Poets, the disciples of the modern world.

Followers of the great Almighty Lord of
alliteration and symbolism.

Their eccentric natures make them the pariahs of this world.

We cannot wrap our minds around
the words they artfully speak,
so we refuse to accept them.

Their eyes burn like fire in their skulls
as they stare you down from a podium.
In their hands, they hold their own hearts
which they have ripped out of their chests,
holding them out as if asking for you to accept it from them, wanting you to understand what every beat means.

Poets are misunderstood beings,
tortured creatures,
but they are far stronger than any others,
because they have the gall to speak their minds unforgivingly,
bare their most inner secrets and struggles
to an audience of strangers.

They are quick of tongue,
speaking faster than one's ear can hear,
but somehow they still manage to work themselves into your head with every word.

They're parasites,
infecting your mind and soul,
tugging at you and driving themselves into your brain
until their poems are all you think of.

But they are not evil parasites.

They hurt us and make us feel to save us.

He loves me, he loves me not
A constant phase and a common thought
Spins like a halo occasionally
And it summons me unforgivingly

He loves me, he loves me not
Don’t lose hope, don’t get caught
Losing florets over the flower shop
So obsessed, I couldn’t stop
For I keep plummeting petals
Hands are excessive pedals

He loves me, he loves me not
My feeling’s loaded, my wisdom’s locked
Aid my soul inside the casket,
over the garden,
My harvested heart bleeds red,
Red as garnet

He loves me, he loves me not
Still waiting for a twist to the plot
Maybe tomorrow or maybe not
I can’t remain forever-aiming and then rot

He loves me, he loves me not
It’s getting cold and it gets hot
I can volunteer to squeeze myself until death
Because I’m running out of guesses

He loves me, he loves me not
A rising action and a falling one
What’s done with the rises,
when I am the fallen one?
I faded once but I’m alright
What a fool, to have another try
Here’s to the planets that can be worthwhile

If this is the last poem I will ever write,
Maybe this last time, I will get it right.
If this be the last poem you will ever read,
Maybe after such, will you do your deed,
And tell’st to all the folks who live without sound,
Living carelessly inside their own unknowing bounds.

For this is indeed the last poem for one to regret,
Oh, undoubtedly will never this I forget.
For a poem is but merely a coalition of this and that; all but mere words,
Only to forsake in the burden of misinterpretations of the general herd.
Oh, what is but speech too, when one is two,
Should I mouth one word and mean another to you.

What is a man who speaks one and means another to you?
Tell me then, what is, what is a man who fails to speak true?
So, then in the midst of his heart may his true word lies,
Only to spill to you the frills of his mere ungrateful lies.
So, please take a’mind that he regrets to speak,
The words of hurt and coldness that he had leak.

Oh, may the greatest of trees nest the horrid fungus and sin,
Then find’st that great man who will honor his kin.
Then find’st that great man who will eat so heavenly true,
And live the greatest life before his passing time is due.
Then find’st that great man who will give that faithful trust,
Before his gallant knight self will turn a’rust.

And if before you he stands, might it be not me,
But let merely this heart wish that happiness be.
But if is indeed this idiotic author you chose,
He is unforgivingly torn to have your heart be bruise.
And hope that never will he again speak one,
And mean a different another in a stupid pun.
And tell you that he treasures you so dearly,
And forever to hold you in heart sincerely.

If this is indeed the last poem I will ever write,
Maybe this time, I will read it to you right.

Hush.

Cease your noise.

Fall silent, all you who gather here
To lay down the suffocating burdens
That rest so unforgivingly
Upon your weary souls.

Your lamenting shall bring you
No greater harm,
Nor any relief,
While you are here.
Your cries will go unheard,
For we have either heard them before,
Or we cannot hear them over our own.

Your tears will be free to fall
But none shall amount
To any great difference.
If you must cry,
Water the earth with your expression,
And return to her
What she once gave you.
Do not let your tears
Of loss,
Be a loss themselves.

We are here together
To break free
From all that binds us,
All that holds us back,
Holds us still,
Holds us captive;
All that has broken us,
Beaten us,
Forgotten us,
Used us,
Taken advantage of us,
Looks down upon us
With the kind of sneer
That could only come
With deriving great pleasure
From causing great pain;
All that has brought us anger,
Sadness,
Incredulity;
All that has taken from us
The light by which we once
Tread our own paths,
And as it grew dimmer,
Our paths,
Winding,
Weaving,
Twirling,
Crossing
But never so that we met,
Became one.

And we are here
To let go of all
Of these things,
Because of which
We have harbored
Unspoken rage,
Unshed tears,
Confessions that were
Never made,
Or perhaps,
Never should have been.

We are here to release
The binding ties
Which in love,
Would bring us together
But in their hateful existence,
Have driven us all apart.

I stand before you with a match.
This match,
A rather unremarkable
Piece of timber,
Was tucked snugly with its
Equally unremarkable
Brethren
Into a pouch.
Thrown among a heap
Of the same,
With no consideration
That it might have
Been better off
Remaining a part of the tree
From which it came.
It was one tiny part
Of that tree,
But what of the possibilities,
That it might have been
Something great?

