A Poetry Feature for Rickey Rivers Jr

Glassy Houses

Pour yourself a glass of eyes.
See how swiftly you move to dramatics?
Saw how slippery you were and used that to slice you open.
Funny how broken we are.
Even our houses are made up of oddities.

Oh, I know how silly it must seem to be who you are yet still – not be seen.
Perceptions are everything and superficial.
Officially be direct.
Stick it to social expectations.
Then you can see yourself in the shards.

Closed Mouth Thoughts

The truth isn’t wanted.
Some prefer a sweet lie.
It’s easy to die.
It’s much harder to try
and convey
how you feel everyday.
Without sense of doubt
you feed a shut mouth.

You Try Hard to Hurt

I am not shocked.
Your behavior doesn’t surprise.

You are watching me walk
away.
Keep the talk.
I won’t listen.

I move in strange rhythms, steady within chaos.
The back stabs don’t hurt anymore.

No fresh wounds, expected, yet pain rejected.

You thought you were clever yet surprise only yourself.

I laugh a lot loudly.
I laugh a lot proudly.

Baby Bird

A baby bird jumped across the grass.

I came so close.

I couldn’t believe it let me.

In the moment of then I wish to return, so close to nature, the beauty of then.

Simplistic moments are to be cherished, remembered.

A baby bird so young and free, hopping from here to there,

allowance of observation, as if knowing I would not interfere.

I did not.

Simply, I enjoyed the hop: a small bit of peace in a chaotic reality.

Anonymous Somebody

To be anonymous and adored, self-esteem has taken hits.
I’m bored.

A cord cutter yet tied to the net.
Lines to you extended contain lies I haven’t wrote yet.
Forgive.

I wrote a lot about the outfitters, the house sitter.
The kid and the carriage I carry.
I’m pretty pitiful.

Don’t pity me though.
I do that enough, a shell of myself in a shell of myself.
Wait!
Don’t go.

I say that a lot.
I shovel the dirt and lie in the grave.
Surely you can see me peeking out from the cave?

From your standing which do you assume?
Am I the bride?
Am I the groom?

Rickey Rivers Jr was born and raised in Alabama. He is a writer and cancer survivor. His work has appeared in Sage Cigarettes, Crepe & Penn, Hell Hued Zine (among other publications). Twitter.com/storiesyoumight His third mini collection of 3×3 poems is available here:
https://payhip.com/b/1Z6g

photo by melethril on unsplash

By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to feversofthemind@gmail.com. Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1

Leave a comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s