It might be said:

That is why they do not like me;
I do not speak much,
And when I do, my voice protrudes
Beyond their desire.
I do not speak of myself,
But if I were to do so, they
Would assume I relish the epiphany of egotism.

Through contemplation,
the mind leaps to its haven
above reason's gaol

The love I have for you seems almost unconditional. The only condition is my very existence. To not love you, is to not exist.

I sit alone up here,
alone with all my fear.
I have no place to go
heavy winds decide to blow.
I can't face them,
the shadows of my mind
I won't face them,
I would rather hide.

I sit alone in a white room,
alone with misery.
we'd no longer be alone
if you give us your company.
this room is bland
like my thoughts
decorations nonexistent,
like my smile.

I guess I'll be here,
For a while.

Hypocrisy is its own critique.

I learned
to plant the seeds
of happiness.
There are flowers
blooming
where the scars
used to be.

R.M.

in the shade of the Autumn trees

we twisted fallen leaves
between our fingers

pulled their veins apart
as if they could bleed

shredded brittle bits
of orange leaf until
there was nothing

nothing

but dust

like the face
its expression changes

mostly
on a dime

reacting
to the moment

a decision at the
snap

is it fight
or is it flight

Whit Howland © 2020

Eclipse in the sky
Abolished wonders
Yet the stars fly
Out of the universe
And into your mind

If I could
I'd take your smile
put it away until times weren't kind
I'd add it to the wink you left behind
That would carry me through most anything.

If I could
I'd preserve your kiss
Keep it safe until times of loneliness
Reminds me distance keeps you from me
I'd open the lid and let the touch
Carry me to you

An ethereal and spiritual atmosphere
A presence that cannot be seen
but felt by a heart full of yearning
Music devoid of rhythm and consonance
That seeps into the deepest crevices
of a mind that longs for the infinite
Such an enchanting melody that permeates
the room. A dreamworld opened up
by nothing but the artful arrangement
of sound.

The sand shifts beneath your feet,
Your heart relaxes to a quiet beat,
The waters seem to breathe day and night,
Close your eyes take it in do not fight,
The wind satisfies your soul,
Just relax now you've played your role,
Touch the sand now scoop it up,
Hold it in your hands and form a cup,
Now let it seep through towards the sandy ground,
Your soul was lost but now its found,
The weather you desire will come your way,
Just stand closer to the bay,
Soon life will be eternal for you and me,
Look beyond the ocean and tell me what you see.
                          -open heart poetry

I have always longed for days when I will dance in the rain
Days when I feel cold but less pain
I have longed to feel the drops of falling waters on my skin
The smells of dropping water at dry sand
I love to watch the sun as it sets and and feel the moon as it glows
The ocean waves as it flows
The morning birds in thier glory

The beauty of
a broken heart
That doesnt need
to be healed

I know
You care about me
10 more people do
Yet I can't get rid
Of this feeling
Of doom

I know
I have you
10 more people too
Yet I can't find a person
To talk to
late at night

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

Not everything needs a poem
Sometimes
it’s already

good enough.

I wish there was an eighth day every week,
crammed in between any of the real two,
that I could slip in and out of
If I wanted to.

I wish there was an eighth day every week,
when the world halted completely,
So that I wasn’t compelled to be anybody
except for Me.

Break my bones;
cut my throat.
Pull me open,
learn the ropes.

Breath me in;
taste the fear.
Shank my skin;
stand and cheer.

Kick my head;
let me bleed.
Unbolt my veins;
enjoy the read.

Gouge my eyes;
punch my face.
Wrap me up
in your embrace.

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.

twenty one
between an adolescent and an adult
a pretty number, don't you think?

twenty one
two decades of breathing and screaming
one year of confusion and uncertainty

twenty one
too young to handle; too old to let go
what they want us to do though?

twenty one; it's hard
expectations and desires fought inside
one foul step, and you fall in despair

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.

scared to dig too deep into myself

- erased

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)

Red were the roses, the ones I left on your casket,
Orange were the leaves, the ones in your tree,
Yellow were the bruises, the ones that covered you head-to-toe,
Green were the stains, the ones left on the hems of your jeans,
Blue were your lips, the day you were found in your noose,
Indigo was the night sky, that night that you died,
Violet was that bruise, the one you wore around your neck

Is a poet still a poet
If they do not write?

A journal gathering dust,
But a yearning to write.
Am I still a poet
Without my inner light?