It might have been a branch
Upon which an eagle
Built its nest.
Or, even more incredibly,
A twig that helped compose
Her nest,
And for however long,
Supported the incubator
That would bring her legacy
To life.
It might have been a part
Of a ******'s dam,
A vital part of an ecosystem,
And whose absence could mean
Life or death
For so many others.
Or it may simply have become
Compost
When the tree had died,
Become a part of the soil
Which would support
Future generations
Of every lifeform imaginable.

But now...

Now, we will never know.
This little match,
So very typical,
With its plain composition
And tiny red cap,
Will fulfill a typical purpose,
Today.

I strike this match
And say to you,
The flame that it will create
Will be the new flame
For your personal path.

It represents illumination,
A casting out
Of the darkness you were in,
A reawakening of all that
Might have been lost,
But can now be saved,
Or that has been lost,
But now makes room
For something better.

It is a rekindling
Of the joy that life once
Brought you,
And the magnification
Of that joy
Which it will still yet bring.

It is a revitalization of the good in you,
The light which you shed
On so many unappreciative lives;
A light which
You still have the chance
To shed
On those who truly need it most.

And it is a reminder to you...

...to not be a match.

Do not let them throw you in
With the rest,
Assort you as though you
Are common!
Do not let them pull you
From everything great
That you might yet achieve,
Just so that they may
Assign you a typical purpose!
Do not let them light you once,
Use you,
And then cast you aside,
Having already taken,
In that one small flame,
Everything that you had to give.

And now,
I light this match,
Upon the branches
You have laid here.
The branches that
Have broken off of
Your tree of life,
And now can be no more.

For everything that you have lost,
There is a branch for it.
Remember, now,
That what once was alive,
And has now been separated,
What is now dead,
Can no longer
Serve a purpose.

So I tell you,
Pull from your heart,
Your mind,
And your soul,
What has had the undeserving
Privilege of plaguing you.
Extract it,
Remove it,
Cast it into the fire.
Set it ablaze,
And while it burns,
Abosrb the warmth
From these flames,
Which remind you of
Who you are,
What you are worth,
And the warmth
With which you will
Illuminate
The darkest,
Coldest places
Where you, yourself,
Have returned from.


Cast them!


Cast them now!


Push aside the weakness -
That is not who you are!
Summon every fiber and cell
Of your newfound strength
And let all of it go!


And now,
It is done.


Now,
They are ashes,
To be blown away
In the same wind
Which dried your tears
These many years,
And will do so
For years to come.

Incinerated,
They are swept away -
The broken hearts,
The lost and forgotten dreams,
The stolen opportunities,
The harsh and unforgiving words,
The hopeless, sleepless nights,
The sunrises which brought no new promise
But reminded you of everything
That could go wrong -
They are gone!


They are nothing now!


But you,
In their absence,

You...


...are everything.

Waxing Eloquent: Life, Death, and Everything in Between

Sessions:
I: Birth of a Song
II: Experience of All
III: Loving and Longing
IV: Life
V: Adventures at the Edge
VI: Transition
VII: What Comes After
VIII: Another Brick in the Wall


Old age hath yet his honor and his toil,
Death closes all: But something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done.
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: The slow moon climbs: the Deep
Moans round with many voices, Come my Friend!

I:

I beat away several pounds of unneeded and unwanted flora. The brush was becoming increasingly thick. Sad, but I had no choice. The fruit that had sustained me had shriveled, disappeared! My choices were few. Either stay in the oasis where now only water remained, or take my chances with whatever lay beyond, outside of my paradise.
How loathe I was to leave the oasis!
I looked around, distraught with my efforts. It was getting hotter and hotter. It was sweltering outside, and it felt as if my entire body was being compressed and beaten down by the heat. The cool breeze and the rippling water were far behind me now. The jungle held no care. I pushed on.
The path narrowed. I tried several times to push my way forward, but something held me back. The jungle tried to stop me but I continued pushing the greenery away. I could feel it! There was a clearing up ahead. I can even see it now!
But it was so far away! I couldn’t go on… there was no relief, the jungle was relentless!
But with a sudden, final, desperate heave, I was through!
What is this? The entire land is white! I squint and peer a bit harder; The world comes into focus.

……

Dear God,
The Beauty!

II:

The top of the mountain is a lonely place. Overlooking the crystal peaks from my frozen sanctuary, it’s as if everything seems like nothing really matters. The problems of the earth are no longer my concern. I must be content with being the watcher. I have no true power however; no true reason for my haughty airs. It is simply an illusion granted by the monolith.
The cold is near unbearable. The skies don’t show it though. There is no sign of all the freezing rain, and all the snow that lies below. All that exists is a single moment of perfect clarity and reflection, untainted by anything.
The sun hangs at the lower edge of the eastern sky, partially obscured by the crystal peaks. Such power! Even the sun cannot move them, Its rays blocked by their forms. A lightshow emerges, terrific hues play over the scene, giving the entire skyscape a pastel aura; Orange near the horizon, and red, then purple, and finally a dark, dark blue as the sky reveals itself. A single bold star defies the sun, refusing to give up it’s light just yet. The moon is the stars consort, and they stand together in inevitable rebellion.
It is a time of compromise however; The sun and the moon can coexist. They agree for that a few moments, they can share the sky. The harmony remains unbroken for the moment.
Poetry? Prose? No. It is simply an experience. A discovery for the curious and bold; The ones of wit and cunning. The sun paints no picture, there is no armistice in the heavens. The sun and the moon hold no compacts, and I?

