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)

censored

We don’t see the carrots to be cut,
We see the sharp knife that could cut us.

We don’t see the bridge,
We see the other side of the railings.

We don’t see painkillers,
We see medication we could drown ourselves in.

We don’t see the train,
We see the tracks we could lay on.

We don’t see the nice view,
We see the cliff's edge we could jump off.

She's not forcing anything on anyone.
You either value her when she's here,
Or miss her when she's gone.

And if you think loving her is hard,
Try forgetting her.

suicide is not an option
suicide is not an option
suicide is not an option
suicide is not an option
suicide is not an option
suicide is not an option
suicide is not an option

In you,
I've found an appreciation for the ones I've hurt
I've found a new reason to scorn the stars
For all their bright, unwavering light
For all their fragile grace they scatter upon us
I've found no way to leave my winter bones behind
To make peace with the new, and growing
I've found no reason to move on
And too many to stop

My words became
knives.
A paragraph,
a sword.
And when I
made
my first speech,
the room
                was
                        hit
                             with
                                            a
                                                    grenade.

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.

Don't get too close if you forsake immortality -

consider this your first wave of yellow warnings.

I am still my mother's child, I remember every thing;

and with carved words like these and my bragging heartbeat,

watch me as I seal you in all my letterings,

until you find Death on his knees, calling me a ***** cheat,

no grave can keep you buried if you leave it up to me

to adorn you in forget-me-nots and singing elegies.


Copyright © 2022 by S. Y. Kalindara. All rights reserved.

you’ve stolen so much of my soul,
i’m still trying to remember who i was

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.

Love is like taxis
They're everywhere when you don't need it
But nowhere to be found when you do

I fell in love with the idea
That there is greater me and a greater you
As there were war in solace and peace to menace
Grief to heartful and bliss to mourn
I fell in love with the idea
That there were two you as there were two me
As there were two hearts
As there were two falls

when you understand my poems perfectly then,

their utility is inutile,
their usefulness is, will. always be, in the

nth  

reinterpretation, a million and still counting,
as long as you must guess at its labyrinth inner wired construct,
be pleasured by the roiled and rolled curves upon your tongue,
two lives (yours, mine), a paired wine tasting, we together,
believing in the greatness of joyous frustration

some say, as I do, the world is better for the
utility of thine own struggled understanding,
the truest combination of two way communication,
surpassed only by our at last armed embrace,
when at last we understand our mutuality of need and salve...

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

She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."

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 don’t know how to love you.
He broke me down like
the longest math equation.
But, in the process of solving he found
no solution. Only lost numbers
memories stuck on the chalkboard.

You say you’re too broken too.
But now you’re here.
Confused and softened possibly
afraid.
Definitely afraid.

And in this moment my mind
flushed with all of the feelings I kept in
my little locked box.
The cherishment I have for you and the
care and want that come along with
you. I wanted you. I want you.
But my brain tells me I don’t.

So my words are broken but my mind
is made up.

I want to be with you but you
don’t want to be with a
f—- up.

When I say
that you are my Sun,
I don’t mean that you are
Luminous,
Brilliant,
Gilded,
Beautiful,
Bold,
Warm,
Or even the center of my universe.
I simply mean that
I cannot look at you
Without hurting

keep me in the
pocket of your jacket

love me in the
corner of your heart

dream of me in mantis shrimp
colouration.
think of me when doth
shatter thine heart.

if i could be
what i would need
myself I lose;
myself I dream

A tree falls in the forest,
and it doesn't make a sound.

A man yells in the forest,
and local wild life forms a mob.

A man falls in the forest,
and he doesn't make a sound.

A tree yells in the forest,
and we all run like hell.

It is May 25th, 2022
27 times this year
Children have been gunned down in their schools
27 time
SO FAR
In less than six months
Over 140 dead  
That is heart wrenching  
The thing that makes it
Even more so is that,
in a few days
this poem will be obsolete
and the new number will be 28.

it wasn't until the sun rose
that I realized
just how much
I was in love with the moon

keep your eyes closed love.

           e     t      
       m           i
    o                 m
s                        e  
                            s     all you have to
                                                                ­
                                                                ­ l                  is to what the sound
                                                           ­      i            n
                                                  ­                s           e
                                                               ­          t

                                                              ­                               v
                                                               ­                         a        e
                             ­                                          of the  w               s
                                                               ­                                       
                         ­                                                                 ­            tells  you
                                                                ­                                        to do.

I cannot draw faces but if I could,
I would add every detail be they
proper and good.
I would trace all the lines, and
the dimples to boot. Not forgetting
the eye's with an aim when they
shoot. The nose and the ears put
down in good style, the chin and
the mouth with a beautiful smile.
The neck would be long and pretty
to kiss, when you called her name
you would first call her Miss. You
would be amazed when you saw
her take form, the gleam in her
eye's will make you happy and
warm. This would be a face created
in spring, her long black hair
would entice you to sing. When
the picture was done and finally
through, I might get the notion to
draw a picture of you.

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.

To write words over and over
To explain what it feels to love you
To express what you mean to me

No words can be enough for that
And so I always end up erasing them