Sunday, April 8, 2018

Love (Raw)

Love (Raw):


We spend so much time trying to pleas others that we don't take the time to please ourselves. 
That’s not to say that we should not care about other people’s opinions, but that we should not invest our souls in them. 

We are unique individuals capable of so much love, empathy, and altruism. But, we must use our abilities instead of being like complacent toy soldiers sitting on shelves.


Boys can cry, and girls are tough. Do not let society bend and twist your emotions. Let yourself love freely and fully. Love us and them. Love her and him. 

Chance Preshia

Dance

Dance:

I don't really understand how the music works
I just dance to the beat. I dance all day, all night
The enjoyment is just one of the perks
I'm just trying to get back to that other place
A world of childhood wonder, innate curiosity 
As we grow older we become more independent 
But, our fears become a tangible reality


Instead of the monsters hiding in the closet, it's the monsters keeping you in there 

——
Chance Preshia

Sorry for the long delay between my last poem and this one. I’ve written a few since then, but I didn’t think to publish them. 

If you are here from a link I put out also check out my poem I came up with between publishing this one and 12:55 pm.


http://chanceswritings.blogspot.com/2018/04/love-raw.html?m=1#more


FYI: When I publish my poetry it isn't necessarily indicative of my current feelings. 



Friday, September 22, 2017

Dichotomy

Dichotomy

Am I awake? Am I asleep?
Am I here? Am I there?
Am I nowhere? Am I everywhere?
Is life a dichotomy or somewhere in-between?
Life or death? Fear or love?
Or, maybe something in between?

Life feels like the moments between 
When you are falling asleep and waking
The now between here and there 
Somewhere, not nowhere and definitely not everywhere 
The fear of death, the love of life
The fear of living, a cultural love of death 

Life's not yes or no it's maybe, I think

---
Chance Preshia 


Sunday, July 16, 2017

Duex Poeme


Abandoned Romance

I left at home, along with my debit card, the abandoned notion of romance 
I came to swing my hips, to kiss, and to grind and to dance
Between moments our bodies are demystified by the flashing lights 
Sweat begins to drip down our faces on these wild, inebriated nights 

Heavenly Bodies Crashing

We are two binary stars speedily revolving around each other 
Our heavenly bodies radiate heat, and we slowly draw nearer to one another
Two heavenly bodies crash together - lips to lips, hips to hips, hands to back, chest to chest
And, as gravity becomes to much, we buckle under our own weight and  then undress


---

Chance Preshia

Tuesday, June 20, 2017

The Fall, Rewind, & Canvas

The Fall

And, so men fall like empires. 
I'm sifting through the ruins.
Trying to rebuild a lost civilization.
Looking for the lost city of gold.
Searching for your heart of gold
You've been reduced to rubble
But, I've heard the tales of your greatness
And, now I'm just wondering what caused the Fall

Rewind

Everyday it all just feels the same.
I’m a tape, a show, a VHS. Rewind, Rewind, Repeat.
And, with every rewind I notice a new discrepancy.
And, with every rewind slowly my tape starts to fade.

The colors are less clear in this dull, grey town. 
The people walk around with smiles on their faces.
But, it seems like they’re all so sad inside, so fake happy.
Or, maybe its just me looking at the world through a broken lens.

Yet, sometimes when I analyze the frames of my life.
I see everyone else happy, or ignorant.
I guess that maybe ignorance truly is bliss.
They are so unaware. 
They are unaware that they are living the same life on repeat.
Repeating, Rewinding their VHS, their show, their tape. 

I dread the next episode, and I think it’s universal.
Everyone wants to know what’s going to happen next
They wait in anticipation.
But, everyone fears it at the same time.
They don’t know if the next episode will be their last.
They don’t know when their series will be cancelled.

Canvas

I walk through my house of memories.
It's a haunted home filled with the wails of my past's ghosts.
I wander through it staring at paintings made in memoriam of ages lost to time.
I want to take my thin bristled brush and make changes.
But, the paint does not stay, nor does it attach.
My attempts at revision just fade away.

I can only paint on the blank canvases ahead.

----
I'm sorry for taking so long between posts. I've just not been feeling poetic lately, or rather I didn't have anything that I could really put down in words.

