living in the walls
creatures gelatinous
thronging the corridors
rising at night
I cannot see the end
only darkness and depth
under the floorboards a grave
direct passage to hell

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)

If there comes a time
that you might lose me
Find me in my poetry

in the sacred seed
encased by golden green
also
before it turns to ****
the entire plant is feed
oh say can you see

A gloomy sky
falls to the offended earth.
Boredom sews a bitter fabric.
We are but shadows
under a bad moon.
I would like to learn a new prayer,
a breath,
that gives me life again.
Finally.

Thank you for the experience of you.

Feeding world hunger
Post Covid stress disorder
LGBTQ 🏳️‍🌈

She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."

I don't know why
but lately I think is
it ok to be happy

Cause what I mean when I
say that

Is things tend to happen and
the darkness come clapping
at my door

But one things is sure
life has it's ups and downs

And the reasons why I write this
know is cause I can't let others
be put down
by others who think they wear a crown

This is why I say this, cause I don't want any
one to end up like me
A bird stuck in a cage never to be seen or free

Caged birds do not sing

Until they are given a voice

Do not fly

Until they learn to find their wings

But with patient nurturing,
they will grow from meek and timid things

From quivering chicks hiding in the shadows
Into a fledgling

Preparing to take flight into a sky of endless possibilities

Some of us feel worthless,
hard to breathe living on the surface.
No matter what hurts us,
never forget what is your purpose.

And you're always worth it.

i still
do not know
the poem i've been trying to write
and maybe
that's because
i haven't been
writing one at all
or maybe it's because
the poem i've been trying to write
is not ready for paper
and maybe
i'm the paper
that's not ready for it

i am so sad
because this world exists
but
i am so happy
because I live with you
in this world
here.

I spend too many nights thinking
Wondering, writing, dreaming
Of someone who doesn't even think of me

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

Your heart is really pretty
when you let it shine that way

and if i die tomorrow don’t worry
i’m already used to hell

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

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

You.
Are.
A.
Walking.
Masterpiece.

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

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.

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 read, it seemed, a thousand books. The looks I took through windows tall and wide did not hide from me my sorrow and sadness felt as I gazed upon the leafless trees outside. The Mayor of Casterbridge did not move me once; Othello did not touch me. The tears, the fears, did not abate as I sat in wooden chairs;  I simply starred at winter. I did not know how blind I was, seeing with only one half of one eye. I'd go into the stacks to cry;  a certain kind of comfort were all the lonely books that kept me company. No sudden symphony of enlightenment did I hear as I leaned against the shelves, themselves my only friends. The end seemed more near than spring seemed soon to blossom. I often was content to read the poems of William Blake and Tennyson and Coleridge and Keats in dark corners where no one stood but I. But as darkness grew to end the sun and color skies pure black, I knew it time to say goodbye to rhythms and to rhymes and begin my stroll along endless paths to sleep away my hidden horrors, and as well, my sorrows sodden.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

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.

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.