I could learn to love you,
but that’s not the point.
It should burst out of my ribcage
With flowers and knives
Beautiful and bleeding
Singing with joy and
The pain of bullet wounds.
If we learned anything from love,
Maybe we wouldn’t love at all.
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 12:41 AM UTC
I told him that my soul was tired
but he didn't understand
How can you explain to someone that your light is dimming?
That the lightbulb is burning out
and the only way to change it is to sleep
is to sleep
or to rip open your chest
with a scream and a knife
and to pull out the monster within
who's reading his book in your light
your precious light
How do you explain this?
and then explain that you can't
You Can't
because he lives
and you can only sleep
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 10:42 PM UTC
That was
refreshing
cool waves tickling the soles of my feet
comforting
a favourite spot to sit, nestled with a book and steaming cup of joe
encouraging
the glowing smile of a parent teaching an infant to take it's first wobbly steps on this mysterious planet
Seeing an old friend
That you don't see often
It's nice
You can catch up
Rekindle old jokes
Remember that you're not alone
That's the good one
Even when everything is erupting
a volcano begging to explode
Even when you think you're so very alone
lost in a crowd of 7 billion faces
Begging to fit in
Dying to stand out
You're not
There's someone
You might not expect it
Think they're gone
It's nice
Just plain nice
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 11:07 PM UTC
I went to your old house today
It's still standing
Incase you were wondering
I didn't go in
I just parked there
Remembering
You're still there
Kind of
It's as if your laughter is still reverberating
Waves from your being are still coming outwards
I want to grab one
I want to hold it and never let go
But it's not the same
It's not you
I didn't love you
Not in That Way
But I loved you still
There's no closure
for losing a friend
for losing the smile
for losing the laugh
I wish the house was gone
That you could be erased from there
Because it reminds me of you
of missing you
And I'm not ready
to deal with that
yet
one day
I hope you visit
Because waves
and reverberations
will never do
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 10:56 PM UTC
Da n pen
do sn t wo k
I gue s th tho u hts are stay ng in
t e id a pr bably
suc ed
so w atev r
dam pen
A pencil's just not the same
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 11:48 PM UTC
I am from first impressions as shaky feet grip unstable rock. The path winds endlessly in front of you with unsure direction. Moss devours the cool, ancient limestone. A satisfying crunch echos with each determined footstep over dried and fallen leaves. Sometimes not knowing where you are headed leads to the best destinations.
I am from beauty everywhere. For what is not beautiful in it’s own dilapidated way? Certainly the sun, setting over silent waters in a rainbow of peaches and soft yellows, is astonishing. But is not the misshapen tree, aged and withered with time, as pleasing to the eyes? Time has beaten and bruised it, and it still stands proudly, bearing every single perfect imperfection, for the world to see.
I am from adventure. Standing somewhere that no one has stood. Seeing something that no one has seen. Living something that no one, not a single person, has lived before you.
I am from a rocky cliff face. With water slowly deteriorating nature’s well-seen splendor. It seems that too many have made their way into the daunting dark cave, squealing with childish delight as they fly off the unsteady ledges. Yet every time you see it, it manages to feel like you are the first one who has ever set foot in that cool sea-cave.
I am from blend out, not in.
I am from water and time carved boulders. Not one the same as the next. Beaten by the endless undulating waves from an ever-full lake. Each one has a story a few million years long. Each fracture, crack, hole, scratch and blemish is just another page to a book still being written.
I am from what is the difference between ordinary and extraordinary? That little extra.
I am from that little extra.
I am from a warm spring night. Just listen. Can you hear it? Every lonely frog croaking, every peanut guzzling blue jay singing, every leaf dancing in the tender breeze has a story. Every footstep, every tree, every rock, every grain of sand, every soft wind has a story.
I am from I never want to put down this book.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 10:59 PM UTC
Hello there,
New Friend
still not sure what to make of your presence
I like it
I think
but
I don't want you to get the wrong idea
New Friend
I don't want you to get the wrong idea
that were aren't just Friends
that we might hold hands
caress
that we might spend time
getting to know each other
really getting to know each other
not like Friends
New Friend
please stay
don't go
New Friend
don't go muddling this up
don't go whispering sweet nothings
but
don't go away
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 10:51 PM UTC
Cold. Misty. Water suspended in the air as if on strings. Somewhere there is a streak of light. This beam of hope, penetrating the ceiling of weightless droplets.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 8:21 PM UTC
I want to write something
anything
whatever comes out
to express something
anything
to accompany me
no form
no restrictions
the way I see
life because
I can
rain drop
drip drip
drip drip
drip drip
drip
drip
Can I move on?
without moving
Can I start
over?
Without leaving
drip drip
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 8:19 PM UTC
Even though you weren’t
really around I
miss your Presence
the Idea of you
that
you Were there Anyways
you Were comforting
your Idea was
comforting
I miss your Idea
I will seek
comforting Ideas
elsewhere
Find your Idea
elsewhere
but
until then I
Miss your Idea
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 8:17 PM UTC