problematic is the renewal of my soul,
systematic is my need to be evolved.
quite listless are the streaming roads
leading to the ends of this weary world.
now breeding are conjectures in my skull,
still breathing is my life - soothing cold,
with this possession in dispossession
tearing up my vile flesh and decrepit bones.
soon forgetting to be adorned
laughs will soon start to be heard,
once the fluent waters of the flood
swallow up the darkness it's become.
give me reason, i undergo deep sleep
live forever and give side to my good and dear
The words are stretched
Over a long, nasal pitch.
Eyes swimming in tears
At the ready to stream down.
Gimme, gimme, gimme, gimme...
But it is not given
And the flood is unleashed
The mouth stretches wide
To release another cry
And it is again pondered
When sleep will be gotten this night
But it is not
Not that it matters
As the snot has already begun to flow
Just as profusely as the tears
Why a toddler?
What was I thinking?
It seems she'll never
Ever stop whining
There is this space that exists inside.
In between my ribs and just under my heart.
It's not in a place to constantly remind me of its presence there.
But it does get nudged from time to time.
It holds onto things I've tried to rise above, to let go of...
But never fully doing so.
Things like negativity and doubt and stubbornness...
Like self esteem bruising childhood judgements.
Like bitter regret of missing out on "I love you" before someone dies.
Like ignorant teenage decisions there was no reason to be making.
Like that secret you told and the one you promised to keep.
Like dutifully cleaning up after destruction since it was easier than starting over new.
Like the coltish grace of learning to be a woman without one.
Like leading a child with having no direction of your own.
Like taking that last piece.
Like hoping karma takes over.
Like waiting for a sign before walking away from toxic people.
Like throwing your heart out there with only faith and hope to be its wings.
Like innate fear of being alright with who you truly are.
Like disappointment for taking all these years to figure yourself out.
Those are some things that rattle around on a quiet and calm night.
On a night that finally arrives after strenuous days bleeding together...
They ghost in and remind you they're still there.
It used to terrorize the still moments when that happened.
No control over the flood of images and empathy associated with each and every reminder.
I thought it was in times like that, when drowning with the sorrows of yesterday was just as easy as an exhale.
But I was wrong...
I was mislead in my own thoughts.
Because when I was tapped on the shoulder by history.
It wasn't trying to hold me back.
It wasn't intending to maim my conscious.
I believe in fact, it just simply wanted to show progress.
To show the "then", compared to the "now"
How every piece of who I am today was shaped and structured in part, to everything I haven't let go of yet.
How do you know when your soul is weaker than strong but mighty enough to fight?
In being made to contemplate all the wonderful and fulfilling things and parts of who we are,
We also have to give credit to the dark pieces
The events and people that have burdened and burnt but never destroyed.
Like any balance in life we acknowledge both light and shadow.
Appreciation of the good in our lives is more fluid when we have proof of the struggles we've overcome.
Be it years ago or hours,
Seeing how far you've come from that which had held you under or has trampled your spirit.
It helps enlighten bit by bit.
And a step at a time is how we all move forward into who we're meant to be.
So i think, that space that exists very close to my heart but just far enough away...
I think I'm okay with it being there.
It may hold scars in the eyes of others
But I know scars are just golden reminders;
Of that which make us stronger.
For if one has no scars, what has one conquered?
I have a funeral to go to.
I missed the last one.
They're all dying off, one by one.
Had to happen eventually, I guess.
Everyone has to die sometime, you know?
Everyone and everything.
No matter how much it hurts,
and no matter who killed them.
I think the biblical flood washed the love out of the world. I think God decided we didn't deserve something so pure, so he washed it off the face of the earth and left us here to try and fill its void, to remember the world with all the cracks full of love and wonder why we can't seem to keep anything standing. The world is dusty now, covered in rubble from all the things that we built, hoping love would hold them strong. We hoped for love, we dreamed of it.
We jumped from the night and
fell into the moon
in fractured dreams.
He told me
if I could picture it,
I could live it.
Reality is a broad market.
He came with golden eyes,
silver lips, quilted with satin
like the finest-dressed mannequin.
His puppet fingers
dealt a card; a blow, hard.
I wept with despair.
The Lovers, it read,
the world darkening
around his hair.
What does it mean,
We made love
through the storm,
wrote about it.
Him, a satire.
Me, a poem.
He lit a fire,
but it burned blue.
I waited for him to say
I love you,
but he dressed himself
in frantic black,
never came back.
My desperate skin fell off,
stripping like cracked paint;
a whisper, a cough
and I crumbled.
There was a tinge of pain
in every act of sin,
love, lust and shame,
my burden heavy enough
for the two of us
but conveniently made for only one.
I tinkered with the tarot
deck he left behind
for me. Every night,
I unveiled my destiny.
The hour slipped like sand
in a glass timer,
the moon crying into the sea,
dust drying up the sun.
The animals sing songs for me.
Locked into my metamorphosis,
I wait for the card of the Lovers,
burning for my virginal kiss,
clutching at my covers.
I send letters to the rain,
my heart dissolving like a pill
as the flood sends my words
over the hill
and back to my ears.
There are too many years.
They say I’m a hopeless romantic and I tend
To think it’s true, but in this world
What else can I do.
So much bitterness, so much despair
And no one with which to share.
