Your body floats within space.

I never set my dinner table
nestled within a small kitchen
rather I omit it from the routine
sitting upon the floor
in a carpeted living room
taking in breakfast
lunch
diner
and the snacks between
because formal I am not.

I use a fork
and a spoon
the size dependent
upon how much I want to shovel
in at once
and lobster isn’t a delicacy
it’s a torture
to bash it down
and break it open.
I am not an extravagant type
simple is safe
simple is my home.

As the extravagant scurries
to build outside of Earth
I quiver at the thought
another building to be locked within
huddled in a room of germs
and gestures of acquaintances
and the only way out
is holding your breath
till the oxygen dissipates
and your body floats
within space.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

Under the ice.

The cold leaks in
invading the skin
straight to the bone
it’s freezing
and the toes are icing over
as the body shivers
and the goosebumps inhabit
and grow
as the cold
becomes colder
and the entirety of self freezes
and as another approaches
centuries later
finding a perfectly kept body
under the ice
they begin to chisel
and break it apart
opening the cranium
and reviving what once was.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

Covered by lipstick.

Balls of emotion
ramped up and waiting
a sophisticated thought
and it unravels quickly
stained by the residue
of ill soaked lips
covered by lipstick
to hide their natural pinkish hue
because natural
is a feared weapon
in the game of economics.

Tonight I asked my husband to throw out a word in which I’d incorporate into a poem. He chose two “balls” and “lipstick.” The above poem is what I came up with. Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

As I open the door.

I notice shades of skin
the tints
and the different hues
I notice disabilities
and if you had a third eye
in the middle of your forehead
I would notice
I would see that
and I notice weight
how much fatty tissue
is accumulating
upon each body
walking past me
and I see those differences
and I notice if that person has a deep voice
or a high pitched one
and I notice
if they walk with a strut
and I often wonder
is that a man
a woman
or do they identify as both
and I see and hear those differences
as I open the door
and wait for them to past
because politeness is for everyone
and equality will never exist
if we judge who deserves
a door to be opened for
and I’m not willing to slam a door
in someone’s face
based upon their differences
nor because I’m a woman
will I ever expect I must enter first.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

Handfuls of sweets.

My brain devours
the daily gossip
like handfuls of candies and sweets
and the neurotic receptors
twist them about
like stomach churning
filled of gunk
made up of others despair
and the laughter
that surfaces
strikes me down
when the rational parts
regain control
asking “Why are you so petty?”
and I bow down
to that part of myself
shaking my head
regaining my feet
asking that part
why it’s such a judgy hypocrite?
If everything is to be taken serious
than how shall we ever stay calm?
If I’m always kind
am I ever being honest with myself?

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

My heart can’t adjust to the demands.

“I need this...now!“
The words always louder
each time they hit my ears
and I’m tired
and my patience is dying
with every thought
and each step taken
to keep up with demands
and every word
that slips from me
grows crabbier
and less relaxed
because my minds overfilled
and my heart can’t adjust
to the demands
my hearts the size of my fists
which isn’t that large
and somehow
I have to find enough in it
to fill the air with patience
and understanding
when mine is being eaten
by all of the demands of reality.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

The lights they change.

The lights they change,
they flicker,
they go out.
The stop signs
come out
and I wait.
Looking to my left,
my right.
I’ve never been
the type to command
always hesitant
and still I am.

More just piles on,
I pick from the pile
a task and another
and all the lights
they flicker.
I think
if they go out
will the tasks stop?
Although no matter that thought
I hold on tighter
and I wait my turn
and when it’s time
I accelerate
the yellow takes claim
as I continue with caution
because I fear
what happens when the lights
go out permanently
Then the light goes red
and I stop again.
When it goes green
I sigh because breaks
are never long enough.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

Picking the quills out.

Open..
please
I need to tare a few thoughts out
writing them out
isn’t working
it’s leaving me with a sense of defeat
as I’m trapped
within the constant pressure
of never succeeding
as I read them
and I feel defeated
always defeated
always knowing
others have more words
a larger vocabulary
I do not
because I’m arrogant
and I hate filling holes
with larger netting
if feels lazy
as if it’s simple
and almost easy
and I know it isn’t
no matter what words we take
it’s all the same shit
the same fillers
and the same stress as a writer
knowing much has been done
and we’re left picking
the quills out
screaming this is new
and it isn’t
how much is?
Is that what we’re left with
the quills of those that came before?

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

Jolly

Jolly was rather astounded
when the others knew
it was Jolly
and not just another zebra
grazing in the grass
as they all had black skin
covered in white stripes.
Sure the patterns were different
and the stripes thinner
or thicker in consistency
yet Jolly couldn’t tell
itself apart from the rest.
To Jolly all the other zebras looked the same
and they all grazed in the grass
just the same.

Jolly dreamt of colors
the yellow of the overly sunlit grasses,
the light blue sky,
the dark blue color of the water,
the brown of tree trunks,
and the green of the tree leaves.
Jolly imagined bathing in waters
of all those colors
because black and white
wasn’t its world
it couldn’t be
and Jolly knew
if it could dream than it had the power
to become its truest self.

Morning came and Jolly
got to work grabbing
leaves. blades of grass, and pieces of tree trunk.
Away Jolly went to the water
mixing them all
Jolly would make color
and cover itself
and be the most vibrant
colorful zebra it could be
and as Jolly arose from the color
it would stand out
the very most.

Met by the eyes of the others
Jolly full of confidence
flicked its mane
and said “it’s me
it’s Jolly!”

The others stared at Jolly
hesitant and nodded
“yea we know
because you have two thick stripes
to each thin stripe.”
Jolly looked down
the color gone
torn inside Jolly laid down.

Jolly’s mother laid down
next to Jolly
ready to comfort
“Jolly why can’t you
just be happy,
just smile,
be happy
with your beautiful stripes
and live up to your name?”

Jolly shook its head and said.
“Because you can’t wield
something into existence
that just isn’t”

I often ask for subjects to write about to inspire some sort of thought. I asked my daughter to pick an animal and my husband to choose a word any word he could think of. In which my husband chose the word Jolly, and my daughter chose a zebra. In which the above poem is what I was able to come up with. What techniques do you use to inspire you?