Gypsytroubadour - Hello Poetry

tall grass, broken glass tall grass, broken glass Shredded soles Along the slate shoals Shredded souls Oh, where my heart goes Tall grass, broken glass Thorns aplenty and dust to ash Rotted bodies Of water and trash Thorns serrated- sulks in the grass with- broken glass, ash to ash Still the rivers flows Over rocks and stones And washes away, every smitten day Begotten mud forms Compressed into stone or primordial bones with a spirit on loan nevertheless We will have our tall grass We will make our broken glass And as the mountains burn to the ground we'll shrug and state "ash to ash."

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Jun 27, 2018

Jun 27, 2018 at 6:22 PM UTC

Gypsytroubadour

Tall grass, Broken glass

tall grass, broken glass tall grass, broken glass Shredded soles Along the slate shoals Shredded souls Oh, where my heart goes Tall grass, broken glass Thorns aplenty and dust to ash Rotted bodies Of water and trash Thorns serrated- sulks in the grass with- broken glass, ash to ash Still the rivers flows Over rocks and stones And washes away, every smitten day Begotten mud forms Compressed into stone or primordial bones with a spirit on loan nevertheless We will have our tall grass We will make our broken glass And as the mountains burn to the ground we'll shrug and state "ash to ash."

26

All those fights and bad qualities about you start to fade But I still have the screenshots of how many times you bade My existence in your life, that we'd give it once more try That you're sorry and your sorry and you hope I'm doing fine And then change your mind As you harass and beg But those times didn't happen Don't speak ill of the dead Now all our old friends are texting and calling Sympathy overwhelming as my heart is falling Down to my stomach to boil in acid "have you heard" "Are you ok" "have you heard" "Are you ok" And I say I'm sorry I don't know how to feel I'm not even sure if any of this is real I didn't know him any longer And how much he went through change Living in his family's prejudice cage He ran into traffic in a drunken rage Now I look at my past And the messages we exchanged How he begged for me back And said his life wouldn't be the same That he dreams of me every night And how he'll never find someone like me I remember our fights and how this all came to be I remember how his family would look at me With love and with pity How I was so handsome, it was a shame I was gay, How I was a bad influence on their son and how I "made him this way." I remember sitting every holiday alone while he went to family dinners the weight of them explaining my relation to the family was too much to bare I won't be at the funeral either I'm assuming that's only fair. They never wanted me there. One day I'll visit your grave And ask the tombstones "why?" And get a response similar to yours Although a little more dry I can't cry Maybe he is watching me, I think about that a lot In my new life It's been 5 years on the dot. He still wasn't over me "I don't think he ever will be." said his Nana under the old oak tree. Israel was fallen By a GMC Sierra As I watch from afar This ending of an era

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Jun 22, 2018

Jun 22, 2018 at 3:26 PM UTC

Gypsytroubadour

Mourning the Death of a Stranger

All those fights and bad qualities about you start to fade But I still have the screenshots of how many times you bade My existence in your life, that we'd give it once more try That you're sorry and your sorry and you hope I'm doing fine And then change your mind As you harass and beg But those times didn't happen Don't speak ill of the dead Now all our old friends are texting and calling Sympathy overwhelming as my heart is falling Down to my stomach to boil in acid "have you heard" "Are you ok" "have you heard" "Are you ok" And I say I'm sorry I don't know how to feel I'm not even sure if any of this is real I didn't know him any longer And how much he went through change Living in his family's prejudice cage He ran into traffic in a drunken rage Now I look at my past And the messages we exchanged How he begged for me back And said his life wouldn't be the same That he dreams of me every night And how he'll never find someone like me I remember our fights and how this all came to be I remember how his family would look at me With love and with pity How I was so handsome, it was a shame I was gay, How I was a bad influence on their son and how I "made him this way." I remember sitting every holiday alone while he went to family dinners the weight of them explaining my relation to the family was too much to bare I won't be at the funeral either I'm assuming that's only fair. They never wanted me there. One day I'll visit your grave And ask the tombstones "why?" And get a response similar to yours Although a little more dry I can't cry Maybe he is watching me, I think about that a lot In my new life It's been 5 years on the dot. He still wasn't over me "I don't think he ever will be." said his Nana under the old oak tree. Israel was fallen By a GMC Sierra As I watch from afar This ending of an era

