You taught me that a bird
must leave the nest and fly.

That in time,
I would leave
and soar towards the sky.

It was your love and guidance
that reinforced my wings.

You lifted me before,
I soared
towards life's most precious things.

"Do not worry I will be gentle," said the wolf.

"You mean to tell me, a beast as monstrous as you, is capable of mercy," said the traveler.

"No, not mercy," said the wolf. “Gentleness, there is a difference. I will devour you tenderly.”

For a small poem


Night rain falls softly
On a cobblestones
Seen by a streetlamp
From roofs rain rolls
Down like tears and
Not a word is spoken.
                      
A little nothing
                      
A cat sits on
                      The steps
Not catching rats
Admires
The moon

i am a poem
with an inception and a finale
perfect
you’re the best stanza
making it whole and sublime
and now i snap shut
i float away, complete
happy

what do you want?

He likes me,
He likes me not...
He likes me

Tears fall
Words spill
Truth comes forth
And the pain
Kills

it’s a beautiful thing
this day and age
with bubbling permafrost
with drug-resistance
with obesity treatments
with technological advancements
with scientific discoveries
with silent wars
with blue lava
with bleeding glaciers
with divorce
with sensitivity
with my generation
of people believing
this new generation
is completely and
utterly clueless as a
common occurrence

but let’s think about
what these kids are
into nowadays.

let’s think about who
invented these inane
things for the kids.

my generation of people.

so the kids of today are
the ones who are ******
for liking the things
that we’ve created?

I’m sorry but we have to
be the ones who are obtuse
for believing such things,
oblivious for not
realizing them and
showing the world
we have
little or no imagination
anymore.

the generation before us
has lied to us and
thought us to lie
to the generation
after.

whether it’s the gods
or holidays
or what not.

the youth of the today
are autonomous.
they can not take
responsibility for
their actions nor do
they understand and
just go along
with the trends,
much like,
all the generations
before them
but we need a scapegoat
to cover up our own
farce implementations.

the truth of the matter is..
we’re all a little vacuous
in our own way
especially the ones with
an answer for everything.
living in an imperfect world
where there’s always room
for improvement
nothing for us
or against us
wrapped up in our
congratulatory
self-contradictory
and illogical theories
and as useless as
exploding appendix.

the lost generation
the interbellum generation
the silent generation
the baby boomers
generation x
the millennials

a strong admixture
of imbecility and
self-assurance
filled with belief
and unawareness
to a senseless world

like hate
like blame
like gossip
like jealousy
like being offended
like being impressive
like the punk rock dream
like hospital waiting rooms
like fundraisers and charity events
like your co-worker to the right and
the left of you
and their families
and their families before
them

our greatest creation
our strongest aide

to deconstruct

Two birds
whispering on the eaves
as if telling love
from that part in the south
i cannot help
but to eavesdrop
i am envious
this
most simple love
voiced with a just a mouth
transported by the cheapest flight
just one week in the gleam of spring
a house is made
and also their crisp
leurs mots d'amour
said with serenity
so beautifully
even if i could steal these
i wouldn't be able to
decipher them.

When I was little
I was scared
Scared of the monsters living under my bed
I used to hide, under my blanket
Under my blanket, I was safe
The monsters couldn’t reach me under my blanket

My parents used to say
The monsters would go away
I would grow up and that then they would leave

But I grew up
And the monsters didn’t leave
Turns out my monsters, grew with me
Now instead of under my bed
The monsters live inside my head

So I hide, under my blanket
Where I think I am safe
Wondering if after all this time
My blanket can still keep the monsters at bay

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.

It hurts on the inside
Hiccuping crying
Screaming inside and wanting to outside
Saying things we didn't mean
But you never said sorry
Only me
It hurts like a stab wound left to rot
The scar will stay of what you said
Tears have gone dry
So have my emotions
Left drained and withered
I have nothing to say
Just a hurt on the inside.
An endless pain
That you are not sorry for
Cause you meant everything

Lick my lips
Cradle my face
Gaze into my eyes
And tell me I'm safe

Listen to the drums
I want to die,
Every year in time.

Every year, I will be a little less
Here.
You are
A star is born,
You are just

Nothing at all

i dread the day you learn
for the first time that
you can't just love all
the darkness in me away

and no matter how much
you care i will still toss
and turn at night and scars
might still appear on my skin

i dread the day you realize
that you can't cure me
and sometimes all you can do
is stand next to me and
hold my hand through fog
pouring out of my ears so black
and thick we can't even see
each other's faces

i dread the days i can't
get out of bed
the days you want to
take me out and all
i can manage is a prettified
shell of myself

i dread the day you learn
that sometimes no matter
how hard i try i still can't
pull myself together

the day you learn that
there isn't an answer
you can give that will
save me from my fears

you aren't the first person
who has tried to love the
darkness inside away
my family and friends
have given it their all
but someday you too will learn
that if love could
cure mental illness
the world would be
a much better place

White clouds part, the canvas turn dark, inside these thoughts still gleam, seeking out the stars.

Paint me a picture
Of your skin
Does it bronze beneath the sun?
Or sizzle and blush
Like your cheeks
When you’re in love?
Is it soft to the touch
Like when your palms graze
The smooth surface of water?
Or rough around the edges
Like your favorite book
And its lovingly worn corners?
Does it melt in the heat
Like sweet syrupy treats
Dripping through your fingers?
Or does it welcome the winter
With wide open arms
As if greeting a lover?
Paint me a picture
Of your skin

I know I won't get to all
but ******, I'm gonna try
thumb up to every comment
up until the day I die

I can't react to every line and word
but ****** I can try
thumbs up to ever poet/poetess
maybe no one has, to cry

I'm just a singularity
but ****** all too ****
we, as a community
stand up, and hear the yell

I'm not you, and you're not me
but when you see thumbs down
chime in with words and thumbs
chase the trolls, outta HP town

It's so bad in this place
I have to leave
I want to get to the good place
Heaven on earth
Is where I'm looking for
The key of that place, is goodness
I'm not a good man
But I'm not a bad man either
I try to better my life
And I will go
To the heaven on earth

we do not write poetry
we write mirrors
which are held up
to curious faces
who read
looking for their
own reflections

Then God looked over all He had made,
and He saw that it was very good!

Then I looked at all the poetry I created
and I saw they are all beautiful!

you said I'll be your first and last

and you end up being my forever first,

and I'm never your last.