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)

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.

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

the garbage can is out back
top tight to contain the stench
clean on the outside
a model can among cans
but inside drips my hidden waste
next garbage day I’ll have more for it

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

Perfect , just a perfect evening
Lovely company, quiet music
Sumptuous meal
Captivating conversation
Everything seems a world away
He was a man of her dreams
Right everything!

Then it was time to leave
She just needed to go to bathroom
A quick dash before they head off
Only to come back and find him gone
With a note left behind saying sorry
It was all a mistake
He was married and needed to go
She sat down for a minute
It was all a blur !
A nightmare.

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...

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

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.

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

You say you're okay!
But the ocean within your eyes,
Articulate a different prose.

~
Another green world
reels them in

unfledged
lovers

they yearn
to be hydro-electric

cascading over
emerald and stone

floating along
with the water hyacinth

where they evaporate
but do not falter

in the naked spring
of continuously November

jumping off
a bridge above ecosystem

a new frontier
under their nose

as souvenir:
pioneers to the fall

and yet all they really
need to remember is

this is where they
first made love
~

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.

My trauma dictates that I will never deeply believe that I am enough for the people I love.

My fear of failure isn’t a perfectionist, drive to succeed.
It’s a smothering fear that I have done you wrong.

And I’m not sure if I’ve abandoned all self worth,
because it’s never made the ones I love love me more when I feel worthy.
Or if it’s been stolen, burnt, or smashed a million times over
and I’ve been stuck in a groundhog day loop,
Shuffling all the pieces into a dust pan with my hands.  

What I’m trying to say is,
I can rebuild,
I can cut, rejoin, fade the scars away.
I can sit myself on the tallest tower,
Call myself a giant, the bigger person.

But I will never, never regain these segments of self worth when in 25 years a handful of people have continuously robbed me of them.
When something like that is missing, it must be substituted.
I need reminders… I am enough.

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.

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."

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

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.

She is like a hot water on an opened wound
She believes she is the smartest person in the room
Her words cut the marrow from the edge of my bone
Although she grow's older She still isn't grown
I've been praying to Jesus Lord set her free
I believe he will help her for the whole world to see
She drinks in the morning and throughout the day
When she's on a binder get out of her way.
So in the end I know just what she needs
A touch from the Father I think you'll agree.
It is sad to see her controlled by the drink,
she looses her cool and the ability to think.
I'm afraid of the nightfall, she turns the music up
loud, she harbors resentments, she wears her hate
just like a shroud. So I'll just keep on praying for
the answers to come. She'll keep on drinking while
the rest of us run.

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

It's been a long day.  You
died so soon ago and we notice
your noise is gone, the parakeets and me.
You should comment somehow on
the oddness of things
since your disease.

The paranoia and lies the dementia
played made your dreams seem like
waking and your sleep tore into

you with fantasies and confusion.
You shouldered the  nurses by
telling them you felt fine.  That
lie pushed you to more agitaton.

I never knew you would get well.
I was cursed with a colder reality.  
As I drove to see you in the cocoon
of the nursing home I wondered
would you be crying or well.  

It was the crying I never unfolded.
in your room where we so carefully
braided the colors to your whims.
The colors are the same today.

Now wilted, the bright sun's rays
like the daylight dim but your harsh
yellow teeth spread around my
name and you saw me beaten
and unforgiven

You took me with you to the
Hell of brass urns.  I thought
to ask you why but the look
on your framed face said you
were waiting and your yellow
grin dared me to be quiet.

I saw the years in stark
isolation.  
You in a painted slicker,
I knew you
loved me once and
briefly.   Your journey
was a long one. Mine is

to shower daily your burnt
name across the
yellow ******* of

chared Sorrow

off.

Caroline Shank
May 15, 2022
.

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

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

Don't speak harshly,
Your words will form swords in me

Touch my cheek; speak gently,
And they will form worlds in me

I’m just tired. Tired of being broken. Tired of being forgotten. Tired of being used. Tired of feeling lost. TIred of being nothing. Tired of fighting myself to eat. Tired of feeling empty. Tired of feeling alone. Tired of Tired of doing everything for everyone; But getting nothing in return. Tired of being pulled back into this dark place. I’m just tired. Tired of crying.. Tired of breathing.. I’m just so tired..

It's like the entire world feels right
whenever I see you.

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.