Along an interstate highway somewhere on the road to Colorado from the east coast, you might spot an old truck on the side of the road. At first glance it's not unlike any other old drifter trucks, parked all across the continent for a nights rest from a long day's travels.
But in the back of that particular truck, 2 people lay, young and dumb, but together, then and there, they found paradise.
Love is the best kind of maddness, and these 2 were the craziest of them all.
Now she's fallen asleep in has arms, and he's basking in the ecstasy of her existence, with his middle finger skyward, because together they turned the impossible into somehow.
They were going to travel the world together and share romantic flashlight-lit dinners of truck stop donuts and thirst busters, seeing all the unappreciated glory of love and earth.
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 10:04 PM UTC
Close your eyes
and imagine a kiss
filled with longing
and passionate bliss
Feel my hands
about your waist
see if you can
my yearning taste
And as intensity
starts to grow
Hold me tight
don't let me go
Pull me closer
to your breast
see if this dream
will pass the test
If pulse has quickened
and cheeks have flushed
then follow this dream
to me you must.
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 12:55 AM UTC
She was beautiful. Everything about her sent serotonin surging through my veins. I simply couldn't comprehend how happy I was feeling, it was beyond words. Her silken hair soothed my soul. Her sweet scent filled my lunges.
As we laid there, I could feel her breathing, her body pressed to mine.
This is it. This is my heaven-on-earth. This is my bliss.
I looked up at all the brilliant stars, and for the first time, I didn't feel any smaller. Against all odds, we were together, here and now, and nothing else mattered. A grin split across my face as I raised my middle finger to the sky. We had done it.
Out of all the billions of people against all the zillions of stars,
we made it.
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 10:36 AM UTC
If I could
pinpoint the
exact moment
your breath
touched mine
washed me over
in ocean waves
sea creatures glowing
in delightful recognition
as the seedlings
of connection
shimmied into our being
and, dancing within me
in its own lifeforce
your mind a living,
breathing animal
your heart, purring
and whirring its sacred forces
into my molecular structures
your soul throbbing
in mitochondric pulsing
(*oh what
a delicious vibration
of ribosomes*)
Between us, we hold
the true treasures
close, in frothy
tenderness
a purity of the expanse
of our universe,
swathed in prismatic color
colors that shift,
these fresh hues
for which there are no name
they are lucid and fine-woven
as silk histories
yet deep as earthcore
your eyes, voice
are forever burned
into my own
every day scriptures
that rock my shattered parts
into wholeness
and,
like ancient magic,
I conjure forth
the holy gospel
rising from our bones
every second of
every minute
as our deepest fires
our most secret filth
our murky corners
our darkest hours
we weave into light
brilliant and lustrous
multi-layered in the richest
folds of the earth
and as you place me
upon the shores
of your garland-graced
throne
Now I'm alive in a new
kind of light
and
all I can do
is love
and love
and love
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 10:55 PM UTC
The morning after I killed myself,
I woke up.
I made myself breakfast in bed.
I salted and peppered my eggs and used my toast to make a bacon-egg-and-cheese sandwich.
I squeezed a grapefruit into a glass, and scraped the ashes from the frying pan and wiped the butter off the counter while I sipped.
I washed my dishes and put them away.
The morning after I killed myself,
I fell in love.
Not with the pretty girl next door or the middle school's hot vice principal.
Not with that cute jogger or the shy grocer who always left the milk out of the bag.
I fell in love with my mother, and the way she sat on my bed holding my drawing of the rose girl and butterfly until it grew damp from sweat and tears.
I fell in love with the way Dad took my arrows to the river and went bow fishing just so he could **** something.
With my siblings, who would each go to school and wrestle with the reality of my indefinite absence.
The morning after I killed myself,
I walked my dog.
I watched the way her tail wagged when a bird flew by, or how her pace quickened at the sight of a cat.
I saw the empty space in her eyes when she turned around with a stick for me to throw, but saw nothing but empty air where I ought to be.
I stood by as a stranger scratched her behind her ears and she melted under their touch like she once had for mine.
