In my darkness, you are a shining beacon of light.
A lamp post, street side in the darkest night.
When all of the stars, and even the moon
Decide to depart from the sky -
I’m still drawn to your fire.
Seeking warmth and comfort like a moth
Against the soft-framed glass panes of your life.
Because - MY GOD! -
In deep darkness, how brilliantly you shine! And
In the crucible of my life
When all things burnt out, blackened, and
All I loved had withered and died -
There in the ashes, among the wreckage
I saw a diamond sparkling, so these hesitant fingers pried it apart
And now...
Here you are. Standing by my side,
Singing back to me my very own pain.
Killing me, so softly
With the way that you sing.
Oh, my darling. For you,
I would burn down anything.
And only for You...
Beautiful Diamond Of Mine.
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 10:55 PM UTC
you and me, we are
backstrokes in the never-ending river
splashing and laughing as it carries us along.
We are on fire, we are sparkling diamonds in God's eyes
we are pleasure, rapture, pain and desire,
shining brighter than the stars overhead at night
here now in the raindrops' glisten, stop and listen
the soft sound of water paws leaping to the ground,
we are a flicker, we are a fancy, we are a fleeting
song carried along by shameless tongues and now
your mouth against mine
is the closest I've come to tasting the divine
so all I have to say is: lover, when we die
may it be just as poetic as this fraction of pulsating life.
May 25, 2018
May 25, 2018 at 9:29 PM UTC
Kool-aid, fried chicken, potatoes and gravy.
We’re all gonna die from the sugar inside those diabetic cookies
And rows of donuts, danishes, plastic plates, sweet tea & lemonade beverages,
So much of it that it makes me sick to see the trash bins
Full of half-eaten food, dropped by lazy hands,
Now everyone lifts their hands during worship and
I feel foolish, I don’t understand, because their smiles are fake and
I know the way they will talk about me when I go walking away,
Will hear them whispering later about each other, and oh my God,
There’s something so sinister here…
I know it because I don’t hear about demons, or evil, or hell, or pain, or fear
Anywhere else but inside of these walls with no windows, where
I am told I will burn for my questions, and she goes up to the altar again, and so does he
They do this, the same ones, every single week
Because deep down, they don’t believe anything they’re hearing -
Their soul keeps vomiting up these spoon-fed ideologies - so there must be
Something wrong, some sin in their ******* that beats them senseless and
Makes them ignorant, childish victims that need to be rescued
Over. And over. And over again.
The music is repetitive, reminding us we are helpless. Broken. Our own minds are not to be
Trusted. Here comes a fat white man, who opens his mouth and reads a line
From the equally fat little white book in his hand. Here comes that same twisted sort of rhetoric -
Sin, shame, death, isolation, separation, judgment, sin, sin, sin.
Who is this Jesus, who is always different in every sermon?
Sh. Just listen. You are loved - unconditionally.
So you better worship. Or be tortured for an eternity.
Now, no more questions -
The man is sweating under stage lights, asking, “do you know where you’re going? Well, do you?”
Repeat after me, sheep, and you will be free! Grazing forever in paradise
Where those infinite, rolling pastures are always green.
But for all that they’re selling, there’s a **** ton of food outside in that dumpster smelling
And pesticides in the river, and a homeless man shivering, his socks soaking,
And my youth pastor friend is ************ after church, he’s addicted to *********** ashamed
Of his totally natural and ****** needs, and my sister is crying, she
Tried to rush into a marriage to please the church family, who promised the joys of monogamy,
And my mother is trying to undo her years of religion-induced trauma in therapy,
And I am sitting alone in the bathroom after the service, crying
Because no matter how badly they want to save my soul,
Not a single **** one of these people ever actually cared about me.
Mar 20, 2018
Mar 20, 2018 at 9:36 PM UTC
You will say: “You’ve been holding out on me!” -
and that will be the day when this landslide of poetry
Finally comes spilling from my lips, because I can no longer withhold it -
And you will awake in the gardens that I’ve been growing here,
Looking at me with brand new eyes, like you’ve never really known me before,
Or seen me, or felt me, and we will roll together
Among these soft petals of imageries, fingernails like lilies
As you lift the pages, see them turning, these little white leaves,
Changing with the different seasons of visions and daydreams,
Thousands of hours passing in your eyes blinking, reading,
A living river of emotions flowing into those irises, of
All the things I cannot speak or explain or convey
When you are sitting here in silence, gazing deeply into me,
And I am leaning into your warm shoulder, wondering,
How I can turn these precious moments
Into the best kind of poetry.
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 9:56 PM UTC
Sometimes I think my loneliness is just a mold
Made to fit the shape of you.
Mar 15, 2018
Mar 15, 2018 at 12:26 PM UTC
Little white pills
Little white pills.
Thank you all for everything.
I am so sorry.
Hands shaking.
You saw me calling.
You didn’t answer.
Now one. Two. Three.
Little white pills.
Little white pills.
These lungs stop breathing
These eyes stop crying.
This heart stops beating.
Little white pills.
If you were so lonely,
Why did you leave me?
Alone. With
No more
Little white pills.
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 5:49 PM UTC
Soft and firm, gentle and fierce,
A parting breath smothers on skin.
Wild and wanting, surrendered and stroking,
Fingers are searching and home.
Quiet, now listening, anticipating, wishing
Until the spell breaks beneath lips -
Blushing it comes, blooming it bursts
Against symphonies and rhapsodies
With melodies heaving, heavy, unheard.
Gasping for life, holding more tight
To another so fragile, human, finite
Stealing, giving, alternately taking
An appetite destructive, delicious,
Desiring, raging;
Flesh upon flesh, ragged, receiving.
Twisting, bones resisting,
A common ground with no space between
Reaching and holding, pressing and pulling,
Synchronized in silent sweet rhythms of time
Warm, willing, fantasies thrilling, perspire
Lovely and lucid, writhing, conducive
As dancing flames to the fire.
Thoughts are melting to muddle
Into puddled pools of passion
Dripping, swirling, flooding, licking
The innermost walls of the cowering mind
Bodies and hearts are pulsing, repeating,
Beating and bruising, until each breath
Is ****** divine.
Mar 3, 2018
Mar 3, 2018 at 7:56 PM UTC
Loneliness eats me
Like an orange.
Fingernails carving away my skin,
To **** out that juicy pulp of hope
From the outside in.
He called me delicious, but that was lifetimes ago,
Words turning so sweet
They rotted.
I never should have believed him - “I’m
Not just a fruit to be eaten” - that's
I should have told him,
Before these cravings were cultivated. The ones that crawl in
Through the chasms of solitude
Like worms into the pores of my skin.
Because now all I want
Is to be squeezed out
By stronger hands
That make me feel delicious and
Turn my desires
Into the most mouthwatering of juices again.
Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 3:01 PM UTC
We were all loved so imperfectly,
it's hard not to hate those that weren't.
The ones who don't flinch when they think about the past, but laugh.
And I've been trying to repaint the pictures hanging in those frames, soft from memory
Trying to find new shades and
Trying to admire the ways
That they are unique. They are mine. They're worth keeping.
I've considered suicide. She's attempted it four times. That could be our battle cry - "we never asked to be alive"
But now we're here
And what do we do?
In a place where there's no pity for fuck-ups or pale scars on wrists or empty bowls burning from final embers, their lungs inhaling it so beautifully.
I never smoked it, but I'm in love with the silver dragons that swirl in the air all around it. I could watch it pour from their lips for hours, could soak in the sweet stench for days, could count away everything else until I count down to nothing.
Nothing. But here.
No more worries or chores or judgments or wondering what people think of me or caring too much or trying too hard and failing, failing.
He tells me that he's changed. Of course I still love him.
But it will never be the same.
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 1:41 PM UTC
My only crime is that I
Have way too good of an imagination, because
In my mind
We’ve been talking now for quite awhile and
You finally realize
That you want to be with me, only me, and I
Am not sitting here alone, lonely, wondering
What you’re doing, where you are, or what you’re thinking.
Its true - I always wear my heart too openly, smile too widely,
I decide what I want, then pursue it with everything inside of me, and
It’s embarrassing, because clearly you either haven’t been noticing
Or… you just don’t really care.
Life is never going to be fair, they should have told us that
In tv, books and movies, there is no happy ending
There is only rocky beginnings, twisting middle grounds
And inconclusive endings.
It’s been four days now, and you still haven’t said anything.
You have my poetry, my hopes,
While I am left here, alone, with nothing.
No phone calls, no texts, just empty, deflated imaginings.
In my defense, if you were to call me out on it, I wouldn't lie about it either. I've had you stuck - for days and weeks - inside my head.
It's true, your Honor. I apologize. Proclaim me guilty for this crime.
Because I just
Have way too good of
An imagination, I guess.
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 12:12 AM UTC