Month: May 2019


purple 8.JPG

mix up all our goodies
and surely we’ll get sick.
we were meant to know each other,
knew it by our hundredth kiss.

by our thousandth we’re in love,
stomach told me to break up,
trust my heart less than my gut,

so i said goodbye,
you asked me why,
i told some lies,
i only cried
when i held the gifts you gave me.
the vinyls; covers full of colors
of music that we loved with.

kept in touch with you,
missed the touch of you,
Mister Color Blue
wanted lighter hues,
watched enough cartoons
to see what love can do,

so we met again,
just as friends
at a Warwick inn,

you were sleeping when
i left to get
some food to eat
and clear my head,
and neither were accomplished.

cuz a poem stung my conscience.
didn’t have a pen,
so i sang instead,
must have looked like i had lost it.

but it was the opposite.
it was the first time that i wrote
since the night that we had broke,
waited til you finally woke
to ask for you back.

and so we mixed up all our goodies,
this time without the sick.
we were meant to love each other,
knew it by our first drunk kiss.

┬ęSteven Cuenca

at home

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we’re at home
and she’s worried
’bout lookin’ pretty,

and i’m
gross and stinky,
my morning clothes
be stayin’ wit me.

my dog
will lick a turd,
and my dog
won’t even sniff me.

and we’re at home,
we’re at home,
and she’s tryin’
to stay busy,

while i’m
face first in greens
and i’m
feelin’ dizzy.

the week
was gray and misty,
but now
it feels like Disney,

and it won’t last,
it won’t last,

the grays
get grayer
the more
burnt that i get,

my mother
sends a prayer
the continent,

and we’re at home,
we’re at home,
and you’re still
finding purpose,
and i
can’t find it worth it,

the home
is for the workless,
your movements
make me nervous.

my ass
is really burnin’,
this seat
is like a furnace,

my eyes
are really burnin’,
fries my circuits,

but i’m focused
on the skirmish,
these people
feelin’ Kermit,
feelin’ froggy

feelin’ green
about it,
but don’t be
mean about it,
leap about it,
be about it.

i don’t have
a doubt about it,
the home’s a
workweek outage,

so take a seat,
wait a beat,
we done our tricks,
the home’s the treat.

alone with me,
get flown with me,
we’re at home,
ungrow with me.

“at home”
┬ęSteven Cuenca