The heart of a writer is a battle ground,
they break for the sake of breaking
because even despair has its calms.
The hands of a writer are tar black,
patched up with band aids and
agonizing pain. The eyes of a writer
is a clear ocean view, mixed with
madness and sadness and a soul
somewhere there too. The mind of a
writer is a garden of flowers,
embracing pretty words and seeking
simple wonders. The soles of a writer
are on their own, they take them to
places they have never been before,
then trip and fall, creating their next
story line.
-Ka.Me.// @herbrokenpoetri on IG
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 3:19 AM UTC
Words do not a writer make
Nor poems nouns or prose
But the heart that breaks for breaking sake
Beyond calling Rose a rose
It's not the nouns or adjectives
Or strings of sappy lines
It's seeing love where nothing lives
And seeing darkness shine
A writer sees beyond the words
But sees the great divide
Between what heart says and what is heard
Never satisfied
A writer does not fill the page
With words that others need
But the page the page is the stage
Where their emotion bleeds
Of the things I think a writer holds
You may disagree
But if your heart is moved to words so bold
A writer you may be
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 6:46 PM UTC
When you hold a mirror,
hands pressed against the cool glass,
staring directly at your other half,
not exactly identical,
but you know there is something so
**** captivating inhabiting his
persona, you don't expect to look
away from those magnificent eyes,
and you don't expect the mirror to fall
and shatter into many hopeless pieces
and neither do you expect yourself to
spend hours, fingers bleeding, trying
to glue the pieces back together just
so you can get lost in his artificial presence again.
-Ka.Me// @herbrokenpoetri on IG
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 6:22 PM UTC
I think my heart is crying but I'm refusing to hear the screams.
I think my skin is turning blue without you,
because you were my life support and when you took off,
I no longer had air to fill these broken lungs with.
You said I wasn't all that great but I swear when
you first met me you couldn't look away. I blame
time because it changes people and now I can't help
but notice the chipped paint on my bedroom walls.
See, with you I looked at the world with hope-filled
eyes and everything was magic. Now I can't help but
find dead people my late night entertainment. I write
your name on damaged buildings hoping that maybe
one day you'll see that I put you before me and the sun
was our audience. You never liked how I compared your
eyes with the sea, now I keep choking on water but I'm
on land with a photograph of you smiling.
-Ka.Me// (herbrokenpoetri on IG)
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 4:55 PM UTC
I think you were deep,
That's why you were so captivating.
I think you said the same about me,
but after a while you realized that my depth was a mere illusion,
and after some time I found out you were hiding behind a mask and a keyboard. Sometimes I said hurtful things but you acted quietly, gently. You never said a harsh word and that was the thing.
You gently tapped into my weakest corners and watched me get tortured. You said nothing and I didn't know I was breaking until you weren't there anymore. And I'll always believe that even as you were breaking me,
you held me as one whole.
-(Ka.Me)//(aka herbrokenpoetri on IG)
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 4:50 PM UTC
The tree dies
but keeps on growing,
The soul dries up
but keeps on crying,
Lovers leave
but we keep on loving.
Our children keep growing,
But we keep on trying.
The mysterious darkness
keeps on descending,
Light will guide our way,
We are gone
but in memories
we live on.
The earth keeps
on spinning
but
we stand so still.
The ash remains
but we keep on
burning.
Everything is lost
but we keep on
finding.
In the place
between dreams
and awakening
everything is remembered
but we keep on forgetting.
The poem is done
but we keep on going,
The poetry is gone
but we keep on writing.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 7:43 PM UTC
Imagination is the fertile Land.....
Where wishes and desires take Command
A place where Children might find Trolls
Or Doctoral Mathematicians find Black Holes
Some Dark Imagining's can Lead to Crime
While Con's that Can't Do the Time
Or brave Officers Protect us all
When Dangers Near they heed the call
Artists and Poets Live in this Realm
Sailing Creativity with a Steady Helm
As they Sail the waters of Contemplation
They are Carried to the act of Creation
Couples longing Sensual Treasure
Arrive Aroused for Total Pleasure
Fine Lingerie so Satin Soft
With Loving touch raise them Aloft
But Childhood is a Magic Land
Where Tiaraed Princesses Rule Grand
And Boys who try can Fly the Sky
Or Closet Monsters are Battled and Die
Be very Greatful when you enter this Nation
For our Sweetest Gift is Imagination
So treat it with Gentle Pride.....
And Travel it till the day you Die.....JMF 1/28/15
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 6:56 PM UTC
If I could have your arms tonight—
But half the world and the broken sea
Lie between you and me.
The autumn rain reverberates in the courtyard,
Beating all night against the barren stone,
The sound of useless rain in the desolate courtyard
Makes me more alone.
If you were here, if you were only here—
My blood cries out to you all night in vain
As sleepless as the rain.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 6:54 PM UTC
I would live in your love as the sea-grasses live in the sea,
Borne up by each wave as it passes, drawn down by each wave that recedes;
I would empty my soul of the dreams that have gathered in me,
I would beat with your heart as it beats, I would follow your soul as it leads.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 1:40 AM UTC