I start back down the mountain.


III.


A winter’s day came through with eyes for me,
And it gave to my person a lovely gift,
One of sweet charm and a passionate wit
Who would come with me to the Azure Sea.
True, unworthy I was of her, indeed-
But even her longing look was a lift!-
Given to me by one of perfect lips,
And a stout heart beside her perfumed breeze.
Her smile would give Queen Helen envy,
And her gaze could melt a man’s icy heart,
Her laugh would give pleasure never-ending,
And a frown could give a titan a start.
I simply cannot be without this light,
And I will fight forever for the right.

Will you join me for forever, and go to the Azure Sea together?

IV.

The man looked over the edge of the cliff, contemplating his fate. Thoughts raged through his mind; the doom at the bottom of the ravine, the loss of his Lady, the end of the world. Well, his world at least.
It was a terribly folly he had made the autumn day, as the leaves were burning. After everything he had done, seeing the Cascading Falls, watching the Pandorian Sunrise, climbing Mount Gaze, it was as if everything was a dream. Could his misfortune be real? Surely there was no such injustice in this world! No kind God would allow such things to occur. She didn’t deserve such a fate that befell her! The Azure Sea would have to wait, there was no reason for him to pursue it any longer.
He threw her ruby brooch off of the cliff.
“I am only a man! Do I deserve no sympathy?” The wind wailed, but not for him.
He stepped over the edge of the abyss.

........

“Wake up! You shouldn’t have drunk so much!” The man lifted his head slightly off the table to meet his wife’s gaze. Looking into her eyes, even through his alcohol-induced delirium he could see the loving look in her eyes. A tear slipped down his cheek.
“Love, you’ll never lose me. I may go away, but in the end….” He looked at her.
“Nothing but nothing could keep us apart. Let’s get ready, our ship leaves soon. The Azure Sea waits.” The man grinned, and he sat up. Together they exited the inn’s bar.

.........

The world will never wait for those who tread it’s path slowly, for those the Azure Sea is the end. The ones who travel the Sea have had their fill of the surface life and seek to forge a new path into the great unknown, unrestricted by the laws of the world. They seek something, something out there in its waves.
The story goes that people who travel the Azure Sea must relive every moment of their life, and at the end, they will realize the truth; The reason for their existence.
And so, Life continues, and the Azure Sea will reveal all. The ship awaits, and forever will not be left alone.



V.

Bronzed waves reconcile with my bow.
Liars, they rescind and form a new front.
Doldrums are occurring now,
Foretelling travel for at least another month.
The season? I cannot truly know,
However the sea holds no such compunction.
Unforgivingly my ship is lashed with rain and snow,
And I clear it, only to find another junction.
Where? Where am I headed?
You ask - Well I can honestly say:
My purpose is to go where even God hasn’t tread,
And find my unknown self along the way.
The destination, Good Lady! Is the end of the world-
The base of the endless falls.
To find the step where Cerebrus lays curled,
To hear the trumpet echo in the Great Hall.
Hark! Over the horizon is the end!
Haste! We’re almost finished with the Azure Sea!
Keep tight! We’re almost of the great bend,
The amber light has ended, now arrives the Eve!
A hall of divinity promises a hallowed tryst,
I.. I can finally see!
Friend, I am truly sorry for this,
But I cannot let forever be.


VI.

Blazing stars will give
Themselves to a heart’s lone aria
Shining with crystal.



VII.

Pastels flow and curve in all directions, rivers
filled
With….
Wondrous!
Creeping - slowly now, over the hill….
What is this! The converse of love-
Blasted landscape, cross the line-
Involved with an eternal struggle?
Absurd!
Beauty and the Beast, An obvious choice!
But why does the light feel so cold
And the dark just the same?
A disguise to hide the truth!
A trick for those uninformed!
A world for the ignorant,
I won’t stay here-
I won’t!
Love! --…
Back to the sand, Back to nowhere land I go…


Salvation was in a single grain of sand,
The end a mist-cover rift.
(I cannot live by omnipotent hand)
I will gladly return to no-where land,
If it means I won’t accept the gift.

Angels, do you hear me?


VII.


