Mirror man was convincing
When he told me to die
He gave such good reasons
He had such sure eyes

Solid and angry
And black in the middle
Cute but he's evil, with razors
In his mind.

Razors pointed the wrong way
But just right.

Something like the antichrist.

But it left me confused.
I just don't see a reason to.

tell me
how to be enough
for myself.

When dreams are so vivid,
all my memories get rigid.
As I don't know which are real,
but nothing has ever been ideal.
So I'll simply write about thee
As I sip my confusion smoothie

twenty dollars is not worth a life.

Night scares me
It's full of memories
I hate the past
It reminds me of the death  
I remember the day she left me
It was so harsh
I hate the might
I want to forget
But, I can't
She was a part of me
She loved me
But,  now she becomes just a memory
I hate the night
I want to forget -not she of course  -
But, that she left me
I will never forget you

it smells like limes,
like salt and not pepper,
and like the ocean and like
everything that i have ever
thought was comforting.
like my father's kisses at
2am because he is going
to work his second job
and it will not be enough.
it smells like fighting. it
doesn't ever smell strong
enough for it to end. And it
never ends. It won't stop anyone
from yawing loudly in public.
It won't stop you from taking
advantage of her. It won't keep
you from being the person you
are. I think sometimes it smells
like the expressions we never
have enough courage to say
but i think that sounds cliche, too.
it smells like limes, it smells like the
illness that haunts the people in their
beds. It smells like limes. It smells like
life.

I long for love
without heartache.
To be free from pain,
loss,
failure,
and sadness.
In a world shrouded in darkness,
I long for the light.

I stopped writing

For awhile.

Because I found that when I write
It’s so real.
It’s like hearing back my own words from the lips of someone wiser

Not from a broken child,
But from a bitter miser.

i was in the garden and i began to laugh
i saw a little bird jumping in his bath
with a shower cap. on his little head.
splashing all the water in the flower bed.

lying on his back soaking up the sun
he just  loved his bath time he was having fun
pruning at his feathers so he was nice and clean
very proud indeed a proper beauty queen.

then he flew away from his little bath
i waved and said goodbye and thanked him for the laugh

Break my bones;
cut my throat.
Pull me open,
learn the ropes.

Breath me in;
taste the fear.
Shank my skin;
stand and cheer.

Kick my head;
let me bleed.
Unbolt my veins;
enjoy the read.

Gouge my eyes;
punch my face.
Wrap me up
in your embrace.

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

It's time for a name
Not to be just another 'name'

To anyone who lost a life
You didn't die in vain

Colour doesn't matter
Inside we're all the same

It's time to stop the suffering
It's time to stop the pain

Sometimes I wonder
if noise had a colour
then what shade
would silence be

a girl
her eyes red and crusted
white

a boy
missing an eye now- the blood so dark it's
black

and why do they go for the eyes.

as if blindness will make us compliant

no-
it helps us to see.

while we
let the sun kiss our skin
we watched the sky
through the leaves
and talked
about the weight of the world
which is laying on the shoulders
of our generation

Tell a blue bird she is beautiful,
she will say,
I know.

I have kissed boys

Girls

People in between

But lately I have been kissing bottles

Their lips are colder than yours

But slowly I have realized that the pounding headache when I wake is less hurtful than the shattering in my chest

Yet as these toxins rush through my veins

I can't help but miss the tracing of your fingers along my skin

Miss the numbness of the world when you lie with me

But when I wake I remember that a headache is treated with an aspirin

While heartache

Well if you have a cure for Heartache let me know

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)

For almost 2 days, now, I have been wondering what has been going on.

I can't upvote and comment on poems, and most poems that I see posted have no view counts.

By now one would have hoped that the fallen would gotten back on their feet.

I just wish there was a voice out there, somewhere, instead of speculating.

Logan Robertson

6/02/20

From far deep between
She soaks the world around her
With waves of sweet fire

And over time,
My pen stopped bleeding
But my heart didn't

I
d
r
  o
   p
    p
     e
      d
       m
         y
          w
            o
             r
             d
              s

               pick them up
Can you                       for me?

Rearrange t-h-e-m
in
a
w a y
I meant to s p e a k?
Because I                  k n o w   you
and you                    k n o w   me.
We would n e v e r use
stale, weak words
to hurt each other.

No, we would(n't.)

