look for the “right ones”. If you don’t deserve one, you simply won’t get one. It’s not called Karma for nothing. Life isn’t unfair, humans just make it seem so. They’re the ones responsible for how awful this world turned out: even God knows that. Fix yourself, before you go about searching for an already fixed and perfected person. It’s as simple as that.

We plan things for “ourselves”, not others. When other people’s plans get it the way, it technically disrupts ours. Things can always go the way we planned if we plan for the circumstances surrounding other people as well. I think though 🤷, I could be wrong. Besides, I’m human.

It’s an idea gotten from someone though.

Walking on Water

surface tension:

is an act i’m used to.
it stretches, with each step, never
accepts to swallow my feet despite
my desperation.

i’ve struggled
so many times
to go beyond my breath; beyond atlantis:
watch a land fall
beneath the underwater
and take my body with him.

but,

it stretches its skin,
lets my feet build a path, like chakra
builds on one
who never knew she could
walk on water.

Yours, truly

zip up your
white sepulcher, like
the wedding dress; seal it with the red signet ring,
& send out
206 letters
to the earth.

the curse placed on us
has been the constant reminder that the wind
still exists; that there’s a whisper that’s waiting
to pass on my message,
without a backward glance.

your handwriting i so wanted to imitate,
is teaching me to write an afterlife, back to the dust,
back to the wind,
back to God;

from me to you.

Father Abraham

you call me father
because
my cathedral’s not far
from yours.

my definition of love has always been
the same,
still you claim
to be my son. can you die?
i mean,
can you let me kill you?
or
can you give a sacrifice
without letting your eyes burn
the nightmare of the carcass before you?

can you love like me?
or
you just call me father
because
my cathedral’s not far
from yours.

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