But who wants to share all the negativity
There’s enough around without it affecting you and me.
She had captured my heart before I had time to think
She flashed me her smile, and gave me a wink.
Her laughter like a child on their first birthday
Looking at the presents, and not knowing what to say.
A beauty so rare, and so refined, like a vision in my mind.
She opened up the flood gates which I never knew I had.
And after seeing her, I am more than glad.
all the dreams, the wants, the desires
Turned me around and set me on fire.
She is the hunter, and I was the prey
And my poor humble heart she did slay.
Unlike most hunters she picked up my
Heart, ever so gently and with care
For she knew we would be the perfect pair.
She took my heart and placed it in her chest
For she knew that this was best.
Our two hearts joined together and has
Now become one, and here I will stay
Until I’m done.
A product of an given environment.
A democracy being ran by tyrants
A offer of change..
Jesus Christ is hiring
Spiritually jobless cause the worlds firing..
Only thing worst is death and that fire pit..
But my Lord is a fireman..
With living water..
For you that fire could be a mist..
But know that hell is not a myth..
Know that heaven is at hand come on take sip..
Matter of fact take a gulp.
My Christ the sacrifice his blood
Overflows like a flood...
Talking oceans beyond a gulf..
Move mountains he can swift a coast..
Strength of the uttermost..
My stewardable host..
Came down to earth yes he left his post..
Just to have his flesh left on a post..
A passion that no other being could
the True definition of compassion..
He took on all our sin Nothing was rationed ...
His beard striped off..
His bones exposed..
His feet n hands left with holes..
Yes beaten to his skeletal system no x-ray was needed..
Not one fracture..
He took it all for us our true Master.
Damaged beyond human appearance..
How can u not be down in allegiance
With the Christ of this World
The only being to embody all that is right in this World..
Yet we hold on to darkness like he not the light to this World..
He died for us Yes he fought the good fight for this World..
We are to be his bride
Yes the church but Look at us yet he still won't pick another girl..
We cheat on him..
Our selfish desires
We beat on him..
Oh how we conspire..
To destroy the truth..
Yet we need to cling to it like Ruth..
Did to Naomi..
And react better when rebuke by a pony..
Stop dancing around the truth like its going to result in a Tony ..
Too many people are phoney
Randomly comprised like what resides in bologna
I am down with Christ .. Geronimo
See the signs of his coming its almost time to go...
You're heavy liquor
I'm nothing but a chaser
I'm catching you like rain drops
But when you are inside me,
You are hail
I feel the sharp sting of your words
They roar like thunder behind your teeth
Deep inside my chest you anchored a year-old
"I love you" & I can't seem to spit it out
It hangs over me...
You hang over me
Like the bee that sensed the flower
It was easy for you to take what you needed
And now there's less of me
I've spent months building storm shelters
to escape the abrupt reality of you
But you've torn through every one
You shatter steel walls like thin glass
You pull me in and I brace for impact
My heart floats and falls in your flood
You push my hair out of my face
And I know this isn't where I should be tonight
But you've knocked down trees on every street
That leads to my sanity so I let them in again...
Your butterflies with spikes hidden in their wings
dings turn into a cacophony of squabbling in
letters, messages, calls, and texts, piling high,
unanswered and housing banal pleasantries.
Friends, family, acquaintances, oh my!
Tugging at my ears, begging for words,
always always always always always
asking asking asking asking asking
"how?" "how?" "how?" "how?"
"how?" "how?" "how?" "how?"
always always always always always
asking asking asking asking asking
I push a finger to my lips, hushing them, reverently
then I steeple my fingers with the grace and dignity,
deserving of my hands, the church. "Quiet, please."
Solitude is bliss, and isn't. Incessant whispers rising,
chirps turn to caws, claws to screams from murders,
for attention. Clucking at the hour, every single one,
ATTENTION. ATTENTION. NOW.
I will return, again, when my energy is regained
and I can sleep, and I can even dream of things!
then I will have food, be rested, get my strength,
a little flush in my cheeks, red marrow in bones,
and then prepare for a flood of fronted devotion
you insisted that i write my number down on the blank part of a mix tape...you used to slam down a beer like some kind of super hero...saw myself in your eyes and made sounds only you could hear...you'd press your lips into my forehead so fiercely it hurt; leading us deep into your distortions...
witnessed you spilling your soul into empty barrooms where last call came well before midnight...there wasn't any room in there for me...i made forfeit everything to stand in your arms; and how it lost me all i wanted...
spread my palms wide across your ribs...curled my fingers tightly toward your spine and believed, believed that you loved me...your dad was impressed that i went to Harvard, which pissed you off...so you left me...i wanted to clumsily strew myself on your pillows and press my hand on your thigh, kiss your neck and giggle at your sarcasm...you convinced me that the flood of my insecurities drove you away, that i was the author of our demise...
we collide rarely...your eyes are always tired...you've built the Berlin wall around your heart...you have become a testament to the passage of time because i know i will not remember being the same...you inappropriately love me but will never trust me...
you stand me in your arms, and it is like coming home after so many years abroad; we never will hold each other this way again...
our Rome became graffiti on my bedroom wall...an homage to a past, carried along the weary advancement of years...this undertow of wordshed always reminding me that i am not lost but i am not home...