Obnoxious smoker, you put the cough in cacophony,
but you're generous, hard toI dent what you offer me.
Sun dried and trapped within self fulfilling prophecy.
I trust you barely as far, as I can throw you up.
Big surprise, it didn't make past the teeth or tongue.
Sear the throat, scabs coat esophagus,
Which shade, of sweat, will stink enough?
© Cole Silvers
I'm a seeker,
that's what the ink blots say.
I look for patterns
in the cracks on the sidewalk.
I read my bible in the dark corners
trying to find a purpose,
hiding my shame.
I look inside trash cans
for left overs
and disregarded secrets.
and I try to find a mystery
in the smiles.
Maybe an untold story
that was never good enough
to tell over a late night dinner.
Like the time you killed
and after all these years
you still feel guilty.
Or the time you put
change inside of a pizza box
before you threw it out
just in case someone rummaging
through the trash found it.
And the irony hurts
because life has a terrible sense of humor.
I hold the crucifix in my left hand
The hand that's been mutilated
Nerve damage done
It rests easy in this hand
peacefully in this hand
"it's not your fault."
"it's not your fault."
Yes it is
Yes it is
Aged to perfection.
if tongue were possessed,
the stories it would tell.
Fighting life's cruelties,
with elitist disregard.
swept under the rug.
of love not truly overcome.
Damsels left in distress,
while prince charming clears his glass.
Like Alice through the rabbit hole,
living in a dream.
You are beautiful.
The words whispered without doubt.
Each syllable slipping through smoothly,
as if somehow shaping this statement supports
and supplements its substantiality.
A falling phrase fathering the feeling,
that every fleeting fear has found itself futile and foreign.
Until you find yourself yielding and yearning to yip,
as you did in the yesteryears of youth.
But these words are not spoken with enough clarity.
These words are taken as a compliment meant to leave you blushing.
They are understood as a revelation encountered after you are found to be the victor
of a superficial comparison with those around you.
As if each attractive feature earns you additional points,
with a judge that can be bought with each glance and smile and touch.
As if each insecurity that you feel,
or each person that you think is more alluring,
can somehow subtract from the meaning of the statement.
Your beauty cannot be compared.
The beauty that you contain cannot be explained
to joking friends when they ask where you fit in on a 10-scale.
You cannot put numbers next to the hope and insight that you so freely give.
There are not enough hedons to quantify it.
You are beautiful.
I will repeat it until you think it echoes off the walls surrounding you.
Until every time you look into a mirror you believe you have x-ray vision,
and you can see the warmth of your soul,
with the clarity of vision that you have granted me.
Until you realize that every smile that appeared,
every laugh that escaped,
and every brief happy dance that was ever done in your presence
was caused by the beauty that rests within you.
Wielding the talent to brighten a day with a single smile,
the power to make all of the worries and doubts in a person's mind disappear
with a single thoughtful statement,
a capacity for selflessness that allows no cynic to doubt your motives,
and the ability to make others realize their own beauty
just by interacting with you.
The world is more beautiful because you are a part of it.
It's a typical situation, in these typical times; too many choices and so many crimes. Caught between this and stuck behind that, proverbial rock and hard place, harsher than fact. A maze of confusion, doubts all around. Wondering what will happen if solid ground is not found. The difficult dance of very fine lines, balancing grace with independence that shines. Dancing our way thru friendships we cherish, trying our hardest to not let them perish. Sometimes we slip and fall off the slope, tumbling to the bottom, heart robbed of hope. Looking up at the peak so far from attaining, gritting our teeth against the pain that we're obtaining. Scabs and bruises, stab wounds and breaks. Our bodies may be whole but the heart never fake, telling the tale of our costly mistakes. Try as we might we continue to stumble, tripping on heartstrings unraveled and jumbled. Longing for a world where things are simple, yearning for a life that's a little more gentle. Kinder to those who actually care, about their jobs and their families who's houses they share. Backbreaking toil to see a child filled with joy, from the presents he's given by his parents employ. A life that's understanding when loved ones die, giving grace to those who must drop all and fly. To be there for a grandfather they loved so dear, be able to say "I wish you were here." Alas life is cruel, twisted, filled with thorn, causing some to wonder "why was I born?"
It's 2am in December and my windows are all open.
Trying to remember what it's like to feel..
I'd smoke another Newport, but I've smoked so many
that it hurts to inhale normal air,
especially the crisp winter air
that's pouring into my apartment,
sleep seems futile..
There's an empty bottle of cheap pinot lying next to me,
a half-finished PBR, from the thirty I bought myself
and I haven't thought of you in a while.
My mind wanders to that alleyway in the heart of Columbus,
dark and deserted,
the sounds of lovers off in the distance,
my boyfriend calling my name, searching
but I can't hear him.
I can only hear you...
You see love, I haven't thought of you,
haven't let myself back to that place
because I met a nice boy,
who told me nice things,
asked nicely if he could touch me, in nice places
before he did so,
and it was nice...
So I waited and he waited,
took things slowly for once,
convinced him it was worth it,
that I, was worth it,
so when he told me, it was beautiful
and I told him right back.
it was beautiful,
"I love you"...
And don't you dare question me, love
for I love him,
because he thinks I'm wonderful,
hasn't seen the scary parts that I'd showed you,
doesn't believe I'm as broken as I say,
He tells me I'm perfect...
that night in Columbus, Ohio still haunts me,
the night you rode a bus for sixteen hours to get to,
that moment we're screaming at each other,
I'm telling you that I hate you, and I know you've never cared
why are you even here? I HATE you...!
You kiss me.
Like your sole purpose in life... was to kiss me.
Like you'd been waiting forever..
You kiss me
like you were created by God
for the final moment
where your lips would dance with mine,
and fireworks would fly
from your fingertips
as they brushed across my cheeks,
turning tears into vapor,
unspoken truths into song,
longing into love,
you kissed me.
Kissed me, and saved me from being stone..
That night, you told me everything I'd ever longed for you to tell me.
Told me about your terrifying family,
and the reasons you were better off being alone.
I wept into your arms as you told me you loved me,
that you had given me every single thing you could,
how you were sorry it wasn't enough.
And I told you all the sad things I'd lived through,
all the boys who never learned my name,
all the nights I'd never had a home,
the day I wished I was dead..
And you stroked my hair, told me not to cry,
wiped the tears from my cheeks,
while I told you that all you had to do was ask,
that I'd come back for you.
All you had to do was tell me to come back, for you.
And that night,
in that tiny apartment, 700 miles from home
you made love to me,
kissed me softly,
whispered sweet nothings until I fell asleep on your chest...
You became home, my love,
You were my home.
The next day,
you got on a Greyhound bus back to where you came from.
Didn't look back.
And I went back to that little apartment,
never looked back down that alleyway,
and once more,