Hello, my fellow poets! So I’ve decided to create my publication that will allow only a specific kind of poetry — and that is personification poems. I call this publication “White Objects” because I associated the color white as innocence, meaning that any object is innocent before its owner’s point of contact, though depending on the intention.
For those of you who have read my work, I’m sure you have noticed this writing pattern about inanimate objects; well, there is a reason for it, alright! One of my favorite things about poetry is how we have the power to breathe…
Subject is living, unlike subjugation,
The meaning of death —
And I fell in between with my
Two standing feet — while I stood
Bare with soils and grass — America
Between my toes. Standing on the
World, on the ocean, on the
Fields, on the concrete
Cities, which only knew the
Bottom of my bare foot — laced
In black sock, black shoe.
The love I spread was the kind of oxblood
Colored jam with burnt toast, and
Morning songs, sung by eagles in the
I am stupid when it comes to suicide.
I slurred myself for it.
It was hard for my tongue to stretch
It that way, that saying.
I feel a tightness, here and there.
This fear, I am standing and waiting
For my turn in this empty line, the
Ride must be long, for it to be over.
I am nervous, I feel like I’m in a hyperbolic
Time chamber of some kind. It’s always
Like that for everyone’s first time,
Especially when you want it to be quick.
Sometimes you want to do It slow, when you feel like you…
I had a dream of a scenario.
I had a dream of a many distortions.
Within my dream, like a face reflected
In sweat, chopped and slant.
My crying face due to my demise, I
Somehow knew it was going to happen,
As quick as an instinct, my heart stopped.
I am in the afterworld, it’s the exact replica
Of earth that I’ve walked on, except with
Different familiar faces.
I could feel years go by as I stay the
Same in my youth, forever twenty-three.
I break down like a mortal For every time I read my name on…
For my sixth prayer tonight I shall dance.
I’m an awkward dancer by nature, but
Alone, no, I’m never alone, with Allah I
I worry that I shall be punished for this,
I should have danced before my fifth
Prayer, the number six is the devils' number.
I can twirl it to an angelic nine,
A Yin and Yang,
I hope to live past the average male
Lifespan, over seventy.
I’m in this basement because
It’s where the Bowery bums go,
And I find them to be interesting,
Their religion is purely secular,
Their stories come in full…
The spinning blades of your
Fan spin and — cut the cool air
Between us in the winter midnight.
The heat I feel in your space feels forgetful,
Like your touch.
Our eyes have
Grown tired over the years,
Our shining pupils dimmed to black smiles.
Pull me back
Into your arms before I walk out the door,
Before a hundred eyes fall upon me.
You know that I am less beautiful than
You, and that is why only a hundred will
As for you, a thousand will
Hover like poltergeists, in constant longing. You know that I…
Montenegrin American poet. Alma mater is Queens College.