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[a-poet-named-mitch]

Self-inflicted Wound

Seek thee greatness

Find thee failure

Ambition be thy downfall

Sloth be thy guide

Why do I ask for things

that are not meant for me?

Why am I stubborn enough to live,

but relenting enough to shrug doubt off?

Perhaps my own persistence is

my downfall.

I know better,

However.

I know what is expected from me

And I do not wish to disappoint.

I don’t quite care for pressure

so I am not forced to do this.

I understand what I must do

I know what is right.

And still, my humanity betrays me.

It takes a bite of my soul and sinks itself into it.

Hoping to burrow inside it and feast on it

hoping to erupt from its shell once nurtured.

I want to hollow out my eyes.

So I see not the harm I am doing

To myself.

I regret all my comings of age,

for I did not understand how much I failed them.

Still, this seems to be my punishment,

To realize I’ve basked my youth in stupidity.

I don’t quite blame myself,

but who would be to blame?

A poem about lament and bitter reminiscences. A poem about regret and agony. About wasted potential and blame.

[a-poet-named-mitch]

The Swingin’ Swing

Swing a swing

Swing a swing

Hand on chain

Hips on the “U”

Adjust

And position

Ready

Set

Go! Go!

Swing up

Swing back

Legs go up

Legs drawn back

I pull with my hands

I push with my hips

And I swing

And I fly

I’m scared of heights

But why not of this?

Maybe because

I fly just high enough

To no be scared

To be there

My mind fades away

And I meditate

I see the world above

The sun setting

My hands start to tire

But I continue

If I don’t think about it

It won’t hurt

I swing

And swing

I swing a bit more and

further swing some

And just as I feel I’m

About to reach nirvana

I feel dizzy

Sick to my stomach…

So I hop off,

Tired of this swing

I stumble to a bench

Hands still hurt after days

I used to be able

to swing for hours

Without getting tired

Guess I’m older now

Reaching 20 already

I’m too old for swings

But not too old

For a good swingin’!

This poem is about swings and what I feel about them! Went to a new park yesterday and got in the swings. I always try to try out the new swing sets at parks simply because I LOVE swings!! But I discovered I tire easier than I did before… it was a bummer, but it made me reflect despite the dizzying feeling I was in after I hopped off!

[a-poet-named-mitch]

Heavy Heart

It’s always like this

Come along

Stay not long

Move along

I’m scared of it.

It’s not a vice

I will say it twice

Don’t you give me advice

I beg for understanding

And when it arrives

It never thrives

It feels like knives

I gain a friend

And I can’t keep it

My single face; I tweak it

Feel so real; now I speak it

I don’t want your man

Just want his support and comradery

Don’t blame me for your lack of social battery

I did no assault and battery

And y’all have know me for so long

Y’all so fucking ridiculous

‘Cuz if y’all my words gotta be meticulous

Don’t wanna offend with my feelings; ambiguous

Y’all piss me the fuck off

I’m mad as shit

So am I that unfit?

Y’all muhfuckas legit?

I could choose to see myself higher

And I lower myself for y’all

Tired of being this small

I’m free, you muhfuckas enthralled

But I truly care for y’all, you know?

And I know y’all care too

But when debts are due

Trust I’ll remind you the truth

That y’all hurt me

Made me this way

Threw me away

pretended it was ok

And forever left my heart with that weight

A poem about forgiving but not forgetting. A huge part of female rage. Always how I’ve operated. I believe in second chances, but I also believe in not being seen as a gullible fucking idiot <3

Wrote more how I spoke rather than how write this time. Had to portray that spoke rage!!

[a-poet-named-mitch]

The Jester King and his Harlot

Clowns they balance

Their bodies on the trapeze

Their bells avoiding silence

As they swing away with ease

The King of Clowns

He looks down upon me

He does no frowns

That huge smile I see

“You’re a clown too.”

He’s not wrong, I presume.

“So what do I do?”

I ask, not wanting to assume.

“Oh, I’ve been there millions of times!

What clown doesn’t rhyme?

But every madman has his vice,

so let me give you my advice.

