Biography of Benjamin Feliciano
Benjamin is currently 19 years of age. He enjoys photography, reading, writing, graphic design, running, orange juice, music of all genres other than country, foreign films, zombie movies of any quality, and trying to figure out who he is.
With poetry inspired by a slew of the usual outlets (girls, spirituality, and failure) Benjamin claims that his goal in writing poetry is 'to say the things that have already been said in ways they haven't been said'.
Benjamin's greatest desire is that he would be noticed and admired for his poetry one day.
Benjamin Feliciano Poems
Scorned. That ought to be my name. Constantly and consistently confused, By the fact that she reels and rejects, All within the same day.
Brevity And Gravity
Sometimes I look at people and wonder, Not what they are thinking, but if they are thinking. Woman on the train, are you remembering? Man on the street, do you reminisce?
An Idyllic Idiosyncrasy
With a finger to her lips she signaled to be silent. A tacit statement synonymous to a secret love. Only with eyes she spoke to abate my concerns. Virtuous fidelity to be lauded and admired.
Ultra Violet Diet
I never had an addiction to Mountain Dew, I had an addiction to you. Polite conversations, go by so fast. My only goal: to make you laugh.
Her scent hit me like an ache, And I was sore again. I feel the influx of bile rise, At my inability to restrain.
The First For Real
She walked beside me, as though she was mine, For the first time in what seemed like years. She sat beside me and shared chili cheese fries, As we were bombarded by jealous leers.
Clumsy Little Raindrops
There is rain falling. I am one of them: One of the many drops leaving imprints on the floor, Slowly swallowed up... muddled and covered by a thousand more.
At A Show
You sing loudly along with the crowd and with the band. You lose track of your voice and forget what you sound like. You leave a little bit of who you are behind, Mingled in the sweat and scent of beer.
Finding Life In Death
I spend so much time doting on earth and what it has, Enjoying what's mine to use, to take, to squander. I keep modeling myself to what I think will work, But for my mistakes there is no remedy.
I Am Not A Vampire
It just so happens that my only nice dress pants are black, And today I wore a black turtle-neck. I sit here because the most comfortable seats of the bus are in the back, If you don't believe me, you can check.
I Am King, You Are Regicide
Up, oh up, luxurious ascent to the extent of emotions. Transcending pleasure, pain, and death to another tier. Onward to the sublime, the fullest rapture of experience. Intermingled with the dark, the uncertain, the troubled, the chaotic, the destructive, the infinite, the difficult, and the apprehensive.
All The Way To Denver
Wherein does the point lay in continuing to express my love to her? An evening spent in a driveway led her to confess she was no longer sure Of whether or not her feelings were romantic. Though outside calm, inside I became frantic.
Cigarette Break, Sans Newports
This weather is perfect. I could lay bare on the grass and in the sun To delight in the breeze flying in from the mountains. My mind is void of music which would hope to bounce around my head,
A Wallet With Memories, Not Money
Is it better to never have made any lasting memories, And be completely detached from life and lovers and friends? Or to fabricate circumstance and chance in an effort to romance The mind into believing there can be any hope to recover days or make amends?
The Mind: Imploding
Creating the perfect setting to synthesize another beaming moment of pride.
Contrasting the deeds of former affairs to those of the beastly present.
Fire from my fingertips and scum from my tongue are all I am presenting to be judged in an apocalyptism of post-modern, all-the-rage (but not new-age) theology.
Through with rating systems and those who determine what is acceptable by way of systematic removal of the muse's breath, I'm finished producing last-ditch attempts at reviving int