Monster boys like you and ghosts like me
were never supposed to love
not tenderly,
not viciously,
we weren’t cut out for it
we were never cut out for it
and yet
we tried
oh, we tried
i tried
a ghost like me tried to love a monster boy like you
and you crushed me
you scooped me up into the palm of your scaling hand
and caressed the nothingness of my body
and caressed
and caressed
until you had me
you wrapped your fingers around my sinuous frame
and crushed me
until i dwindled down into
nothingness
until i screamed out
you didn’t let go until i agreed to haunt you
monster boys like you and ghosts like me were never meant to care for another being
and yet
we tried
oh, we tried
i tried
monster boys like you and ghosts like me were never meant to be
and yet
we were
in some twisted way, we reminded each other of that, i think
that we existed
that we bled
monster boys like you and ghosts like me, bleed.
we bleed.
~by casper beau
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 5:27 PM UTC
I offer you this innocence,
come on in,
condemnation
judgement
vitriol
are left on the other side
of the walls of skin.
Hearts may open here
tears may tumble
walls may fall
in this moment between you and me.
We will offer
truths and tenderness
for every imagined sin.
Life's a puzzle
the pieces are in
earthquake shambles scattered
across the floor.
There are places for each puzzle piece
to put together,
we may even find bliss.
Sometimes this life is too complex
too hard to fathom
too easy to plummet,
we all need a place to
explore
unload
forgive.
This is the innocence
feel free to come on in,
your secrets are safe here,
never told by me.
It has been said
we are as sick as our secrets,
burrowing through our eyes
in dark packets of disguise.
But in this sanctuary
lies dissolve
innocence returns,
We find a chance to begin again.
Put down the masks
Put down the resentments
Put down the propped up sorrows
Our truths will set us free.
The door is open
the glowing warmth of connection
is at your disposal,
come speak to me
the accumulated hurts of where you have been,
through these true confessions
hurts pass
not forgotten
but
forgiven.
We can begin again.
The puzzle pieces lost
will be found,
compassion and forgiveness
become our friends.
Abandon all pasts
seen through a child's eyes,
in this time of now
we can become cozy
snuggle up in this warm bath embrace.
Sometimes we all need a place to hide
in all the necessary pillows and comforters.
Either in words or in silence,
we'll find that spot of transformation,
begin again,
once you enter this innocence,
from the tangle
as birds well know,
we can fly free again.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 11:01 AM UTC
My mother always said,
Life is like a river.
It starts slow,
A lingerting childhood.
An anticipation for the deep waters.
A steady flow.
My mother always said,
Life is like a river.
The middle,
Rebellious and restless.
An unpreditctable meander.
A hasty flow.
My mother always said,
Life is like a river.
And at one point it all comes together,
Each stream,
A lifetime of experience.
A river.
The cycle of life.
Hesitantly I asked,
But mother,
What if I can't swim?
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 1:09 PM UTC
I dreamt of you last night.
Did you wake thinking of me?
My shoulders and back
feel cold now;
it's where your body
should be.
I dreamt of your hand in mine;
fingers laced, you holding me.
And then, it seems,
I awoke
to this cruel reality.
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 5:51 PM UTC
When the darkness sets in
and you let it consume you
it feels like falling;
falling in a bottomless hole,
and under its pulling force
you feel your demons stirring
finding a way
to get out
and to take over ...
Clawing your soul from inside
getting restless,
causing pain,
so you just decide to
unleash them
and let your demons out
for a HUNT !!
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 5:51 PM UTC
I am no longer sure if I wish more to be
a poet,
or a poem,
or if I even wish to be
at all.
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 6:02 PM UTC
Standing in the shadows is a lonely clock that's painted red
Made from blood and carved from bone - a clockwork core that's cold like lead.
A convoluted clockmaker sits wizened by its feet
He sits and thinks, nods and knows, the clock will not its maker meet.
He tells himself he's but an ember, tells his clock it will tick on
Wrapped in black like black's in fashion, with no heart save pendulum.
He knows the clock is icy fire, if he, the maker, is its spark
He looks upon his ticking beast and knows his hand has made its mark.
He lets his clock keep ticking, never stopping, won't tell why,
And its maker curls up on the floor; his final breaths are whimsic sighs.
His lonely clock keeps ticking, ticking, ticking - ticking, ticking still,
Standing regal in the shadowed room, but bending to its maker's will.
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 2:10 PM UTC
I am not of darkness, but i'm in the dark.
If I am not lost, I am slowly losing it.
As the Babylonians babel on, i wander on,
lost while wondering when the future shall fall.
Shalom, shalom,
and into the night of day we go.
each with flame that flutters and fluctuates amidst the noise of reality,
certain to ignite a side to the worlds duality.
there is a lost freedom in this land,
and if we are but angels
we are but angels at war with God with gods.
and if we are but gods
we are as foolish as they come.
is this darkness on the dawn?
shadow in the night,
find the light
find the light
find the light.
Even I whose soul is as the night can love its loving bright.
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 11:44 AM UTC
“She prides herself on her strength and steel,
but she cracks like porcelain now and then.
She knows how to piece herself back together,
but covers her cracks and chips in layers of glue.
She is composed of fire and compassion,
but she struggles with doubts and insecurities.
She burdens herself with the weight of the world,
but carries forward bravely, determined to make her mark.
She takes the reigns and her presence screams command,
but she hates the burden that comes with being in charge.
She knows leaderships rests deep within her bones,
but she resents her authority and responsibility.
She builds armor out of sharp wit and determination,
but she doesn’t dare smooth out any of her jagged edges.
She understands that she is the hero of her own story,
but recognizes even heroes need saving sometimes.
She burns soft and bright like a star in the night sky,
but she explodes violently like a supernova from time to time.
She scatters herself like stardust across galaxies in the aftermath,
but she is phoenix incarnate, reborn timelessly from her ashes.”
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 6:59 PM UTC