The fear of living here.

Is a pandemic not a test
upon our ability to work in pairs
to find answers and share?
Rather we talk loudly
above each other
ripping masks off our faces
and spitting at each other
out of anger
because we can’t accept
that life before
was a total mess.
We long for what was
and we fight so hard
to get back
to crowded movie theatres
where we were shushed to silence
and dinners
where children
weren’t meant to laugh
or run around
sitting in a booth
being waited on
leaving tips
because apparently
the consumer is at fault
never the employer
shouldn’t everyone be paid a fair wage?
That’s why tips exist
so they do not
there is a thankyou
and then there is a matter of little respect
in which they’re paid below
average and others must compensate
it’s a sickly place
we’ve created together
and we keep existing in
because we fear anything else
even the richest of the rich
aren’t always smiling
because the fear of living
here is terrifying.
If only we understood how to share
no one would live in hunger or homeless
and we would all understand kindness
and the truth of honest respect
rather than a gimmick
to collect more money
and produce more shit.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

Will the tree collapse?

Will the tree collapse
burrowing me beneath its pressure
my strength is sub par
and my stamina
is one weighted by exhaustion
and my mental capacity
is overfilling
as the gas is leaking from the opening.

Ones ability to escape
is linked to its need for survival
and if the tree collapses
I wonder if I’d welcome the rest
curl in
close my eyes
and breathe until I cannot.

A soft cry
forces my heart to beat again
and I manage
to climb out from underneath
throwing the pieces of the house
because I must
because it isn’t just me
otherwise I might welcome the sleep.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

Placing the eggs in order.

It hurts in here
I ask them to release the pressure
It’s swollen
because the little bugs
are multiplying
laying eggs
at the thousands
sprouting more thoughts
I’m trying to collect
placing the eggs
in order
as if they’ll write a story
seeded within my brain.

Several lined upon the table
I swat them to the floor
stand up and crush them with my feet
they’re never new thoughts
nowhere can I find a new thought
all the eggs
are sketched with words
structured by centuries
of society
teaching techniques
to appear intelligent
and others lacking of
when really
none of the eggs
are unique
because every thought I think
is a word that’s been used
and I feel
this frustration
crushing several more.

Then this sadness appears
this reality in which
looms over me
that if I finish
I’ll turn the pages of the novel
smeared of the guts
of the other spiders
because I can’t break free
of all the thoughts
and all the words
and the structures
of what already is
because a new thought
isn’t highly rated
because we fear
what isn’t.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

Drawings I’ve made recently .

My drawing skill is not at a high level, in which I have been practicing lately with my daughter watching tutorials as we draw together and both get the chance to enhance our skill as well as spend quality time together. Although I find it stressful to draw images that have to look a specific way in order to be understood. Which is why I often allow myself to draw with no image in mind in which I take a pencil to paper and just move it around and when finished I make sense of the image by adding eyes and details. That way I can just let my mind relax and not feel the pressure of making an image that has to look a specific way which stresses me out because as I stated before my drawing skill isn’t of a high quality. The drawings above are several drawings I’ve made in the past few months.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

We only live within the shells of ourselves.

To exist
must one simply breath?
To exist
must one simply wake each morning?
To exist
is it simply living?
Must your experience
be known to others
to prove your existence?
A slug
leaving a slimy trail exists,
if the brashness of the rain
washes the trail away
does that wash away the slug as well?
Only if our feet collide upon said slug
as we mutter in disgust
at the end of it’s life
do we know of that specific
slugs existence.
Although that slug existed
had our feet never struck
upon that exact spot
we’d never have known
it had ever taken a breath.
Do we ourselves determine
the existence of others?
Because we only live within
the shells of ourselves
because our brains
cannot comprehend
the concept of our own deaths
and the concept of a life
outside of ourselves?

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

Before the blood freezes.

Externally I’m shaking
trying to warm up
before the blood freezes
and liquification isn’t an option.

A needle inserted
a bag tilted
inspecting as the friction meets the skin
stay warm
have to stay warm
a lighter
I’m never been a smoker
and candles aren’t always necessary
in the times of electricity.

I breath out
as the air and breath collide
I see it
there has to be a lighter somewhere
that’s right
matches left over
from an economical event.

Several thousands of fabric
stuffed within the closet
I must part with it
part with my preyish ways
to the predatory
system of economics
up in smoke
eyes widen
a shrug I cannot be bought.