The Oldest Lie

The oldest lie we tell our children is that we are all equal.
We pretend. We lie. We digress from the truth to shield them from all evils.
But the truth is we dream of such a world where race, creed and colour do not define us.

We protect them from the facts of life and speak of the past, forgetting the present.
We praise MLK, Malcolm and Mandela as civil right heroes,
neglecting the bitter truth that they took the first steps on our long walk to freedom.

Enough is enough. Our children deserve better.
They need to know our struggle.
Only then can we dream of better things.

I used to have interaction on here but for the past 6 months my account has had zero.
No one is seeing my writing. Please help

like water
I poured myself into her until she was overflowing at the brim

like reinforced steel
I bridged my heart to hers and welded myself to her soul

like the sun
I filled myself with light to cover her darkness

like a blanket
I shielded her from the harsh world underneath the covers

like magnets
I orbited her aura until we inevitably collided

like a seed
I felt myself growing up from her

Then, like an idiot
I could tell she felt nothing.

our world is burning around us

and our parents expect us to sit at home

it's not our fault

we don't want to live in ashes

that we want to put out the fire

before it consumes us all

If you could read my mind,
You’d see a thousand papers
Filled with broken poetries
And deadbeat proses
Full of woeful verses
With mournful pieces
Of unfinished stories
That are yet to be written
And failed to be spoken;
If you could read my mind,
You’d hear horrible screams
And earsplitting weeps
From shattered dreams,
Kept in a nasty notepad,
Scribbled on a bed
Of bloodstained words,
Ringing in my head.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the shadows
That lurk within me;
You’d hear the bellows,
Screeching the words
“I’m tired,”
“I’m a failure,”
“I’m stupid –”
I know it sounds stupid,
It’s pathetically foolish
And seems too *******.
If you could read my mind,
You’d feel the tears
I had ever failed to cry;
You’d see the people
That make the weak weaker;
You’d see the monsters
That consume my head;
You’d hear the hollers
That failed to be freed;
You’d see the heart
That still bleeds and bleeds.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the face
I’ve failed to show back then,
The face I’ve faked back then.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see a character
I had ever failed to become
If you could read my mind,
You’d be able to read
A book you never wished
To touch and read,
But sometimes I still wish
Someone could read my mind.

he said he couldn’t breathe,
so they took his last breath

What lies in the eyes
That stand just out of sight?

The void is endless,
But who can see that far?

If one is set to leave,
Why bother looking back?

Just because you’re out of sight
Doesn’t mean you’ve left my mind too.

You speak
in bright suns, with plastic heart
attached.

How does it feel
to live a day
but to hide the night?

Whitman: “If they are not the riddle and the untying of the riddle,they are nothing”

                                                       ­  <>

“These are really the thoughts of all men, in all ages and lands,
they are not original with me, If they are not yours as much as mine they are nothing, or next to nothing, If they are not the riddle and the untying of the riddle they are nothing, If they are not just as close as they are distant they are nothing.”

Song of Myself (1892 version) by WALT WHITMAN

                                                      ­ ­     §§§

exactly, for if not to mystify and to demystify,
why do we write, opine large, secretly confessing,
what is know to all soto voice in the chamber of secrets
that lies between the brains four chambered ventricles,
that leads to a Grand Canal through which flow riddles,
all these thoughts, yours, mine, and overlapping crazy

solitary, they merge within the river of combination,
then known to all, colloquially named Ours, then too,
answers arrive in the scrivening, when each plain to see,
once the riddle posed, the answer is freed to exposure,
like veins blue to red, when oxygenated, our mysteries,
all colors, untied, there is but one color, reddened blood

these thoughts, become yours, more than mine, for
in the taking is the additive chemical that enhances,
making the distance closed to only closer, here I pause,
fearful, you hesitate, do not understand, sunshine can
blind any man, sickness humble any body, we are alike
in commonality, more than different, we are all riddled

and next to nothing is everything, all worth knowing,
you, write my poetry, as I write of you with breathless
ease and comfort, for the thoughts of all men in all
ages and lands, are original to where our eyes espy
each other, where our lips kiss to cross, cross to kiss,
what is the what, this simplicity, the great difference

                                                    ­   §§§§§


Fri. May 15
Manhattan Island,
Isle of Man
10:26am

i never used to smoke
but since you left,
it’s the only time i can seem to breathe