Rumplepoohskin by Corey Taft

From heart to fart I adore every part of you.
When I start my art I like to chart your every move.
Our stories are filed into categories.
Your moments with me are transformed into poetry.
I like to map the ways to make you laugh.
I like to graph the days of good times past.
Remember the rain at 6flags,
it was pouring but it was still a blast.
Last night.
The night before.
Every night since I've met you
you've always been in my thoughts.
Herc's Adventures. Yahtzee. And Lot's of Tots.

Our inside jokes provide us a private language like facebook pokes.
Our chance to be in touch with nobody else but ourselves.
This poem is our very own unknown
decodable only by us
and us alone.

When I'm alone at home my phone reminds me my soul is owned by you.
I text you to get next to you.
I confess I do occasionally obsess about you.
Why aren't you texting me every moment of the day?!

In time I unwind because
I can iron out the insecure wrinkles of my mind
with metaphors and rhymes.
I'm a neurotic romantic.
I need poetic catharsis or I'll panic.
I am almost constantly in a state
of trying to astonish you
and win your affection.
But I need to admonish myself
and appreciate our connection.
When you say I love you everything stops.
And all the pent-up stress,
all the relentless anxiety,
all the second-guessing nervousness pops.

And I am taken back to that rainy day at 6flags,
in the far corner of an empty arcade,
inside away from the soaking wet weather,
Holding each other, we are huddled together
keeping warm from the storm.
Our goose bumps from the cold multiplied
by the metamorphosis of our souls.
I love you, too.




And these rhymey time words are my way to preserve
the memories I create with you,
cherish instances I share and shape with you.

These feelings that I rap are not scraps
nor are they drafted from scratch.
They are genuine and true
the emotions I scribe about you.
You are the ointment to my rash.
You are the pumpkins in my patch.
You are my airbag when I crash.
You are the Desmond to my hatch.
I'd be Lost without you.

Tossed into a downward spiral of darkness and exhaust
coughing up the blood of my beaten heart's art.
I would literally die.....eventually.
And that's why your ever presence makes
my otherwise less than pathetic
essence exponentially more iridescent.
I am so happy to have you.
To be able to label you my girl.
Far from single I am plural.
With you everywhere I go.
My morning. My night. My world.

Category:

Music

Tags:

• Corey
• Taft
• poetry
• poet