The lies we tell of God
Are no baptisms in a dripping moon
No cleansing in and of sunlight
No anointing me of Earth

The lies we tell of God
A mark of mortal rage
A mourning that glows and devours
The fingerprints of our ancestors

The lies we tell of God
are the lies we tell of ourselves

we do not write poetry
we write mirrors
which are held up
to curious faces
who read
looking for their
own reflections

You are my unsent message.
The cursor blinking rhythmically,
With my heartbeat,
Waiting,
For me to hit send.
But I am not ready,
And I’m not sure if I ever will be
So I left it like that.
Unsent. Unseen. Unread.
“I miss you.”

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)

The mist on the face;
Morning bright is hidden;
Fresh salty breeze covers the day;
Thoughts fog the morning walk.
Deep breath to move forward
away from anxious nags of
yesterday's problems.
Tumbling down the path of
lists to do.
Considering life's blessings
and gentle meditation.
Walking forward and counting steps.
Loudly silent.

You messaged me today
I listened to what you had to say
My heart didn't hurt
You didn't try to flirt
You apologized to me
And said you'd like to see...
You'd like to see me and catch up
I said okay
I could talk to you today
Is this healing
Because I have no feeling
I have no feelings left for you

Eyes are the window to the soul,

But what if,

You don't have one of those?

going home isn’t always
returning to a place.
sometimes
it is returning to yourself.

Let me be your own artist,

I'll change your
scars into stars,
the tears in your
eyes into butterflies
and your sufferings
into colorful
lanterns,
let me paint you
with the colors I
have, let me write
you using my
blood, my love,
You'll be the best
art and poetry
and our love story
would be the most
beautiful tale that
will be written
in the history.

The wait
Is teaching you patience

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."

i want to hug you the way,
winnie the pooh hugs the piglet

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Time goes by
And I miss you

Just like me
The flowers grew
But soon they wilted
Just like you

You were sweet
This I knew
Like an addiction
I loved you

Now the roses are dead
The violets are too
The garden's all gone
And so are you

Your flowers died
I did too
Because all along
I was you

She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."

i love them,
yet i carry
the reason
for them to die.

I want to be alone,
alone with you.
What's wrong with me?

they asked me "how to write a song"?
I told them to look inside - where it has been all along.

Élégie VI.

Nuit et jour, malgré moi, lorsque je suis **** d'elle,
A ma pensée ardente un souvenir fidèle
La ramène ; - il me semble ouïr sa douce voix
Comme le chant lointain d'un oiseau ; je la vois
Avec son collier d'or, avec sa robe blanche,
Et sa ceinture bleue, et la fraîche pervenche
De son chapeau de paille, et le sourire lin
Qui découvre ses dents de perle, - telle enfin
Que je la vis un soir dans ce bois de vieux ormes
Qui couvrent le chemin de leurs ombres difformes ;
Et je l'aime d'amour profond : car ce n'est pas
Une femme au teint pâle, et mesurant ses pas
Au regard nuagé de langueur, une Anglaise
Morne comme le ciel de Londres, qui se plaise
La tête sur sa main à rêver longuement,
A lire Grandisson et Werther, non vraiment ;
Mais une belle enfant inconstante et frivole,
Qui ne rêve jamais ; une brune créole
Aux grands sourcils arqués; aux longs yeux de velours
Dont les regards furtifs vous poursuivent toujours ;
A la taille élancée, à la gorge divine,
Que sous les plis du lin la volupté devine.

I know you won’t read this
and I know you won’t care
but I will tell you what it was like.

It was blurry.
it was slow
but time was running fast.
It was dusty feet
and dusty souls.
It was feeling nothing
and then all at once.
It was hating you
to drown the urge of hugging you.
It was writing a poem
and post it
wishing you will relate to it.

But who cares,
you don’t.

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.

test me
my waters have remained constant
rippling, reaching
as far as the eye can see
into the horizon; the water surrounds me
my knowledge is useless
when drowning in these waters;
i can only flail desperately
as my movements create ripples
out into the open sea
all these efforts
all in vain
all in my vein
blood rushing out
like the sea, light then heavy
then strong
like the sea, with a strong smell of salt
this time, the waters are red
and they reek of iron

test my waters
they’ve been stained crimson
with my lifeline

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

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.

someone will drive you around the same roads i did
under streetlights at 4am
where our love was
where our love never was

to parks we sat in
wherein we spoke words of compromise
understanding and compassion
where our love was
where our love never was

in your apartment
i held your hands so gingerly
and spoke words of endless devotion
where our love was
where our love never was

//

in your arms
in my mind
in your heart
the place where our love was
the place where our love never was

Smoking at work is now a no-no
You wanna smoke *** outta the dooro
An smoking near kids
We hadda get ridz
But to refuse vaccine & mask? Well' I dunno...