The Not So Forbidden Forbidden Fruit
Sweet
Succulent
Tantalizing
Your aroma entices me with every breath
The feel of your skin on my face
Smooth, yet fuzzy
Just how I like it
My lips all over your velvety figure
My mouth begins to water
My eyes dilate from the mere sight of your ambiance
I pause…
Take in the moment…
Because I’ve been waiting since JANUARY for my MAY flower to blossom and provide me with your forbidden fruit
So I can enjoy that body…...
I mean beauty...
I mean fruit-ty…
My hands
Wrap around you as I prepare for this meal I am about to partake in…
Because this sweet sap could enjoy your sweet sap for breakfast, lunch, dinner and in between snack—
My lips
Apply pressure to your soft skin as I move closer and closer
to that delicate flower…
My trembling leaves you trembling
leaves me remembering…
THAT YOU ARE JUST A FRUIT!
Yes, a fruit—a piece of Good God All mighty Goodness that can satisfy my every need and nourish my body, mind, and soul …. For right now….
I make the first move
With that first taste, your juice runs down my face
and I begin to embrace the fact that...
I’m going to be sticky after all this
All for my Georgia peach, so sweet.
Worth it.
Death to the Awkward
Death to the awkward situations that haunt our inner thoughts. . .
Those toe cringing
Teeth grinding
“Why on earth did I just say that?”
Moments
I mean we’re both probably thinking the same thing, right?
I’m like “Man, this is weird” And she’s like “man, this is weird” when in reality, we both just fear the uncomfortable tension that nonchalantly appeared.
Death to the awkward eye contact I made with my neighbor this morning as I was standing ass naked in the window of my bedroom, directly in plain sight
Death to the awkward moment of my card declining in the Wendy's drive through with a line of people honking their horns louder and louder behind me.
“I heard you the first time, asshole!’
Because damn it, my direct deposit hits tomorrow and they don't know my life!
They don’t know my struggle!
Death to awkwardly holding the door for someone that's too far away
Death to that fake run I have to do when the asshole 30 feet in front of me decides to be nice
Oh, and you know when you’re walking past someone and you can’t choose which side to walk on, so you begin to do the awkward sidewalk dance?
Yea, SUPER death to that shit
Death to first dates
and misread signals
and un-broken Ice
and…
Death to flaking on a plan because you didn't want to be awkward
Because things really aren't awkward
Unless we make it...
A Tale of 2 Stories
420, Blaze it bro!
1999, 2 men, 1 goal, Kill everyone.
This my favorite holiday, I’m trynna be fried ALL DAY!
*11:15: Bomb explodes, a diversion to keep emergency services busy.*
Last year me and my friends made some edibles…
Shit didn’t hit till like 2 hours later…
And I swear my drinking water turned purple...
“Breaking news we have an Active shooter at Columbine High School!”
You guys know how 420 started RIGHT?
Ight BOOM, so there were these THREE guys, or was it TWO… Anyway, they found this super-secret, area 52, government, untraceable, marijuana crop and….
*BOOM.* “Reports are flooding in of explosion in the cafeteria and the student parking lot! We have now confirmed 2 active shooters on the campus! The School is on lock down!”
Forget the story man spark the other L! And shut the door you’re letting all the smoke out!
“Duck your head stay quite shut the doors! Don’t let the shooters in!”
Heart racing a mile a minute as the paranoia takes effect.
Heart racing 10 thousand miles a minute as they fear for their lives.
Backwoods, papers, swisher sweets, bongs. So many choices to choose from
in order to reach that state of euphoria.
Sawed-offs, handguns, smoke bombs—so much to run from.
Make a Run for the nearest exit and hope not be seen.
Staying putting and praying for the end.
What to do, what to do, in order to reach that state of safety.
Smoke thickens, ashtrays fill and we prepare to leave the warmth of the hot box in seek of fresh air
Blood everywhere, dead bodies of 10 students laying cold and lifeless.
Footsteps approach a locked door where behind it lies a few teenagers
Completely unaware of what is about to take place
“OH SHIT…
Hide everything, I think my parents are home, look at all this smoke, they are going to kill me!”
“Look at all that smoke coming out of that storage room
OH SHIT…
I think I hear the shooters, they are going to kill us, everyone Hide!”
We raise our lighters, blunts, bowls and hot Cheetos encrusted fingers to the air and scream hooray for the stoners holiday.
While other raise their lighter and candles and hands in the air to commemorate one of the most horrific mass shootings in United States history.
· 13 dead.
· 23 injured.
· 2 suicides.
On April 20th 1999, Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold took the lives of their fellow classmates and teachers without any remorse.
Today, most people only remember 4/20 as the day everyone gets high.
There is always 2 sides to every story.
Jonathan Erskine:
I like to see myself as an average every day college student, struggling to stay afloat amongst life’s many stressors. I never pictured myself as a real “poet” however I learned that poetry can be a part of everything. It’s all about your perspective. From life experiences, both good and bad, to personal feelings, writing poetry can help an individual express themselves in ways never imagined. What was even more surprising to me was that I had a knack for the skill and grew to appreciate it more during my poetry course last year.
Initially, I enrolled in the course solely for the purpose of needing the credits for my program evaluation. However, with the guidance of my professor, I soon learned that just because you have to do something you aren’t accustomed to doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it.
So, I took that approach and ran with it. I am a graduating senior, majoring in international business management who tends over think the little things while simultaneously accepting my nonchalant, awkward behavior. Fortunately, I’ve been given the opportunity to have some of my work published in this year’s edition of the BC Literary magazine.
I wouldn’t consider myself an outstanding writer, but I will consider myself a brilliant expressionist. I tell my story the only way I know how--And that is, AS ME.
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