You see the slump in my shoulders
the way I carry myself
the burdens of boulders
that threaten my health.

When you ask what's wrong
I pull up my guard
don't want your pity or sad song
won't tell you why life's hard.

So if you want to know
I'll bottle it inside
wrap up all remains in a black bow
and tell you I'm fine.

we used to be
Toot and Puddle
staying up at night,
little babies,
we were little babies
and we watched
Barbie movies
and made apple,
bread, and cheese salad
I saw you every weekend
and cried when you left
I cried every sunday
and I looked up to you
and wanted to impress you

you burned incense
in your room
dyed your hair
every color
saving up
for more tattoos
crescent moon
on your hand
blackest curtains
in the darkest room
I still don't know why

you liked to tell me
my life was beautiful
and that if you had my life,
you would have turned out better.
what do I say to that?
I am just like you.

you ran away
from that bedroom
to live with us
you ended up
in a hospital gown
you didn’t want
me to know
or to think
you were crazy

but I looked up to you

Today I mothered grief
I sat with her in wait and welcome
did not deny the presence of her
rigid, raw— my arms held her
uncomfortableness
judgment-less, acknowledge-full
nurturing with my ears
a story —it felt familiar, was it
yesterday or decades ago?
of winter, its chilling stupor
and legs of marble trudging circles
veins, frost-bitten, nearly purple
no footprints next to or to follow
a cold so cutting it severs breathe
this vacant visage recollects —why?
but—trust— she urges
me walk towards and stand
bravely beneath sky’s ebb and flow
so I open hands
to fall of snow (what beauty?)
with it, too, the feelings
no matter big or small, fall
and in this storm —a calm
and in this calm —a knowing
as I look her in eye
with neither panic or parry
ice starts to thaw,
loss begins the heal—

If you find my poems,
Then good for you.

I sure hope you like them.

If you don’t find my poems,
Then good for you too.

Someone asked me to draw
Draw what heartbreak looks like
I finally got tired of drawing a broken heart
And I started drawing you

mental illness is the
most expensive thing
i've ever owned but
never wanted

When black and white turn to gray,
Left and right and lose their way
In the drab they lose direction,
Stalled at the intersection,
There we ponder which is best.
North?
South?
East, or West?
How many tolls must we pay?
Which is best?
It’s wrong to say,
Don’t ask
Don’t tell
That’s the code,
Common law,
No king of this road
Just a queen with no where to be,
Hail her royal majesty
©B L Costello 2019

a blanket of white
descends slowly and steadily,
pausing
only to weave silky threads
through the evergreens.
it resides gently
upon its terminal resting place,
muting the muddy earth
with a barely audible "shh.."
and the finality
of an icy embrace.

advertising
likes to punch you in the face
so you hear it
loud and clear

when you left
after you punched me in the face
made me fear it
clear and present

social media
tends to punch you in the face
when you let it
presently clear

i don't regret a thing
i stand by what i said, i miss you
no matter what you bring try not to punch me in the head

it's not allowed, out loud

Four years ago,
I remember our hour-long talks
Four years now,
My Hey/s yearn for your text-backs.

We all know the pain of love,
or the end of it.

But the pain of a broken friendship,
now that is unmatched.

- Leah

A severe conflict rages within me
Torn between,
Something rip, rip, condemning
And idleness
The kind of idleness where you’re alone within a storm
Perfectly aware that soon enough you’ll have to follow the currents
And flying debris
But for now,
Just for an instant,
You are still and around you is silence
Not
A calm before a storm
But a calm within a storm
The eye of the storm?
A singly moment when you’re able to stand still for just a
Just a single moment
And take a deep breath before you’re flown away

Do you think a girl could love a boy who writes for her a million poems?  That's what I plan to do.

as she trudged up the mountain
        ^
      / \
    /     \
  /         \
/             \
victory pulsing through her veins

badum badum badum badum

her eyes set intently on the peak

a deathly stare

she knew she could do anything

anything at all

she was anything but meek

this world is not for the meek

rules don't exist.

