beach bum w/a shotgun


"i came to warn you that i’m here."

there’s no shortage of white-guy-seeks-revenge-after-the-loss-of-his-x films, and most of them are either moralistic pap or creepo wish fulfillment death fantasies; in a word: BORING.

that said, there may just be a lil something to this one, besides the fact that we are both avid tea drinkers, and how endearing that is. ol’ boy ain’t quite a hero type. there’s a sort of beleagured softness to the chap that lends a different air to the entire vengeance enterprise. it may or may not be an illusion.

"this is ugly, man."

his eyes don’t hold that usual fire-and-brimstone deadly grim determination. it’s almost as if a human might reside somewhere in there, and that, in itself, is interesting.

faux naturelle


a fine lupine black mass floating
the fast measured express, ions
fondling and not quite
faded yet

the divine break
what ain’t broke—the far-off fissure

that slowburn, that feed to a falsified
fissure, an immolated
reaction, fickle chemicals
alive what the fuck
do we know

of the fallout in each follicle 
fish-
in
g

for one fissure more?

 


(1)

true fruit sequestered
scattering mindstates
scattered meds
off of them again 
the mind melds glitter
in champagne
you love like a brick
to the mouth
with a bullet as change. 


(2)

ocherous. driven. 
the seeker wrote it as a kiss,
seared inside the crook of a lover’s elbow
a lover as much as anything, of
anything:
i’m so scared of losing 
to you, it said.

theijeoma:

africaisdonesuffering:

Heres the video to my poem “Bring Back Our Girls.” Bringing light to the issues going on in Nigeria, our voices are all we have now.

Twitter: @theresa_lola

Tumblr: http://creativeshot.tumblr.com

"I hope you know that you are a lighthouse and this wave will not swallow you. I hope you know that you are a lighthouse and this wave will not swallow you."

(via theijeoma)

all torn up


bug boy born as air
to do a dance of decay on a crater
but he eyeglasses a girl
a fly thicky
in a cloud of urbane explorers
life lies in less laughter than in her
perfume

no need for man makes  
the steam son see stars
put your back into it 
he dreams on
with sticky sheets and cold
sweat for breakfast

word will weld wild velvet
to these waterworks
she speaks the word
he fears: lesbian

his salty tears taste sandy