Full to the brim with the coffers of iniquity,
yet thirsting for the riches of enchantment,
too many cheques written to be honoured,
debts due to be recovered at my behest,
I've sailed the seas of temptations tides,
melted my wings in the heat of the sun,
longed for the fulfilment of an honest wage,
would that I could indulge in coffee shop chat,
put all to rights over an intellectual cigarette,
yet here I am, morally broke,
no words in coins left in my bank,
to dream of dreams I now must rest.
I wake up cold in my bed
And cuddle up next to someone I care for deeply
Waiting for a moment
To text "good morning" to the girl I love
This is free love.
This is beautiful.
I'm lost in the moment
Lost in her eyes
A vibration on the table brings me back
I expect it's from my love
And it is
But not the one I expected
My ex-fiancé's name flashes before me
Followed by the smiley face I never removed
I'm in shock
Is this an accident?
And old message stuck in my phone?
It buzzes again
"Could I ask you something"
My heart is racing
What could you have to say to me?
I guess you read them
"Do you still feel that way?
Or have you moved on now..."
I'll never move on
My love is limitless and endless
But for that same reason
I'm so confused
Of course I love you
I always will
But I love someone else too
And I know I'll love another soon enough
My love needs more than monogamy can give me
The experience of polyamory is all so new
And it's beautiful
And I love it
But I love you too
You are almost every great memory
That I have from the past 2 years
But I'm also a different person now
Than I was four months ago
I still can picture a future with only you
But polyamory would have to come off the table
I don't know if I'm ready for that
Even if I don't know what a poly future looks like
I need time to process this
I need a minute to breathe
I need to reflect on these possibilities
Love is a beautiful thing
But right now it's suffocating
when a boy shows you his hands
bare except for the dust
he’s begging you to look past
take them in yours.
squeeze them once.
say without speaking
that you understand that the valleys
in his palms were meant to cradle
shooting star wishes
that he’s allowed to still hope for.
when a boy shows you his eyes
of milk and crimson and melanin
a bloodshot vein for every night he can’t sleep
let him shut his eyelids.
say without speaking
that you understand that the black hole pinpricks
of his irises hold more than the universe
when a boy shows you his soul
shivering but still working toward friction
iced over but still working toward melting
let him come to rest next to yours.
say without speaking
that you understand that he is lonely
and that his silence speaks volumes
and that you kept his treasure close
because you love him.
when a boy shows you his hands
show him your hands.
when a boy shows you his eyes
show him your eyes.
when a boy shows you his soul
show him that
this is a comfortable place to rest it.
when a boy shows you the hardness that shaped him
show him the softness
that you have in store.
The world is a terrible place
Judging someone because of race
Seeing a face
And looking at it with disgrace
We can't choose, but must face
The world is a terrible place
I loved you
You smiled because you knew
Our love grew
Until you broke my heart halfway through
You shattered my expectations i created and drew
My perfect sky blue
Lost its beautiful light hue
Without further adieu
For changing my perspective on life anew
The world is a terrible place
The lights were dim,
and the noise was loud,
crowds of people all around.
I lost my way in the throng,
bourne along on the beat of the night.
Cigarettes needed, I left the bar
suddenly there you are.
You tried to chat I wanted none of that
just my smokes and a familiar face,
I tried with grace to let you know
move on, just go.
Just then I I knew my mistake,
you grabbed my arm and hissed in my face
“My name is John”
I tried to smile use some guile,
but you were hell bent, and all that I did seemed to provoke.
I choked the fear down, when I realised we were alone,
how did you get me here?
Wedged between the wall and the cigarette machine.
Croaks were all that I could summon as you undid my buttons,
frozen in fear, switched off from here.
Fight or flight?
Neither just fright.
I remember your smell, your touch, your words
I wanted to scream GO TO HELL but nothing came out.
The kisses were the worst,
no matter how hard I tried to move my head away
your lips, your tongue found their target.
Bruising me, pushing me, grabbing me, groping me
As you pinned my hands behind my back, I gave up,
Just like that.
You can look forward
To the future
Just remember to
Place 'IF' in front
Of each thought/idea.
I prefer it that way.
