The home is hungry.

Green eyes sprouting all over
claiming their home to be the monster
and they themselves victims
forced to grow
forced to reseed.

The home is hungry
it always has been
waiting for the eyes
to dry up,
decompose,
and feed the home.

The sprouted eyes
forever riddled within their own judgement
turning towards each other
and departing wisdom
as they deny the others of the same
and the home rumbles
for it is always hungry
and parts die
drying up
waiting to be fed.

This poem is a reaction to the image. Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

A pile of words.

A pile of words
and each spoken
another collected
as the heap began to sway
as a body tilted above it
lifting a foot and kicking.

The words flew
spreading about
filling the ground
with rotted junk
and the body sighed in disgust
littering more words.

Should I pick this up
or leave it?
It isn’t only my mess
it was already falling
I just gave it another shove
and the soil was already rotten
as if hope could grow
within dead soil.

For as many words
that end up in the dump
there has to be as many recycled
or how else would we all speak
write, and think?

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

A gnarl in the carpet.

The carpet was laid
perfectly placed
and there was a gnarl
sticking up
and I tugged
breaking the bond to the floor
and I wondered
what if I pulled it up entirely
and beneath I had seen it
the reason it always felt off
the reason the carpet frayed
to begin with.
There was a small hole in the tile
and I could see it
as I had stuck my face closer towards it
my eye I risked
by bringing it closer
to the spot.
A quick pain had overcome me
as I had pulled my head back
I placed a hand upon my eye
the blood drizzled
filling and bursting
and the blindness
forever a reminder
that some truths and reasons
aren’t worth looking for.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

How many arms do we need?

How many arms do we need?
If I could add a few
how many more would I want,
a total of six or eight?
I could juggle more
be of excellence service
and wouldn’t need any help.
Right?

Now how do I make them?
Is there such a mold
or do I have to go from total scratch?
Is there some sort of box out there
that reads “Arm Mix.”
If I go on the internet
and type it in
how much content
would be gathered?
Would they try and sell me plastic limbs?
I need something made of a more authentic material.
I could just give it a try
pour some flour,
some eggs,
some stretchy stuff,
throw it all in the oven,
and bake.
What am I trying to eat it?

Would I be better off going robotic,
electrical with gears and cords
and powerful strings.
I’d probably electrocute myself.
I wonder if I can take from others
already made,
if I get to work early I could slip in
take a few as they’re still fresh
replace them with this goop.
Full scratch didn’t make my expectations
they were rather low
and still this is gross.

Does the dead need their limbs,
if they’re a donor than isn’t everything
free for the take?
I’m not a thief
I execute common courtesy.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

Open wide.

She spoke directly
looking in
to her words they listened.
“Open wide,
even wider
that’s better.”
She reached,
the latex snatched upon their tongue
yanking harder.

They spoke often
it was nothing but an aggravation
she yanked it out with laughter.
The tongue turned purple
and shriveled within her hands,
poorly made she thought.
If only their contractor
got in touch with her creator
she wouldn’t have known it was an imposter.
A knock off,
that’s what this thing was
sitting in her chair
and even then she wanted it more
she wanted him to be her lover
rather than a more authentic version.

The penmanship was a bit off
and the seams they were sloppy
its mind however
was fully equipped
as if this creator
cared for its creation
as if all the time
went into filling the brain
with the knowledge it needed
in an accessible way
saving the creations time
from wasting energy fighting others
and spending its expiring time
upon enjoying life
and living unlike herself
in which she invested
her time finding answers
and searching
because parts of answers
were always missing.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

I may become you.

My brain is what keeps me
thinking as me
although if you hit it just right
hard enough
shaking it within its home
maybe cracking off a piece
and placing your hands upon it
gripping tighter
juggling it
confusing it
altering it
you’ll change me
and then I may become you
and I’d no longer think for hours
about how much I dislike the norm
because the norm is what I’d be.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

The word warning written in red.

