Allen Wilbert: Favorites

Dec 2013 Allen Wilbert

K Balachandran

About this thief from far far away,
she never wanted, even to hear at first
but at last awaited with a wish and a prayer,
here comes the foot steps, and him as a beam of light,
this pure delight is unexpected,
the heart of darkness, she once feared
in this winter embraces as blissful warmth.
his lips are passionate, kiss ethereal
he takes away all she has, every thing she calls hers,
without a word she gives,
how strange, she feels full, overwhelmed,
this is not the finis, something beautiful now begins.

Dec 2013 Allen Wilbert

Philosophy

Dec 2013 Allen Wilbert

Maxine Robbins

Philosophy

They say that humans are compassionate and loving creatures, with a wide variety of emotions. Yet they also say humans are the most feared and horrible creatures on this planet. And all of these things were yet said by humans. What most people don’t say or tend to notice is that humans are full of oxymorons, hypocrisys, and failure. That may sound negative but it isn’t. If humans weren’t flawed then we wouldn’t be humans right? I believe those two most common perceptions of humans come from the two most commonly perceived personality types present in humans. You have the super happy-go-lucky type who believes the world is perfect and pure and no one wants to hurt each other. And then you have the extremely hateful cynical type. The people who have been hurt and stepped on and abused and feel they have every right to hate the world. But I think these two extremes are quite unfair to the majority of the population that is in the middle grey area. The reality is that the world is a mystery and treats every human differently with different experiences, just as all humans are different from each other. It’s quite beautiful, that grey area. You never really know what’s going to happen in the middle and its exciting.

Dec 2013 Allen Wilbert

phantom

Dec 2013 Allen Wilbert

Hana Gabrielle

phantom

This block that’s been haunting me
I finally know what it is
It’s not that my thoughts have ever ceased to exist
(no matter how hard I wish)
My truth
Has never been poetic.
My 4 shots of honesty
Are tucked under unclean bed-sheets
Collecting dust
Because I haven’t found a soul
With good enough reason to trust

I work with formulated brushstrokes
My polished softer madness
Because I’ve been told that
This much eye contact makes you
Uncomfortable
That sometimes
I say the things
that you didn't
want to (or know how)
to hear
not sweet enough
for you to swallow
So shove it down my throat
with a gleam in your eye
you gloat
like you actually think
you’ve solved my mystery

I
have covered up
every last shadow
of sincerity
every vicious glimmer
of your fingerprints
marring the fabric
of my skin
my canvas
my natural form
is your sin

I shudder to think
That I’m waiting
For my censored text to be read
Waiting for repercussions
Of wounds that I’ve already bled
My truth
Is that I blurred through the boundaries
Between memories and lies
That I often can’t remember
What I made up and why
there was so much to
cover up
with false nostalgia

my heartache
is
that there’s no logic behind that
no reason to
forget how to feel
to go three days
with my eyes glazed
until I can grasp on
to what's real
a patched up framework of sane
and I want to see blood
to feel purpose for pain

Every time my tremors
Shake in new directions
I want to cry because
That’s just one step further away
from perfection
Playing pretend
Was just imagination
until it was dysfunction
and I set fire to my lungs
Because no matter what
I was never good enough

I choke on my breath
And the burn of swallowed blood
too warm
out of place
like a breeze to the bone
Dripping past the place that
Your name once called home
I still visit
The grave of a legend
In my body
So heavy with the weight
Of lives I never lived

It was never like
The words I so hopefully drowned in
The promises that
my fears were unfounded
That no one could really
Be alone
Not like this
Not like
Being left to remember your kiss
Not like
Nail marks in the palms of clenched fists
Not like fading in and out of dreams
Asking myself
Which reality is this?
Untangling from cold sweats
With the ringing in my ears
Reminding me ruthlessly
That god ****** I’m still here
And you’re gone

I hate that “I miss you”
Is mistaken for cliché
But it’s my truth
It’s my indescribable
My engulfing
My around every corner
Over and over
Your absence impacts like a train
stolen months
dripping in honey sweet
hope
we were my first us
it's hard to find salvation
when your
foundation gives up

My anger
Is sharp breaths
It tastes like
***** coming out my nose
Splashing against my skin
It burns a little like
Bee stings
Coming up my throat
And a whole lot less
Than the loneliness

That vacant isolation
That booms so stubborn
Trying to heal
from numb
Reminding me that
Summer by summer
I become something
That I wont
be willing to save.
At this point
I'm not sure what I crave.
it feels like thunder
on the horizon
of my intangible
you are so much more
than a metaphor
for how perspective
is flammable
but my story
was never about you

birthed from ashes
I am
your favourite taboo

unfinished work

Dec 2013 Allen Wilbert

Dumb Girls Club

Dec 2013 Allen Wilbert

GaryFairy

Dumb Girls Club

It's time to shake our money makers
and see if we find any takers
i'm telling you, we're real heartbreakers
we were born to be *** shakers

don't look past my body and face
that would be a total waste
we really know a woman's place
just another wasted case

don't talk to us about intellect
that's a concept that we reject
we let our looks and sensuality reflect
our total mindless neglect

