Soft like the petals of a flower
Kiss me while I'm sweet,
I'm bound to go sour.

Hard as the rarest stone
Touch me now,
I'll soon be gone.

Have me if you dare...
But remember in love,
All is fair.

like pelting hail
till I had bumps
raised as braille
and he danced all over them
using his finger as a pen

He hit me
like a flying dart
pierced the bullseye
I, his mark
on his first throw
had me from the go

He hit me
like a bombing blizzard
billowing white dust
blinding me with every gust
till I was swimming in the soup
and then he flew the coop

He hit me
like quicksand
putty in his hand
as I moved
he would expand
and held me tight
into his chambers
and let me sink
like we were strangers

everyone's voyage is different Captain
you see few shipsin the oceans
they fear deeply
you are free only in the vast

-


all my mistakes in life
add weight to a scale
of self-judgement–

so far i sense
a balance—

yet it feels to me like
i've let so much ballast
get washed overboard...




s jones
2022



.

sweet lord, girl..

I like the way your brain moves its thoughts  into its own deeper
realms with each thing said. You have that rare gift of being able to
be your own internal/external Muse.. even while midstream within
the process of writing it all out.

Alone.. maybe more than you may think you want to be, you are
never lonely. A very rare thing indeed in the modern world, kid.

Very unique, and very very special.
(It is very much the truth..)

I would always hope for the gifted ones such as yourself,  that you
would always and ever-increasingly be able to see your own
worthiness in yourself in being chosen to be a bearer of such a
wonderful gift. Kierkegaard was a chosen recipient such as you
(your rare mind's unfolding thought processes are in ways, much
like his), and through his own beautiful self-love, became.. through
his stewardship of the gift, the father of Existentialism. He felt the
Living Word within him, causing his wonderous mind to feel also,
through thought.. which in turn, churned deeply  his
forever-goldmining heart, which in turn, mused his mind into deeper processings of the deeply-felt word's expressions--

ever-cycling.. ever churning within him,  until every cell within his
electrified body became fully lit..

And out onto paper it all went.. as what was so beautifully
self-Mused within him was brought out from an internally-lit
darkness and into the full light of day. The deeply-searching, in you
is in relationship with the gifted Magical  in you,
(which is also so very much you [the gifts are irrevocable]),
bring out words and concepts/thought processes pretty much
previously unknown here in this world. Make your own self-Love..
self forgiveness.. self-acceptance, and self understanding.. all your Art..

And it will be your art that most blesses this world down here.
You've already got the goods, kid.. watch them become greatly
clarified in you as your own self-Love becomes your own finest art.
The gift, you already have-- clear as clear can be. Shame and
condemnation are powerful enough down here to make even the
most purest of pure, become obscure.

Mm.
Yeah, kid..

"In the end..
The Love you take (in)
Is equal to
The Love,  you make"

Make your own self love, your goal-- surround yourself with
loving truthtellers who will love you for who you truly are..  rather
than what they want you to be (or think you should be)  for them.

Clearly you are worth every single bit of it all.

~Paul
(preston
M Vogel
F Unting Somethingoranother)

She keeps songs
locked away in boxes
like secrets.
She will take them out
like postcards
to help her remember
the feeling of
a different time,
a different person
by her side.
She likes the one
that makes her
eyes close
to see the lights.
She smiles at
the one that  
makes her stand
up on tiptoes,
the one that
helps her forget
she doesn’t know
what to do
with her hands.

The tune
will carry her.

Like it did
the times when
voices broke
like a heart.
When instruments’ strings
would snap
and hurt.

I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

our lips will never meet
nor our fingers intertwine
and so bless my dreams
for indulging what's not mine

I am a dreamer.
I vision things that don't yet exist.

I am a stubborn believer.
I believe my visions come true.

I am limitless.
I dream big dreams.

"her name"

I'm not overreacting
Not making up
negative scenarios in my head
I feel too much,
too fast

A thousand needles
rip and tear me
from the inside out
A weight inside me falling,
breaking my heart into a million pieces.