55

“I am free” My icy wings tearing through the dark blue sky, the permafrosted landscape below me getting smaller and farther away and the Sun, its warm, amber rays glistening on the horizon, beckoning me with its warm touch. I look back- Every second counts I look back- I see your cold eyes Frozen pits of mud, obsidian, sparkling like diamonds and just as hard. Body of steel. No blood, No life, Uncaring Unfeeling Scorpion. Froze my wings with your poison tail, your vicious words covered in sugar, stabbing. Stole my heart Oh how frail I was. I look back- At the small castle we built, the fireworks, the rose garden, the old dusty freight, the dim light of the bar where I asked you to be mine, the bamboo princess (I still have your pillow), the food trucks and that homeless guy who is probably dead, the pictures, the mix-tape, the color yellow, No Doubt, the empty movie theater, the Moon in Sagittarius where we held each other so close and you said I smelled of patchouli and that caused me to feel happiness because it is one of my favorite scents and I was so glad you liked it too, the warms nights in your cold, cold room and your hands, your hands… Will never freeze my wings again. I look back- I became human for you and you acted as if I were just some pigeon or robin or pheasant, you acted As if our castle Was made of sand, Meant to be dissolved. But how would I know? The language you speak is all ones and zeros, The feelings you feel are all bones and marrows And I am blood I am skin I am emotion, Venus The beauty within. I look back- -at you Pluto Not even a planet Cold and frozen with eyes of granite Wires and copper made up your soul And unfeeling data rules your flow. I look back- I asked you how you felt and received An error four-oh-four. That process never mattered to me, Yet always left me craving more. I look back- Were my emotions not obvious? Or were your feelings ambiguous Intent so dubious You viewed me as frivolous Yet you’re continuous With your cold touch so ferrous Incompatible I could understand… I look back- Scorpion, you’ll be okay. As you sit in your world, All alone, just like you intended, You let your past rule you. I look back- How could we be friends? Lovers to friends From seeing the universe inside of someone To just hanging out once, maybe twice a week. No, we cannot be friends because that’s just weird. I look forward- The Sun has set. My wings so cold They’ll thaw and heal in time And then, Scorpion, maybe we’ll see each other again.

0

Mar 4, 2018

Mar 4, 2018 at 6:27 PM UTC

Gypsytroubadour

Pluto retrograde, sextile to Venus

“I am free” My icy wings tearing through the dark blue sky, the permafrosted landscape below me getting smaller and farther away and the Sun, its warm, amber rays glistening on the horizon, beckoning me with its warm touch. I look back- Every second counts I look back- I see your cold eyes Frozen pits of mud, obsidian, sparkling like diamonds and just as hard. Body of steel. No blood, No life, Uncaring Unfeeling Scorpion. Froze my wings with your poison tail, your vicious words covered in sugar, stabbing. Stole my heart Oh how frail I was. I look back- At the small castle we built, the fireworks, the rose garden, the old dusty freight, the dim light of the bar where I asked you to be mine, the bamboo princess (I still have your pillow), the food trucks and that homeless guy who is probably dead, the pictures, the mix-tape, the color yellow, No Doubt, the empty movie theater, the Moon in Sagittarius where we held each other so close and you said I smelled of patchouli and that caused me to feel happiness because it is one of my favorite scents and I was so glad you liked it too, the warms nights in your cold, cold room and your hands, your hands… Will never freeze my wings again. I look back- I became human for you and you acted as if I were just some pigeon or robin or pheasant, you acted As if our castle Was made of sand, Meant to be dissolved. But how would I know? The language you speak is all ones and zeros, The feelings you feel are all bones and marrows And I am blood I am skin I am emotion, Venus The beauty within. I look back- -at you Pluto Not even a planet Cold and frozen with eyes of granite Wires and copper made up your soul And unfeeling data rules your flow. I look back- I asked you how you felt and received An error four-oh-four. That process never mattered to me, Yet always left me craving more. I look back- Were my emotions not obvious? Or were your feelings ambiguous Intent so dubious You viewed me as frivolous Yet you’re continuous With your cold touch so ferrous Incompatible I could understand… I look back- Scorpion, you’ll be okay. As you sit in your world, All alone, just like you intended, You let your past rule you. I look back- How could we be friends? Lovers to friends From seeing the universe inside of someone To just hanging out once, maybe twice a week. No, we cannot be friends because that’s just weird. I look forward- The Sun has set. My wings so cold They’ll thaw and heal in time And then, Scorpion, maybe we’ll see each other again.

