ElliottRae - Hello Poetry

Catholics Believe They're characters in a book God is writing And that the ending Is predetermined And inherently pure If they follow the script What they don't realize However Is that God is a **** author Smoking cigarettes Over a blank page That their book will end Far before the plot Thins Because he can't finish Anything He started Because you wasted Everything He supposedly gave you On your knees For a piece of Saltless Bread It can not fill Your holiness It can not fill The space you've cleared For Him

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Aug 21, 2016

Aug 21, 2016 at 7:10 PM UTC

I'll Be God ******

Catholics Believe They're characters in a book God is writing And that the ending Is predetermined And inherently pure If they follow the script What they don't realize However Is that God is a **** author Smoking cigarettes Over a blank page That their book will end Far before the plot Thins Because he can't finish Anything He started Because you wasted Everything He supposedly gave you On your knees For a piece of Saltless Bread It can not fill Your holiness It can not fill The space you've cleared For Him

30

There are people who crave intimacy To be truly **** And allow another person to glance inside their soul and judge the crude decor of every hour leading up to that moment because they've a vacant space to rent God knows they worry They've arranged the room wrong Take pride in that the dishes are never ***** The bed never slept in With only one place to sit Then there are people like me Who crave emptiness Because the room is far too crowded Futons full of drunken lovers who put their Cigarettes out on the walls Never asking if it's okay to stay So I ******* hate them I think I crave the empty people Because they come inside Never close the door With a box of my old shoes under their arm Wave to me Never say thank you And wipe their feet before they leave (b.r.o.)

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Jan 20, 2015

Jan 20, 2015 at 12:50 AM UTC

Untitled

There are people who crave intimacy To be truly **** And allow another person to glance inside their soul and judge the crude decor of every hour leading up to that moment because they've a vacant space to rent God knows they worry They've arranged the room wrong Take pride in that the dishes are never ***** The bed never slept in With only one place to sit Then there are people like me Who crave emptiness Because the room is far too crowded Futons full of drunken lovers who put their Cigarettes out on the walls Never asking if it's okay to stay So I ******* hate them I think I crave the empty people Because they come inside Never close the door With a box of my old shoes under their arm Wave to me Never say thank you And wipe their feet before they leave (b.r.o.)

23

I put on my dads coat every time I leave to smoke because between a long exhale and his cologne I remember in lucidity one of the last times I saw him. It was four in the morning I was drunk on whiskey and alone yet again, not that he was surprised or angered by my antics. As always he was halfway down the driveway by the time my phone rang. "Do you have a cigarette on you?" I was silent awhile until I nodded, shyly obliged, and removed the last one from my pocket which I gladly sacrificed. He laughed and shook his head his small fire illuminating the thick fog around us and his sunken eyes exhausted from a day of work that had drained us both. My vision blurring in and out of focus fleeting street lights displayed an abundance of nose marks his favorite dog left on the window. I saw my fathers familiar hand reach out offering me a drag which I silently accepted, and I'm glad I did. As the smoke cleared I half-smiled to myself, because if I could see us now things would be different. I unknowingly accepted a share of the last gift I would give. I'm glad I killed a piece of me with him. I'm glad he still has it wherever he is.

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Dec 10, 2014

Dec 10, 2014 at 4:58 AM UTC

Untitled

I put on my dads coat every time I leave to smoke because between a long exhale and his cologne I remember in lucidity one of the last times I saw him. It was four in the morning I was drunk on whiskey and alone yet again, not that he was surprised or angered by my antics. As always he was halfway down the driveway by the time my phone rang. "Do you have a cigarette on you?" I was silent awhile until I nodded, shyly obliged, and removed the last one from my pocket which I gladly sacrificed. He laughed and shook his head his small fire illuminating the thick fog around us and his sunken eyes exhausted from a day of work that had drained us both. My vision blurring in and out of focus fleeting street lights displayed an abundance of nose marks his favorite dog left on the window. I saw my fathers familiar hand reach out offering me a drag which I silently accepted, and I'm glad I did. As the smoke cleared I half-smiled to myself, because if I could see us now things would be different. I unknowingly accepted a share of the last gift I would give. I'm glad I killed a piece of me with him. I'm glad he still has it wherever he is.

53

I awoke in a cold sweat with blood in my mouth but not on my hands. It was worth it. I hope to god your tongue swells too, before I cough up a scarlet apology on my knees at your feet and your favorite pair of shoes about how you pushed me away, and everything is a gradient of the same blue I swear I have seen somewhere before What the **** do you want me to say for myself? That it was my fault for not fighting the current you sent for me? Regardless: You know darling, your eyes change when you cry. That familiar sapphire so painfully beautiful and I carry the blame. Your happiness is more important to me than mine. (b.r.o.)

