Monday, April 30, 2012

19 Going On 30


19 Going on 30
-timothy michael fulghum-

“Don’t you want to live your life?
How much longer are you gonna
give into the fear holding you down
until you’re all alone and drowning in your past.”
from Evanescence’s “Disappear.”
~
Colors and walls blend
as my eyes spin, dizzy.
Bodies laugh; voices dance.
And I am one of them. We twist, and
turn; but we don’t stop. I feel
the uneasiness, yet our collected smiles
are more than enough to toss my head back
again. Drinking Snow’s poison,
 I feel free,
I feel new.
I feel.

I’m one red cloak from the wolf in the mirror;
the tell-all that will right me of my
faults and show me where I turned wrong.
The wall’s mirror holds truth -
who I’m to be and it’s
You. I fight the urge to fall; my balance
wavers, yet my determination
remains. But, you’re walking out –
I toss back. I’m not ready for reality.

Watching you walk away makes me
notice: your suave demeanor – a walking GQ
model. Your lips part, sharing wisdom –
how much longer will it be
until I breathe that knowledge?
I’m just a child, playing games; but you –
you’re the man I yearn to be.
I know you’re me; or I’m you?
I follow your lead.

Closing the door behind me,
I grab the light, and see myself.
While the party rages, my pale
knuckles hold edged marble;
my body begs to be caressed
by the floor. “This isn’t what I want,”
crosses my lips while my fingers
paw the  glass, a child lost in
his world of make-believe where

Alice spoke of the wonders
found on the Other Side.
And in the glass,
I see the muchness
I desperately crave –
my hands slip, smearing rubied red
across the countertop. My eyes haze;
my stomach churns and

the carousel slows, the floor settles
a turtled green –walls a pleated beige.
I want to lose it all: throw my head
forward, excise the poison, watch the colors
swirl. I want to hurt without the
pain. I want the crash, the freefall, I want
the wind in my hair as I kamikaze into
renaissance. I want you.

I don’t want to be one
of them, but one with you. We’ll twist
and turn – and we won’t ever stop.
I want to find you in me.
For that, I’ll face reality.

Falling Shining Star(s)


Falling Shining Star(s)
-timothy michael fulghum-
~
Starring… “The Martyr.”


Give me your ignorance,
and I’ll give you my bliss.
Iced, cerulean eyes pour, screaming,
and you drown in your abyss:
this sham of a shell –
the life you don’t lead.
I’m not your ticket from hell,
but I’ll try all you need.

Give me your lie,
and I’ll share you my truth:
your porcelain’s cracking,
your cold eyes are proof.
Proof you’re nearly too far –
too far deep within.
You’re still my shining star,
I can’t let you fall again.

Give me your tears,
and I’ll bring you smiles.
The rubied lips I once kissed
now call me the, “Liar.” –
lies that I’ve taken you for granted,
and withheld my hand.
You’ll remain my boyfriend and
I’ll be the man you call friend.

Give me your death-wish,
and I’ll show you new life.
We’ll push to be happy
and work past the fights.
My darling, my star,
shining – you’ll remain; and
when times are hard,
I’ll be the man you call friend.

Starring… “The Fallen.”

Babe, keep your “bliss,”
I’d rather be blind
among the sheep in the river;
they’re far more kind.
Your hazel eyes, shit –
stink, horrid, for miles.
I don’t want your ticket,
Just let me drown “in denial.”

I’d rather the lie
than to hear something “honest.”
My life may be breaking,
but I don’t masquerade Adonis.
I’m not your pet project,
your afterschool special;
I’m just your sad “little reject”
who didn’t know better.

I’d rather the pain –
a badge deserving of pleasure.
But when the getting got going,
you took extreme measures:
I needed my lover,
but you played “my sage.”
You starred as my keeper
and I boiled enraged.

We could have had it all,
but now I regret
wanting my hand in yours,
yet regret begets
mistake. Though you taught
me more than I planned,
when times get hard,
I’ll know which man not to call friend.

My Friend


My Friend
-timothy michael fulghum-
~
If you spoke to my friend,
I’m sure he would tell you:
“My joys are good-natured;
it’s something we all do.”

First, he’d spend a moment on Psalms,
but just to be clear:
remove the ‘S,’ and
you have ‘palms.’

Keep in mind,
he’s very dear.
So, don’t freak out
when he switches gears.

Sometimes he’s quick;
sometimes he is slow.
“But, after I rise,
I’m ready to go!”

He warms up immediately,
he hates to disagree!
‘Cause he’ll turn blue
if you do –
at least ‘til you see:

“Life is full of so many pleasures!
And, once you agree,
I know you’ll feel better!”
The connection my friend wants you to make
is to drop stress: relax and masturbate.

Sunday, April 22, 2012

Call Waiting


Call Waiting
timothy michael fulghum
~
I’ve been trying to sell my
soul to the devil. “Not until
you’re 21,” he said.
He’s been dodging my calls
since.

It’s not that I want magicks
Faustus craved; simply, motion-living
has its limits. I’m not strong;
I don’t know how to handle
humanity.

Sorrow is the language
Rosetta Stone could never crack;
I’ve set up in glass
houses, though I know the stones
wait

for me to turn away –
I want to run, run away;
but, I’m needed more than
my weighted soul wants to
flee.

My mother’s face
serves my Achilles’ heel;
her pain, the etch-a-sketch
permanently drawn to
depression.

How can I shoulder
her grief when my own
threatens to drown
me in its sorrowed
sea?

In a moment, just two
decades with my
grandmother – no,
my “GG” – doesn’t
suffice.

Who will help celebrate
faux-Hannukah?
Who else will burn candle
light gabbing while cheesecake
bakes?

Who will inscribe
the novels that birthed
inspiration – my pen’s ink?
Perhaps I’ll carry the
tradition

for my children
who will never meet the
woman who pressed every
nerve “just ‘cause,” I’m so
sorry.

I’m sorry for not being
there enough; for being “busy.”
I’d use every time-turner to
delay the moment you left,
GG.

I’d trade another relative,
though our blood courses from
 the same tree – it was yours
that provided my
shade.

I await the day I can
reminisce days long shadowed
without reaching for my phone.
Until then, life will move on, and I’ll try
too.

Glass shatters, falling
like the first snow of winter.
At the doorway, I flinch
 taking my first bare step.
Crnchk.

Red ripples around the
wish of my step –
no ponds; no coins.
I’ll take the road less
traveled

to carry your legacy;
I’ll brave humanity.
Your fingerprints won’t
fall victim to tomorrow night’s
snow.

And through my sorrow,
I’ll decipher strength:
Rosetta’s stoned my house
and eased my
confusion.

Faustus fell prey to
his weakness, but I can’t
afford limited-living.
I’ll grow stronger and move
on.

I tried to sell my soul
 to the devil, and when he
finally answered,
I hung up.