The woman sits on the boat, her husband in her arms. Waves beat against the side of the boat, and the night sky shrouds everything. Land is just ahead of her, at most a day away.
The other end of the Azure Sea.
She cradles her husbands head and holds him close. Tears stream out of her eyes and she thinks of all the things that they went through together. Sharp pain racks her, and she sobs even more.
She looks up into the sky, her eyes blurred by her tears. She sees something….something streaming through the sky. She rubs her face and gets a better look.
A series of stars arrange themselves into glowing arches, a single ray of light dividing them. They glow with the magnificence of the divine, a chorus for the ages. Then, suddenly, the image explodes into a series of shooting stars, sending a shower of brilliant luminescence everywhere, and revealing the new sunrise. The light illuminates her husband’s face, showing the smile that she couldn’t have seen in the darkness.
“Love, did you find what you were looking for?” She asks softly.
She already knew the answer and the world faded-

Just another brick in the wall.


-

‘Tis not to late to seek a newer world!
Push off, and being well in order smite
the sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, Until I die.

Tennyson, Ulysses

The opalescent fish,
a predator
measured in unconscious patience,
chooses his path
without choosing.

A dip down beneath a bowed plant
to tune alee from the drift
and a sudden twist up
for a sharp gulp of bubble matter,
all without a wanting mind.

As I bend to indulge in no-time
with my friend, the fish,
I can only feel ashamed,
as my back and forths are
scaled to moment,
and wholly, unforgivingly
considered by desires.

If only to conduct the self like the fish,
unassuming of any space,
without a knowledge of this wish,
and unaware of natural grace.

and there i was.
all of 3 and a half,
draped in hopping silhouettes;
neck deep in swaying hips
and blaring tunes
tied to kick drums.
dramatic rim taps
and wingtips cluttered
cross the wooden floor.
surrounded by tall men with
tall women whose heels
unforgivingly grazed
the groaning floor boards.
their gowns thick
as kitchen curtains
that seemed to flutter
like butterflies in hurricanes.

i heard the summer whisper;
her hums sweetly floating
through grand windows
tall as ten of me;
tasting the rhythm
with her tongue,
she blew a cool sigh;
flooding the steaming stew
of old souls with young bones.
sunk real deep between
4 counts and hi hats
to twirl her way
into their step;
a type of swing
'cept it had a bounce to it
like steeple chasers.
those ladies with copper faces
and stone seasoned roots
with joints as old as time
played tag with the down beat.
those daddys dodging
in their tailoreds
like taxis in traffic;
toxic with a plague of ghouls
like the Count, King Cole
and Billie, Fitzgerald, Gillespie.

Then,
just as the summer silenced her hiss,
just as the sun
dug its heels into the dirt,
making its last ditch efforts
to remain present,
dusk untied its bows;
unwrapping a gift like glory.
and we were bathed in glory
that laughed like lovers
and kissed like dogs.
it drenched us in sloppy showers
glistening gold like sweat.
yet still,
we emerged refreshed.
so as the night
began its usual
chocking down of day
and good afternoons
cacooned into goodevenings,
i stood there;

all of 3 years old.
surrounded by silhouttes
that could only belong
to old souls with young bones
who belittled big bands
with their own vibrations;
those copper ladies
and skyscraper sized fathers
in tailored suits
who two stepped
to both sunsets and groove
grew into shadows.
and i stood in the midst of
those dimmed stars;
stamina riddled.
knowing that as
a summer day died,
a summer night
had only just begun.

You hate that I wear your shirts
Specifically the ones that you got from being in the marines
Its just I don't know you

I never really did
So I wear your shirts because you've worn them
And I was hoping that the fibers would tell me who you were

The woven strands would tell me about your personality
The dyes would tell me about your past
A history written in cloth

The folded crisped sleeves
Telling me about what happened in the past ten years of not talking to each other
You see I **** at talking about what I'm feeling

The only proper way I can is spilling it through the tip of a pen
Or pouring it into a keyboard
I'm slowly reminded that your shirts don't take on a condescending tone

Telling me that I'm just a kid
Part of me was hoping that
Some kind of weird information transfer would happen

Your shirt and I would swap information
So the next time you put it on
(If I hadn't taken it with me)

Everything I've been through would swap into your head and be processed
And you'd stop calling me a little kid and you'd realize that
I **** at showing emotions and that you aren't a brother to me

You're a stranger
And you left
When you did I had to grow up because you were the first to go

Ten years ago you left and I don't hold anything against you because I don't know you
And my earlier memories are always swirling eddies
A fogged shower mirror that I can never make out

You left and when you did you left a child behind
Someone who still had chimed belled laughter
Will o the wisps smiles

Someone who treaded on pearl ingrained feet
But those pearls began to sink in and cut
Only to become blood rubies

Unforgivingly beautiful
And seductively painful
I walked back into your life on those ruby kissed feet  

I stood a little taller
My shoulders a little broader
My face a bit more graced with age

Hi

I'm your slightly older younger sister
How have you faired these past ten years?

Heart done with fingers in the window—
who created this?

I wonder, did you walk right from the past,
into this supermarket,
and draw unforgivingly on the glass
pane, by the bananas,  just
to leave your mark
knowing I would meet it
and dream of you?

Or did some lonely dreamer meet me in my same
eyes, about an hour ago, and wish on held hands
and smiles, thinking of times long past and
futures also

long past?

