leon-hart
Filipino
Every night, before I go to bed, I write at least one poem. The craziest most free written poetry ever written. Poems that are written upon the time where my brain seems works the most, and my thinking is clearer. Hope you enjoy them, if you don't I really don't care. I write because I love it, it's my form of catharsis.
This journey started with a morning pancake
and your special coffee with chocolate
that all tasted so real as if i was awake
Five years we sat on a table,
with you across from me,
and I across from you,
we spent years building something true
Come rain, sleet, or snow
no matter which road I take,
You were always the way to go
As I held your hand,
And You held mine,
We walked through every weather
and still your hand would be engulfed around mine
Just as the sun rises in the morning
you have always had my heart,
And just as the sun sets in the evening
you took what we built
and tore it apart.
You were all that I had
and all that I ever hoped for,
Now I'm laying here
on this cold October floor.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 7:47 AM UTC
You
I've spent hours contemplating
the words to say to you
but no combination
of twenty six letters
could ever capture
a sliver of what this feeling is
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 11:29 AM UTC
It's amazing what one person can do
they could come in and leave a mark
as big as the the sun,
And at a moments notice
they leave you completely undone
And when they return
it's immensely magical
that a second chance is given,
when all along you were a fool
for thinking love has risen,
and it strikes you like lightning
that everything is just so cruel
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 2:57 PM UTC
I know of no other catharsis
other than this...poetry
it's my escape from the world
I have a million words to say
even the most repetitive never gets old
I breath in words
and, breathe out an image
I take in pain
and create a colorful painting
Oh poetry, take my experience
and, create life with purpose
an entity with existence
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 10:41 PM UTC
As with most men, it is easier for me to give hugs than to accept them,
Let the truth be known that men are nothing more than emotional skyscrapers,
built with glass infrastructures, spray painted the color of steel and nicknamed "Strength"
Strange, isn't it?
What walking contradictions are we called men...
Men are taught to colonize at the age of 5 through games like cops and robbers,
cowboys and indians
At the age of 8 we are given helmets and told to hit each other on the head with it,
Bleed but do not bleed,
Cut but do not cry,
Be a man, join the military,
Die for your country, and if death comes to you,
Look it in the eye and say:
Bring it on, ************ I fear nothing but intimacy.
When it comes to intimacy men quiver like fault lines, crumble like cities
What walking contradictions are we called men...
Men sign peace accords while abusing their wives,
Accept the Nobel Peace prizes while reducing health care,
Pledge to rid the world of terrorism while simultaneously denying government aid to any country that defends a woman's right to choose
During the 1970's the US government forcebly sterilized an estimated fifty percent
of the indigenous population of America's Mid-West telling them the process was reversible
Can you say biological terrorism?
In a global war against terror, maybe testosterone is the real terrorist
And if so, how many of these Star Spangled singing, flag waving citizens would
continue to do so If terror was not racialized, but gendered?
Would the US military turn its guns on itself for a *** trap across Southeast
Asia, Africa and the Americas?
Would MTV be firebombed for its subjectification, hyper-sexualization of our women of colored bodies?
Would we stop looking towards the muslim world for misogyny and instead
turn our sights to Madrid, Montreal, New York, Los Angeles?
And I understand my sisters when they say every woman has a story that's been told a maxim of one soul, maybe less
And that is why you'll never hear me call a woman **** ***** or a ****
No matter what she does, because I do not blame her
I blame the men who have emotionally and physically ***** her,
I blame these corporations whose images tell them they hate her,
And I put my arms on her shoulder and tell her how great to life and
to God that SHE created her
Men, take note, this is how you give love,
This is how you receive hugs.
Press flesh to flesh till breast crumple,
Like emotional origamy.
-Mark Gonzales
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 4:23 PM UTC
We are trapped by our predisposed characteristics
Seemingly inescapable,
but little did you know it is nothing more than a facade,
Like an arrow that tells you where to go,
But your instincts tell you not to follow
the choice is always yours,
now choose the right course.