The morning after I killed myself,
I went to the spot at the park where 2 year old me had waddled into the wet cement, and noted how the footprints had begun to wear away.
I went home and picked a few roses and pulled a few weeds and watched the elderly woman across the street through her window as she read the news of my passing.
I saw her husband tap the ashes off the end of his cigarette and bring her her daily medicines.
The morning after I killed myself,
I watched the sun rise, and thought what my 2 friends might be thinking then.
The evening after I killed myself,
After spending the day watching the world keep turning without me,
I went back to my body at the morgue and tried to talk some sense into the lifeless husk.
I told him about his dog, and the dragon headstone grandpa carved for him, he remembered how much I loved dragons.
I told him about Dad at the river, and how his little brother was starting drugs to numb the pain.
I told him about the sunset she was watching without him, and his friends playing one-sided card games, and reminded him of their secret cabin in the woods.
The day after I killed myself,
I tried to un-kill myself,
but
I couldn't
finish
what I started.
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 2:33 AM UTC
Gather my colours,
my shapes,
my heat
blend them
and mend them
make them complete.
Discard what offends
whats left you can keep.
I trust in the kindness of you
Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 9:13 PM UTC
Humans, by nature, are creatures of the present.
We live in the now.
And maybe your now was 4 years ago before she died,
And maybe your now is a visionary hope of days yet to come.
Whatever the case, I've had a beautiful thought, or better said, a bit of happy revelation;
The seed never sees the flower.
If you had met me 3 years ago, you'd have a vastly different experience than if you met me today.
Then, my countenance bore the look of a fox lily seed bulb, or rather, a soiled ******* with a shriveled pink petal of hope and thick tendrils of pity, like some kind of monster bug that got lost while looking for where the wild things went.
A rather pathetic sight, coupled with the stench drug abuse and swelling cresendos of loneliness.
Back then I lived in the shadows of regret, and walked on a leash with a noose as my collar, made tame by the demon to whom she sold my soul: Depression.
I drowned my sorrows in ***** and stifled it with the fragrance of dank ****
My head hung lose on my shoulders, my shoulders slumped hopelessly over my body, and I had an distinct shroud of gloom.
I wanted to die.
But as those long and lonely hours drew out into dreary September days, and on to weeks,
then months,
then years,
I began to blossom.
Thick tendrils of pity took root in the rich soils of friends in need and grew into powerful roots of compassion, transcending years and onwards to a lifetime.
The ******* actually became a heart.
Strong and bold, and inscribed with the scars of every story.
And that little, shriveled petal?
It blossomed into a steadfast and fiery fox tail lily, and when the sun hits it at just the right angle, it almost looks like the burning flame of invigorating life.
And there I stand, stalwart and garish amidst the rolling hills of our very own pale blue dot, looking back on the path that lead me here, simply by letting time pass and enduring the onslaught of change.
And I remembered
The seed never saw the flower.
Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 7:26 AM UTC
My heart it beats through lonely days
my head it heeds no warning
For I have loved you many ways
from dusk til waking morning.
The clock it marks my numbered days
each tick a token tear
My heart is held within your gaze
Why don't you see me here?
Jan 16, 2018
Jan 16, 2018 at 11:19 AM UTC
*love doesn't choose its victim,
it kills from a distance,
without taking the time
to calculate the
emotions divided
and tears added.*
Jan 16, 2018
Jan 16, 2018 at 2:28 AM UTC
So many misinterpreted metaphors
make me cringe
''are you trying to ruin poetry for everyone''
but I hide my damp eyes behind my fringe
because I mustn't argue and my teachers are never wrong
They sing without a meaning or lyric in their song
we are taught to write what they want to hear
not the truth we feel inside our hopes and fears
But i must turn the other cheek
to get my degree I need..when home I ponder, I weep
because it was the school that killed poetry
for many of my peers..
But all is not lost..wipe away those tears
Grab the pen that feels ethical
the paper that doesn't deceive, doesn't lie
and write a poem that you can feel
you'll get out of school alive
Jan 16, 2018
Jan 16, 2018 at 2:27 AM UTC