And living in this long-past of ours,
did this dreamer  write a symbol ode to all that is, was, and is now no more?

Thinking hot breath and finger marks conjured ghosts and Gods,
but hoping more for the second.

To survive
And sustain itself,
Life
Must eat life / in this physical plane

In our pains and stains
Everyday we feel
Our souls drained
Of chi’s otherness
Illuminations
Just “because” unforgivingly
We are warring
With our selves for goodness sakes
For love in life
Do not mistake
My kindness is not weak
Still Their’s needs please

Society’s Pleasantries
Wolf in sheep’s clothing

Thick skinned
To survive
That there
These here     skids
                The secret war’s
Begun
Forgive me for having been
Remiss
Asleep
Almost lost who now
I am or was

But beyond the human sufferings
Painful lack
Of
Beloved
Love
All as One
Light is
Mums the word.

I am a pariah. Some see me as a joke, some see me as a mystery, some see me as a hot mess. But they all see me and refuse to stop seeing me. They unforgivingly gape and gawk at me.

Everyone has their own version of the story, and I cannot tell you how many times I have been told that my version is wrong. They seem to forget that after all, it is my story, but then they remember, and then they stare.

The few people that I have left continue to attempt to explain that this will all blow over with time. It has been three months since the incident occurred. Three months of staring, stories, and acting as if I’m not hearing their versions. As if I’m not hearing them call me a ****. As if I’m not hearing them say that I liked what he did to me. As if I’m supposed to sit there and act like their condolences are genuine and fake a smile, just for them.

At this point, I am unsure if they are even staring anymore. I am uncertain if it is all in my head, or if this is what my life will be now. I am unsure if I will ever be able to be just looked over again. I am unsure of myself and my choices and my thoughts. I don’t even know if they are mine anymore.  

Sometimes I wish that I could implode and make a colossal scene, but then I remember that it would just make the stares last longer. So I sit there, stuck, having to take the stares and hear their stories and listen to my uncertainty. Because after all I am just another one of their stories, and subsequently I will eventually disappear again.

i am tired
of waking up
in the middle of the night
at the sound of
my skin tearing itself apart,
i can no longer remove
the stamp of
your lips and hands
off me;
my sides splitting open
so my scars ensconced
deep beneath the surface
can tell the story
of how i fell for you.

i am tired
of staying up
with nothing but
the company of the moon,
awaiting for its eclipse,
blinking away
fragments of what we had —
filled to the brim
with adoration —
although fleeting.

memories of
how you held me —
only distant.

again,
the clock chimed
unforgivingly,
reminding me
of late night drive throughs
around the crevices
of my wreckage of thoughts —
spilled and separated;
full of you,
only you.

a beacon of peace
she glows unforgivingly
our sun for the night

We are edging toward
the crest of December-
it looms, unforgivingly
over the horizon.

My mind is filled
with thick paints
and heavy smoke.
You stand askance
like some forgotten
silhouette,
begging for reprieve
in the waning moon glow.

I drink a little more,
and create tangible feelings
on tepid surfaces-
working like a madman
to keep the wolves at bay.

And I care about you
a little bit less
every day.

The frosty carpet grass sticks,
Unforgivingly, beneath my feet.
The sharp fresh air flatters my lungs.
But for a cold, modest breeze, the air holds still.

I can almost smell it.

Winter’s careful workings,
Its gentle, passive movements,
Play with nature’s purpose,
Unfazed by wind or opinion.

A simple calling,
As if awaiting something grand,
Lingering with patience, feathery leaves,
Delicate notes from a lonely sky.

What now with you is wrong
In vein you hide your shame
   The shadows are long
   Your chance near gone
To dive in and make your change
      Our Dead Beat God
      Has left this place
       Tapered steel
       still medicates
        Pay for Death
                                 is that a joke?
                                   No I'm serious
I always speak of what my mind's eye sees
   Religious nuts curse my reasonings
                  For Blasphemy they're Damning me
                           Forgetting & Unforgivingly
                                  Faulting the rational sanity
                                            The very god they praise
                                                       Hath Given Me

        Faith separates the weak
            From the beholders of the sun
                    Only those who've sought
                          Far from pages man has spun
                                 May again become One

it's from the dreams that wake me up in cringes
nauseous from the sickening memory’s twinges
that poison the hours of the day with painful fire that singes
that set me off like explosions into my drinking binges

because of winning the debate that sobriety in this miserable place
would be insane trying to heal the strain with grace
my heart's been sewn back into my chest so many times trying to keep pace
with the thick black stitches of self taught renewed hope I hope to replace

just for it to burst or be removed and slit deep at it's throat again
as I slip down another ***** into the ways I try to cope as I’m drained
back into the times I can't escape because they really are the past I can’t feign
and knowing I was cast in a mold and I will never escape my shape or it’s strain

there will be no peace after the things I was told, not with age, no matter how old
not when I accomplish, not when I survive, and not now that my blood has turned cold
because my molested heart is too weak to beat, too scarred to keep a hold
after all the times it trusted, only to be opened from ribbon wrapped packages just to be sold

