In the twisting of the road where the grass grow fit
A house with a pond and a bridge is to sit
Two happy lovers with their tangled limbs in bed
Usher in the morning with muscles laying dead
Night time love making exhausts their souls
And all through the night he filled her holes
Not holes of the flesh, or holes of the face
But holes in the soul that make waste of one's base
Wife lay comatose with dandelion hair
And husband sit attentive to watch and stare
Watch, watch her sleep just in case she escape
Tangled **** in his bed as if covered in drape
Early at dawn he begins to seek her flesh
For beneath her flesh lay something to enmesh
Fill, fill the holes so watchful lover
And harvest the body that sleeps under cover.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 10:27 PM UTC
At birth we are saplings;
absorbing and sponge-like;
anchored by flimsy roots.
Each developing child is a sliver,
a woodchip,
a branch.
We send our saplings to schools
to be stripped of their bark
and pounded into smooth identical geometrical shapes;
shapes incapable of stretches and growth.
These equations and grammaticals add shape,
not depth, so simple
simple enough to identify our souls
with a string of numbers and letters.
I was born a sapling,
born to stretch, twist,
reach for illumination; fueling the roots
from which I sprang.
Why do these axes
clad in their glasses
want to beat me into factory form?
We should be watered and nursed
until our trunks grow rings
incapable of calculation;
Teach me to grow toward the sun,
and not to become a fragrant product.
Teach me to drop fruits of wisdom
and throw flowers;
for apples can only drop
from fruitful trees.
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 9:49 AM UTC
I cannot fathom the scribbling in my brain into poetic queues as of now. I am in excruciating pain but I am liberated. I am dying on the inside but somewhere behind my rib cage is a thump. Less of a thump, more like a knock. The love of my life is tearing me to shreds and the universe is softly tapping its knuckles on the door. Through an addictive relationship I have discovered my origin.
I am a healer. I am an angel and I can do no true harm to a soul; I heal even those who are the radial balance of my suffering and bleeding. I have an expendable heart; it has been squeezed, sliced, punctured, chewed, stepped on, scraped, pulverized, shattered, cracked, drained, dried, bitten, and hungrily ****** on by the mightiest of leeches. I stand before myself scarred but glowing like the chest of a newborn child. Once again my pain has given birth to me. I am new, the world has not made me an ******* I refuse. I will love. I will care. I will heal and I will push through my crucifying pains of being leeched. I will continue to give what cannot be returned to me.
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 1:24 AM UTC
I went to Palm Beach carrying every shard of my soul today. It was empty, and it was going to storm. Not a soul but I. The waves brought in sting with each rolling army of sea foam, and I cried with the salt water of the Atlantic. That water roared with the screaming amputees that lay oozing in my heart. I thought about becoming one with the water; taking a deep breath of blue to end the pain. But I didn't. I let the shards of my spirit cut my palms as a buried them in the sand; I let the sharks smell my blood. I let the tide leave with my soul.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 10:27 PM UTC
In the eyes of the earthly
I am still just a bud
I am barely seventeen
But my soul has lived
And through living,
It has died on numerous occasions.
I have scars
That still often
Somehow bleed.
The wrinkles and grey hair
On my heart
Are beyond my years.
Still I cannot figure out
Why a lump fills my throat
On my birthday.
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 11:37 PM UTC
We talk with
The flitting understanding
Of space
Between two feeding birds.
Eyes look away
And return eagerly
Waiting to transmit
More of the feeling.
The feeling
Between us both
That both implodes walls
And builds them.
The feeling
That blushes in our words
And makes our silences
So loud.
The feeling fluctuates
Softly around our eyes
And strokes us both
With intangible caressing.
Stare at me.
Speak with me.
Be silent with me
For no matter what is said
Or unsaid
I am getting
An earful.
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 1:25 PM UTC
Today, I tore my heart off of yours with unparalleled force. I told you I wanted to be friends.
I don't.
I told you this will help me heal.
It won't.
You are missing from me; my eyes burn no longer with tears but with fatigue.
You bid me to sleep soundly. You feed my soul with fruits that can only be found hanging from the crooked tree that is you.
I let you bend me until I broke,
And you are all that can put me back together. I've never been so confused and submerged, suffocated and frustrated, for you can't give me what I want or need.
I try to convince myself you don't deserve me, and you don't.
This is unhealthy.
I want anything that will numb the pain or speed the scarring.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 10:59 PM UTC
Masochism is my favorite way to love; I adore deeply the one that is eager to leave me in the dust for his superficial passions. I cry infinitely as the rain over the Pacific, but it does not storm. It only blinds me with stinging tears that make a shore invisible. I had you wrapped around my finger, and you slipped off like an oversized ring, falling between the spaces of a gutter to travel sewers of risk; rank with the smell of doubt and returning loneliness. I travel these sewers barefoot with your risks up to my ankles, searching for you, my ring, dress hiked up to run as if you hadn't already seen such exposed leg. But only I splash. My lover is elusive. When he trembles in anger, he comes to me; when I tremble, he only flees. He does not understand his debts. I do, only I don't wish that he pay. My kindness is self-mutulation, for I know he will not appreciate my generosity. I think of him while he daydreams of riches and soaks in his wanderlust. I am simply a piece, a fragment, a speck of dust swimming among many in a ray of sunlight. I am not something he truly wishes to strive for. This murders me, and smashes my already broken heart into smaller, sharper pieces that seem harmless, but develop greater capacity to cut flesh.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 9:58 PM UTC
I'm not asking for
A soulmate.
The last thing
My soul needs
Is another piece to carry.
But if you ever
Want to hitch a ride
I'll scoot over.
You can sit
Next to Pain
And roll the windows down,
For once again
My chest
Is on fire
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 12:48 AM UTC
You were the last person
I thought
Would put a hammer to my soul;
and the first person I thought
That would close
The hole.
The kissing, the stares.
The stroking of hair.
All transparent; but placed with care.
You say you still love me,
And I don't know how.
Why didn't you love me then
Instead of now?
I was in love,
And you were out.
You dealt your blow
Now you come about?
Picking, and digging
For treasures once walked over?
Caressing my heart like it is glass,
When it is in shards;
Cut your fingers
on the remnants
Of your actions;
You won't feel a fraction
Of the wound
Between my ribs.
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 11:41 AM UTC