A mix
Of joy and pain,
Plain as day
On the lines of pages.

Like a roller coaster,
Poems rise high
As the sunset
But soon sink low
Almost touching the ground.

But the thing about poems,
Is that they take any shape.
Sad
Happy
Painful
Pleasant.

It doesn’t matter
If you just wrote a mourning story,
You can still tell a tale of joy.

I have said that rhymes are liquid.
I wasn’t kidding.
Liquids take any shape and fit the container they are poured in.
And when they aren’t contained
They spill and spread everywhere.
Poetry does too.

He lives in a two world.
One, The place where he lives with his near and dear ones.
And the other where no one knows.
A place where only his brush and paper knows.
Where its filled with colours and paints.
And a place where he express himself.
He live in two world.

To
  Bad
      We
          Cut
             All
                Your
                   Strings
                      The
                         Puppet
                            Master!!!

𝙼𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚛𝚊𝚊𝚕
𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕
𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚞𝚖𝚙𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚍
𝙰 𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚜
𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠.
𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎  𝚊 𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚌𝚎

𝚃𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝
𝙷𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚕 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎

𝙸𝚝 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚠𝚜
𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚜𝚝𝚢𝚕𝚎
𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚙 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚎
𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍
𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚔 𝚙𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗
𝙲𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚠𝚗𝚎𝚛, 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚋𝚢 𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜
#𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚍𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚏𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜

You once asked why I didn’t have another person to share my bed with
You once asked why I didn’t have another person to share my heart with
You once asked why I was still alone
You once made it seem like you wanted to be that person

we all live inside mirrors
as mere reflections

with every touch it blurs
the image of our projection

just our outside figures
define most rejections

but its the weight of our fears
that fill us to perfection

cut man
disrupts depression
unconsciously
a hero
in bits

I LIKE TO SAY YOUR NAME

I like to say
your name

when you're
not here

turn you
into sound

conjure you out of
thin air

so that you appear
before me

dressed in sound
only

memory sketching in
the rest of you

as if sound
was just an outline

and love
colours you in

adding the voice last
so I can hear you say.

"Hello you..!"
and there you are

as present
as present

can be.

I like to say
your name

when you're
not there.

So many people focus on finding love
I'm too busy finding myself

She was neve going to be in white,
              neutrality was never

going to be her hue.

She was telling the world a message..


Her gown, was onyx silk woven
                 like Cinderella had told the
arachnids  to create beauty in the night
unbridled
            it fell entrapping on any who gazed

upon its woven radiance.

She walked down the isle and with each step,
                                at least five were captivated

in the webbing of her beauty,
                       walking beyond there view.

All entombed within the elegance
             that captured them.

She was the spider weaving a web of beauty
           that captured every eye.

And the man was her prey, he smiled
          lost in the moment of her captivation.

I do, I do,  and both were entangled
within the
                             eyes of each.

This moment was silk ropes tied to each others
          wrists,
         and now they'll weave them every step
              

                          they collect together.

"I'm an open book"
She says

Written in
code.

what if i was meant for you?
what if you were meant for me?
what if this is it..
what if we're meant to be?

don't be scared
please take my hand
This journey will hurt
but please try to understand

I will always be here for you
I'll give you everything one day
so I'll kiss your head, and promise
That i will love all these what if's away!

Nelle case, dove ancora
si ragiona coi vicini
presso al fuoco, e già la nuora
porta a nanna i suoi bambini,
uno in collo e due per mano;
pel camino nero il vento,
tra lo scoppiettar dei ciocchi,
porta un suono lungo e lento,
tre, poi cinque, sette tocchi,
da un paese assai lontano:
tre, poi cinque e sette voci,
lente e languide, di gente:
voci dal borgo alle croci,
gente che non ha più niente:
- Fate piano! Piano! Piano!
Non vogliamo saper nulla:
notte? Giorno? Verno? State?
Piano, voi, con quella culla!
Che non pianga il *****... Fate
piano! Piano! Piano! Piano!
Non vogliamo ricordare
vino e grano, monte e piano,
la capanna, il focolare,
mamma, bimbi... Fate piano!
Piano! Piano! Piano! Piano!

If I posted a poem
Containing my feelings,
Would she see it?
Or would it be lost,
Like many other things,
In the silky sands of time?

Windows downs
On the state route
dad driving a 93’ pickup
As I rode in the front seat
2000s pop playing through
Joyous as any kid could be

What I’d give to relive one day...
One more day of innocence.

I'VE been crying

JUST quit hurting

TRIED to live on

TO you

FORGET the hurt

i've just tried to forget

You don't know
why the dog is
afraid of you:
I do.

she is a happy ending,
not everyone can wait for.

Just say you need me

It’s all a dream
Heartache and everything
Still I sing

There is sunlight in your eyes
and it is a place
I wish I could
escape to.
It is warm
and I am cold.

There is sunlight in your eyes
and I know
it does not
live in mine.
This cave I hide in
does not have room
for you.

There is sunlight in your eyes,
in the world
I used to be in.
Nothing grows here
anymore,
but weeds
and a grey sad.
My hands are covered with it.

There is sunlight in your eyes.
You are alive.
I don’t know what that feels like.

Dear HP,

This is not a poem
But a question
The answer to which
I do hope you have

Why does my lover claim to love me
But still looks for every opportunity
To let me go?

Is it that she loves me so much
But doesn't think she's worthy of me

Or she doesn't love me enough
To think I'm worthy of her?

i dreamt of you once again-
i wish i had not woken up.

i look up at the moon
wondering if you're seeing the same
or if you're seeing the sun
but one day
we will see the same
one day
we will be under the same roof
in the same bed
as lovers
who use to see different

Poems aren't written,
they're found,
Somewhere in your head the words are waiting,
They're sprawled across the floor,
You just need to pick them up,
Make a path with them,
Let your path guide observers,
And if you can't write,
Walk down somebody's else's path first,

This bed is far too big.

There is no beauty being adored,

No lips being kissed,

No limbs being caressed,

No festive mingling.

I am left with naught but

Lukewarm bittersweet memory.

I fell in love with him
The way he looked at me
His gentle touches
Third eye kisses

Moments and memories
Destined to last forever

I fell in love with him
... slowly
Then all at once

I always thought we were the perfect match.
But matches are meant
                                   to ignite
                                         and burn out.

candles light up her room
it smells like herbs
and flowers

fall is her favorite season
she enjoys the rain
while dancing trough the woods
barefooted

she's one with nature and the sun
but in love with the moon

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.

Cupped hand on chin watching
people having a good time on Lennox avenue.
Have you ever read a Cummings poem then read it again
and watch the content change from innocent to perverse?

In the clubs conversation swirls much like that,
flat intonation minus punctuation, do they flirt or flip you off?

In my room backlit by a bare bulb
the numbness in my arms and mind escalates;
poetry is sometimes a gift filled with healing power,
at other times its abandonment feels like a curse.  
Vague face in the mist, my sometimes talent
turns on me leaving me forsaken..  
Chasing words is like trying to catch the tail of a comet,
the symbols manifest in strange tattoos
while the alignment looks totally alien.
The hour is late and my eyes burn with exhaustion
yet I won't submit to the shadowy being
who snidely smiles and sprinkles sand.