There were tears in my eyes as I sat down to write this poem. I thought of all the times we shared, memories we made, and promises we kept. You were mine and I was yours, and the thought of anyone breaking up was absurd because we were together.
Blinded by love, we couldn’t see the mass destruction of our own souls and wellbeing. We were so entangled and enveloped in each other we didn’t notice anything going on around us. We died inside of each other. Breathing in new particles of old limbs, memories, and mistakes, building ourselves anew with the ashes of what we were.
Like the phoenix we burned bright. A crimson red, we burned. Melting and fusing into one. One heart, one mind, one body, one soul.
And what were we left with? Cinders from the fire leaping out, touching the ones we loved and touched, and leaving them with the unintentional scars of our love. Do we really mean to hurt the ones we love, when all we are doing is becoming the person we think deserves someone else’s love? If we are who we are, then who are we? Are we the people we want to be? Or are we the people we told ourselves we would never become? Disappointment passed down through the lines, telling us we will never be what we expected.
No map just mazes. And it’s our responsibility to find our own way out. If we stumble upon someone to help us through the maze, we have found love. But only will that love be real and true, if you make it out of the maze. Leaving behind old partners for new versions of the people they could have been.
This maze is never ending. This maze is life.
The mirror stained with our memories, pictures
I am not in many of them
four pictures, we look happy
The bleeding sky was the only thing that gave us release
Like the winter would fill our bones
and cigarette smoke would ignite the fire in our eyes
that had long since burned out
we lay on that floor on the balcony till dawn
talking about how
we will never be good enough and
life is pointless
I show her my scars apathetically
My bubble cant be burst
surrounded by static
want to scream
While his grass stains strained your heart
While his semper fi was faithless
I was there when you were hurt
I was there to pick up his mess
Companion, cohort, partner-in-crime
One never left the other behind
Life an adventure; in tandem led
By you and me; we were miles ahead
Of any who claimed themselves sure
Of love or hate or naught;
For our souls ran deep together
Entwined as one, so I thought.
We departed ways one eventful night
I left for the moment- but there left my heart
For you to hold to tight-
Surely predestined and set apart
He departed then as well
To be programmed
And made to live through hell
Two letters soon reached your hand
One filled with romantic overtones
Typed to the rhythmic hum of practice drones,
Of a life to be a military wife,
Not mentioning the added worry or strife;
The other light hearted and whimsical
Requesting not your hand to wed,
Nor for our bodies to be lain together in bed,
But of breaking down our walls and lying bare
Our hurt and pain and the hopes we shared,
With fond remembrances of our times
Having fun and our late night talks,
Scribbled to the tune of love song rhymes
Impassioned with you in my thoughts.
I wonder if he’s gotten her a ring;
I wonder if she’ll invite me to the wedding.
Half is done, half to come
one more month of my freedom
coming too fast, too fast to fathom
not enough time to escape the venom
One more month 'till I must leave
my peace is what shall be thieved
something I cannot retrieve
therefore I shall sit and forever grieve.
From birth children are told that love is bowing before an almighty god.
Bowing before their parents, priests, and teachers. Instilled with fear
of going to a fiery hell unless they believe what is laid out before them.
Is it a wonder how our world has turned out?
Tell me a truth I cannot challenge. Can you do it?
Well, with me, no. I will question and challenge everything.
It is with my curiosity that I take in the beauty of life, it is with this
curiosity that my perception changes from a fearful child to
an empowered, hopeful, and critical thinking adult.
I have not turned to science, but is more solace found there?
Scientists are not looked upon with fear the way gods are.
Scientists tell us of the enormity of the universe, how we connect
to it and are already a part of it. Instead of handing us impending
apocalypses, it hands us a galaxy that can support life for 30 billion more years.
So why not turn to science?
Because, once science told us the earth was flat.
Challenge your world.
Never stop asking questions.
Take not religion as your decider.
Take not science as your crutch.
Sit in silence and use what you find
within yourself to judge and perceive
this life. Here you will find freedom.
Here you will find personal truth.
We are born unto a crown of thorns.
Our tender skin rendered vulnerable
to self-made deities, rambling idols.
Our minds are roped and tied, binding
our thoughts with punishments.
Punishments disguised as pathways of love.
What love is brought into this world, when love is
taught by the bloodshed of others. What people
are created with love made from threats
of searing flesh? When did love become less
about acceptance and more about separating
those deemed worth and unworthy?
Gods of fear curse our world with tainted
versions of love. We are forced to our knees
before the power of an almighty being unknown
to mankind. In searching for purpose, we have forsaken
our freedom. We fall victim to the fears that numb our
brains liked "Grade A" pharmaceuticals.
If your god is almighty, all loving, and all seeing,
why does he rule without mercy? Why does he
require full and complete submission as the only
pathway to him?
We go to war under the guise of bringing freedom.
Our politicians preach out from mountains our right
to freedom and free will. But when the votes are cast,
and the campaigns are run, we scuttle home to spread the
single most imprisoning ideological mindset to others.
Why fight for freedom,
when we give it away so willing
to a man behind smoke and mirrors?
By the shore there is a table
Old and rickety, to hold much 'tis not able
Upon that table is a glass of wine
Delicate, beautiful, its contents fine.
But the shore is cruel to the fragile little glass
For it sends terrible storms that pass
Over the table, the wind makes it sway
Taunting the glass, O cruel bay!
The slightest of touch will make it shatter,
Yet the shore sends the rain that comes a pitter-patter
The cup over floweth, fine contents spilled
The poor crystal seems to cry as 'tis overfilled.
This delicate glass will fall at a touch
Why must the table sway so much?
Yet all it needs is a firm hand
To secure the table to a stable stand.
Little wineglass, where is your help?
A little security is all you need.