I stand and wait for the 115
Or 15 bus to arrive
It's cold, I blow an icy vapour with every breath
A sea of umbrellas
Hoodies
Raincoats
Dreary faces
Longing for freer times
since fleeting, since forgotten, since lost
Pudless stepped in without hesitation
Or avoided with passive agression
Like their lives
Like ours
The water adresses what we can (could)
not
Feb 9, 2021
Feb 9, 2021 at 1:09 PM UTC
What happens when you try to break the backs
Of backs that are already familiar with and have adapted to the pain of being trampled on?
What happens when those backs have adapted to the pain of breaking and aching and
Making themselves as hard as stone and as flexible as water?
What happens to us?
Our backs become bridges.
Sometimes, they become gates, or tethers.
They leak.
They reek.
They break.
They mend.
They rust,
Never do they break.
Jan 1, 2021
Jan 1, 2021 at 6:56 AM UTC
You don't deserve to suffer
You can start over
Start over start over start over
Begin again
Leave
You don't belong here/ need to stay
Where do I belong then?
Not at home, not here, not anywhere?
Jan 1, 2021
Jan 1, 2021 at 6:54 AM UTC
The illusion of abundance
A barmecidal way of life
Having just enough guts and gall
That you don’t have to think twice
Transparency to view the hype
My delusion is my vice
Justice from decisions made
For rich and poor alike
Not enough to make a change
But enough to entice
And after all is said and done
I only ask you name your price
Sep 24, 2020
Sep 24, 2020 at 4:06 AM UTC
I am not tethered
Not yet
Not ever
I exist exclusively outside your gaze
I belong to myself now
You will not keep me here,
In fear and in folly
And I, I will not stay
Though I am weary of what awaits me
No!
Let me rise, now
The strength of my atonement and courage
Will protect me
As I wonder into a page without your expectations of failure.
Yes!
I choose to be free.
Sep 24, 2020
Sep 24, 2020 at 3:09 AM UTC
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?
Sep 21, 2020
Sep 21, 2020 at 5:01 PM UTC
He placed his heart on the anvil
And picked up his hammer
He hesitated less than a second
Before he brought it down.
The first hit was bitterness
For life had not gone his way.
The second hit was cynicism
For no one ever cared beyond themselves.
The third and final hit was hatred
For love had betrayed him
And in its absence, he realized
Hate never broke his heart.
He returned his heart to his chest
And a bitter, hateful cynic said:
Emotions are for the weak
As a tear fell down his face.
Sep 21, 2020
Sep 21, 2020 at 5:00 PM UTC
Elle est retrouvée.
Quoi ? - L'Eternité.
C'est la mer allée
Avec le soleil.
Ame sentinelle,
Murmurons l'aveu
De la nuit si nulle
Et du jour en feu.
Des humains suffrages,
Des communs élans
Là tu te dégages
Et voles selon.
Puisque de vous seules,
Braises de satin,
Le Devoir s'exhale
Sans qu'on dise : enfin.
Là pas d'espérance,
Nul orietur.
Science avec patience,
Le supplice est sûr.
Elle est retrouvée.
Quoi ? - L'Eternité.
C'est la mer allée
Avec le soleil.
Aug 26, 2020
Aug 26, 2020 at 3:40 PM UTC
Il pleure dans mon cœur
Comme il pleut sur la ville ;
Quelle est cette langueur
Qui pénètre mon cœur ?
Ô bruit doux de la pluie
Par terre et sur les toits !
Pour un cœur qui s'ennuie,
Ô le chant de la pluie !
Il pleure sans raison
Dans ce cœur qui s'écœure.
Quoi ! nulle trahison ?...
Ce deuil est sans raison.
C'est bien la pire peine
De ne savoir pourquoi
Sans amour et sans haine
Mon cœur a tant de peine !
Aug 26, 2020
Aug 26, 2020 at 3:09 PM UTC