It is okay to hurt
It is okay to fall
like a pile of ashes
to the ground
but my dear
in the morning
you must rise
you must open
your walls again
you must never
give up on you
and above all else
you must remember
it doesn't have to be tomorrow
not even the day after
or the next after that
and you must remember
that these things
take time
it is okay to
open up to people
right away
it is okay
to be cautious
since you have
known this hurt before
but don't let that
stop you from
living beautifully
and it is okay
to fall in love
with hands that are
no longer his
but don't let that
make you afraid
to give your all
and it is okay
for these things
to take time..
your ruins
may leave you
feeling empty
but my dear
there is so much
life left in that
Colosseum crumble
he left abandoned
rebuilding will come
but please remember
-Rome wasn't built in a day
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 4:33 PM UTC
They really want us silenced
The sound of our screams to go unheard
They really want us jobless
Our children going hungry
They really want us dead
Our blood painting the ground below their feet
They really want girls like me
To be envious of their blonde-haired daughters
They really want our brothers
In chains, behind bars
They really want us silenced
But I will scream.
I will demand to be heard.
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 11:18 AM UTC
Why Men Cry in the Bathroom
For so many reasons.
I will tell you the why.
I think you know,
Or perhaps, you think you know.
Men are always O.K.,
Even when not.
We expect the worse,
Accept the worse,
Nonetheless,
We are forever unprepared.
Wearily, we cry,
In the bathroom, in private,
Lest sighs slip by,
We be unmasked,
Early warring, strife signs warning.
Copious, tho we weep
Before the mirror confessor,
It is relief untethered,
Unbinding of the feet,
An uncounting
Of beaded rosaries,
Of freshly fallen hail stones,
Of night times terrors
By dawn's early edition's light,
and welcomed.
But look for the mute tear,
The eye-cornered drop,
*** tat, that never drops,
But never ceases formation and
Reforming, over and over again,
In a state of perpetuity of reconstitution,
*The tippy tear of an iceberg revealing,
And I see you peeping, wondering,
What is beneath*
Look for:
the torn worm-eaten edges of spirit,
thrift shop bought, extra worn,
grieving lines neath the eyes,
where the salt has evaporated,
discolored the skin.
worry lines,
under and above,
browed mapped, furrowed boundaries.
the laugh line saga,
where better days are stored,
recalled, as well as recanted,
publicly, privately.
Why just men?
I don't know,
Perhaps,
it is all I know. end.<nml>
Jan 6, 2013
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 10:33 AM UTC
I hate it.
I hate that we're a generation
that's caught up with our devices.
Eyes on the screen,
incase you miss out.
Keep scrolling,
incase you miss out.
Keep tagging,
incase you miss out.
Keep tweeting,
incase you miss out.
Keep posting,
incase you miss out.
Yet,
here I am.
In front of a laptop.
Making sure I don't miss out--
about writing about missing out.
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 5:56 PM UTC
8:00 am plenty of time to get
tinder-ed
it's how people meet
no worries here,
tinder-ed tendered thundered
by 9:00
I'll be fine,
possibilities multiple, soul flayed,
body at risk, hookup sweet,
no problem,
will line up a few,
on the hour,
star power,
no heart, but
candy is dandy
when you need a date
on Valentine night
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
http://blogs.wsj.com/personal-technology/2015/02/13/dating-heats-up-as-valentines-day-approaches/?mod=WSJ_hps_sections_lifestyle
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 5:55 PM UTC
Disconnected the more we’re connected
Our children are affected and feeling neglected
While our rights to privacy are no longer respected
An idea our ancestors never projected
The transgressions of technological progression
An obsession creating social oppression
A Millennial’s iDol, a prized possession
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 5:53 PM UTC
Love smells like his denim jacket, all warm and tinged with his cologne and his musk. Love smells like toasted pancakes on a drowsy Sunday. Love smells like burned wood in the fireplace on a cold winter day.
Love tastes like licking the ice cream dripping down your fingers. Love tastes like the spurt of gooey chocolate on the first bite, all sweet, dark and delicious. Love tastes like hot coffee on a monday morning, bright and awakening, getting you ready for the first day.
Love feels like his hand squeezing yours when you’re unaware. Love feels like his mouth fitting perfectly in yours. Love feels like the surprise of seeing him waiting up for you when you come home late.
Love sounds like his slow beating pulse when your head is on his chest at three a.m. Love sounds like him murmuring ‘i love yous’ when he thinks you’re asleep. Love sounds like the buzz of the T.V on low when you both accidentally fell asleep talking.
Love looks when the morning light is flooding into your room and the first thing you see is the light bathing his face in this godly mustard glow. Love looks like skin. Skin up close. Where you can see every freckle, pore, every imperfection and every flaw. And **** does it takes your breath away.
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 7:17 AM UTC
Love isn't blind,
blind are those
who never loved.
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 8:55 PM UTC
I still smile
when I think of
lying beside you
Sheets
wrapped around our feet
My hair
a mess
your hand
up my shirt
Your lips
against mine
I still cry
When I think of
what came after
climbing
out of your bed
in the wee hours
of the morning
I still laugh
when I think
about you chasing me
around the house
no socks on our feet
no worries to be had
I still get angry
when I think
about her
texting you
and you
pretending
you didn't know her
I still
feel for you
all the things I
felt back then
Do you
feel them
for me
too?
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 8:50 PM UTC