One Smart Duprass

One Smart Duprass
We’re kindred spirits, he and I
Our souls are one, we think alike
His laugh, my bliss
My smile, his light
One smart Duprass, I have no doubt
Kurt, Bokonan and I – we all agree
This boy and me are meant to be.
But – wait? Who’s she?
That girl o’er there
Draped on his arm
A fake, a false
Just plays the part
That’s what Kurt calls a Granfalloon
She can’t be it
Can’t truly be
He’s mine, I’m his
One smart Duprass

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Note: Some of the words I use in this poem are words that Kurt Vonnegut invented and included in his novel, “Crat’s Cradle”. Here are their simplified definitions for those of you who weren’t forced to read it in high school english:

Granfalloon: “A seeming team that was meaningless in terms of the ways God gets things done”. A false group of people – doesn’t really matter.

Duprass: Two people whose bond “can’t be invaded” or broken. They stick together through everything, essential soul mates who are so close that they even “die within a week of each other”.

Bokonan: The inventor of the religion Bokononism. He made up and defined the words “Granfalloon” and “Duprass”. Fictional.

Travel-Size Toothpaste

Travel-Size Toothpaste

Travel-size toothpaste

Is one-night motels

Moldy old sinks and gas-station hell

Airplanes and bus rides that end in nowhere

Drains filled with mildew

And clumps of old hair.

Travel-size toothpaste

Is new, foreign places

Buildings and statues with odd structured faces

Memories, family, and snapshots of time

Sharing hotel rooms, close as can be

Laughter and smiles, you’re feeling just fine.

Travel-size toothpaste

Is two star-crossed lovers

Savoring weekends just once a full moon

Hello, then goodbye – repeat over again

Bliss for a day, kiss for a night

Two days of love then pack up, go away.

Travel size toothpaste

Means all this and more –

There’s only one question we’ve left to explore

Where will you go, what will you see?

With your travel-size toothpaste

…Just don’t forget me.

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Never Look Back

A poem about escape.

OxOx, Amy Rebecca

Never Look Back

The deepest wish in all my heart

Is to float off this earth into a world of dark

A place made of dreams

Of Happy

Of Joy

A place where this pain

Can touch me no more

There will I run

So free and so strong

If only, if only,

If only I could

Float off this earth into a world of dark

Into my dreams

And never look back.

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Where I Want At Last

I wrote this poem during a dark period of my life while recovering from surgery…but let’s be real here, aren’t most poems written during dark periods of life? Poems about good days are sort of boring, and all seem to be kind of alike. Will you people think I’m smarter if I quote Tolstoy now? I think he said it well when he wrote “All happy families resemble one another, each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way”.

OxOx, Amy Rebecca

Where I Want At Last

If you wake up tomorrow and you find

Me lost in a permanent sleep

Forever

Please, just know I’m where I want at last

Trapped in dreams just as sweet as dreams can be

No hurt, no pain, no tears, no shame

Just joy and laughter,

Love, and hearts overflowing with

Blessings.

So, please don’t miss me

Don’t waste your time

Think of where I am

And what I left behind

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Being Human

Another poem from my alternate personality, Amspeare.

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(Pic above by moi)

Being Human

I’m not good at being human

I’m not good at showing love

When it comes to Life and Death

And Saints and Sins

I start to just clam up

Bonding is not my nature

Nor is making friends

When I do find love it always ends

And I fail to make amends

I think something’s disconnected

In the program of my heart

It’s like I’m flat out missing

A sweet, essential part

I, A Poet

The part of me that fancies myself a poet every once in a while wrote a poem during math class today. The part of me that is an egoist would like to share this with the Internet.

Seriously though, if I’m being serious and taking a more serious tone in all seriousness, I really enjoy writing poems. They are so beautiful and free and structure-less and soul-bearing. And sort of like therapy. I also think that there is something extremely lovely about a handwritten poem. It feels like the hand is acting as an interpreter for the heart, and the handwriting and the scratching out and scribbling shows that this interpretation is not always smooth and clear. The language of the heart is not always directly translatable to English.

So, here is a pic of the notebook page that I composed on, as well as a typed out fully English-zised version.

Please excuse the pretentiousness of this post- I have this disorder where I sometimes think I’m Shakespeare.

OxOx, Amy Rebecca

A Softer Side

There’s a softer side of me

That the world doesnt get to see

I shut it up inside

Down, deep within my soul

But every now and then

When I’m alone and still

My heart leaks from its bounds

My face becomes a window

For my inner self

And only for a moment

I’m open to the world.

Then that moment passes

My soul descends within

The shudders come together

I’m cold and tense again

But in the one sweet moment

I have but one deep wish

To find someone to share

Those few soft moments with

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