83

Today is one of those days when your throat is sore for no reason and your voice scratches its way out of your esophagus; like an old CD, skipping, and stopping at certain intervals. Overcast, the sky is an apathetic shade of dolphin grey The pressure of the inevitable rain, pressing; holding you with the weight of the sun hidden behind. Today is one of those days when you cannot drag yourself out of sleep, even though you’ve slept for a day and a quarter. A day where you don’t want to eat, but you’re still shaking from the hunger and coffee and cigarettes are all that will do the trick. Sitting on the pavement, damp and wet. It hasn’t rained yet but we still never forget the way the cold feels against our jeans; smoking cigarette butts, discarded dreams. With old LCD screens out scratched phones shine signifying how broken our view of the world may be- but, clearly, we still see. As we take random pills we found and pretend we are high- we drink cheap liquor and curse at the sky. Sitting on the curb, in the literal gutter, Loitering’s a constant when you have nowhere to go. Walking for hours in rain, heat or snow, our lives in a bag, wearing the same clothes. Showering in a gas station sink, shoplifting to eat, the parks were our bed the bleachers our dining rooms. The shelter kicked us out for fighting that old guy and the soup kitchens didn’t feed us because we didn’t have the proper paperwork. Our skin is grey and pale as the sky, our eyes are full of light as our brain starts to die; but we are free, and we fly- “wild birds.”

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Oct 13, 2016

Oct 13, 2016 at 6:24 PM UTC

Gypsytroubadour

wild

Today is one of those days when your throat is sore for no reason and your voice scratches its way out of your esophagus; like an old CD, skipping, and stopping at certain intervals. Overcast, the sky is an apathetic shade of dolphin grey The pressure of the inevitable rain, pressing; holding you with the weight of the sun hidden behind. Today is one of those days when you cannot drag yourself out of sleep, even though you’ve slept for a day and a quarter. A day where you don’t want to eat, but you’re still shaking from the hunger and coffee and cigarettes are all that will do the trick. Sitting on the pavement, damp and wet. It hasn’t rained yet but we still never forget the way the cold feels against our jeans; smoking cigarette butts, discarded dreams. With old LCD screens out scratched phones shine signifying how broken our view of the world may be- but, clearly, we still see. As we take random pills we found and pretend we are high- we drink cheap liquor and curse at the sky. Sitting on the curb, in the literal gutter, Loitering’s a constant when you have nowhere to go. Walking for hours in rain, heat or snow, our lives in a bag, wearing the same clothes. Showering in a gas station sink, shoplifting to eat, the parks were our bed the bleachers our dining rooms. The shelter kicked us out for fighting that old guy and the soup kitchens didn’t feed us because we didn’t have the proper paperwork. Our skin is grey and pale as the sky, our eyes are full of light as our brain starts to die; but we are free, and we fly- “wild birds.”

41

The pixilated light I hold in my hands I prefer over the rays of the star we orbit. When the sun falls down, to spread its golden shine to a different plane, Mine glows brighter still, ethereal, clean and white. I cover my head, my soul, as I **** out my insecurities, like a dog marking its territory, all over the virtual forest of broken lives. Screaming out coyly for attention to rescue my mind from the insolence I perceive my reality to be, behind ironic wording and new age grammar, I wear like plastic garments, leeching toxins into my infected blood stream Sweat stained dream Ripped seam Digital gleam Internet fiend “Why is the world so mean?”

0

Sep 29, 2016

Sep 29, 2016 at 6:31 PM UTC

Gypsytroubadour

About: The Boy who could fight Aliens

The pixilated light I hold in my hands I prefer over the rays of the star we orbit. When the sun falls down, to spread its golden shine to a different plane, Mine glows brighter still, ethereal, clean and white. I cover my head, my soul, as I **** out my insecurities, like a dog marking its territory, all over the virtual forest of broken lives. Screaming out coyly for attention to rescue my mind from the insolence I perceive my reality to be, behind ironic wording and new age grammar, I wear like plastic garments, leeching toxins into my infected blood stream Sweat stained dream Ripped seam Digital gleam Internet fiend “Why is the world so mean?”

