The only thing

The only thing
that gets me wired
that mixed up drug
we call inspired

Inspired is Now!
Inspired is Ever!
Inspired is SongPoemPossible Wow!

The only thing
that gets me wired
that fucked up drug
we call inspired

Inspired is Manic!
Inspired is God!
Inspired is FaithPerfection Panic!

So now I’ve felt the sting
I’ve got no more only one thing
I just got “trying to figure it out poems”
Spit onto the screen all here by my lonesome

© 2015 | More Poetry by Toria Saint James

Petals

Wishes left
like petals on an unpicked flower
don’t remember what you said
when you turned and left me for dead
saying
"you depend on me!"

but I do
so much that writing about nonsense
burns my heart like acid
and I don’t even want to tag this as a poem
because then it’s just a show

I love the loving that we never do
somewhat like Sherlock loves his clues

come fill my vase
and kiss me too

Oh

Oh verse
the curse interred
the worst
the silly lies we pen
to speed the Hurst
to our demise
is first
oh verse

yet being first is always wet
it slicks and slimes its winners’ vines
and pushes on in earnest sweat
oh first
you danger dangling thing
you lucky, lucid, prideful ring
oh first

so first our curse is verse we say
and next lies firstness, lithe and gay
who makes the queen in this foul play?

it’s you
so choose

is being just the first horse out the best?
or can penning verse so perfect quell the rest?

© 2015 More Poetry by Toria Saint James

Relevant See

Oooooooooooooh
Who gonna pick this chick?
the mixed up tranny
with the shoulder chip
and a filled out hip
so the curves can’t quit

Buuuuuuuuuuuuut
Girl’s gonna keep on pushing
fixin this two tone kitchen
on her two dime pitch in
it’s a life long twitch spin
oh the motherfuckers win

Yeeeeeaaaaaaaah
Love’s gonna win
Yeeeeeaaaaaaaah
Love’s gonna win
Yeeeeeaaaaaaaah

Love’s

Gonna

Motherfucking

Win

© 2015 More Poetry by Toria Saint James

The Subjective Nature of the Mystical Experience, A Poem

Ye the mystics, fruity, plebes
take the sting out of the bee
and be the being by the tree
sitting, Buddha, Newton, we

watch the apple subtly drop
watch the time time had to stop
drink the wisdom from the top
be the ecstatic, bubbling Pop!

And then the doctor, sitting sternly says
You’ve got some nonsense in your head
You need to be more sane!
We’ll fix your fucked up brain!

Oh now, I’m ill, or so I’m told
So here I’ll sit and ungrow old

© 2015 More Poetry by Toria Saint James

Self-Interrogation

Bored being happy is the sanest kind of hell
Where you fidget with your patience
and you follow nose to dwell

Oh what hell?
Nothing now

I’m the sole redeemed collector
of a subtle, laughing WOW

Oh what wow?
Nothing now

I’m the one day daily diet at a time girl
I’m the flag of hope’s resistance that is starting to unfurl

Oh what hope?
Nothing now

So, this poem blessed
I’ll switch my mode to anxious

© 2015 More Poetry by Toria Saint James

Disembodiment

I dreamt I laid down in the road to die
and my head was knocked off my body
and yet I wouldn’t die
staring from ground level as the cars passed

and the stark reality kept streaming in hi-def
and so I called out to my father in frustration
who came and screwed my head back on
and had the doctors fill in the holes

and nobody wants to hear about death
but teenagers, poets, and wackos
so I’ll press on sullenly
and dig my grave with honesty

© 2015 More Poetry by Toria Saint James