Not just to avoid
Disappointment or pain
If things don't work
It also keeps us
On our toes.
We're aware that
So we place more energy
Into appreciating the present.
Nor do we become
We continue working hard
To keep relationships
And moments the
Best they can possibly be
Because we know
It could be taken away
In an instant.
Focusing on the future
Can make us accept
A present we're
Not Satisfied with
Because it'll get "better"
In the future.
Which is a load of shit!
Focus on now,
Make now everything
It can possibly be
And you'll stop
Latching onto the future.
A rush of blood to the head
The excitement of dread
Do we yearn for the reasons we bled?
To be free from reality
You can't see your mortality
Why the devil loves hospitality
Nobody watches him slide through the door
You give him everything yet he somehow wants more
Let him tear up the carpet
That was the last time
It's a strange feeling
Hard to identify
It starts with butterflies in your stomach
Then comes the giant down hill on the rollercoaster
It's a total mix
One part Adrenaline and two parts caffeine
Makes you search frantically for the right definition
What is the answer?
But your mind is in the clouds
Slowly, but surely falling down to earth
I'm falling and
falling and falling
You are hit with the brick wall of realization
But the crash is the absolute worst
you feel crushed
like an ant on the sidewalk.
a love that fades,
than I could drink
the pleasure of nothingness
the touch of nothingness
the sound of nothingness
the taste of nothingness
I’ve dated a queen and a peasant;
life’s full of questions
The queen was needy and had her own way
The peasant was kind, and lived far away.
The queen had it good, and thought she ruled. The love wasn’t fair; and she took what she could,
A son a daughter..
I wasn’t ready; my life torn in two,
See my heart was with another,
Who deserved, wanted it too.
The peasant I loved.. my heart resides,
As she was the woman, who had stolen my eyes,
Long long ago I fell deep in love,
Our love was ethereal, and still had a flame.
Until I lost her with words disguised as pain
Life, will. Never. Be. The. Same.
Every moment in time
ready to shatter
Every moment in time
is soon lost
and seldom found
I live in a moth-built cocoon
moss in my ears
deluded into thinking
I will soon be the butterfly
I once was
But in this life
it will never be
unless the ocean
loses its argument
against the land
Unless the moon
says no more
to the sun
So in that spirit I hold out my hands
for the next blessing
receive it dutifully
and with a gratitude deeper than music
Here to chime
until my time
like bells in the wind.
I thought he was perfect.
He's got the cutest smile, a handsome face; yet not too hot so other girls would steal him.
Smart, aces the exams without studying, too.
Clever, cute, loyal to death and loves me, too.
What more could I possibly ever wish for?
The thin layer of sweat covers his body, glittering in the last dusk's breath.
Sparkles of silver are in his eyes, as if God himself got down on Earth to pour galaxies in his wooden eyes, which are prospecting me.
So, what's the missing puzzle?
You love him, don't you?
Then look at you.
Gazing at the reflection in the mirror, quietly standing.
I look at the dark circles under my eyes which are expanding, following my nose line by the parallel.
Then I look at my nose which I've always hated; the uneven line, like the messy sea in sky's rage.
Then I look at myself.
And I rage, too.
So where's the missing puzzle?
Why does he care?
Why do I?
Ah, youth - well you wore me thin,
And, by the skin of I teeth I'd almost felt something.
So there's the missing puzzle.
I even showed him how I look without makeup. I showed him my madness and my crazyness which would shoo any man away.
Why's he here?
I'm not perfect like him.
And I can't stand, oh, I can't stand the pressure.
I look at my curvy body and stretch marks, lining my legs and showing me my fight with life I'd quit from for another reason.
The mirror's smudged with blood
And I'm sitting on a lonely chair,
A lonely soul, in a lonely room,
With a lonely mind in this lonely world.
I don't know love no more.
How could I?
I take out the mirror bits from out of my fist, silently observing.
Then I look at me.
The face of a disappointed warrior with a long past of fighting her own life,
And it might seem dramatic to you,
But I've had a lot of things on my mind
Which you wouldn't find on the normal silver plate.
I'm not perfect, nor I plan to be.
I see through the lies caused by the love veil, and I choosed to rip it off, but it's not falling down.
