An Introduction

Check out additional information about me and my poetic dirt right here:

http://tlbanks.weebly.com20141109_125217-1[1]Whether it be fantasy or reality or something dirty in between~

It is a reflection of me

And you.


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Never Enough to be Pretty is all the change I have in my pocket- TL Banks


First Lesson in the Blues

Monday morning lies
bleed into to Tuesday
draining all the energy
out of the room
There’s nothing left to say
Then on Wednesday
I can’t figure out what I should do
When we can’t breathe
And it seems it’s
Over way too fucking soon
We only long for Sunday afternoon
when there’s no reason left to move
Yet here we are on Thursday evening
barely speaking at all
because I ‘m trying to figure out if I will answer
This Friday at lunch time if you call
I’m so confused over trying to balance
A glass cylinder on a lead ball
That on Saturday night when the light dims low
And the music flows…
And my heart still knows…
It’s best I don’t remember you at all…
It’s best I don’t…
But you won’t go
It’s best I don’t…
And I’m in a forgiving mood
It’s best I don’t…
When the bottle’s empty
and my heart has more room
It’s best I don’t…
But when the edges of our so called love
let life fray it away
hopefully we will learn to trust each other
by next Monday….



Sound’s effect on Water

You talk too much, you do
You talk me right out of loving you
You tell me infinitely how great I can be
That every possibility is an option for me
You tell me there is star stuff in my eyes
The lotion of your lips cakes luxurious lies
The hot air heals so warm and smooth
And you talk me straight out of loving you
If I am so great then why would I choose
To be with someone not aspiring to
The level of competence that they see in me
Cheer leading comfortably from the couch, praising
You feel like a fan or a friend or family
Strong enough to stay but not strong enough to lead
You’re not the accomplished mentor of my fantasies
You’re not the granite mountain my soul needs
You incessantly gab about how great we can be
But how can a bubbling brook love a Yucca palm tree?



Be about what you talk about
Or leave us all alone
Cause if it ain’t true
Then why do you
Sing that same high pitched song?
Why take the time to spit it out
If that is all that you were going to do?
Everything I claim to believe
I manifest through and through
Why tell a story to the world
Then put down the pen and walk away?
If you don’t think its worth the fight
Then I’m calling you out today
If the truth don’t set you free
Then why can’t you just shut your mouth?
Maybe it aint really right
Since you can’t work it out
Since you won’t make it be
Your conviction is temporary at best
Be about what you talk about
Or give the whining a rest….


Globs of Glue

Tip of the tongue
Top of the teeth
Doing what it is he does
One million brilliant doves
Tip of the handle
Top of the bed
Doing what feels cool
Neglecting every written rule
Cause he is a fool and I’m his tool
Top of the morning
Tip of the drill
Doing what he wants
One million starved savants
Top of the mirror
Tip of the end
Hoping in a million days
He’s at least still my friend….


Trip to Mozambique

And this is how it happens
I wake up a little afraid
That I am repeating old patterns
That I never truly mean what I say
I get scared that I am falling
In a loop, head over heels
In love with his potential
And never something real
How he is in this moment
What it if it never changed?
Twenty years from now
Would my love still stay the same?
I’d rather die full of bullet holes
than ever have to decide
I’d rather die of Katana wounds
not just of my stage fright
Can’t I wait until a flower blooms
Or ever reach one before it dies?
And this is how it always goes
I second guess if I chose right
Because I only ever fall in love
With who puts up the biggest fight
But protesting too much they say
Is blatant exposure of uncovered lies
How come I never notice that
Til after I’ve pledged my soul and mind?
Sugar loves me desperately
And Alcohol does too
And I’m sure if I gave cocaine a try
He’d be faithful to each breath I drew
And this is where I end up
Feeling selfish and scared and confused
Feeling like eating grenades
Feeling like singing the blues
Feeling like going somewhere
without the burden of men
Feeling old puncture wounds caving
through my heart again
And this is how it happens
And this is how it goes
And this is where I end up
In a darkened corner, alone…