Beneath the innocence of a child
Is the yearning desire to rebel,
Not against his or her youth,
But against the universal rules of normality,
Whether it be unleashed within a cupboard below a staircase
Or while sitting in the next room over,
Listening to the sound of what magic could be.
Perhaps if I keep reading,
This fantasy will live on
In a reality that is, instead,
My own.
As a child’s adolescence blooms,
The morbidity behind what it is to
Repeatedly fall victim to fiction
Is surreal.
Something that non-readers cannot comprehend
Is that the fantasy does live on in a way that is unfair,
For it simply resides in our ever-seeking minds
In which that same desire to rebel, too, lives on;
As I have already come as close as I ever will
To filling that void.
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 12:13 PM UTC
its been so long since I’ve written you down
and since, there have been other you’s that have
come and gone
like these seasons,
steady
so now it is Fall again,
the time last year during which my heart was aching
as you vanished from my side;
I stopped and watched as
you went;
you went so
slowly
i stand now, still abandoned
like a tree from its leaves
but I do stand,
and I wonder what you’re doing now,
but only for a moment
before I continue walking;
listening
as the leaves that were silenced
crunch beneath my sentimental feet.
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 8:19 PM UTC
I wish that today, I could
demonstrate;
reciprocate
everything you once gave to me;
your blue-eyed glance,
your firm grasp on my hand, &
your love
is still worth 1000 poems
& I'm so sorry
that I cannot
illustrate
that through more than just
these few
short
lines.
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 9:15 PM UTC
made-up quotes about the metaphorical sense of
"moving mountains"
are incendiary to my sweet thoughts;
they anger me into an oblivion
in which these mountains are barriers;
in which they define us.
if I could literally move mountains
I’d do it in a moment’s time;
tearing down all 6,683 ft of their towering elevation;
silencing their spite and
forcing them far, far away;
soothing our tall tensions to ease.
we dwell in opposite margins
of a page that has so much yet to be written;
when I run to you,
I do so in slow motion and one step out of time
as I constantly trip over the alpine ground
that we mistake for a reason why
this isn’t right.
I cannot literally move mountains,
but if I could,
I would,
and the dissonance
between my heart and yours
would exist no longer.
let’s frighten these mountains into an oblivion
in which we can see just over them
and I’ll touch their peaks to find your hands holding mine;
guiding each other through our separate lives
melded
by love.
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 3:39 PM UTC
somethings not quite right here, dear
the writings on my sheets don’t spell your name
nor does their ink run
at the same, quickening speed as you do
towards their uninviting comfort.
somethings not quite right here, love
i still think of him every time you
forget to remember; a flaw
and I forget to eat
every time i remember his bed
some things will never be right, friend,
such as you and i,
and please don’t cry when I tell you
that i won’t let you watch me sleep anymore
for I’ll wake up too sad to see your smitten eyes
after dreaming again of his hands that
once upon a time, opened mine
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 7:07 PM UTC
sizzling; simmering
one by one,
air bubbles begin to rise
and then by 2s; 3s
they race to the top;
flocking to the surface
spinning; swarming;
stop.
boiling water.
that's what love is like;
the onset and duration of an anxiety attack;
it'll give you one, too, if you don't
stop.
because once it's begun,
once again,
you will stumble helplessly through a
self-inflicting battleground
of what can no longer be
peaceful independence,
but an inner war that you
know you will lose,
amidst the increasing rapidity of
your own shots fired;
please
stop.
the water will boil
until you rid your clutch
on that stove;
one hand on the gas,
the other on the burner.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 12:16 AM UTC
we became 2 stars
on the day you left;
sent away & split amongst
other abandoned love stories alike.
maybe, in some far away galaxy,
or in a closer parallel universe,
we’re still together
and I hope, then, that I don’t have to say it.
I hope that in a
better, simpler place,
we still exist as one
and I hope I don’t have to say anything,
just look up at you and smile like I always do.
but here,
existing as nothing more than
half of the memories that drive me
into the stars; mad,
yet drive you further into her arms,
I’ll say this:
I hope you aren’t too happy.
Dec 26, 2015
Dec 26, 2015 at 1:26 AM UTC
what a silly cycle it is
for me to arduously switch off
between running
and running through television channels;
certainly a perfect analogy
between being perfectly ok
and moping in the absence of what would
normally be
a conversation between us.
so between 2 opposing universes of
happiness and
hopelessness,
i spin in little circles;
indecisive, almost
until one day, i break this silly cycle
and no longer see your face
glaring through the light of my
television screen,
no,
only myself;
my own reflection
in the puddles between solid ground
and my active feet.
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 8:32 AM UTC
you get so used to something;
to someone;
never expect them to abandon you
though you condoned their departure
you saw it coming
it was all experienced yesterday
except, then
it was only a distant speck
you brushed away the dust you kicked up and
ignored the arguments that weighed on your conscience
you saw it coming
yet it still hits you like a freight train
with your back to it;
your earphones in
because you were trying to enjoy a walk
on such dangerous tracks;
such thin ice
you saw it coming
so what choice do you now have
but to finally collapse;
to let it run you over
and let your
omniscient bones
break?
you saw it coming,
but you let it hit you anyway.
please, get out of the way next time.
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 1:12 AM UTC
you are the lump
preventing my swallow.
& nausea,
now a familiar friend,
feebly attempts to collapse your solidity
in the back of my throat,
as do the lies I tell myself aloud
in order to forget.
I wonder if you remember,
or does your new sun shine so bright
that she blinds you from your own past?
perhaps she's more of a
supernova, like you said
& so I'd like to think;
something temporary.
still, she came amidst fire & light
while I came with a
removable bow on top;
received pain on a similar platter
as that of my uneaten dinner;
I understand.
my final question is if that sort of
amaurosis makes you dizzy;
tell me,
what effect does she
have on your
stomach?
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 10:36 AM UTC