I keep having to buy myself back from the thrift store of my own life
***** back together all my feeling parts, always trying to justify leaving a wife
so now I kneel, praying on my knees in slobbering tears for the aches to be less rife
begging to forget the loss of a son, willing to cut my flashbacks out with a knife

my new life has somehow begun and their ghosts haunt me unforgivingly
carving slivers off of the inside of my skull, never letting the pressure free
educating me with the lessons of emptiness and cold pains deep as the sea
and always with creeping thoughts of what I'll never regain or again grow to be

and even now with all my new days and change
the life I knew is still estranged
and I live with the truth that the shape of my mould so strange,
my destiny in the shape of my loss, will always remain

I can’t breathe,
My chest feels like it is caving in  and I just can’t push any further.
I can’t think of anything else.
My stomach turns quicker than anything I have ever known.
My eyes, sting from the tears, which just keep flowing,
Endlessly.
Unforgivingly.

I want to run to him,
I want to run so far away from him.
Never ever stopping until I forgiven for all my faults.
And my mind gives me grace and forgets his memory.
I want crawl into a ball on the floor,
Sobbing, never to stop.

I want to scream, and my body wants to explode.
It is completely unable of holding this pain inside.
I want to be beautiful enough,
I want to be strong enough.
I want to have the perfect ***.
I want the body he wants to touch.
I want the mind he wants, instead of this one.
So damaged from all the hurt.
That it never seems to cease.
I want his love.
I want his support.

I want him to fight for me like I did for him for years.
I want to be worth something,
Instead of being this piece of ****** garbage.
I want to wake up and be in his arms.

I want to never wake up again.
The mornings for the rest of my life are going to be a rude awakening.
To know, I had it all.
I had my dream,
And its gone.
To know the arms I sob for,
Are holding someone else,
The voice I want to hear, that can’t stand the sound of mine.
Whisper the words I love you to someone else.

But it can’t be that I was nothing…
How is it that just a few days ago, I had him inside of me.
I had him hold me and kiss me.
Consuming all of my senses, complete passion and love.
I had him lay beside me,
I whispered in his ear that I loved him.
Did he say it back?
He couldn’t have meant it.

I fought for years for him,
I watched him stop believing in himself and his worth and I told him he was priceless.
I hugged him when he cried, I yelled when he didn’t see his worth.
I fought when he was losing himself.

I am alone,
I am too hurt to think.
I am terrified and am too ******* in love to think I will ever be okay again.
I am nothing to my everything.
I am a piece of ******* garbage,
I am useless and worthless to my world.
My dream come true,
I wish I never had it,
I wish I didn’t know what I lost.
I wish I didn’t know it was me, who wasn’t enough to have my dream come true.
I wish he loved me as much I loved him.
I wish my pain was the reason he fought harder for me.
I wish he could see he was the one who could fix it.
If only he had.

If only he had loved me enough to let everything lesser go,
Instead of keeping it close by for when my pain was too much for him to be near.
If only he had loved me enough to see I needed him to be strong for me.
If only he had wanted to help me stand.

To know that someone so special to has someone else they would rather be near,
Is not even heartbreaking.
Heartbreaking does not describe how I feel.

I can’t think.
I can’t breathe.
Every step feels like a thousand going up the side of a mountain.
The thought of faking a smile makes me want to jump off a cliff.
The sound of music is like knives inside my head.
The emptiness in my body consuming me,
Slowly but efficiently taking the little jagged pieces of who I was and destroying them.

I will never feel loved again,
I will never know what it is like to be complete again.
I fought, and I tried
I fought for me to be enough.
I fought for him to notice who I was
I fought for our life and how it was.
I was left beaten and bleeding,
I was left alone,
I was left to be forgotten, and laughed at.
To be made a mocker, a nut case,
A woman who gave her everything to a man.
A woman so lowly and pathetic and utterly unlovable.
That when he stands before her,
With his eyes showing his disgust,
He says to me,
Look at you, what is wrong with you?
I say you did it, and he walks away.
He doesn’t want me, he doesn’t care if he loses me forever.
He doesn’t want me.
I am nothing
He doesn’t love me, and he never did

All the years were a lie, all the tears I have cried were for nothing.
The consuming pain that makes it unable for me function,
Just makes me that much more pathetic.

He loves someone so wrong,
But at least its better than the waste of a life I am.

You, with her,
Me with the kids, who lost us both.
I am no mother now, I am nothing
I am not who I was
I gave it all away to try for him

How do I keep going in a world,
Where he hates me and I lost it all.
I just wanted love.

