Tag Archives: demons

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28 October, 2014

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non-fiction, self-portrait, storyteller, writing

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ruMble junglE

ruMble junglE
JCD Kerwin

I like spaceships and caffeine
and I have no idea
what “normal” means.

I laugh at puns,
and think we’re overrun
with assholes.

My baseball hat
is part of my act
to be someone I am not.

Airplanes give me panic breath,
I always fear dark water depths,
and crowds make me very
nervous.

I can’t live without blasting
my ears full of tunes
because I think music,
can save me.

And if I may,
I feel the rain
is worth a hellavua lot more
than to ignore
with umbrellas.

I don’t think it’s wrong
to act along
with my favorite cartoons.

I’m quiet on the outside
but inside I hide
thunderstorms.

I hate talking on phones
and sometimes I want
to be left all alone.

I think maybe books
are the closest to Heaven
that I’ll ever be.

I always fear
what tomorrow brings,
but I still want to know
what’s around every corner.

I’m friends with monsters
hiding under my bed and
deep in my head,
calling to me in low whispers.

The light in the hall
is the only thing keeping
this dark world from creeping
into my heart.

I’d like to swing from stars,
and I often wonder
if Ray is happy on Mars.

I’m sure I dream too much
(I know there’s no such
thing as magic),

but maybe somehow, someday,
I’ll build a spaceship, and
sail far away.

(October 2014)

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23 October, 2014

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non-fiction, poetry, self-portrait, writing

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heart palpitations

Once upon a time I went through all these tests just to have this doc. say my arrhythmia is “normal.”…

heart palpitations
jcd kerwin

i think
my second cup
of coffee is
flavored with
abjection.
it reflects my thoughts and
the listless thumping of
my heart.

blasting tunes
is useless and
all these books
just make me hurt
for things that can’t be true.
i daydream instead;
i live in my head
to keep from drowning in
this world.

yet, there’s no running,
no hiding from
the faces and places
of my nightmares.
this caffeine only succeeds
in vanishing
anyway.

(October 2014)

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8 September, 2014

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poetry, storyteller, writing

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Bayoneting Sustenance

This is non-fiction, fiction.
…Figure that one out.

Bayoneting Sustenance
JCD Kerwin

I stay up all night,
watching the History Channel tell me about
all the presidents and what made them
(or didn’t make them)
a great leader.
It’s a marathon,
a marathon of watching me
grow more apathetic with every
click of the goddmaned
ticking machine.

(I hate that clock…
I guess I don’t care—
enough to get rid of the clock,
I mean…)

I live off coffee and cigarettes
like some teenage model with
anorexia.
But I’m content,
to thin, and
sink farther into upholstery.
Maybe by the time I emerge
as a tattered little butterfly,
the world will be long-gone.

Maybe I’ll find an unused stick
of cancer
buried in these cushions.
Worth a shot.

Or two.

(Sept. 2014)

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11 April, 2014

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poetry, self-portrait, storyteller, writing

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One, Two, Buckle in my Knees and fall

I’m not a fan of this cop-out rhyming “i” with “by” but I was on a roll at the time. I’ll go back to it…in several months, as seems to be my style.

One, Two, Buckle in my Knees and fall
JCD Kerwin

i tap the sidewalk crack
harder and harder,
hoping to hear the snap
in my own back;
maybe i’ll twist, contort;
become a grotesque sideshow
for passersbys
as they flit on by,
while i
watch my coffee
pool sadly
and flood anthills.

(April, 2014)

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11 April, 2014

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poetry, self-portrait, storyteller, writing

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RockybumCoast

Moment in Time Sand Castle Wave, from http://www.kinhthanhmoingay.com

RockybumCoast
JCD Kerwin

Building all these sand castles
only scares
the horseshoe crabs
who have to take
the long way ‘round.

The glittery walls
are something fun
for ocean waves to swallow.
(They might’ve looked
like stone to us;
they fall
like rock to sea.)

I’m not much of a builder;
I like to play the day
based on what pancakes
to chow.
Blueberry or plain?
(What goes best with almond milk?)

I’m enemies best buddies
with the monster inside of me,
so I don’t need
to fight anything more
on solid ground.
Got enough choices to make
while looking in the goddamn mirror.
Don’t know how
to make the me I see
much better
for the people
who seem to think
I should be better.

(All I wanted was a pen and paper,
and to maybe make
the words last longer
than markings in beach mud.)
This whole damn thing
seems so much faster;
the hourglass really tipped over.
My pages turn by
like I’m not who’s writing
my own story.

I should throw the book into the waves
and let it fade in a soggy grave
with castles made of sand.

(April, 2014)