Sunday, February 20

This is not a Love Poem

I'm disappointed in my performance last night. Again, I should have made more time to memorize my piece. Maybe I'm disappointed from the day of writing, the lack of subject matter, or that I succumb to doing this one. Either way, I stand by the sincerity of my words. Someone referred me not to do another "Love Poem." So I thought up this concept. Video "may" be up soon. Thank you Steven, Caroline, and Nansay for going to support my arts. Anywho, Here it is:

This is not a love Poem
This isn’t me standing in front VAYLA using striated muscles lifting a piece of paper filled with lovey dovey sentences
This isn’t a manual given from God through a burning bush about love
I am not Moses.
My name is Travis, I’m a straight shooter
So believe me when I tell you that this is anything far from love
I’m a gangster, not a poet
I’m a player, not a priest
So this isn’t even me up here
And this will have nothing to do with her, at all
I’m not going to go on with metaphors about how much I feel her swag and want to bag her like grocery
Or all that I was going to do or all that I’ve done.
I’m not going to talk about the time I cut my hand in front of the palm reader to prove that she is in my life line or the night we stayed on my roof until the morning just to see if we’d catch the Northern Lights.
This will not be a love poem.

This isn’t a still that a Canon or Nikon could capture with fish eye lens.
It’s not an illusion to make you think that we’re still in love.
It’s not the time for me to tell you that I’m missing her, so I’m not going to
I’m not saying that I’ve wept enough to have 8 cups of water every day for the rest of my life
This is not a poem wrapped in latex spewing my emotions onto the nearest stranger. This is contraceptive. This is an assembly line of words to prove a point.

This is not me making up rhymes schemes
About only having $1 and a dream
Cause if ever I had a $1 I’d buy more dreams
Tylenol pills and a bottle with a drink
Our minds would fall asleep
And our hearts would be in sync (sink)
Like champagne flutes and tuning forks
And arguments about who loved who first

And I’m not going to tell you any of that because this is not a Love Poem
But if it were
I’d tell her that my heart pumps wine, I breathe in the oxygen channel
My heart is on the sleeve of her cardigan, my initials are on the emblem of her Tory Burchs, my soul is at the bottom of her Space Jams, and my mind wanders among setting suns and drifting waters, drawing maps in my head quilting memories of her subconscious.
Damn, good thing I didn’t say any of that deep, raw real shit.
But if pressure bust pipes, well what about valves
Because if this were about love she’d go in and out
That’s 116 pounds traveling through my bloodstream
The reason for my apical pulse, the bottom of the heart.
I can still feel her breath on the back of my neck
If this were about love, this would be my 9th symphony composed in “A minor” for mi amor so that these 10 digits can dance 8-count octaves across a bridge under the moonlight
Where weddings would consist of more than just vows but consonants
If this were Jersey Shore I’d be Ronnie and she‘d be my backpack of a Sammy and all we’d do is Get To Love like GTL. Even when your beauty fades or you start to look like Snookie. So don’t leave the show my Sammy until Pauly D spins a love song.

But this isn’t MTV or anything short of a love poem
This poem started global warming, the one made the President of Egypt resign, the one that makes Nicholas Sparks look bad, and got Megan Fox to stop doing Transformer movies.
These are my words in the form of rose buds lying at your feet while I keep the thorns wedged in my hand. This is salt on an open wound with my flesh exposed. This is a more of a horror story or a lost cause than love poem.
But I don’t know exactly what it is.
My name is Travis, I’m a straight shooter
So believe me when I tell you this is anything far from love

Post Script: Today would be a good park/motorcycle day. Must memorize, must memorize, must memorize poems for next performance on March 1st.

Monday, February 7

Catch Twenty-Two at 21

If I can trick everyone into thinking I'm okay, there's nothing that I cannot do. I used to know how to sacrifice, now I've learned to be sacrificial. Understand I'm doing what I can for a common future good, only at the expense of myself. If I feel as if do not deserve it, I try to keep it from me. Close ones around me have been forcing the issue lately, so it's making me rebellious. I don't mind not looking out for myself primitively. It is not because I didn't want it; it's because I wanted it more than anything at the time, more than anything. So, I don't want to be rooted for anymore, caught in a place between false pretenses and hope. However, today is one day and tomorrow is another. Nevertheless today is today.

Some sadist is going to find solace in this.

Forgive me of my trespasses as I forgive those who trespass against me.

I've had to add more sentences to this post than I would've liked, but please pray for my good friend Mimi, my good neighbor So Quyen, and my grandmother Ba Hien. Yesterday had coffee with Tap till the wee hours of the morning and will have dinner with Mimi tonight and see Nansay following.