And I'm afraid,
I'm afraid if I stay;
When will he
There's a certain beauty.
In a house falling apart.
With holes in the floor.
Grime collecting in corners.
Frantic edgy grafiti.
And a collective apathy.
Punctuated with loud drunken parties.
Cause we're in the ghetto.
In a small town.
Hundreds of cats in our alley.
Left behind by former owners.
I am a coward
I cannot stand tall
when words are thrown my way
and I am not very good at confrontation
due to the fact that my heart is too exposed
in its cage that is my chest
a rhythm I know to well
add in the short breaths
of a clock inside my head
a soundtrack that is my own
different from the rest
Shower dreams and unflinching glances
Downtown I believe we go down with dances caught up in single stances-
We all will slip
It's horrifying to give everything away while the moon cries carefully and the stars scream for satisfaction amongst your never ending wake
Growing up is the hardest part until
You in one way forget what day it is
And only pictures can puncture your soul
Nothing's going to change so just stop trying to want anything, you'll
Get what you need as I need some sort
Of car crash for me some sort of slip some sort of horrible accident to happen (in my dreams)
To just remember quietly where life begins
and ends with a halt
And yes it's all your fault.
I was writing a song for the flowers
withering on top of the computer table
but like all things in nature,
change turned the petals
into something grey and pure
they die beautifully,
when we wither,
we do not fold into ourselves
we do not look up to the sky
but only avoid the light,
fold within our comforts
to hide and embrace the dark.
and so when love withers,
we let it die.
We are just human
I asked someone
In a serene manner,
"Why so serious?"
I received a full throated reply,
"Should I act like a child then,
The way you do!?"
I gave a poise reply
With a gentle smile,
"I certainly do not act like a child,
But the child within
Teaches me to live,
Not to simply survive."
She turned her home into a brothel,
and killed god in the process,
because he was an untrained craigslist hire
and struck a nail straight through a wire
hidden in the wall,
foaming at the mouth.
in turn googled a WikiHow
and did the work herself.
Teach my nerve endings to breathe,
That it doesn't always have to be
Static shouts from one anxiety
Teach me to set my palm on my chest,
That the warmth that fills my body
Can be enough.
Teach me that it's okay to whisper,
That I shouldn't have to scream
To be noticed,
To be loved.
And your broken smile
Please stay here for a while
About how the world will end
The dark theories
And the forgotten thread
The broken glass
And the moon lighting our faces
Feel the moment
Feel it before we leave our traces
In a hundred years
And days I can't count
These silk robes will smell like us
But we won't be here -we won't be found
Words of hate unraveling
from the leg of a sick wedding dove.
This heavenly drug,
I still wonder how i fell into
A sea of love and vile,
It was like everytime i saw her
she would bathe my heart in ecstasy.
The taste of blood with every kiss
would cease my breath,
remembering her still stings
the depths of my nose.
By her side i was the most stable guy,
and her by mine the most insane at times.
God! She was addicted to everything
except making me happy.
Always drenched in sweat
not always hers or mine ,
a beast when not even a period
stopped her at the cusp of her lust.
Her name is October.
Sun-dipped hair with the eyes to match.
So warm that the trees can almost breathe again and come back to life;
That I can almost breathe again
without it burning my lungs.
Her name is
Her name is-
Her cheeks would turn the slightest shade of pink when I leaned in to kiss them.
And I used to joke about how it’s only because of the cold weather,
Until she stopped laughing at that.
Now her mouth is a straight line.
Like a highway I would’ve wanted to follow.
If only it curved up at the edges, as if it were one of her favorite back roads.
Her head turns to look at anything besides me
And she pulls the leaves down with her as she walks away
Making her “goodbye” a statement of nature
Maybe if I scream for her
Maybe if I plead for her
Maybe if I reach for her
Her name was October.
That’s all I can remember
As my raised hand drops to my side.
Is there ever any point
Of grasping at disappearing air,
that used to be your oxygen?