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Nov 22, 2014

Nov 22, 2014 at 5:29 PM UTC

Morning

I awoke in a cold sweat with blood in my mouth but not on my hands. It was worth it. I hope to god your tongue swells too, before I cough up a scarlet apology on my knees at your feet and your favorite pair of shoes about how you pushed me away, and everything is a gradient of the same blue I swear I have seen somewhere before What the **** do you want me to say for myself? That it was my fault for not fighting the current you sent for me? Regardless: You know darling, your eyes change when you cry. That familiar sapphire so painfully beautiful and I carry the blame. Your happiness is more important to me than mine. (b.r.o.)

20

I'm a book bound from all angles I change with the moon I've sold my soul to the sun so when all is consumed I will feel nothing I will thrive in the aftershock where I know only stillness at the hands of a clock If you think you have won, then you've already lost when you're ready to pay interest on the borrowing cost when you're forced to give back what you never owned when this figment called time steals your hallowed out bones, You will know where to find me. I want nothing to do with this body. (b.r.o.)

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Nov 3, 2014

Nov 3, 2014 at 12:19 AM UTC

-

I'm a book bound from all angles I change with the moon I've sold my soul to the sun so when all is consumed I will feel nothing I will thrive in the aftershock where I know only stillness at the hands of a clock If you think you have won, then you've already lost when you're ready to pay interest on the borrowing cost when you're forced to give back what you never owned when this figment called time steals your hallowed out bones, You will know where to find me. I want nothing to do with this body. (b.r.o.)

21

I lost my dad yesterday and every day for the rest of my life. When you feel like your book is ending, I swear to you it isn’t. There is so much more. There is always another page, and another moment of sunlight to show you that it doesn’t have to be dark any more than half of the time. You have more to learn and more to teach than you could ever comprehend. You are a symphony composed of infinite possibilities. You are so ******* important. Don’t you dare cut it short. Live the hell out of it. Come to a screeching halt from full speed with no what ifs attached to your conscience. It’s already only a blip in the timeline of all that has been or will be. Make it count. (b.r.o.)

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Oct 24, 2014

Oct 24, 2014 at 3:14 AM UTC

Untitled

I lost my dad yesterday and every day for the rest of my life. When you feel like your book is ending, I swear to you it isn’t. There is so much more. There is always another page, and another moment of sunlight to show you that it doesn’t have to be dark any more than half of the time. You have more to learn and more to teach than you could ever comprehend. You are a symphony composed of infinite possibilities. You are so ******* important. Don’t you dare cut it short. Live the hell out of it. Come to a screeching halt from full speed with no what ifs attached to your conscience. It’s already only a blip in the timeline of all that has been or will be. Make it count. (b.r.o.)

2

All the hope that I have left is still tied up in you (b.r.o.)

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Oct 8, 2014

Oct 8, 2014 at 9:38 PM UTC

Untitled

All the hope that I have left is still tied up in you (b.r.o.)

3

Never get too comfortable In what you're in. Everything can change before you're ready. So I guess, For what it's worth, I sleep on the floor. (b.r.o.)

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Sep 13, 2014

Sep 13, 2014 at 2:21 AM UTC

Stay Seated

Never get too comfortable In what you're in. Everything can change before you're ready. So I guess, For what it's worth, I sleep on the floor. (b.r.o.)

7

I'm lucky that you ruined me- because everything important, essentially means nothing. (b.r.o.)

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Aug 2, 2014

Aug 2, 2014 at 6:24 AM UTC

If Anything

I'm lucky that you ruined me- because everything important, essentially means nothing. (b.r.o.)

4

I'm not ashamed of the way that my tongue bleeds When I am escaping from anything Especially the words I can not say For fear of breaking and entering And I can't apologize unless I am sorry That I've told you the truth about all my fears And the way I'm running from everything That's ever meant something or anything to me And I'm not sorry for being so right brained When I over analyze your dreams But I'm not sorry for being so left behind When everything's so far out of reach Yet I'm sorry for not being able To grasp it When the time is right And I'm only a poet when under This broken exterior of a person When I am vulnerable and weak Or my foundation is cracking And I'm left in the basement of it So in the end, I'm just sorry I don't speak so poetically. (b.r.o.)

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Aug 2, 2014

Aug 2, 2014 at 6:09 AM UTC

Reasons To Love 6am

I'm not ashamed of the way that my tongue bleeds When I am escaping from anything Especially the words I can not say For fear of breaking and entering And I can't apologize unless I am sorry That I've told you the truth about all my fears And the way I'm running from everything That's ever meant something or anything to me And I'm not sorry for being so right brained When I over analyze your dreams But I'm not sorry for being so left behind When everything's so far out of reach Yet I'm sorry for not being able To grasp it When the time is right And I'm only a poet when under This broken exterior of a person When I am vulnerable and weak Or my foundation is cracking And I'm left in the basement of it So in the end, I'm just sorry I don't speak so poetically. (b.r.o.)

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