She envisioned a rather small version of herself
shrink and shrink more
so small it entered her nostrils
venturing further and further.
She got to the brain,
knocked a few times as she stared at the note on the door.
“Out for lunch.”
Figures of course it would be
her timing was never right.

After all that work
she wasn’t going to leap out,
give up,
she was searching
for a specific thought.
OH YEA that’s right
her rather large obsession
with the concept of a soul.
What is it?
Nobody could answer that for her.
Is a souls existence bound to creating,
if so is it related to creating something specific?
She was told she lacked soul,
what does that even mean?

She began to search,
people always say we love with out heart.
She thought about it,
it could be worth it
to check it out
so she fumbled in her backpack
and grabbed out her scuba gear.
It’s going to be bloody in there,
I won’t stop until I’ve picked and prodded
I’ll drain that thing dry
to find the soul.
Well it wasn’t in there
she fumbled in her backpack
grabbing out a needle and thread,
I better stitch it back up
don’t want to bleed to death.

She heard something
as she was in the middle of her needlework
it was rather loud
talking through a speaker,
the brain was back from lunch.
A rumble
and there she was in its office.
You make it seem so easy,
she rolled her eyes.
As she stared at the brain it chuckled
you are imaginary
and I am the boss in here
it is that easy.

Do you have an answer for me? she asked.
The brain handed her a piece of paper
with the word warning written in red.
What does that even mean? She was frustrated.
You’ve been warned the brain stated.
Keep quiet, go along with what they say
otherwise they’ll banish you.
If you don’t believe in a soul,
if you don’t believe in a higher power,
how can they punish you
how can they keep you in line?
They can’t
which means your dangerous,
which means your a liability
and if you continue
we will no longer exist.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

A line.

A line was drawn.
What side?
The bodies scattered,
their feet tripping over a chalked line.
What side?
Their eyes kept searching
their hearts were loud
and they felt unsure
complete uncertainty
until they stepped over to familiar faces.
This is the place
they kept thinking
yea this is the side for me
on the other side
they met their decision
with the same certainty.
As a body on one side teetered a foot to the other
rubbing their shoe
upon the chalk outline
laughing
“You do know
you don’t have to pick either side right?”
The eyes on both sides of the line
looked at the body questioningly.
The body upon the line shook it’s head
and smiled.
“I’m glad I’m none of you
thinking a line is permanent.”

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

Every web contains an answer.

If you speak a word to me
the webs they activate
and I get lost amongst them
sorting out details
that lack sense towards others
for me they’re everything.

Every moment
we wake
we take a breath
we speak
every web contains an answer
that I’m moving towards
and as I do I get stuck
trapped in the sticky mess
of human emotions
not sure which ones they convey in others.

My mind looks deeper
rather than the surface
which often causes a loss
in terms of navigation
although eventually I stumble
and the answers appear to me
answers others may never have
for they never ask
and they rarely question our existence
instead they reference outdated literature
and accept it as if it’s the only way.


Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

Beneath the pile.

If I was already dead I wouldn’t be speaking
my eyes wouldn’t be blinking
I’m not a ghost whispering in the background
while their corpse is rotting within the ground
I’m waving in front of you
and you’re looking through
as if my skin is transparent
should my frustration stay dormant
no I won’t crawl within a hole
to bring contentment within my foe.

Now I’m standing within dirt piles
grime isn’t my style
I wipe hands across my face
the dirt I can taste
and I hold the shovel above you
was that not a clue
that I could hold tools
you kept pushing
as if I was incapable of resisting
as I held the shovel above your head
now I kneel down and ask if you’re dead?

Not a sound
was found
and I thought this is over
as I pile the dirt to cover
and beneath the pile
I see nothing for awhile
and I think it’s done
I have won.

I go to turn away
my vengeance doesn’t stray
and I stop to come back to the spot
feeling happiness as you rot
sticking my foot upon your grave
once I was your pray
or was I always the predator
were we both enablers
in an instance I slip
as your hand have resurfaced with a tight grip
and I go down
I guess I’m stuck having your around.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina