#starlitpoems

Yes, I’ll be your poster girl,
(For never saying what I mean,)
With radiant smile,
(Kept never far from reach,)
With ready laughter,
(Given a few moments,)
With easy banter,
(An acquired skill,)
And the right expression.
(A justified mask,)
I’ll be your poster girl,
(If you want to play,)
In a world never messy.
(A calculated game.)

~A.G. 11/30/19

Dusted finger tips lead
To carefully analyzed
Brain cell modules,
Buried deep within
Work-drawer cereal
And chipped-paint swathes.
Dry wall fires never lead
To poorly lit
Basement rug threads,
Mixed direct within
Flashback-driven emotions
And dread-encasing memories.

~A.G. 11/29/19

How dare you.
How dare you
Take what I’ve
Told you,
Take my struggles,
And try to subvert it,
To say it’s just
Because I’m not
With you.
My anxieties
Are not caused
By being apart
From my family,
And I don’t
Come home
Every weekend
Because I “need to”
For me.
Don’t project
Your feelings
Onto me.
I’m not
“Putting on a brave face”,
When I walk
Out your
Front door.
I promise,
I feel better
Anywhere else.

~A.G. 11/28/19

Restlessness.
What else could this feeling be described as?
The feeling that there’s more
To being alive than slogging through
The bills and loans and gas-station fill ups.
Making money just to spend it
On remaining a functioning
Member of society;
A product with the blessing
Of a bachelor’s degree.

~A.G. 11/27/19

Sword and serpent,
Stylus and sparrow,
None are stronger
Than the other
When swords don’t spill ink,
When pens
Don’t slay enemy.
Still serpents
Can’t fly above,
And sparrows
Can’t slither under.
Each has its own purpose,
To be used when
Discerned to be proper.

~A.G. 11/26/19

The warmness of fairy lights,
And temptation of Moose Munch.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor,
(Mechanically tearing out pages from a hymnal).
To love so much is a strength,
To love so much is an Achilles heel.

The world outside continues to rush,
Thoughts continue to cycle with no rest.
Time feels suspended at the moment,
(But the stack of torn pages grows).
To love so much is rejuvenation,
To love so much is exhaustion.

Something is gnawing down hard,
Somewhere within these unquiet bones.
A sense of urgency painstakingly released,
(A sixteenth of a hymnal instead of any other).
To love so much is commanded,
To love so much is condemned,
(Robotically tearing out pages).

~A.G. 11/25/19

“Important: Do you think humans are better at creating or destroying?”

“It’s a binary thing? Either we create or destroy? Creating def. If humans are made in the image of God, then they create innately. Destruction is the byproduct.”

“Well, obviously we have a tremendous amount of power and are capable of both. But I’ve been trying to figure out what human beings are most inclined to do. You raise valid points.”

“In art you have to destroy to create. That’s what I was taught by this one old teacher named Churchill Davenport (kickass name). That just meant that even if you like some precious little brushstrokes you did, you’re probably gonna have to paint over it, so don’t get too attached. And while we’re at it, we might as well rip it into 4 pieces and collage it. It might look better…I destroy and create so evenly I never finish anything.”

~A.G. 11/24/19

It isn’t liquor,
He reminds himself,
The remainder of a blunt
Passed on to another,
But the high only
Drags him further down.
He’s done this once before,
He can do this again,
He hates this crutch
He fooled himself into.
Good riddance to
Inebriation, Andy.

~A.G. 11/23/19

He lost his best friend,
All five stages of grief
And then some seemed
To sucker punch him
At once.
But now he’s feeling
Each one by turn.
He knows he got lucky,
That could have been him,
But how could this death
Be any part of a plan?
He’s aware he’s too
Steeped in this loss
To be aware of those
Around him still,
But he can’t quite
Pull himself out of this,
And reach for them.
This is grief, Andy.

~A.G. 11/22/19

Sitting on the night dark
Front steps of AA,
He reflects on
What brought him here.
Drinking career
Starting at 13,
Need to escape
Showed him
The bottom of
A bottle
Way too many times.
He wants change;
He wasn’t ready,
Last time.
Sick of
Oblivion, Andy.

~A.G. 11/21/19

The ushers still
Call him by nickname;
He’s a familiar face now
And she’s gotta know more.
Cocoa cup conversation
Reveals his past
And his predicament.
He is searching,
But not quite sure
What for.
This pothole sucks but
Keeps him safe from
The traffic overhead.
If he moves,
He’s sure to be knocked
Further down,
Amongst the
Disappointment,
Guilt,
Anxiety,
Depression,
And fear.
He asks why not more.

~A.G. 11/20/19

An instantaneous mist gathers
At a glance through glass door.
In dim artificial candlelight
A vulnerable figure kneels.
Conversing deeply yet silently
With evident devotion.
The moment feels too intimate
To witness from carpet-rooted stance.
This lobby is too close
And too far at once.
A role-model servant
Exuding authentic but gentle masculinity.
The feeling of choking and peace
Is caused by this stolen sight.

~A.G. 11/19/19

Muffin wrappers lit on fire
Iced tea bottles in pieces,
The enigma of a person’s change,
A source of constant frustration.

There’s much I don’t like about myself,
There’s much I’ve fought to change.
Progress has been made
Just as much as hasn’t.

The inconvenience of a self-preservation
That activates traits most hated,
Tests progress thought to be made,
And limits the challenge of identity.

It seems change is a result of pain,
Whatever form that be,
But certain traits remain inherent,
A default that will stay.

You can discern the response
But can’t help the initial reaction,
Redirection of recourse,
But not the source of clash.

So yes I’ve changed
And I’m still changing,
But recognize the things that bother you,
Torment me far more.

Struggles with the self
Are rarely pleasant,
Reminiscent of the implications
Of knife fights with God.

~A.G. 11/18/19

Casseroles,
All over,
Green bean,
Pineapple,
Sweet potato,
And noodle.
Silt-murky rivers,
Reddish clay ground,
Work your own land
And help out your
Neighbors.
Chainsaws, axes,
And ride-on mowers.
A handgun on every
Bed-side table,
And a shotgun on the
Mantle,
Let the dogs go,
They know their way home.
Aberdeen, Mississippi.

~A.G. 11/17/19

500 track,
Massive 2 floor
Convention center.
Abstract art Torch
And chipmunk squirrel
Crossbreeds
In parks spaced between
Towering buildings and
The longest city streets.
Indianapolis, Indiana.

~A.G. 11/16/19

Personality bigger than her,
She’s not afraid to speak
Love and Truth.
She works hard,
Laughs hard,
Plays hard.
A goofball
And a listener,
A Tumblr girl
And a writer.
Protective,
Loyal,
Compassionate,
My best friend.
And I’m lucky
To know her.

~A.G. 11/15/19

Using chalk
Sparingly
And wearing the
World’s Cutest Shoes
(Ever).
I’ve been told
Humans weren’t
Built to be
Mountain Goats
Or bats,
But that won’t
Stop me
From trying.

~A.G. 11/14/19

Drunken Stargazing

I was hoping I’d find you here

Throwing back a gallon of beer

Sitting upon the shingles,

Housed by the star speckled sky

My chest burned alight

With a coil of emotions—

Pity,

Heartache,

Pity—

Fear

I don’t quite remember when

You began transferring your beer,

Pouring cans into milk jugs

As you grew out your hair

—You had also lost ten pounds

Sweated out under the weight

Of your circumstantial life

I beg of you,

Cry your troubles into my shirt

I’ll adorn myself with your tears,

Your alcoholic perfume,

Your subtle guise,

And the brunt

Of your star-misted eyes