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When the Lights Go Out

When She’s There

By Zachary BlainePublished 3 years ago 2 min read
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When the Lights Go Out
Photo by Shashank Sahay on Unsplash

I am a messy tooth brusher

The Tupac Shakur of the

Pearly-white polishers.

Anyone who has been around

While I’m in the zone knows

They best back the fuck up

‘fore they get splashed the fuck up.

I’m slingin spit so far

It’ll Oral-Be on your car.

A fully automated spray of Crest

To erotically ruin that

Little black dress

Two to three times

A day I’ll trash your Sunday Best

Before the Preacher speaks

Rabid fluoride at my cheeks

Like a dog about to eat.

There will be times in your life

Where no amount of cool can keep

You from crashing like waves when

She dances hurricane.

I was taught to never judge a

Book by it’s cover and to

Never under any circumstance

Love anyone less than forever.

I was also taught to love Jesus

And even though I don’t believe

My mother still wears her

Wedding ring.

Once in a while

You grit your teeth so hard

Your jaw feels like it has to collapse

In order to save your face.

But you can never keep

your mouth shut.

Now I sport broken canines.

My bite marks spell out the words

"Never believe".

While my tongue says

“One more.”

I get so comfortable

With my tiger stripes,

I forget that they’re battle scars.

Love is the storm that chooses you

To ride it out.

I know it like  Michael Jordan knows

The squeak of Nike’s on a polished

Gym floor.

Like a soldier knows a gunshot

Like a Christian knows heaven

Love is about trusting someone

Like a submarine captain.

They’ll tell you nothing could go wrong

But you know they are just as

Chicken-shit as you.

We aren’t afraid of hitting the ground,

We’re afraid of falling.

So we wear fear like parachutes

And hate like collard shirts

We clean up nice.

But MJ came back

To save the world from

Basketball-playing aliens

Because he loved the game.

We can pretend our struggle is made up

I’ll still miss you when the lights go out.

She will give you paper cuts

In the webbing of you hands

But goddamn, if it isn’t worth it.

performance poetry
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About the Creator

Zachary Blaine

Sometimes I write.

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