My heart feels like it has stopped beating
and it begins to be hard to breathe
for my lungs stop working
and I try to gasp for air  

I clench my fists
draw blood from my palms

Forcefully, I let out a smile
using it to cover up the pain I feel
And the tears hiding behind my eyes
As I laugh making painful jokes.

But you'll never know it
Because I hid it from you

I ate some raspberries today
They were cold
And sweet
And soft

But their seeds get stuck in my teeth
They just sit
And ****
And poke

Until I get them out

Maybe I’m trying too
hard
To mean something
Perhaps she is already gone
And me dumping
My paltry, pathetic,
Precipitous prose
Like a deluge of desperate
Upon a dead rose
Can’t dispose of her silent
Indifferent
Existence
Each moment
Eternal
Futile
Resistance  
In listlessness I must revert
To the written,
The only way I’ve
Ever understood
Smitten
With souls,
And personas,
And psyches,
And signs
With the auras exuding
True beauty’s
Confines
But with her it is more
Than an infatuation
With mere metaphysical
Intoxication

i have no fcking idea but you might just know what it means______ finality man

my one wish is
to find someone
who sees the world
as beautiful as i do
with their mouth
preaching poetic beauty
as i have once did
to all the boys
i have loved

i spent my life trying to please
someone with a twisted disease
i broke myself down
and tucked my feelings away
to become the person
they wanted me to be
i let myself be watched
through the glass of a two sided mirror
of a sociopath
i wallowed my spirit away
and begged for acceptance
but there’s nothing in the world
that i could do
to let the narcissist know
that i am human too

She is a poem of his heart
He never disclosed
In front of anyone.

She is lovely
like apricot juice-
sweet and ****

delicate
like ripe fruit

I love him
I tell myself
I know that
We will be together forever
I don’t believe that
We could be separated
My thoughts tell me that
He’s the love of my life
Sometimes my heart lies and says
I could live an eternity
Without him
Like my friends say
“We’re perfect for each other”
And you can’t tell me
He’s not the one.

Now read from bottom to top.

If you’re the one that’s so concerned about the world ending
Why are you trying so hard to bring it to it’s knees?

Winter moon in blazing fire,

I am driven mad with desire for you,

As I journey to meet you,

Trudging forth with soft snow falling,

I feel no cold or weariness,

You are my devotion,

My adoration for you is pure,

Sincere,

So I shall declare my love for you,

And bear the brunt of your truth,

Then in the distance,

I see you there,

In his arms,

Tenderly embracing,

My heart sinking,

The cold wind biting mercilessly,

My tired body trembling,

As my winter moon in blazing fire,

Has shattered into tears of ice.

They said,
"The most beautiful art is
looking into someone's eyes
when they talk about the
things they love."
And I said,
"Or looking at someone you love.
Or maybe, just maybe,
by looking at the mirror
is the most beautiful art
anyone should appreciate."

She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."

You were born near the warm ocean,
grew up around there,
With your clear acrylic smile
and sun-kissed blonde hair

I, the winter cold
More north than I can remember,
We met that day you visited,
a brisk chill, that December

We drank and danced,
while the years passed over
Argued and grew apart,
our greatest fears, now sober

My memories of you, once treasured
Now, faded
as sun deprived lands complain,
Forever, jaded

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about
you;

i'll cry a little more,
hurt a little stronger
love a little softer
because you no longer
make me feel sober

i'm drunk on the
memory of you

Too many times we talk
And the words fall.
And my mind is silent
Waiting for another day.

And the sun is up.
And the sun is down.
Still no word from the heart -
The silent pain of dying.

Tiny little tippy toes,
Eight
Zip zippity zip across,
Wait
Silk strings float upon the air,
Fly
Invisible trap of death,
Sly
Needle sharp two juicy fangs
Poke
Merry-go-round goes dinner
Choke
Save the fat one for later
Date
Tiny little beady eyes,
Eight

I thought if I could swallow the stars
I’d be as beautiful as the evening sky
I tried one night    with fireflies
They burned my throat
Their legs striking at soft flesh
But my skin did not glow
No moon crawled from my eye sockets
I was left with corpses in my stomach
I soon learned I would only ever be
A cemetery

believe him when he says
I will always take care of you
because even if he fails you
at least you'll be devastated
at least you'll feel something