if you think that I can't write poems like this , I fully understand ,
to find the right words a tedious challenge but on the other hand.
The reason that I do this  , with the clutter in my mind ,
at times I'm only venting , not meant to be unkind.
I do it to feel like I belong  , dont mistake me for weak ,
I am not a carnival worker , or a 40's circus freak.
Be careful how you judge me , for I am just like you ,
A starving poet whom loves to write I have to see it through.
This one is finally over so I'll leave you with this  ,
clap your hands ,  with no demands and blow my *** a kiss !!

a memory that once couldn’t be contained within a room
suddenly fits itself into the palm
of your hand.
this is what happens when you turn around in the middle of walking way

—this is what distance does—

trees that once shadowed over you
now seem like fallen clouds obscuring the city that turned you away.

Inside you

is where I want to

be,

thrusting

within the folds

of your mind

penetrating

the sweet softness

of your soul,

throbbing

as I release my love

deep within you.
                                     Jon York   2019.

Dear me,
Don't just sit
Rise, and pursue greatness.

Don't just watch
Go after what you want.

Don't just exist
Strive and start living.

Don't just dream
Work hard and aim for success.

Don't get tired
Keep hiking until you get to the peak.

To be alive
To witness the beauty
To love unconditionally again
Is the best gift
I have ever received

like the moon
I go through

phases

some of my
lights go out

and I become
dull and distant

give me time
they will come

back on

like the moon
I do not ask

for praise or
forgiveness

it is just a
phase

I am going through

sometimes i wonder what it's like
to be a star
to look down on the world
while it's asleep
to watch the lost souls
wander outside at night
and look up at the sky
and smile
i wish i could be a star

I am the deep, the sky in reverse
I have what you seek, for better or worse

I am the blue of infinite depth
I've swallowed the crews and cleared the decks

You are afraid or maybe intrigued
Of the place where you played and also was freed

Kiss me now like you did before
Give me your vow and the ocean is yours.

They’d waited too long to say

“I love you”.

3 words. 3 syllables.

Yet they held millions of emotions unspoken.

and now that they’d done it, they wouldn’t,
couldn’t, stop

they told each other all the time. In the end of the argument and before the good news.

In the middle of the storm, even though it was hard to see, and after, when the raging winds had settled on a breeze

before the rising sun turned the sky pretty colors and after it flickered out and faded away into the dark

Underneath the stars that their love had been etched into

There was no love until death for them. Because it would never stop. Their love was beyond. It rose above any border that would dare to try and stop it. There was no finish line

because they were each other’s end game.  
-L.R

So stressed out
Must go for a walk
A hill might sort it out

The path is getting steep
The clouds are so much closer
I see not where I go

The test is hard
My mind now aimed
I have reached my summit

Is this not a mountain
Its now plain to see
My verb was missing

In this sleep
I will remember this place
In there I see what I should be

Why is poetry dying
when we still have the gift?
If we still have water
then we still have a ship.
We can sail to the places
these words take us.
We are still shaken
by the words that make us.
Why should we let poetry die
when there is so much to explore?
If only people read it
and discovered more.

I'd like to cut my heart open
to take you out
or maybe
to see you one more time

To this day,
your name
still hurts my tongue
but I still say it anyway.
Sometimes I like to
hear my soul
gently tear itself
apart.

Testing

It works. I tried posting earlier, 2x, and received the message 502 Bad Gateway and for two days the poem
I posted had zero views. I was puzzled.
In fact I was saddened. In my view something not right with this site.

I hate mirrors
I would blind them if I could
So they wouldn't tell
What they saw under my hood

rendezvous 502
made it through
is this happening to you?

In the cold, dark
        of January,
         I remembered
              you
        the most.
  As the chill
      snapped bones
              like branches,
     as the afternoons
   bathed themselves
in gray,
     as the birds
and the backs
      shook,
so did my lips
   around your name.
I'm so happy
     January is almost
over now.

did you laugh in your sleep last night,
how do you suffocate the fear,
can a dream feel your smile,
do your eyes wake up with tears.

Sleepless rivers of euphoria flow downhill;
The malaise of this vacant land: washed away,
By the ardent sun that smiles upon us.

Pilfering the airy fabric of the viridian prairies,
We defy yesterday's gales of endless despair;
I breathe new life into my soulless affair.

Dousing the inherent flames of resentment;
I glance at the moon, as midnight veils the sky and ask,
Life's one day: won't we forgive and forgo sadness?

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

id let my life filter through your fingertips, leaving remnants of me on your palms.
ill kiss you the most beautiful of ways, letting our lips slowly touch and our tongues entangle gently.
ill hold your hands as if i was bonding my sweat with yours.
ill break you in the most angelic ways, making everything that was once stunning remind you of me.
and youll come crawling back to the storm that is my heart.

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.

Eating my beyond burger with a fork and knife,
drag race in the background,
my Samantha doll by my side.
This isn't loneliness anymore.
This is just life now.

I'm not very good with words anymore,
maybe I never was.
So little has changed and yet everything has.
I still long for love.
I still want to be wanted.
That might never change.

Yet now this lonely world is one I've come to accept,
come to love.
I may be my only friend here,
but that's one more than last year.

Nothing I create is good,
but I'm learning to create anyway.
I'm learning to share my bad art,
at least it's art.
Right?

I dream of slitting the throat of the dog next door.
Someone outta shut him up.
I used to think that was an evil thought,
now I know there's no such thing.

I turn 21 in 2 days.
Math. Yuck.
I'm old,
getting older every second.
Whatever.
I will grow into this skin,
I'm sure of it.
Maybe.

I'm grateful.
More than anything I am grateful for it all.
The pain,
the pleasure,
the guilt,
the anger.

Pills,
family,
friends,
dolls.

No one reads these except me.
So this one is for her.
For you.
Anne,
my love,
my villain,
my biggest fear.

May this year be kind to you,
may you be kind to it.
May you listen to your spirit guides,
may you accept what you never could.

Growth is sticky and wet,
Knowledge is thick and grey.
May you be the light and the darkness,
the cut and the band aid.

More than anything,
be okay.
You're gross,
in a sort of beautiful way.
May you be okay with that.
Truly.




Bad art is still art.
Right?
I think so.
For now.