Chance Preshia

Wednesday, May 17, 2017

Second Hand Death

The blue and red police lights shown through the window
and illuminated Edward’s body.
The blue tint of his face blended with the blue tint of the strobing lights.
The ambulance too – as if they had a chance
Edward’s body – the thing that his mother was holding was the second death that night
His mother refused to leave his side
Her tears flowed down her face
“Mom” was an angel, but her face was twisted and contorted
“Mom” was mad with grief, and confusion
Eddy. Eddy. Eddy. The echo haunted the house.
Her soul was bleeding on the inside
Two men died that night
One murder, and one suicide  
The black widow used to touch his body in all the right places
But, she didn’t touch his body when she killed him
She stabbed him right in the soul
She ripped his heart out with her mandibles.
The black widow wore a little black dress with a red bow which resembled an hour glass
The moment he met her his time was limited. The sand in his hour glass began to fall to the second chamber
He became another one of her victims – devoured whole before he even knew what was coming
The man was no angel, nor did he fall like one
He fell ungracefully from the top of the building  
The CIA would be envious of the efficiency of her kill
Seventeen – she killed him with seventeen words which also happened to be their shared age
“I never loved you. That’s why I cheated on you.  No one could ever love you Edward”
In that moment her façade fell. He saw her for who she really was. He sacrificed his best friends for a monster. A black widow dressed in a human’s body.
“Fuck you” was all he could say in self-defense
He couldn’t touch her perfect body. He couldn’t touch her rotten soul.
He ran away from the predator that viewed his heart as a delicacy, and his soul as a desert
He ran away as far as he could, as fast as he could
But, he had already been fatally injured
His soul had been stabbed
His heart had been ripped out
The pain was overwhelming
He couldn’t run anymore

He was dead – she killed him
----
Chance Preshia
Suicide Hotline: 1-800-273-8255

Thursday, March 30, 2017

Latitude 30 Inspired by Steve Scafidi

For my freshman composition class we had to write a poem inspired by Steve Scafidi's "Latitudes of Desire." At first I though it was a little weird, but I enjoyed writing this poem:

Latitude 30

The pizza server makes his way around the world
to deliver the enormous pie to my table
He walks across the cool waters of the North Pacific Ocean
He’s my savior from this hunger that’s inside of me
He walks through rural China, through the rice terrace fields
The workers of the rice terrace fields glean at my pizza
My pizza is similar to their scallion pancakes, although vastly different
My pizza is topped with tomato sauce, mozzarella cheese, tomato sauces
Sausage, pepperoni, and a variety of herbs top it off as well
The pizza server passes through the snowcapped mountains of Nepal
The hot pizza steams in contrast to the freezing environment it passes by
The server passes though the poverty stricken villages of Pakistan
My stomach rumbles, but I can hear the rumbling of the children’s’ stomachs louder
I wish I could tell the sever to leave the pizza at the village, but the server
Is so        far         away
The server passes through Jordan
The dry, arid environment stands in direct contrast
With the greenery that I am used to in Florida
But, there’s a beauty to it – the plateaus, and the desert sand are nearly as red as the bubbling pepperonis
The patches of green, fertile areas are similar to the oregano, and basil baked into the crust of the pizza
The people who the server passes by look at him strangely
His hair is dyed – black
With streaks of blonde
He has a tattoo along his arm – a woman
His nose is pierced – and so is his eyebrow
The sever passes through the Nile river – again walking on water
He passes the Great Pyramids and I am more mesmerized by them than the pizza – for a while
They are an ode to the ingenuity of man – something that has stood the test of time – like pizza
The server passes through the ancient cities of Libya
The desert of the Sahara seems impossibly hot – almost as hot as the pizza
Although, to the North a cool breeze passes by him – ruffling his hair
It comes from the beaches of Libya, where golden brown beaches meet impossibly blue oceans- the place where Geb meets Poseidon  
He passes through the deserts of Algeria, and Morocco – he seems to slow down as pangs of hunger hit my stomach, and speed up as I watch the wonders of the next region
He crosses the shifting waves and currents of the North Atlantic Ocean
He walks along the sand of Jacksonville Beach – a wave builds up behind him as saliva builds up in my mouth
As the wave crashes in the background he stops at my table - a drop of saliva almost crashes from my mouth onto my resting menu

But, as the ocean fades from view – I wipe the saliva from the corner of my mouth

----
Chance Preshia