The glass clinks
A stack of highballs lean like the drunk next to me
Red faced, nose as hard as the oak bar he’s been drinking at his whole life
He sinks into a bourbon, gurgling
"God must be a woman, because life is a *****"
Well, **** Tennyson. I'd rather never loved at all.

And for my fears that aren't for arts sake, are truly mine, and I'm once alone again in my mind.

I think you told me
you are like
the solar system
cold on the outside,
a blazing interior.
You don’t say there is
no love for the restless
and unsettled.
You can give up
and within the cold
cup of tea, that’s left,
carry every twirl
from that
defeat with
never a sigh of
debt.
And I may break
a glass but instead
of being mad,
you bend
to drink from a
shallow creek,
more exotic than ever.
It is the surprise each
day
that makes me say
I want love
more than
wanting tomorrow.

Winter

The sun
Now shortened
It goes crying in
Deprived
Of kissing
Your perfect
Soft skin

A poet is no more than a person
A mother
A daughter
A lover  
Someone needing release
Or someone needing to recover


It’s the art they create when that ball of ink or stick of led dances on the canvas they so perfectly prepared.
And when the end result and their purpose become perfectly paired.

When you realize
all love is
is a shelter
from a storm,
you will understand
why I like the rain
so much.

Winter sunrise on my last and longest day

Wrap me in a winding sheet of flaming orange

Take the reds and pinks from midnight blue to make my shroud

Let me rest in heaven fire

Drown my tired soul in colour

Drinking the final carnival

Warmth for my bones

A funeral of skies and wonders

‌
   I could own it
   But I will not
   No,
   certainly
   not yet
  
   To act like a statue
    from time
    to time.
   Only need to
   want it
   Play it bold
   Tread like a statue
   before the audience
   Play it bold
    Then leave.
     It's easy
     so easy,
     Take life easy
  
     Eye-sea
     Eye am

         ◯

Set me on fire;
Put a match to my clothes
Watch me rise in a pillar of flame,
Listen to my livid screams of pain.
Feel my existence slowly fade
As my body finishes fueling the glow,
As my screams mellow into the silent cracks.

In time, the fire will turn to embering ash.
I will have been consumed by a long gone inferno.
And when I have been burned to the ground,
I know that the only place I can go is up.

you might not
have been my first love
but you were the one
who hurt the most.

The moon is rising red tonight
The sun is setting golden
All I need do is turn my head
To see the moon rise, to see the sun fall

The sun so brilliantly bright
The moon is so dark compared to the sun
Tonight, though it shines blood red
It still cannot compete with the sun's light

Of course the moon cannot compete
It’s light’s a mere reflection of the sun
And soon, I know, this light shall leave
The earth, us, will block the moon’s light

And our light is also but a reflection

I'm jealous of the rain
It gets close to you
Closer than I ever will
It touches your skin
It combs your hair
It comes when you're sad
It stays when you're happy
I love you but you don't love me
So I say
I'm jealous of the rain

I learned from you through longing,

A presence so deeply felt.

Wordless interactions between your heart and mine,

Love blooms,

And i see clearly one of the sweetest of lessons.

Love is unspoken, an un-severable bond.

And its not you who agreed,

Your heart spoke for itself.

There is a man in Newfoundland.
His hair is grey, he sails away.
With net and rod he catches cod.
His skin is tan; his calloused hands
no longer steady. Age has made his burdens heavy.

He makes it home, he lives alone.
His wife is buried, in Fogo Island cemetery.
The day is done but there's a guest,
he's small and young. It's his grandson.
He sees a smile upon his face
and it makes
it worth the aches.

She takes the stand
With the voice of millions on her back
And speaks the fact that we all know,
far too well to be true -                  
                                           Me too.

She is heard but not believed,
She is heard with faith deceived .

When will it be enough -
Is one in six not enough ?
Is one sister, one friend
still - not enough?

one colleague, one mother, one wife, one lover -
one teacher, one doctor, one preacher, one author -
one husband, one son, one brother.
Which one will it take, to stop
the non-consensual clock
and make us realise that -

Time. Is. Up.

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 too *******.
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.