Claim your pick,

Don’t let time tick

You pretty thing

Wanna be my fling?”

I looked up at him,

He was huge and

Despite that, he seemed vim

So I held his hand.

“Good choice, Sheila.”

He kissed me,

his breath tasted like tequila

I loved it, how could this be?

Glass the house of the hypocrite,

Bet you won’t find a bigger hit

Bitter bit

Appeal and bid on it

“Join my circus, be my slut,

I promise you a good cut!

Warn ya, you won’t be my glut

s’long’s there’s pep in that strut!

I like my whores obedient

But I can be lenient

You seem inexperienced

That’s ok, just don’t be deviant.”

I looked at his circus

Trying to find my purpose

And a place to fit

Knowing acceptance meant submit.

“I’ll take it

How else would I make it?”

I’ll just practice my mannerisms

Until I lose my rhythms.

And thus I start!

“Jump, Harlot!

Hop, Harlot!

Swing, Harlot

Spin, Harlot!”

And, being inferior,

I obey him. Superior

I’m fuking tired of being polite

It’s a fruitless plight.

So out of spite,

I’ll be the Jester King’s slut tonight!

He’ll hold my hips

Fuck me over, backwards, and in the splits

Say “Get up and turn around,

Sot fucking hands on the ground.”

And I’ll trick myself into thinking

He loves me by drinking

Greed wants sex

Avaritia Rex

A poem on the need for attention and fame! I’ve always seen the concept of greed as this huge Clown King! And Jesters are just royal clowns, so a jester king was most definitely the metaphor I was going for.

This poem is mostly about how greed can consume you and lead you to exploiting yourself if you’re not careful. It’s something I’ve been reflecting on lately!

[a-poet-named-mitch]

Hot Chips and Corn

Me and my cousin

We eat hot chips with corn

Corn in a cup, you call it

Dorichasca, we call it

We added 3 different sauces to it

Plus Japanese peanuts

Plus nacho cheese

Plus takis crumbs

We’re eating good tonight!

Our stomach is gonna explode

And our tummy will hurt

But that’s what fun is all about, ain’t it?

Jumping up and down

Like we used to when we were children

Now adults, but still the same ones at heart

We eat and eat and eat snacks!

Snacks like never before

We chomp and scoop

Dip and crunch

On spicy snacks we love to munch

A Dorichasca under the

downtown neon lights

We enjoy like

We did in older times

My cousin came to visit us from Mexico and we went Downtown to hang out. So we went to POST Market and got ourselves corn in a cup. And it was HUGEEE! And well, it reminded me of the snacks we used to eat as kids.

[a-poet-named-mitch]

Colorless

I always thought of winter blue

Lights and snowy American winters do

Influence the way I see

The season that brought me be

But I wasn’t raised by American winters

I was nurtured in a place that never hinders

My imagination. Where I saw the winter lights

Around the day I was born. Those little delights

I believed spoke of my life’s anniversary that day.

Winter child, winter prey

Winter death, winter birth

Winter malancholy, winter mirth

The illusion of wonderland is gone

The golden cage I’ve entered

And I realized those pretty winters

Are nothing but dead and self-centered

The colors of winter are a farce

They’re man-made and scarce

Winter is nothing but brown and gray worn

Because winter begins the day I was born

Winter began about a week ago (it starts on the 21st and I will die on that hill, you 22nd believers) and I simply had to post this one! It’s my insight on winter and my relationship with it.

[a-poet-named-mitch]

A Peak In

I accept

The solemn duty to

Never be the

The damn Muse

I’ll take it

The pain

I’ll ball it up

And put it to use.

Care to witness my misery?

As I am cursed

To write without secrecy

Dancing with my petheticism

I must scream

So I’ll carve out

A mouth of my own

Since I’ve none

Because I am

Since I think

The night consumes me

And does the rest

Would you like to

Cut the cranium

And dissect the wrinkled organ

That hates itself?

Tell me,

Would you care to peak in?

Hi! My name is Mitch! I write poems and also fics (not here tho lol!!). I take requests and stuff!!!

I appreciate the support!!!

[a-poet-named-mitch]

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