I love white roses.
They are blank pages,
Filled with words
Of invisible honesty,
But I paint them red.
I cover them up
With lies. –
Lies of the things
Only of what
Other people will.
I love white roses,
But mine are dripping
Red with the paint
Of lies that cover
A multitude of sins
A multitude of scars
A multitude of
Mistakes.
I love white roses.
They are honest.
They are perfectly
Imperfect.
They show everything.
I love white roses.
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 11:10 AM UTC
The schoolyard bully-year knocked me down,
But while I was laying crying on the ground,
I gained some perspective, and remembered a love of mine. -
And while that year was pointing, laughing at me,
I got back on my feet.
Dusting myself off and drying my tears,
I caught it by surprise.
Wrestling it to the ground,
Rolling all around,
I made that year mine.
Kicking and screaming,
I made it bleed the times I wanted to see.
After all was said and done,
I asked the year "Why have you been so mean?"
And came the simple reply,
"Because you needed it."
We shook hands and went and got a beer,
And with every coming year,
I remember that one,
Who taught me a lesson I needed to learn,
Even if I had no idea I needed it.
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 10:10 AM UTC
She put on her dancing shoes,
And twirled in her dress.
He watched her sing,
And the microphone she caressed.
She sang to him,
"You don't have to call me darlin', darlin',
you never even called me by my name."
The room felt warm with spirits.
Other people looked and were jealous.
When would they find what they had? -
Sometimes it seems you find what you are looking for,
When you're not looking at all.
Someone made her a martini,
And she drank every last sip.
A bottle of bourbon was passed,
And she drank a little of it.
The night shifted and swayed like a dance,
And people sang and laughed,
But her eyes were on him,
And his hands on her.
When the music ended,
They staggered home,
Holding each other. -
They fell asleep,
But the music still rang in their ears,
Like tomorrow would never come.
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 11:49 AM UTC
A storm rages through the caverns of my mind,
My hearts trees sway and bend,
Taking in the hurricane.
I am at war. -
Too much to say,
But no way to speak it.
All alone the branches break,
But there is not one person here,
Who will clean up the debris.
I am gone gone gone
Blown away by the wind,
I can only watch and pray the storm will end.
Theres a jungle in my heart,
And a buzzing wind through my brain.
Nothing matters.
Nothing makes sense.
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 11:37 AM UTC
The thunder rolls outside,
And the time for class is coming,
But I can't skip today.
I wonder if its raining where you are,
And I wonder if you think of me.
Probably not though.
I don't want to think about you either.
I PUSH
PUSH
PUSH
You out of my mind,
And listen to the R
A
I
N
and T U D R
H N E
instead.
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 11:16 AM UTC
You came to me in a dream,
And showed me your fathers will,
And all I could do was hold you and cry,
Until I noticed the angry grunting noises you made.
Then somehow you just wanted me to laugh,
Instead of me making you.
So you tickled and I giggled,
And we rolled round in the floor.
Its sad to me that even in dreams,
You seem to haunt me even more.
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 12:29 PM UTC
Martini glasses chime with floating olives,
Cocktail dressed, and music playing,
Clamoring voices and velvet hands.
Will I measure my life in coffee spoons? -
Or plastic sticks where olives used to be.
Salty sweet like the sweat of angels,
You hand me my drink,
Electricity passes through your fingertips.
I am shocked.
You sweep me into your arms,
We glide over the floor,
The rock songs play but we waltz.
“Take your time, Love”
I tell you but you never listen.
Will you ever learn,
Or will I?
We do this dance around
All the questions we will ignore,
Just for one more moment.
One more dance.
Just one.
The martini glasses clank.
Cheers to the moment,
It hangs in the air,
Wafting, dispersing, infecting our clothes,
it lingers.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 1:03 PM UTC
There were some books in the hall,
I was told that they were yours,
And the thought crossed my mind
That, were you ever to haunt a thing instead of place,
It would be books-
Your books.
The smell of the old paper
Filled my nose.
It was like walking into a library.
A book of English drama
Lay in the stack-
Heavy and black.
Your name scrawled on the spine,
White against the dark.
It reminded me of you,
So I took it,
Raggedy spine and all.
And now it sits on my shelf,
To reassure me, much the way you did.
Of what I’m not sure,
Perhaps just for a sense of solidarity.
Books will always be there,
Living and breathing,
Even when their owners have gone.
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 11:09 AM UTC
I see you often in my dreams
And try to remember your warmth.
Sometimes I think I hear you calling me,
But this old house echoes that I am alone.
I close my eyes and breathe deeply;
I smell your favorite gum on my breath.
All at once you seem to be here,
And I hear your old piano sing.
The song is familiar, and I hear your voice,
“Amazing grace how sweet the sound.”
If only it had been enough to save a wretch like me.
The old house again falls empty and silent.
As quickly as you came, you left.
So I sit alone on this old piano bench
In the doorway of your old house
And reminisce.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 12:09 PM UTC
Set apart from the world
On this little gravel road
I’m hidden away
By dancing leaves
On swaying trees.
The sun shifts
Shade lifts and falls,
And I am alone but free.
The wind blows
Tousling my hair.
And days are spent
Without care.
Country roads
Carry me along,
The beaten path
I travel alone.
When I go back
To where I’ve been
I will think of the road
And soon visit again.
Gravel roads, they call out to me—
I will always long to be
Beneath the trees
Feeling that shady breeze.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 12:09 PM UTC