11

As the world rotates around our star, We constantly forget who we all are. we mask our bodies in plants and rocks we blanket our minds in lights and thoughts. to exclude out feelings- from the desperate days we smother our lungs with chemical haze. thoughtful healing. wishful thinking. tears fall from these human eyes, smiles form with the muscles on this face, carved into the blood filled clay. sculptural ideation manifested by the soul that swarms around itself that covers this plane that is the air between us all. craving happiness one experiences sadness. craving fulfillment one experiences emptiness. craving communion one experiences solidarity. and while craving life one experiences death. black and white both equally as beautiful, but duality causes anguish when one fails to view the singularity, one ultimately causes ones own distress “I AM the monarch of all I survey” a great poet once said.

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Sep 29, 2016

Sep 29, 2016 at 6:29 PM UTC

Gypsytroubadour

Mr. Cowper

As the world rotates around our star, We constantly forget who we all are. we mask our bodies in plants and rocks we blanket our minds in lights and thoughts. to exclude out feelings- from the desperate days we smother our lungs with chemical haze. thoughtful healing. wishful thinking. tears fall from these human eyes, smiles form with the muscles on this face, carved into the blood filled clay. sculptural ideation manifested by the soul that swarms around itself that covers this plane that is the air between us all. craving happiness one experiences sadness. craving fulfillment one experiences emptiness. craving communion one experiences solidarity. and while craving life one experiences death. black and white both equally as beautiful, but duality causes anguish when one fails to view the singularity, one ultimately causes ones own distress “I AM the monarch of all I survey” a great poet once said.

32

Completely desensitized from growing so sensitive, bombarded with violence hate and fear. My eyes are scars burnt and seared. So self centered our society stands, you cannot attempt now to make amends, after the fabric is ripped to shreds. None of us, will make it out alive, stuck on this rock in space and time. We were birthed to die and we grow to perish; our experiences all and all is what one should cherish. Death is sweet, abundant and free, a beautiful thing we regret to see. So tragic in truth, depends on your perspective, we usually forget this world is cognitive

0

Sep 29, 2016

Sep 29, 2016 at 6:27 PM UTC

Gypsytroubadour

this World

Completely desensitized from growing so sensitive, bombarded with violence hate and fear. My eyes are scars burnt and seared. So self centered our society stands, you cannot attempt now to make amends, after the fabric is ripped to shreds. None of us, will make it out alive, stuck on this rock in space and time. We were birthed to die and we grow to perish; our experiences all and all is what one should cherish. Death is sweet, abundant and free, a beautiful thing we regret to see. So tragic in truth, depends on your perspective, we usually forget this world is cognitive

22

With you I can see, the beauty that life beholds; it worries me now. Trapped within the skies, little cat you cannot fly. Just a mere mammal My heart swoons for you, human creature made of clay. Alchemy my bane.

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Sep 29, 2016

Sep 29, 2016 at 6:11 PM UTC

Gypsytroubadour

Untitled

With you I can see, the beauty that life beholds; it worries me now. Trapped within the skies, little cat you cannot fly. Just a mere mammal My heart swoons for you, human creature made of clay. Alchemy my bane.

9

The sun so bright outside Slamming my eyes off that white new pavement. So dark inside So dark inside My skin it hurts, From wear and tear From other humans I shared this pen with I'm so tired I'm so tired My lungs they hurt from so much tobacco, And my mouth feels sore from all the talking. It burns so good It burns so good My brain, fried, from all the thinking It twirls and spins, With my eyes still blinking, And cigarette stinking. So this was the way it was meant to be? I am so free.

0

Sep 29, 2016

Sep 29, 2016 at 12:11 PM UTC

Gypsytroubadour

10 4 6

The sun so bright outside Slamming my eyes off that white new pavement. So dark inside So dark inside My skin it hurts, From wear and tear From other humans I shared this pen with I'm so tired I'm so tired My lungs they hurt from so much tobacco, And my mouth feels sore from all the talking. It burns so good It burns so good My brain, fried, from all the thinking It twirls and spins, With my eyes still blinking, And cigarette stinking. So this was the way it was meant to be? I am so free.

19