Talk to the hand!
drunk, slurry lines.
Tired, cracked, awkward straight.
About once or twice a week jokes get old.
But you are not alone.
You learn one thing.
In the middle of the night they're all over the place.
Which is like a religion to me.
How do you tell if it's love or infatuation
If I like you or am just in fascination
How do you stop me from feeling this way
Does the emotion fade or stay
I guess that's how you tell
But I can feel your smile to the bone
My heart is stone
My head is in a zone
And I feel like we are alone
Is that how you can tell?
Shining as bright as diamonds
Eyes like stars
Curse you, curiosity
I'm lost in space
I wonder what they are
Is there really happiness in this oblivion?
Many try, few succeed
Yet, here I am
Lost among these dirty little toys
Your touch was like waves that leapt onto my skin, leaving frothy purple swirls in their wake.
Your eyes blazed like an inferno of the heavens, out of control but still on edge.
Your smile sent tingles through my mind that danced down to my toes, racing through my body in powerful convulses.
The way you held yourself made me want to be better for you, but I could never be good enough.
When I'm with you I'm not the same
I feel like I've been drinking Severals a cups of Champaign
where I get all numb
With feelings everywhere
But as soon as you leave me
The effect is gone
I got sober
My eyes shoot into her like daggers
Her hair rests just upon her shoulders
too short for anybody to love her
Her eyes too small to see the world
But big enough to see the worst
A nose with a ridge so high
not even the best mountaineer could climb
Her scars remind her of the bombs once there
And blemishes on her face mark the ones not yet gone
Chin so big they think of her as a warrior
but they think of her as a warrior
Shoulders broad to carry a heavy load
of unjust love
Fat that is too much to squeeze
But not enough that anyone will hold on
Arms impeccably short
but no matter, everyone still keeps their distance
She's crumbled to the ground
Given into my wrath
I put away my weapons
And walk away from the mirror
Us, just you and I.
This is our world.
But these aren’t tears.
Maybe they are, maybe they are our own.
But what does this matter? We have seen each other’s tears.
We’re washed, cleansed, and no longer you and I.
We are young.
We are free.
We are innocent.
We are happy. Happy.
Can you imagine?
Thunder rolls. But not thunder.
Music that used to be our sobs, washed clean by this rain that isn't rain at all.
We play, play like the children we never ceased to be.
We run, not racing like we usually do,
neither one of us wanting to win because to win means to leave the other behind.
We love each other, but we’re not in love.
How beautiful is that? How simple and perfect.
How sublime this thundering, rainy day can be.
It’s a wonder. Greater than the sun.
Sunlight doesn’t bring us together, darkness does.
We grow from the darkness.
We flourish in the sun.
But every so often, we retreat. Just to stay honest, you see?
I haven't written
My inspiration squandered
Without her, my only muse
Words escape me
As my mind will only
Be occupied by her presence
And a war in my mind dominates
The place she once held
So beautifully, so gracefully
For all those months
And now she seems lost
Or more, I am forgotten
Light to dark, I am left
Saying goodbye has never seemed
So high and dry
I'm trying hard not to assume
And yet again, this war in
My mind occupies
Me even in the days of
I'm fucking crazy
The city buzzes, crowds shuffle
Past me, in a dazed state
I look up, hearing her voice
I escape, I wander, I ride
Territory so familiar
I don't want to lose her
My muse, my love, my
Life source that keeps my heart
Beating, making me crazy
I love her
Three words of such
I feel abandoned carrying only
My heart, raw and exposed
Until it eventually fades
Knocking me out and
But even concuss and
Bleeding, she's all
Love please let me go
Unless she too
© Sia Jane
"A love like that was a serious illness, an illness from which you never entirely recover."
You should hear Her speak of the time
When love had struck Her, left Her blind:
The intuition in Her breast
Was left ignored with just one request:
“Please, love with care (and a little hate);
This may prepare you for your fate.”
Then, a One-Eyed-Monster dared to peep
At this starry-eyed Girl with a soul still asleep.
The Monster's nature, as it strove with pleasure,
Pleased Its infinite fervor, which nothing could measure,
As It Schemed, and found, and mostly destroyed
Her love-struck spirit that It yearned to employ.
These reckless hits made by this Daring Dart,
Un-mended the Girl from Rosebud to Heart.
Not believing all the Monster said,
The Girl sought the truth, but found it with dread.
Upon seeing this Monster's very bright colors,
She drowned in sorrow, but refused another
Hit by this Dart, as It still carelessly slaughters
Other Hearts, like Its future Daughter’s.
And then came a time, much later in life,
When the Girl understood love’s unending strife.
Many One-Eyed-Monsters, She now bears in mind,
Aspire to love, but still cannot find
The passion They hunt for and ache to sway,
Because they zip Themselves up when love comes Their way.
Confusion They feel, and this does not die;
But, what can They see with only one eye?
These perilous passings on love’s sojourn
The Girl does not dwell on, nor does She mourn.
Instead, She has found new ways to see
Love’s ultimate beauty, unexpectedly:
A journey enGENDERED with Ladies of taste,
Where only Her own Sex can love back without hate.
Like a child enlightened by heightened curiosity,
So is a native swimmer by poetic luminosity.
A prose in sight and sound devoid of modern flair,
For poetic convention the diver does not care.
But take this vague verse as one roaring rhyme,
And take it as verbiage very overdue in time.
Unjustly sunken voices the swimmer seeks to hear;
Battling a torrent history...above, below, and near.
The inquisitive diver infers a present too dismal,
As around an angry sea lies an origin, abysmal.
Rejecting all fables history’s abettors inked true,
The swimmer seeks fair chroniclers as wreckage was their due.
Sought is Illyria, a place far from here;
A land said "not to exist", so how can it disappear?
Most fabricated history our beings cannot fathom;
Quelled grandiose splendor serves political stratum.
So, how does one interpret Illyria’s butchered will,
As her godless schism fibbing history faux fills?
While Illyria’s rebel ship sailed upon history a fright,
Shakespeare's pen amorously inked the 'Twelfth Night.’
Calling curious minds to ponder this hell of a theory,
But consider the diver's roots with impartial query.
What the Illyrian believed in was a life well spent;
Not man-written guidance begging cents to repent.
On modern Illyria’s outskirts sly mythology prevails;
Modern Illyria’s pervasion of such mythology still fails.
But her feeble-minded native is essentially to blame
For their grand, deceptive role in the imperialist’s game.
Brutal eradication of Illyria’s vocal reason
Deem all these conspirators of ultimate treason.
As the State buries the intellect for piercing wits,
The native dog barks, upon foreign command he shits.
In the European south roam these bad hounds of species;
Anatomical sketches of Europe's rear excreting feces;
A pile all imperialists eject with laxative ease;
A pile all imperialists still smear as they please.
Above Illyrian graves, those below made to inspire,
The dopey dog dances, blind to his own fate in fire.
This damned work of art, not a site for you and eye,
Is an emblematic governance gagging an eerie cry.
The dog's disintegration, painted by his foreign master
Is an art to be repeated in future governing disaster.
As today’s worthless pawns in corruption they engage,
Illyria’s distinctive scions remain fools on a stage;
Our bodies dance and sway like silly puppets at play.
Our minds confined to idiocy as the capitalist’s prey.
Now, a poet's jingle jangle on probing minds they should linger,
As besought are worthy scions who must leave behind a 'finger.'