Until you have bent your ear to Shakespeare's sonnets,
Till you have laughed with Ogden Nash,
Wept with Frost, visited Byron's ghost,
Read the songs of King Solomon,
And once you
Despair of being their equal,
Shed your winter coat of worry,
Screw your courage to the sticking point,
Begin to write then with reckless courage,
Unfettered abandon, make a fool of yourself!
Scout the competition.
Weep, for you and I will never surpass
The giants who preceeded us, and yet,
Laugh, cause they thought the same thing as well...
I give thanks for:
the uncommon greatness of common sense
for the steady approach of that wondrous day when
kindness is neither random or unexpected,
but the rule, not the exception
for our opinions and deeds, that are our own,
derived without coercion, born from our thoughts and observations and that
we are equal to both
owning them and to changing them
that we live in a time that friendships can grow just through the exchange of words and leap bounds over physical
for eyes that see deeper than skin,
ears that hear
what those ashamed wish you didn’t, hands that grasp regardless of distance,
the taste of kisses come easy
for the day when I at last knew, the pleasure of giving
so far exceeded receiving, that giving and receiving became
that I learned best skill to possess is
to anticipate the needs of others
that my lucky position in this world permits me
to act on the things for which I am thankful
that someday I will need no longer inquire,
are you my poem,
for the answer is self-evident to us both
wistful exhausted eyes
at the reflection in the mirror
through cracked lens
and dark circles
tears should be falling
but nothing is coming
only the sore distant pain
of knowing he's never gonna be here
he's always gonna be there
in the back of your mind
like a fog you can't shake
but forget him for a moment
because you're stronger than this
you were meant for greatness
destined for beauty
and yet he still hurts you all the more
pulls you down and backward
till you back starting at the reflection
wavering faith in the thing called
just the other day my mother asked me why i don’t write Happy Things.
i couldn’t produced the words from my tongue to explain that happiness is a firefly hovering just out of reach,
how it sometimes dips
just low enough for my fingertips
to brush its wings
before it soars above my head once again.
i couldn’t figure out how to make her understand that most of my time is spent with my head surrounded by darkness, so that the “happy” moments only appear to be a grey light.
my brain functions at a baseline of a light drizzle and a slight chill spent alone,
where happy can't live because of the possibility of catching the sad.
she wouldn’t believe me when i said that i can’t write Happy Things because i need to drain them of their nectar while their light is still in front of me.
i cannot afford to write Happy Things because then i would never have the chance to experience them as close to fullness as I can.
happy doesn’t linger the way depression can.
i'm a frozen tempest
there's nothing left to bleed
my body is hollowed
emptied of it's essence
a frozen burn from my touch
fire turned to cold ash
out of control
for i am cold and weary
a broken sculpture
i cannot hear your whispers
my head is split
the veins trail to my heart
where you left your mark
oh how you killed me
before the killing blow
you said you would grow old with me
but that turned to a lie
you're a desolate soul
looking for hope & love
yet you killed me
i turned to ice
i still miss you
i still love you
i still hate you
what can i do?
poetry is the only place
i can speak to you
your face reminds me
not to trust so much
keep my love at a limit
say "fine" when i'm not
i locked you out of my life
but there's still a draft
that carries your scent
& it lets me know
i'm still hurting
you were my best friend
oh you killed me...
I don't know what to do
I don't know how to be
I feel I need him
I really love him
He tries to convince me
He is no good but I know
It's not true
He gently pushes me away
He does not know how
Much it hurts
I listen to my heart
I don't want to let him
BUT I cannot remove
This urge to wanting
To be so close
I want to text him
I patiently wait maybe
He will think of me
One of these days
But my heart breaks
I have to remove from myself
The passion I feel
I Have to stop
From showing the love
I really feel
I have to stop my mouth
From wanting to say
I love you still
how far can analysis go,
if philosophy books do not
utilise grammatical words / categories?
i dare say, let's begin with
that mathematics calls coordinates,
a simple (x, y, z) of the algebra
that translates into
(1 across, 2 up, 3 diagonally) -
in language, that's a bit more
the category of prepositions stretches:
on, in, from, with, counter(-) -
with or without the hyphen affix making
counter a suffix...
against is still minded
as a preposition...
oh god, i believe in the trans-movement,
although i believe in the transcendence
of grammatical categorisation of words,
minus the meat & two veg,
and minus the floral pattern analogy
of female genitalia... for fuck's sake.
language, you must admit, has more
coordinate "starting" / incision markers
that mathematics had or ever will, "have".
simple... 26 beats 10 digits...
even if there's the c k q...