WHAT DOES IT FEEL LIKE WHEN YOU REALIZE YOU LOST YOUR WAY?
WHEN REAL LIFE STEALS THE HIGH YOU LONG TO CHASE
YOU CAN'T CATCH HIM, ELUSIVE DRAGON THAT USED TO INTOXICATE
BACK WHEN YOU WERE PASSIONATE, BEFORE YOU WERE TRAPPED IN THAT AWKWARD SPACE
BETWEEN FOLLOWING SILLY DREAMS AND RESPONSIBILITIES
TOXIC NAUSEA'S FILLING ME AS THAT BLADE THAT DROPS UNFORGIVINGLY
IT'S AN IMPOSSIBILITY TO REGAIN THE STRENGTH OF THOSE DAYS FILLED WITH ANGST
WITH THE FLAMES THAT BLAZED INSIDE OF MY EYES TAMED
I CRAVE FOR THE TASTE OF THOSE HEIGHTS THAT I BRAVED
FOR THESE WORDS TO TAKE LIFT AND FLIGHT FROM THE PAGE
WITH SIGHT BEYOND SIGHT BEFORE MY SKIES FADE
BUT WITH WINGS MADE OF WAX THAT COLLAPSE IN THE LIGHT OF DAY
I'D HAVE TO FLY IN THE NIGHT GUIDED BY BLIND FAITH
AND FAITH IS LIKE A MAGIC TRICK THAT I CAN NO LONGER CONJURE
SO I JUST WANDER, CONQUERED, WORK TIL MY HANDS AND PALMS HURT
AND PONDER THE MONSTER THAT FOLLOWS ME, A STALKER
THAT SAUNTERS BEHIND ME REMINDING ME HOW I FALTERED

Promises

I made a promise once
If you can win a promise
I won
This promise broke my heart
Shattered it
It's in my body in shards
Floating around
I move slightly
It pierces my organs
Unforgivingly

This promise will be the death of me
And I can't wait
I'm looking forward to it

This promise was our love breaking
My knowing
We wouldn't make it
I won this promise
And I'm loving the pain of it.

You told me you loved me.

You told me once,
Twice,
A thousand times.

You told me softly,
With sweaty hands,
And eager lips.
You told me loudly,
For the world to hear.

You told me truthfully,
With tears down your cheeks,
And sadness in your eyes.
You told me to comfort me,
When there was sadness in mine.

You told me fervently,
With madness in your step.

Perfectly,
In the snow, with winter on your breath.

You told me until your lips grew chapped,
And your throat was raw.
You told me as many times as you could,
In every opportunity you saw.





You told me you were leaving.

You told me once,
Twice,
A thousand times.

You told me softly,
With your body shaking,
And your lips trembling.
You told me loudly,
Unforgivingly,
And doubtful.

You told me truthfully,
With tears pooling in your eyes,
When your hands just couldn't find mine.
You told me to comfort me,
That you'd come back in time.

You told me carefully,
With tenderness.

Imperfectly,
With dying love in your caress.

You told me until you couldn't breathe,
Until I started screaming.
You can't leave me, you can't leave me.
But you left me anyway, in the snow and bleeding.



Your words were made to break me.

I am not a circle, I walk at will
Yet they howl as if I am a globe spinning still
In daylight they wait patiently, the hours they count
For night to fall, their moon to surmount

Yet its presence wavers without warning still
Despite its light an element none can ****
The clouds halt unforgivingly before it and silences their song
Disconnecting the lovers from their tradition lifelong

Yet I gave myself liquefying as water of some sort
And the great light was what was in thought
Reflecting the Sun in the moons place
Giving the song back undisgraced

I step aside without hesitation, veil removed
And I seek no acknowledgement for a Faith long proved

As a child, I often looked up to the stars
But my eyes were often distracted by the man-made stars
Blinded for a few moments was I by these worshipped faces
Scanning them for a pure light, such as those above
But, human nature is to always seek more
More, that they were never able or willing to give
So I stopped looking.

I turned my gaze back to the vast skies
Never looking for satisfaction nor perfection
But I wait, with complete serenity
Opening myself to whatever wonders the untouched space may offer,
The little treasures that money cannot ever buy,
And constant reminders of the things I already have
But may have forgotten.

A cool breeze that embraces me, as his arms do
Endless skies are my love for him
That no eyes nor any means can ever measure
And beyond, the eternal presence of the universe
Always watching
Always ready to keep me afloat, should gravity weigh down unforgivingly
That space, those million globes of light, my family.

Our blood is fuel to the forever burning flames
And even when out of view, they are ever present
You sneer at my stupidity, stars die you whisper
And state that I am destined to fall back into your clutches.
My dear, they do not die!
They create a path for me and others to walk on
To bask in more radiance and unconditional love
With stars that glow even brighter
Shining down on all those who look up.