Dec 2013 Allen Wilbert

The Life of an Insomniac

Dec 2013 Allen Wilbert

sleeplessnxghts

The Life of an Insomniac

That nefarious disorder that usurps my sleep every night holds the anchors above my head
And once the looming presence creates an unyielding uncomfortable feeling within me-
The anchors are dropped at once as I clutch my heart and watch my life flash by in intense but short clips reflecting off of my irises
Drowning in a waking nightmare consisting of life-altering decisions yet to be made and a ubiquitous, haunting past that never fails to ascertain me, despite the innumerable heat runs I've taken to escape it's chokehold
Wistful versus Wishful thinking keeps an insomniac busy at night- contemplating the universe's unhealthy obsession with showering sullen loads upon my already feeble stature and yearning for a change to form like how the leaves just fled the trees they were accustomed to for so long
Ruminative habits that not even the toughest of diamonds could scratch to erase them from my routine nightly thinking
But I am constantly torn between resenting every constant and vowel meant for you and all of my feckless attempts at achieving perfection
And optimistically hoping for a banishment from all negativity, and acceptance of the elation spreading faster through the airwaves of people open to recognition and reversal
But my anchors are breaking through the floor boards as my weary but restless eyes scan the page for errors and I am cautious in giving them a tug out of fear of a perpetual fall that insists on torturing me through an insomnia-flavored death-to-be
What is to ensue after countless hours of wistful and wishful thinking?
Am I to write until the moisture leaves my fingertips and the blood rushes to my head because my amygdala is housing all of my aggressions and fears, close to explosions upon anything in my vicinity?
Or am I to close my eyes and daydream of better, happier times to arrive at my front doorstep sometime in the near future?
But my overactive thoughts stimulate several situations that could play out, and the ones I decide on making permanent effects in the future are the ones that end with me crying and hopeless
Maybe the life of an insomniac is even worse than people think- it is not the fact that we do not sleep that unnerves us, it is the fact that when we do not sleep, we overthink, and when we overthink, we depress ourselves with all of the outcomes and possibilities that can arise from the most trivial decisions to the most climactic ones
My anchors act as my comforter and hold me tight during my REM sleep when the vivid and electrifying dreams and nightmares play simultaneously like a horror film I am entrapped in
I hone in on the conflict and I am taken away in shackles into dreamland, a world worse than reality
And I cannot lucid dream, so my control, my grip on the direction of the thoughts slips away and the fabrication of my unconscious takes over until I wake up every hour on the hour breathless and sweating
I awake at all the wrong times, on all wrong sides of the bed
And falling back asleep is a difficult task to carry out each time, because of the lack of melatonin that seemed to be crossed of the checklist of necessities of being born
And so the cycle ensues for the next 5 hours
And I continue this routine day in, and day out
This is the life of an **Insomniac.

Dec 2013 Allen Wilbert

Lilac and Honey

Dec 2013 Allen Wilbert

manicsurvival

Lilac and Honey

My heart is cold. It had been previously overheated, by emotions that my mind took in like sweet ecstasy only to spit these emotions out like sour milk. My body learned to stare at the milk carton, and no longer have the urge to drink the liquid that is perfectly fine. Expiration date: five weeks from now. But no, ever since I drank that sour glass, I can’t be emotional anymore. I want to sympathize and empathize, but only with you. Because here, empathy could be easy and sympathy would be natural. But, all I want to feel is you. I want to feel the shape of your thoughts. I want to be constricted to you and only you. You’re the only milk I’ll ever drink. You’re today, tomorrow, and yesterday. You’ve told me that your father is an alcoholic. He would get drunk off wine, and you called him a “*****”. You always stare into my eyes before we conform to each other’s bodies and say “Why are you always so sad”. My response is never fulfilling, and I’m sure you want to know about me, but I’m not ready to tell me story, so tell me yours. Your father is an addict. He had a difficult childhood and grew up to be a man, both hated and praised. Your mother had breast cancer and back surgery, but why? Maybe I don’t even need to know about your parents, what about you? You stare into my pupils and question my ever-present sorrow, so, may I question yours? Why do you shut off your emotions, the same way I do. Why do you remain unaffected by the pain of others? I have tasted the sour milk on my tongue, and I vow to never taste it again. But, when our lips touch, I taste honey and I smell lilac, and I feel home. So tell me, what your story is, please… We feed off each other’s agony and cry in our beds at night, we meet up at midnight so that we don’t feel alone, we rest in the pain that makes us bitter and unkind. I need to know your story, because although I have seen bits and pieces of an overcomplicated puzzle, I need to see the whole picture, and you need to see mine. Please, you’re all I have. Let me taste honey and smell lilac and feel at home, because with you, my heart is warm,

Dec 2013 Allen Wilbert

temptress

Dec 2013 Allen Wilbert

EJ Aghassi

temptress

Temptress
Smooth-skinned devil

Siren
Sweet songstress of turmoil

You grabbed ahold
Of my soul
Long long ago

And your grip keeps tightening

The moon won't hide us
The stars won't save me

It's beautiful and frightening

black birds circling
you'll be dead by night

but you close in
showered by dim light

the way you sway
I'm willing prey

I'll die a thousand
deaths tonight

you're terrifying
you chill me to the bone

yet enchanting
more so than I've ever known

I long
for that slow
end
at your mercy

I dream
of the fall
at your claws

Dec 2013 Allen Wilbert

To feel my way through life

Dec 2013 Allen Wilbert

Luisa

To feel my way through life

Our minds are what create our stress, our doubt, our fear, our anxiety, our questions. More times than I can count have I wished for silence within just so I can see & hear clearly without any preconceived notions. I want to live my life through feeling! I don't want logic or "morals" to control my way of living... I want to act based on feelings, not based on what I think or what others think. I want my heart & my emotions to drive this soul of mine. Not many people do, which is why I know certain people were placed in my life. I'm sorry if at times my cluttered mind gets the best of me & creates chaos, but I swear it's only bc this fist of blood that pounds in my chest is begging to take over.

My heart loves yours