tired like always
and I don’t have much to say
but I thought I should write again
just for the exercise, for memory,
for myself, maybe, or maybe
I’m just feeling my exhaustion
and wanting to let it go
and maybe that’s poetry
"You never get closure in an abusive relationship"
the advocate looked at me, softly, as she could waiting to see the hard news
the other women in the room were silent
Their "hes" were still around town, coming in and out
interfering, lying low, but at least paying attention,
abandonment is worse than punishment I thought
I was on the other side of the world, a reverse time zone
falling into the abyss
He took my wedding ring and engagement ring out of my luggage
then brought it up the stairs to me
and waited for the shuttle to come
I hugged him, but he didn't hug back, he shoved the bags inside
I was crying, he was stone cold, he payed the driver of the "sherute"
the shuttle to the airport in Hebrew, people stared but I didn't
care anymore, I was so used to people staring as he now
spoke to me and offered me a cigarette in front of the Mercez Horev, the mall
siting on the dirty concrete benches watching the line of people having
their bags checked before going in
Here I was smoking like I'd done my army service and gotten bored
and smoked to relieve the boredom and the stress
then something would go wrong and he'd get up, screaming at me
in English, and I'd run after
I didn't look at anyone in the sherute but I just knew they felt sorry for me
as we pulled away, after twelve years together, the last I saw of him
was him heading down the stairs
and now, the people at that job
I am learning new things in my classes
and, for one crazy moment I think:
I want to share this with them
so I write to my former boss
and that's the last thing he would ever want from me
He is the smart one, I am not, no one is smarter than him
He will never listen to me
Like I hugged my husband
not knowing he'd stolen my engagement ring and my wedding band
just like the Tel Aviv lawyer told me he would
the end. you never get closure in an abusive relationship
In a white book, writing was done with tears,
And so we cannot figure out a single line;
Memorized and though about since early youth,
It eludes one’s wit even as one has aged and greyed.
When mind seeks it out, love turns up in the heart,
When heart pursues it, love is in the mind, escaping wit.
Regarded at close range, love dissipates,
Leave it aside and love turns sad and grieves.
When loving is intense, love resists the long wait,
Like a lightning bolt, it streaks across the dark.
The kiss that sears is a kiss given only once,
And when the river swell, only once will flooding rise.
Love that is timid is a river still and currentless,
No falls nor torrents, no tears nor unbearable loss!
But when love has dared, the heart is swept away,
Honor, wealth and wisdom, love will drown them out!
When love is yet a bud, it heeds an elder’s counsel,
Such is not yet love, for it still sees the light.
But when it bursts aflame, what matter the universe —
That’s real love, so lose yourself in it with all your heart.
When you balk at the threat of ill fortune and hazard,
Truly your wit is lit and your mind at dull alert;
Your love is cautious yet, you have not
learned to really love,
For once in love, the grave itself is heaven’s gate.
Love has eyes, love is never blind,
having learned to love, one’s wounds turn into blossoms,
Love is selfish and cannot bear to share,
It’s either you get it all, or get nothing at all.
“Mother has been watching me, so I cannot write..”
Friend, that’s a sign you have yet to win her love.
But when she dares write even at her very grave site,
She has come to love you more than her very life.
All you, young people. who are in quest of love,
Moths who are fluttering around the lamplight,
Once in the grip of love, danger you will seek out,
Ready to love your wings to the very flames of love.
I breath a not so very fresh air.
I consume a not so healthy diet.
Sleeps under the same stars,
Gazes the same pearl moon.
I see, feel, hear, smell, senses heightened.
I process the stimulants and characters.
Then I close my eyes and opened anew.
There I see, I smile, I write.
You’ll give me a look
And I’ll give you a word
You’ll give me a question
And I’ll tell you a story
You’ll give me time
And I’ll give you ghosts
We’ll draw each other blueprints
Mapping out every escape route
You deal in ideas and
I deal in letters
In unfulfilled promises, stolen art
What could have beens and prose
At first my words are beautiful
So you’ll give me a heart
In return, I’ll give you a poem about a heart
You’ll give me affection
I’ll take your kisses and your smiles
I’ll take your mornings and your cigarettes and your compliments
And I’ll love you so much
That I’ll write you into my story
I’ll give you your space
I’ll give you my ears, my blind eye
If you want to bury your head, baby I’ll be your sand
After all, we were both just looking for a safe place to land
You’ll give me your heart
Over and over and over again
But I’ll always want more
I’ll always want you to understand
That the thing you love is just a piece
That I am a thousand times the things you think I think I can be
That I love everything a little
But will never settle
On any one path
I want to follow you everywhere
Just to prove to you that I can be everywhere
And you’ll get tired of that
I want to be everything you’re not
Just to prove that I still exist outside of us
You’ll get sick of trying so hard to figure me out
Just when you’re ready to leave I’ll decide to show you everything
Things will be good again for a few days
But then we’ll start saying sorry again
We’ll give and give and give
But every gift will be a size to small
The wrong color
So close to right that we’ll walk around with blistered feet and smiles too tight
Loving each other in clashing colors
It won’t be long before we start to miss each other whenever we’re near each other
It won’t be long before it hurts more than we’ve decided it’s worth, but still
I’ll probably always miss you a little
This is a story about a handsome man who was dealt a crappy hand at the age of ten. This was way back when they tried to teach kids a lesson by putting them in Juvenile Hall. Where they just talked bigger and badder. And made up stories of doing this and doing that. And as a wee lad he took it all in, like his life depended on it. Well when they released him to his older Brothers. They we're setting no example of how to live either. And both parents were out of the picture. Well he eventually ended up in prison for most of his life for petty crimes that he should have never went to prison for. But he did not have a paid Lawyer. Well many years have come and gone and this guy was released in Sept of last year. He was out just long enough to catch another case. And he is doing a couple of years. If you would like to be a pen pal to this man, I would be ever so grateful. He will never ask you for anything just a letter now and again. This guy is truly a sweetheart funny
And very talented. I should know He is my Brother. So if you would like to write him send me a personal message and I will shoot you his hook up. Thank you in advance
Like no other, it cares
Not always seen, but always there.
