in the middle of the night, when you can't stand the light of the cross,
let the groan of your body caress the dreams of the water,
with the tears of your fruit,  flood the earth when
your bleached lips untie the prayer of the mind,
and heaven from heaven, - and hell from hell shall cry unto thee
give birth to me, humble delight, let”s build a sacred crown
in the skin of the moon, with red flowers, the baby is born in may,
a broken branch from the stalk of the eclipse, at His mercy, forever,
destiny, lucky star in the mystery of exaltation by words.

𝖆𝖓𝖉
   𝕾𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖆𝖎𝖉 "𝕴 𝖉𝖔𝖓'𝖙 𝖉𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗𝖓𝖘."

Some days I just sit and wonder what it must
be like to be the author of all things both
big and small. At times I feel bereaved
at the thought that he has abandoned me
all together that the thought I must be a
disappointment to the great creator A God
of high intelligence and moral fiber. Shoot, I
invented moral fiber to cast a shadow over
my imperfections and short comings. At the
time he calls me home to glory I shall be given
a brand new station in life as my preference
would be either a new heaven or a new earth.
Where the rubber meets the road I will leave
the particulars to the great I am as I will gladly
take the crumbs that fall off the table. I'm not
smart enough nor good looking enough to catch
a gaze from a spectator in want of a man
not interested in being hitched with a gal
and young ones to boot. As those children
rarely grow up to respect a man who takes the
place of a dead beat dad not giving financial
support not respecting the new suiter. No sir,
my desire is to make it from here to eternity
a solo act as I dont yearn to play God to *******
children that will never honor the step dad or
his maker.

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)

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

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

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

Do you remember when we

First met
First laughed
First danced together
First walked together
First studied together
First cried together

Do you remember when we

First held hands
First hugged
First ate together
First played together

Do you remember when we
First felt the magic between us
First became entranced
First fell in love
First put the other in our heart

Do you remember

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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 said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."

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

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

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

To my love, who rests unwell
I send you love, I cast my spell
To weave sweet waters from the deep
I'll smooth the worries from your sleep
Let the darkness be my arms
Have faith in me, to ward off harms
So lay your weary self in bed
And let sweet dreams fill your head
If you lie in heaven or hell,
I'll tend you gently, I'll love you well

Te lo digo aquí
Antes no te conocía
Pero ahora si
Es tu vida importante
te lo quiero discernir.
Se que no soy nadie,
O de mi no confíes al oír.
Mas me conmueve,
A ti no deseo fingir.
Te lo digo aquí.
Que tu brillo me ilumina,
No lo aspiró evadir.
Te lo digo aquí.

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..

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

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

to the the girls who starve themselves,
the ones that watch their carbs,

you want to feel adored
you´re personality is fading
they´ll eventually get bored.

while striving for more
you settle for less

you can´t seem to love yourself
step on the scale, there go a few numbers
along with your happiness

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

I guess I’ll never understand
      Why you cry yourself to sleep

Why you look in the mirror
      To see one missing piece

What must I do to help you
      Sleep sound
            When I’m not around...

You are complex, hard to read

But,

You are

perfect

to me.