My nothingness follows me as I stroll down the streets.
Uninterrupted and ignored by all.
The worthless looks I get being judged.
Not worth a glance I bare on my own journey.
No planned destination or route but just wherever I am taken.
Fate dictates and decides my life.
So far it's only brought me ideas but far from a certainty.
The only certainty is death.
So I carry on my path in hope that one day I will be known and wanted.
Until then I leave where I'm from in my wake.

I like train journeys and the sights that you see.
I like the movement and the twisting and turning.
It reminds me of myself, my path.
A constant cycle of emotions as if I'm programmed to follow a certain pathway of emotions.
I like the options when on a train though.
I like the fact I know I can get off anywhere.
Only if I could run away and start again but my past soon drags me and my dreams back.
Relentlessly I am forced back into my lifeless, dreamless reality where money means happiness and feelings mean little.

I say I want time and space,
I say I just want to be on my own.
I tell stories of what I think I want.

Realistically what I want is people around me, to talk to and be with.

When I achieve this I waste it, I ignore them or break my promises. I lead myself back into a spin cycle of the same thing.

Lost once again I search and look for more people. I get close again and let it happen all over again.

This loop carries on forever, I tell myself to stop yet I still long to find my way out of this. Should I instead prepare myself for another iteration?

i was a slave
a slave for love
a slave slash poet

a poet
who writes none
none but love

a poet who loves
a lover who writes
writes poem full of love

full of love in the past
nothing in the present, but past
in the present full of nothing

nothing but sadness
sad poems
a sad poet

step one:
do not look at their mouth,
for you will expect to see rivers flowing from it,
poetry slipping through the space between their lips
in the same way that the wind slips through the space underneath a door,
but instead you will only see spit and saliva
and a tongue too big for its home.

step two:
do not look at their hands,
for you will expect them to craft cities from marble right before your very eyes,
but instead it will be just the thumbs,
the twiddling of thumbs,
the aimlessness, the senselessness,
the lack of experience with building empires.

step three:
do not look at their eyes,
for they say that the eyes are the windows to the soul,
and when you see that the curtains have been drawn,
you will feel so very alone.

step four:
i did not love you.
you have to repeat it.
i did not love you.
i did not love you.
i did not love you;
i loved what i thought you would be.
i thought you would be eden,
but you were only the apple.

step five:
i suppose i am to blame here
for digging holes too big to fill,
for crafting shoes too big to fit in.
and for that i am sorry.
i am sorry that i expected more from you
than i even expect from myself.

step six:
human.
human.
let the word roll off and around your tongue,
let it cover every inch of the inside of your mouth.
say it. over and over again.
say it. like it is foreign and you need to know what it means.
say it.
and when you have said it enough times and it feels
dull, old,
disappointing,
you will know that we are nothing more than flesh and bone,
and that as much as we wish there were gods among us,
flesh always rots in the end.
this is the beast of truth that we cannot outrun.
hands cannot craft cities from marble
if only given clay.

step seven:**
do not let this frighten you.
clay, after all,
was meant for molding.

(a.m.)

I was planning to write something poetic and heart felt
But I'm far too tired,
I need some rest.

You were just over a year and a half old,
Still a pup.
But you bit someone two days ago,
It's not your fault.
You had a rough up bringing
Till you were taken away
From that man
And given to the SPCA.
Where you eventually met us,
Your new family.

You had trust issues.
Dogs,
Cat,
And any other animal were fine.
You were just afraid and defensive
When it came to other people.
There were only two others,
Apart from the three of us,
That you wouldn't
Bark at,
Growl at
Or jump at.

What'd he do to you?
No one knows,
I guess we'll never know.
Your brothers and sisters
Had to be put down for the same reason.
You were seen as dangerous dogs
Who could be a threat.
The man from dog control said you were just an accident waiting to happen.

But he didn't know you
Like we do.
He didn't see you being
Smacked in the face by our cat
(He can be mean sometimes)
And just walking off with a wagging tail.
He didn't see how excited you were when someone played with you,
He didn't see how mellow and relaxed you were
When one of us cuddled you or pulled you into our arms.
He didn't see anything.
All he saw was a dog protecting
His house,
His family,
The cats and people he loved
When there was
No sign of a threat.

Burnie, it's not your fault
That the man who
Previously owned you
Isolated you
And treated you and your siblings
In a bad way.
It's not your fault you were scarred for life.
It's ok,
Your brothers and sisters
Have their baby brother back now.

I saw you for who you truly were
And I loved you.
This just isn't fair...
Good bye Burnie.

l.v.s