“Longwood Lilacs”

“Longwood Lilacs” ©️C.P. Hickey 2019

“Longwood Lilacs”

Longwood Lilacs,

Leading me down.

A pungent and cloying,

Branches bouquet.

I rely on this bloom,

Every spring.

One can mark a season,

After its arrival.

If I linger too long,

I get a headache.

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“Crimson Tied”

“Hurt” ©️C.P. Hickey 2019

“Crimson Tied”

Keep your vile laws off of my wife.

Keep your vile legislation off of my daughter.

Keep your fucking hands to yourself.

Keep your goddamn religion to yourself.

I hope that there’s another Civil War,

So I can come down to your backwater toilet,

And scrape you out of existence.

You reside in a womb of surety and hubris that is not earned,

But a projection of your own self-loathing.

Life is a choice.

Taking away choice is a violation of liberty.

If you aren’t a woman you cannot possibly understand the consequence of sex.

So either keep your mouth shut, or your dick in your pants.

Hey, Sir! If there was even the slightest possibility of you becoming pregnant after sex, this wouldn’t even be an issue.

There would Be access to abortion offices in every backward strip mall.

Right next to the liquor and gun stores.

“Banker’s Hours”

“Black Mass” ©️C.P. Hickey 2019

There was a fine time when I knew what to write.

Then it passed.

There was time in between,

When I didn’t know a thing.

Most especially,

What to write?

It sort of ebbs and flows like that.

Sometimes you gotta bank the pain of living,

And recount it later.

It’s just how it works.

“The Darkness of Me”

“Edge of Darkness” ©️C.P. Hickey 2019

“The Darkness of Me”

Concealed within society,

A familiar darkness breathes.

Sinister in other views,

It defies conformity.

Astute disguise belies deceit,

And fulfills unending needs.

Disabused of nagging truths,

Avoiding peer propriety.

A darkness breathes,

A darkness breathes .

Familiar and foreign,

The darkness of me,

A self-inflicted horror.

“This Poem Is About You”

“Imagery” ©️C.P. Hickey 2019

“This Poem Is About You

This poem is about you,

I am not being opaque.

It is about you.

I am being specific when I say,

This poem is about you.

It is about all the things you have done to me.

Specifically, me.

Let me be specific when I say,

This is a poem about you, and all of the things you have done specifically to me.

Why did you do those things, specifically, to me?