The roses have wilted, The violets are dead. The demons run circles, Round and round in my head. The parents are crying, Their kids keep on dying.
Because that's what modern society bred, And nothing was said.

Heart is the door
which opens wide,
                         and
Anger is the lock
who trying to lock,
                      never
                       ever
                        got
                      to.  Y
   ­           S.               E
         U.                       K
      C.                              e
   C.             L                    h
    E          s      O              t
   ­   E      a.         V.        s
           D,               E   i

when I die
do not burn me
or bury me inside the ground
instead cover me in ink
and surround me with papers

- a poet never dies

once there was
laughter here
now just silent
lunar landscape

boarded up arcades
rusted carousel

strings of broken lights
twisting in the wind

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)

I traced the texture of your words
Like my heart was blind
And your voice was braille

i spend my days
pouring myself into the cups of others

only to find that
when it’s time for myself
to take a sip

all that’s left
in my cup
is the remainder of a girl
who gave too much

I makes $7.50 an hour. I sweep up behind others.
I's gittin to be an ol man. My two uncles got lynched outside of Greenville.
I quit school when I were 13,
but I served my country in Vietnam to **** our enemies.
Lost most of my left arm. Makes it harder to push a broom.
I takes the bus to home and work.
Thanks to Mrs. Parks I don't have to sit in the back no more.
I go fishin to get away from it all.
Catfish--that's what I like to catch.
Fry 'em up real good.
When I was a kid, had to get off the sidewalk
to let them white ladies go bye.
To be honest, things hasnt changed much in Mississippi.
Don't go out in the night--you might get shot for no good reason.
I's still remember the KKK in them white robes.
All them burning crosses.
Now them folks where coats and ties.
Well, I gots to *** back to work or theyll kick me out.
You have a good night, ya hear.
Thanks for bein so nice to me.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

My entire life,
I have been waiting.
For years,
Almost two decades now
I have been waiting.
Waiting,
For the better parts.
Waiting,
For the “soon”.
Waiting,
For my life to begin.
Because,
I don’t feel like I have lived.
In the nearly twenty years
I have been alive
And breathing
I do not feel
In any of those years
That I have been alive.
I don’t feel like a single breath
That I have taken
Has been real.
I feel as if
All these years
I’ve been stuck
Behind a window
Watching as my life unfolds
Before me.
I feel that
I have had
Zero control.
That I am in the backseat
Letting someone else drive.
That someone else,
Is writing on the pages
Of MY life.
But no more.
I will break that window,
I will take that wheel,
And I will write
My own pages.
My life has begun,
And now -
I’m in control.

I thought I'd be devastated and heartbroken,
But I'm at peace.

Concern are of great value
and peace will turn
the earth green

She was a thrifted sweater and denim and jersey knit sheets
Pizza breath and red wine and toothpaste
Alabaster skin and knotted hair and freckled shoulders
A tangible dream and my favorite good morning
She agreed to let me kiss her and I agreed to let her slip my shirt over my head before she became
Blood and tears
"I trusted you" and "I’m sorry"
Midnight poems and a drunk "I need you"
I’m afraid I loved you like the way I wrote

Sweeping the steps
Dealing with death
Making it a normal day
Thinking it won't be
Thinking of the hurt
Sweeping the steps
Deep in memories
Make it go away
Let me have her back
Make it a normal day

I'm sinking farther into the sea
Air cut off, unable to breathe

But it's not all too bad
The water's warm
and the fish look nice

It's a shame I can only see this
By myself
at the end.

She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."

It’s fun to confuse people
Who are on the outside
They wish to understand
But ACCESS DENIED

When I was seven years
I tried for the first time to pray
On my knees, hands folded
Thanked him for all the richness
But no response to my covey
Maybe he is busy right now
I will come back another day

When I was eleven years
I tried once more to pray
Sat down with my rosary
But God wasn’t there at all  
He still had nothing to say
I figured, he doesn’t exist
There is no one to repay  

Then I was sixteen years
And instead of trying to pray
I tried to find all the richness
Again I couldn’t find God
Yet I found out that day
I have to thank this universe
As much as I can anyway

There are approximately 470,000 words in the English language

4 syllables in “Hey, How are you?”

9 letters in “Beautiful”

3 words in “I love you”

And still

I can’t find a single thing to say

When your smile accidentally makes my day.

I stared today at rough-hewn hands while lost in troubled thought.
Memories of wrongs they’ve touched and happiness they’ve fought.
Foolish choices, and choices not, were villains all the same.
My hands, it seemed, the sculptors of a gallery of pain.

Pondering these tragedies, my mind adrift and cluttered.
When suddenly a butterfly from the darkness fluttered.
And through my aching self-despair her hopeful glow transgressed.
Upon my wretched fingertip she gently came to rest.

She looked at me and turned her head, I followed with my own.
Her eyes began to smile at me with love I’d never known.
The warmth of her affection spread and overwhelmed my fear.
I saw her lips begin to move and brought her to my ear.

“These hands of yours you gaze upon are gentle, as you see.
I trust in you with all I am that they will not hurt me.
Actions taken, others’ tears are not one and the same.
The strength of caring does not have to carry with it blame.”

I whispered back “How do you know this gentleness is true?
I’ve never heard such lovely things from anyone but you.”
“Then I will stay, right here,” she said, “if you will hold me tight.
Keep me safe with loving hands and I will be your light.”

I owe to her my everything for now I understand,
How magnificence personified could love these troubled hands.
I’ve held her close, my life and back, and though I’d lost my way.
I’ve found my light, she is my love, my hope, my every day.

I watch the city burn
Through the vignette windows
Of tear-gassed souls.

And hell's fire ablaze
Between cracks of tears
Of childhood fears

Guilty!
Instantly, seem to be the word.
So before you say he is guilty.
Realize, some of the women aren't sitting pretty.

Before you say, she is the blame.
Realize, he does have a side to tell.

And somewhere the truth will emerge.
So, why we want to sit and judge?

You.
Are.
A.
Walking.
Masterpiece.

the N word exists
theres a bad word for gays
even a C word for women
with little to no faith
What I'm trying to say is
threaten the base
win a name for your face

You will always be to me,
Surrounded by a dark, black, flowing sea –
Its waves and textures enticing me.

For I, a sailor so obsessed,
My fascination with your ocean in unrest,
Has me completely possessed.
In a beauty so limitless,
From its roots to its depths.

I drown in it fearless –

Check message
Facebook
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Check message
Send message
Wait
Check
Look;

When did relationships
Get defined
By a read receipt?
Will we
Now
Only measure intimacy
By a tweet?

What do we have left,
Why can’t we
Go back
To laughter
In a diner seat

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

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 like *******.
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.

when I told my therapist that I felt lonely,
she said in response that
she didn’t want to belittle my experience
and I only half-heartedly believed her
when she told me that we all feel lonely,

but darlin’ I know you’re so lonely.

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.

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.