I let it burn
staring into the eyes
of the other
strapped to the chair
warming from flames
it mustn’t burn their flesh
their flesh could be useful
I’m not the wasteful type
a perfectly fine groom.

Warmed just enough
for the liquid to fill a cup.
“A glass of the divine
right?
Humor is personal
it cannot be without controversy
I’ve been thirsting
for the perfect revenge
a glass of your metallic needs
given right to me.”
“Thanks.”

“In parting I leave you with several drops
just know if I wanted to
I could leave you
without a single drop left
instead in parting I’ll leave you
to wither within your own self pity.”

Whenever I sit down to write my mind scatters in several directions. One of my processes is writing poetry in which I let my thoughts wander to evolve within some larger story. Which becomes stored within my computer and never finished. Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina


Awaiting the darts.

I feel my brain is bogged down
by the body that contains it
by the society that shapes it
by the thoughts that are forced within it
as if it’s a board
and the darts are the other words
and simply the brain just sits in wait
as the words mark their spot
and I must accept the stabbing feeling
forming behind my eyes
because I am
only one of many
pink squishy brains
placed upon the wall
awaiting the darts
as many do.

The darts
are simply products of someone else’s plan
and the further we investigate
the further from the truths we are
because my saddest thought
is that we’ll never know
whom is behind the dart
only the faces
strung within the spotlight
forced to plummet
within the nameless
pink squishy brains upon the wall
for their spotlight
shadows the identities
of those in charge of the darts
and even they themselves
are unaware of everything
leaving the squishy brains
overburdened with partial answers
and a head of many questions.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

We enter. We exit.

We enter;
no breath
a pat, a hit
we scream with tears
placed upon a scale
weighted and marked
a bracelet slapped upon our wrists
snuggled close upon a chest
as our life starts.

We hear sounds
and see up close
slowly further out
the shadows
begin to take shape
and the voices we heard
begin to have faces.

Those faces wrinkle
and the voices
sting of stress
trying to keep us safe
fearing the loss
and as time moves
those faces kiss the dirt.

As our lives
collide with the walls
in place to allow life
growth
we smash within them
leaving the world
with one last breath
and eyes filled of tears
we exit.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

Was it the left? Was it the right?

Two houses at the end of the street,
was it the left,
was it the right?
Same color house
same size
same year built.
I never could tell my left
from my right
without my hands raised.

The house on the left
had a body on the counter
filled of knives,
a head hanging from the string
upon the fan,
and a basement
that conveniently flooded last week
in a little bit of rain.

It had to be them
they were twisted people
finding humor in death
and mutilation.
Who else could it have been?

The house on the right
clean cut
prayers at the dinner table
crosses upon the walls
wholesome that’s what they were
with a basement never to enter
because it was dusty and old.

Out of their houses
the left were often in a fight
pissed off
out at the store
screaming about the pickles upon the floor.
“It’s a slipping hazard!”
Hands in the air
clumsy fingers
always talking to the cashier
a flirtatious line
the cashier often rolled their eyes.

Out of their houses
on the right
ready to clean the spill
all themselves
because they were always quick
to lend a hand
keeping the floors clean
smiling at the cashier
a smile back, always polite they were.

Apologies
from the right
heads down
tears receding
prayers to the family
over a loss such as this.

Anger from the left
no apologies
as the son
was carried away in cuffs.
“What evidence?” They demanded
Video evidence of him pounding the cashier
in the back alley near the dumpsters
“It was mutual!” he yelled.

“They dated,” the mother cried out.
“She’s been over for dinner several times.”

A hand upon the cashiers body
that laid upon the slab
a last breath offered
“Left,” escaped its prison
“wait,” the words
fading with me
I never did know my left
from my right
without my hands raised.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina



The Earth is aching.

The Earth is aching
beneath the bodies
standing upon it
as all the feet
and all the paws
drag across the crust
weighing deeper
upon the land
the Earth begins to crack.

Bursting of rage
the energy entering minds
feeling the despair
feeling the rage
the bodies begin to break
breaking themselves and others
losing a sense of sensibility
because the more the animals
grow and evolve
the more the Earth takes on
and the less capacity it has.

We begin to feel
what the Earth is feeling
and we begin to unravel
as we roll ourselves back up
the same as yarn
we longer look quite the same
because once we feel it
we can’t stop.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina