she was a poet,
and he was her pen.
in him,
she always found words to write,
songs to sing,
thoughts to think.
he'd smile,
and kiss her softly,
and say,
"write me a poem."
and she would.
she'd put poe,
and whitman,
and shakespeare to shame,
and she'd write a poem that made his eyes water.
she'd compare him
to a rose with no thorns,
a book with no end,
a world with no poverty --
the things we all wish for,
but can never attain.
//
he asked her one day,
"what am i?"
and so she picked up her pen,
and began the usual:
*you are the shining sun after a hurricane,
with rays that open the eyes of the blind.*
but he stopped her after those two lines,
and said that this time,
he didn't want any metaphors,
or similes,
or analogies.
he wanted the truth.
and so on that night,
as he slept,
the poet picked up her pen,
and she wrote.
she wrote,
then thought better of it,
then started over again,
and this cycle continued well into the early hours of the morning,
until suddenly,
she wrote, frantic,
*if i can't love you for what you really are,
have i ever really loved you at all?*
this, too,
she thought better of,
condemning it to the trash.
the next morning the poet was gone,
her final work a mere two words:
i'm sorry.
(a.m.)
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC
Broken spirited and trying to find a purpose to my life.
Maybe I'll fling myself into Africa or India and and spend my days being of some use,
Attempting to heal the sick and feed the poor,
Building homes for the homeless and finding families for the orphans.
Spend my days fixing the broken-especially after the storm,
Either made of water or wind or human greed.
Maybe I'll spend my days learning a new language as I dig wells for the thirsty.
Or learn a new culture as I thatch roof to clay huts.
What if I stay here and learn to be content with what is around me,
And learn to be of some use to my family and community?
Maybe I'll heal the sick here while mending their roofs
Or find homes for the orphans as I save them from the storm,
Either made of water or wind or human greed.
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 8:55 PM UTC
You painted this beautiful mirage of me
Flawless, just the way you saw me
I danced in the shadows of the image you created
Until you asked something you never thought of asking
My answer was like many dark lines of charcoal,
Forever ruining your priceless art
It was done to spite you
To prove my carelessness, my independence.
Do I need someone? I might, but I don’t need you!
Out of hostility, I spat in your face.
Out of fear, all the doors and windows have been barred
And I no longer have the strength to free myself
Your question was the court room-
My answer the death sentence/penalty
And that painting you guarded with such pride
Forever displaying all that perfection,
I stole it away and destroyed it with a small collection
Of simple words
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 10:55 PM UTC
a bedtime story
In the distance stands a lighthouse
seeing all with cyclops eye
once a beacon, now a hollow,
dead in misted moonlit sky.
Proudly once she ruled the headland,
warning all of crag and shoal
trusted friend to salt scoured sea dogs,
smugglers caught within her glow.
Beauty lived as Keepers mistress
'till one day her love did bloom
walking clifftops with her lover
brought her ending, far too soon.
Bloodied, torn by cliff face ragged
screaming for the life she craved,
Beauty held her rounded belly
As fury deep hit waters grave.
Beauty stands alone in darkness
there above the tempest sea
bloated souls of those who perished
now her only company.
When the moon is high above us
wrapped in rags and witching stare
Beauty stands atop the catwalk
weeds 'a winding through her hair.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 10:24 PM UTC
people are like houses.
they may look perfect on the outside
but they might be messed up on the inside.
and you'll never know
unless they open up the door
and you step inside.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 1:01 PM UTC
I find myself trying to speak
The words I myself find to be meek
Your presence brings a sense of happiness
To a world full of ugliness
Your life shines with fulfillment
In a world with so little enjoyment
These words I try to find
Are formed in my mind
But are never spoken
For their formation hold naught but a token
A token of appreciation
For your reconciliation
These words I try to find
I hope to God are worthy of your time
When all my words do to accomplish
Are a sense of unworthy abolish
To a rather revealing relation
That was never a creation
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 7:43 PM UTC
I wish I could gather all your broken pieces ,
and heel the scars that the shatter had left in you.
But here I am, oblivious of how to gather my own wreckage.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 9:14 PM UTC
I am
A wolf among the sheep
They walk noisily about
Silently I creep
I walk as they do
I wear the same clothes
I meander my way through them
My prey will never know
The real me isn't so grand
This costume I wear is part of my plan
I'm not here to help you
I don't want your love
I am going to eat you
With teeth stained in blood
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 10:50 PM UTC
Honey take away the blade
From those innocent little wrists
You're far too precious
To hurt yourself like this.
Baby, take your fingers
From down your throat,
You're far too beautiful,
To make yourself gag and joke.
Sweetheart, empty those pills,
From your hands
You're far too gifted
To slip through the sands
Of time.
Darling, take the fist away,
From your head,
Your far too special,
Take your fist to a pillow instead.
Angel, take all those self destructive thoughts and hold yourself in your arms,
You're worth so much more and deserve so much better,
than to cause your self harm.
I promise.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 11:51 AM UTC