Longing
So
so
much longing

It’s that undeniable
Magnetic feeling
That draws me in
Unforgivingly

It makes me want
To crawl out of my own skin
Just to get closer to you

It makes me want
To lock you away
Just so I don’t have to share

It makes me crazy
This
Unstoppable
Longing

I crave to be your arms
Constantly
Endlessly

It’s as if you have
Infected all of my being
Down to the soul

I ache knowing
That my arms
Aren’t wrapped around you

But instead are wrapped around me

it starts with the masses.
heaped upon one another in grey, wet bodies
and from the amalgamate of ruined life
rise the silver, brilliant winged
filthy sog and bones sludging off
their unmatched, magnificent light

like shooting stars they ascend
to the enormous white clouds
garnered with the span of their great feathers
wearing masks of divine neutrality

and we

in the masses

stare so longingly at those divine heavens

some of us with patchworks of feather and bones- hopeless things we can barely call wings-
tattered and ripped but still determined, like the writhing of a starved beggar-
flatter unsteadily up
groping desperately at the clouds
with bony, aching fingers
only to meet
solemn and unforgiving
stone

and pushed
back,
tossed

back

into the masses


and like comets, they
rain down

                                          the fall of the inadequate




crashing into the hideously wet festering:
into the decay of the mundane and ordinary


and thus the procession commences
great silver wings nailed with dignified
steel stakes
graceful hands and feet
mangled unforgivingly with hammer and iron

we, the inadequate and mundane and ordinary
we wail, we scream we cry
for the destiny of divinity
in anguish and desperation, our cacophonic chorus
becomes
the great symphony
of the decaying and dying
bathed grotesquely in the light of the holy
we continue to beg and shout and call

the opera of roaring voices:


                                     the crucifixion of the prodigy



as we continue to decay
the weathering, spreading
and becoming, morphing into something no longer
recognizable


slowly we die off
each of us, clawing and howling to our very last moments
in succumbing to mortality
the symphony, melting in its desperate, rabid energy
until the echo of the last
haunted cry-

silences


hence closes

the fall of the inadequate

the crucifixion of the prodigy

and


                           the decay of the mundane and ordinary

I must seek forgiveness elsewhere,
or so this ceiling speaks,
as I spoke to it several nights ago,
clearly and immensely,
ready to choke on my own self-importance.
As I deny this memory,
my memory denies me the sweetness of yesterday
or of a decade ago.

In a different country, I look up at the same ceiling,
consistently,
unforgivingly.

When I would visit Ohio, my grandma always said
certain things in Spanish, as to not flood my head.

I wish I understood that secret life she led
by interpreting her knowledge, I know to have been well read,

But now my striving hunger will never be quite fed,
for now those precious, foreign words are unforgivingly dead.

Oh, how I cry very often, at night while I’m in bed.
Regrets like these don’t go away, so I try to cope instead.

I’ll never forget her loving Spanish ***** (that memory’s never fled),
even though my nostalgic heart regretfully succumbs to dread.

help me
  i've seen
to have
f
  a
     l
         l
            e
                 n
       hopelessly
    treacherously
   and most of all
unforgivingly
   in love
     with you.
   is it the way your lips move
when you creep in a smile
  or maybe the way your heart breaks
   when you haven't seen someone in a while?

Eight, Three, Zero
Lighted flares, all directions streaming
Atmosphere exultant, saw not an opportunity for askewness
Waved banners, displayer of the iconic

Blue, White, Red
For the breeze ruffled these shades
Gallantly proclaiming, alas, the Republic
Dassault Rafale, engines roaring ahead

Nine, Zero, Zero
A precipitous shift in mood
The cheers were different, in fact
Almost as if fading

White, White, White
The vehicle shifts its gear
The man’s foot unforgivingly pressed on acceleration
Ploughing through, snowplow through ice

One, One, Two
They dial, no longer are
Their shouts for some celebratory cause
Tucked under the rubber, eternal slumber

Four, Score, Four
Young and free, they were not exempt
Fatimah, Jean, Brodie, Christianne
A lone rider, forlorn in cessation

Fourteen, Seven, Sixteen
A new motivation for commemoration
Juncture of remembrance
For the bravest hearts

Liberté, égalité, fraternité
Kept in *******, a formidable bulwark
War wages forth, yet for the Hexagon
We weep.

For once, I want to put
myself first.
For as long as
I can remember,
I keep pushing myself down
just so other people can float.

For once, I want to make
myself proud.
Proud of who I've become,
what I've endured,
for how long I've battled.
I am a warrior.

For once, I want to love
myself truly and deeply.
Standing straight,
unabashedly,
unforgivingly,
being me.

For once, I want to
prioritize myself.
My health, before
my responsibilities.
I want to heal before
I go out again for war.

For once, I will not
clamp my mouth shut
when people tell me
to keep quiet.
I am made
to be loud.

-m.b

I find pictures of you
I tear up pictures of you
I cherish pictures of you
I find myself on the unforgivingly cold tile floor silently screaming as tears leak from my eyes like a dripping faucet because of pictures of you

I have pictures in my mind
I have a picture of you kissing my neck tenderly
I have a picture of you holding me
I have a picture of you whispering in my ear while we were at the park drinking in each other's affection

I have regrets
Regrets reminded when I see pictures of you
I regret never dancing with you
I regret being shallow
I regret being selfish
I regret blaming every mistake on you because I couldn't come to terms with myself

I burned every picture of you
Yet they won't leave the backs of my eyelids
I still can hear you whispering sweet words of comfort in my ear like you were my water in this hell

Yet as heart wrenching as it is to see pictures of you
It's even harder to picture you with me