Siamese i.e. -
the grapheme ae...
i hate the devilishly debilitating stance
of having perfected language and
treating this perfecting as anti-"scientific"...
your parents originated from norwich?
if not so: i'd think so.
i'm about this | | close to losing
my temper and frying a belgian waffle...
calling in Thai with a crisp Eloise salad and
reminding the inclusion of the use of tamarind...
that over-salty peanut butter paste...
i hate being the person to break it to you:
language can be re-celebrated
having tasted the piquant pompousness of
over-exaggerated establishment of science
as a quasi-religion...
language can be as scientific as an -logy
as long as it minds the bouncy-castle
of grammar, notably categorisation words
of the orthodox caste choice of woo-woo-wording...
it's best to begin with shrapnel,
notably the already titled observation,
correlation between mathematical coordinates
and worded "coordination"
we already sharpened
the islamic five pillars into two:
the- (with) -
the prefix distinction, unfortunately is only
entertained by the indefinite articulation -
since a definite articulation has a higher name,
there's a "point"
to "the" point, only given that "the" point
is gambling on "a" point, without a recurring
point of curbed ambitions of
said: "point" being demaned
in the first place...
in the existentialist vernacular that's also
called: juggling the "ditto" / inverted commas -
two things are apparent:
three things are being said.
only when language is "unnecessarily"
complicated does life become the so craving for
answering: life's short, life's simple -
yes, but that being said -
language is elongated, with death being
the centipede to a butterfly's two weeks' worth
of gilded glide and pomp and
colour-dyed circumvent of
the numb-packing grey and, everyday.
She was the first sin made of flesh
when no act of love was lewd or wicked
before men and gods
invented shame and virtue
hers were the fingers
that carved the heart of every star
and whose kiss set their fires ablaze
to burn eternally
in the vast emptiness of space
to give us something beautiful
to look up and pray to in the moments
we can find no beauty within ourselves
and beauty is within her name
and the colors of her eyes
and lust and desire burst from her womb
like a wild garden spilling over the universe
to give life hunger and reason
and she carved out a small piece of her soul
to give time a heartbeat
and set eternity into motion
and she is as old as she is young
for she lives outside
of the rules of deterioration and death
she is endless and kind
and you felt the warmth of her breath
in your lungs in your first gasp of air
and you will know her again briefly
as your take your last
and hear the sound
of her gently black wings carry you off
to the place where stars are born
and she carves you into a heart
to float in the sky
and comfort those
who need to find beauty
somewhere outside of themselves
Two thousand tears shed
All because you took my unconscious body to bed
What was going through your head
When you peeled my skin-tight dress off of me
What did you see
Did you see me
Or was I just something to get you off
Was it the dead weight of my body that turned you on
Or the fact that I had just turned 21?
Normal is a Casualty
I accidentally wandered inside your heart.
I didn't mean for you to watch me die.
This burden would rob the blind
and leave the weak for dead.
Our bed's become a battlefield,
a no man's land between us.
We finally reached an armistice,
but all wars leave their wounded.
Time has slowed to a crawl waiting
for test results and next moves.
Will we ever know normal again?
The clock's always midnight and noon.
White smudges like maps line the walls.
Crinkled bills sit on the counter.
The shades have wiped away the sun.
And humming drifts through the room,
Without a greeting.
Air sits thick upon the chest.
A pencil skipping skillfully to the tune,
Of Rosemary Clooney.
A single bead of moisture glides towards the desk.
One single tear of a paper takes us from Monday to Tuesday.
And it's here we find ourselves.
Again and again and again.
Until everything changes once again.
all that is lost
isn't always meant
to be found,
in the first place;
like faint traces
of your cologne
on the pillow
where i rest;
like our first
awkward picture together;
like your maddening lust
to not be satiated
because it makes you
value things less,
and probably that's why
when you found out
that you could have me:
because some things, darling
aren't meant to be