Complimenting words as if they were looks,
Such a great way with words, they belong in books.
Expressing their love and woe,
Though often cursed by crows.
A thousand miles or a couple feet
Something great happens when two writers meet.
They talk and talk, pretending they don't know
The secrets that their stories both told.
As they speak, they are mesmerized by how words dance out
Of each others soft spoken, but sometimes harshly written, mouths.
They hope they can memorize how words were said,
So that they could recite each others poems in their own head.
A writer's affection is like no other
And one complex talent, keeps it all together.
It will write you letters, and cause a drumming chest.
Take your breath away, and rid you of a mind's mess.
A letter for him, a letter for her.
A Writer's Affection,
a blessing and more.
I'm on fire my love
every inch of me burns
with the vodka mix of emotions filling me
And blurring me
The sky is on fire my love
it's falling down on me
are you watching this
or am I the only one that can see it
I know it's falling
but I guess thats just me
My bed is on fire
while I write this poem
my tears would sizzle on to my grey quilt
if I had tears left to cry
My hair is on fire
the natural red of it has enhanced itself
it's unearthly and magical and beautiful
and I appreciate this singular beauty
while blood pools round me
and soaks my bed
my blood is on fire love
and I set it free
A lot of people hate me because I like you
Because somehow we ended up together
It comes to a surprise because I never imagined it to be you
I write poetry about you and all my thoughts seem to be about you
Im a sad girl and you might not even know it
because im the type of girl to not even show it
there are so many rumors about me
about what people think about me
but I would never want you to judge
but that's too late
but this is life and this is me
and we have to be real
what is a girl without a past
and no one in my school will ever understand the like I have for you
I used to hate it when people bought you up to me and I had to pretend I didn't know you
I had to hide myself for you
you kept me in the dark
and I hated that
I told myself I would wait for you no matter how long it took because my heart was set on you
and I know sometimes I can be difficult and I don't express myself too often or at all
but I have about a million poems about you that go in my head
Ill admit I was tired of being a secret and my feelings were slowly washing away
and I felt my happiness go with my lost feelings
but then you no longer hid me
I was out there
and I felt so good
I felt amazing
and my feelings grew back ten times stronger for you
and it was unusual for me to have everyones eyes on us and to have people talk down on us
but I got used to it and Id rather have people judge me while im with you than to have people judge me without you
and soon your kisses for me became more addicting and I felt like I could hug you and be happy about it
and that one time
oh my god that one time
I wont even talk about it on here
but I loved it
even if it didn't happen in the best way possible
and I opened everything up for you that day
and I cried because I only did it for you
no one else
and then days passed by and I caught myself missing you
I caught myself fantasizing about you
because no matter what position you were put in
you chose me
and no one will ever understand that
and there are some broken hearts out there
but I had a broken heart when you and I first started talking
a broken heart about my thoughts, me hurting myself and my family
and you patched my heart back up
and I don't think you know that
because to you this might be nothing right now
it just started and not too much happened
so its probably nothing
but you are everything to me
and id do anything for you
you helped me and you don't even know it.
you might have broke me down a few times
but at the end of the day youre mines
and this is what I wanted for the longest
and now I have it
and I feel amazing
you are the best to me
I am in like with you.
Stick a lolipop
into the mouth of moments
your life is a child
And somewhere in there
you give a fuck about the moon
and somewhere in there
you give a flying fuck
about the moon
and no it's not cheese.
That mouth knows what dirt tastes like
but that wont stop me from pouring caramel
and cigarettes over it.
I need a fix
of candied dirt
I'm not afraid of the eclipse
because I'm already addicted to the dark.
So lock the door
draw the curtains
The tide wont be knocking
no matter how much you
want it to fill the room
or how big is your sweet tooth
anything will do.
So thank the moon we were wearing seat belts.
Otherwise we might be vegetables
eating only exhaust
force fed the sun
you only make war on an empty stomach
or with an insatiable hunger.
for the civilians and thier children
who only know the taste of war.
Idiot flavored idiots with a hint of
that will bore a cavity so big
it'll put holes in the head
of kindergardens everywhere.
Who write their valentines on bombs.
Who's love murders buildings,
plowing through bodies on city streets all to reach
for the people
you because when parents fucking in a box
you call a country means
you don't care
you put genocide on the menu
and there are some things that just wont do.
As I grow weary of rivaling chefs pointing fingers
in circles forever
becoming a porthole to the murder business
becoming the unsuspecting manhole for
the human animal's existence
The dead mothers would find safe shelter in the sewer
but it stinks of shit and dead bodies
like our prepackaged liberty
Because to start a revolution means living it
and what better way,
to cripple a reckless pace
that finishes first in hunger,
starting fist fights with other people's lives
and forgets even sooner