If I told you I loved you today it would mean nothing tomorrow.
Blowing the dust off of old poems, some that were never finished because who wants to listen to love soaked poetry?
Wringing out my thoughts onto paper for someone to read them. Making sure they mean something so someone can feel them.
The world is made up of poetry. Some get the chance to hear it and some have the chance to write it.
Only the lucky ones can feel it. So drift away in my words and hold them tight.
Sit alone and read them at night. Fall into my words and land in my thoughts.
One thing is for sure, we all die. But our words and poetry have a chance to live on.
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 5:18 PM UTC
A poem is like
A piece of wood.
It can be ripped,
Chopped,
Shaped,
Sanded for smoothness.
Sometimes you nail it;
And it can stick like glue.
You can drill a hole
Right through it,
It might bore one
Through you.
It can get under your skin.
But when it's cut
Against the grain,
It should be read again.
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 5:16 PM UTC
Time and risk caught up to you;
Gagged you into silence.
Chasing down the dragon was
Your favorite form of violence.
I saw its markings on your skin;
The gauntness of your eyes
Your searching fingers scratching down
To truth, as you breathed lies
China white won this round, love
You thought you'd always dance
The dragon chose another one
And turned its gaze askance.
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 5:12 PM UTC
Mere concept of childhood fascinated her,
Games that her friends played attracted her,
Memories of others hinging on comical anecdotes captivated her.
Endless discussions of the 'good times' made her meet solitude,
Scarcity of happiness made her meet darkness,
Perennial realisations of sorrow made her meet regret.
She detested the way life abused her childhood,
She hated the way life snatched the chance of having memories,
She envied the way life didn't let her know 'fun'.
She regretted her existence,
For she never had a chance of being happy,
Of being free like a bird,
Of being independent and satisfied.
She was a girl,
Who grew up in the most atrocious of times,
Who faced the loneliest of nights,
She's the girl, who grew up, before it was time.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 2:29 AM UTC
You tell me you're empty
And I know you want my sympathies
My acknowledgement of the problem
But all I can give you is the gawking gaze
Of a child on his first trip to the zoo
Leaving smudges on the snake tank as he tries to fathom
How something could be so alien and smooth and powerful.
You tell me you're empty
And all I can think is
That I have not a moment of my life to compare that to-
A day without suffering, without pain or danger,
Without that or joy so intense it tips right back over into treachery
I have no memory of any such day
To draw from for empathy.
I stand and stare at you
Empty you
And I know your sadness should be respected
And I know I shouldn't wonder so perversely
What it must feel like
Not to feel
But I can't help it
I feel like I'm standing on the other side of glass
Staring into the beady eyes of a boa constrictor
Wondering irresistibly
What its embrace must feel like for the mice it devours.
I know you are suffocating
But I
Am drowning
And I wonder
What empty feels like.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 2:01 AM UTC
I am afraid,
in a way I haven't been before.
I am afraid
of the way people fall out of the sky,
I am afraid
of the way people disappear into the sea
without saying goodbye;
Suddenly the loss
feels like a snake
slithering from across the room;
venom in his blood
and names on his tongue.
I am afraid
of the way people find themselves
at the bottom of the barrel.
And I
am scraping
at the end of it.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 1:59 AM UTC
~
Love! vs Love?
I love you! I love you?
It's true, I do! It's true, I do
Wonder why? Wonder why;
You love me too! You love me too?
~
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 1:45 AM UTC
If you are uncomfortable when you look in the mirror,
keep in mind:
We spent thousands of years
trying to convince the earth
she was flat.
We wrote her maps as evidence of the things we saw;
and she believed them.
She cried tsunamis, and had earthquake breakdowns.
Keep in mind: the Sun never gave up hope.
The earth will keep spinning and breathing
the star-dusty space void of encouragement.
Next time you look in the mirror
and second-guess your potential divinity,
remember you will keep shining and living.
Because the Sun is out there
believing in you,
compensating for lack of the human capacity
to treat each other empathically.
You don’t need proof or approval
to be exactly what you are;
Eventually everyone will see
your infinite beauty.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 1:43 AM UTC