a woman once drowned from lonesome fear:
the kind of sickness
you cannot hear.
she toiled with the time she'd lost
willing to take the brunt
of their cost.
the last word that parted from her lips
was "the fire burned my heart alive,
a pain that I cannot survive."
and the tiller came to take her away.
when the tiller comes to grasp your hand
what will he take from you?
what will he demand?
there is no value to devotion
if you're the only one
swimming in the ocean
so whatever sets your chest aflame
there is no fire
you cannot tame
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 12:42 AM UTC
When there seems
no progressive road
the past
savage
cruel
light finds you
the way out
whispers
the door awaits
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 4:56 AM UTC
Sometimes I feel like I'll die on this page
My penmanship falters, my life in the ash tray.
My soul coiled in to paper and ink,
Where I sat and I thought, where I sit and I think.'
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 12:47 PM UTC
They say that you should never
Push a loyal person
Past the point where they don't care.
Clearly you never heard that.
Or maybe you just don't care.
Either way, you've made a large mistake.
Because now all the anger
That I've been saving all these years,
All the fury I've been hiding-
Finally has release.
Every single person
That's ever done me wrong,
Every last wrong doing
That I have withstood,
Now falls upon your shoulders
Along with what you've done,
As if your own actions
Weren't bad enough alone.
They say that you should never
Push a loyal person
Past the point where they don't care.
But maybe now you've guessed
That it's far too late for you.
Because I'll smile and I'll laugh
I'll be pleasant around you.
You'll think that all is fine,
You'll fall into false comfort,
And when you try your games again
You'll fall flat upon your face.
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 10:10 PM UTC
Today was one of those days that started in a torrential downpour of hardship and discernment which scattered my mind whole with confusion and resentment. As I woke, a hole began to form in my chest. One that would surely be the death of reason and the atonement for hours spent in silence, letting my throat fill with the blood of my unspoken words.
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 9:40 PM UTC
I am your poet --
I write your name on my heart
and our memories on my pages.
I write about my doubts,
my maybe's, what if's
and whereabouts
of you; and only you.
I write about my mistakes and yours --
our past, present, supposed future;
and how I love you the most.
I write about our debates --
the shouting and crying like
a wildfire sprawled across the bed.
I write about our first date --
when we dress up so nicely
and danced all night.
I write about our first kiss --
the push and pull of our lips;
and the warmth of our breathing.
I write about the way we talk --
the sweetest and most painful sound
uttered against the wind by the heart.
I write about your heartbeat --
the way it speaks to me,
and how it says my name joyfully.
I write about your face, your body,
the sound, noise, and joy;
and how we make love endlessly.
I am your poet --
I write about our unending love
that ends on my pages.
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 9:39 PM UTC
“I think I shall dig a hole and when it gets deep enough I will lay down and die as every other dog I’ve known has done.”
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 7:14 PM UTC
*Chorus of morning leaves
Paint trees deeper in happy green.
Sunrays ricochet
From your eyes to my lips.
Maybe we are dying
For heaven has stepped down between us.
Heartbeat resonates
All over the sky
Carried by the wild wings of
White doves.*
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 2:16 AM UTC
Alexander pushes his mother's hand away and retorts, “It is bad enough to have his name, let alone to be his son.”
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 1:57 AM UTC
Whatever it may be that sets my chest aflame with a whole desire, lay within the confine of your deep, beautiful form.
It rings, it rings!
How I long! How I long! How long have I longed for this? How long have I wished to be realized as some feminine form? How long have I silently wondered on my own time?
Simply, I haven’t. Simply, it is you. Simply, I must be your woman, for you birthed that which is: this woman.
You: You have brought me to my womanly purpose. You have brought me to the radiance, which lingers in the eye of every loved mother.
It rings, it rings!
Whatever it may be that sends me to my knees in admiration,
That shakes me with such force,
That brings me to this earth- that rises and falls with your breath.
How I will be your metronome,
Your ageless home,
Your careful host,
And Honest Wife.
It rings, it rings!
Whatever it may be that leaves my hands in locking, longing for your sweet taste astounds me within some crevice of this mind:
Where I find myself beneath your greatness,
Where I find myself kissing each stretch of skin,
And crying to you:
Oh, my love, how I long! How I long!
How I desire to be pressed, fermented,
And enjoyed over ice…
How I will sweat and gain moisture: I will be the condensation dripping desperately down your wine glass.
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 1:56 AM UTC