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 3:40 PM UTC
Whatever happened to following your dreams?
Performing magic for sheer entertainment,
Or making it to the big league and playing for your team
At what point did it all come crashing down?
when did you say ***** my dreams*"
just because it was a profession that seems to be run-down
I once dreamed of performing as a wrestler in the squared circle,
then i realized that in life it isn't a straight narrow road
a plethora of ups and downs, and gigantic sacrifices here and there
Now I am only a quarter of my dream
holding on to it, hoping that the actual things did not matter
everyday I'm afraid of falling off, like I'm walking on a beam
In the not so distant future--what happened?
Will turn into It Happened!
And when it does you will see it actually happen.
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 2:32 PM UTC
She owns the brightest smile
that could light the streets for miles
She has the bravery to tame the wildest beast
yet, she see's non of these
Once upon a time--not so long ago
she decided that luxury is what she would forgo
so her dreams would not fall,
Her creations could be describe with anything, but banal
What a hardy choice she made
in a crooked world with no aide
She has the strength of ten men
like finest steel she would be hard to bend
like the toughest riddle i could never solve her
on these facts there is no err
It's rare that anyone would catch the impossible girl,
she appears only to those cut from the same burl
Impossible as it seems,
I will catch her--and not only in my dreams
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 1:50 PM UTC
This is for the soul searchers
This is for the song writer who feels like who he is doesn’t fill the space
of who he was meant to be. This is for the depressed cigarette smoking chain smokers.
This is for the poet who writes a thousand lines and keeps them all to
herself, because nobody else deserves to hear them.
This is to fight the starless sky of every midnight wanderer who looks up
wondering, cause if there were more like you the night time streets wouldn’t be so empty.
This is for the traveler who never got a chance and lies below a rock with
his name.
I don’t even know if I’m old enough to say it, but it’s for the generations
of baby boomers of old women and men whose ideas and values are shushed by an obnoxious generation.
This is for the wedding planners whose weddings never seem to come.
This is for the beautiful girls that somebody told otherwise.
This is for the 15 year old gang member who can’t leave.
This is for the second place finishers and the C students.
This is for the guitar strings never threaded and the scripts never
written and the thrill voices that never cried hallelujah because they didn’t believe they could.
This is for the incapable,
Because you and me both are incapable.
This is so you can look at me differently like I was an amputee.
And what I’ve had cut away was my expectations.
I was supposed to be huge—
I was supposed to be the first rose ever planted in the desert—
I was supposed to be the first paint on the ceiling in the Sistine chapel—
I was supposed to be either Axel Rose or Frodo Baggins, and whether
you’re cool or not you understand that line.
I was supposed to be the first pope with a full body tattoo—
I was supposed to be Neil Armstrong—
I was supposed to be the first life on another planet—
I was supposed to be bleeding iron and nails—
If you saw me as I was supposed to be the contrast between me and the
rest of the world would be unbearable, but I’m incapable.
‘Cause nobody ever pushed me,
Nobody ever pushed me,
Nobody ever pushed me and said:
Be something bigger,
Be something bigger,
Be something!
Nobody ever told me I had the power to leave a hole when I withdraw
my hand from water or move a crowd with mere words or play notes on a piano like bullets to your eardrums.
And in all of this, I wonder if the big things know how important they
are, because I’m a mustard seed and nobody expects me to move a mountain,
Or even cover its slopes in yellow.
But I still feel vastly important, so what then?
So this is my push, my push that you may never get from another person, ever. So, listen carefully:
I EXPECT A LOT OUT OF YOU.
Don’t be discouraged when you can’t cross one line, ‘cause you’ll pass a
hundred others learning you can’t go over one.
This is a dare: go to your fridge and get out all your eggs and put them in
one basket and tell me if you’re still incapable.
And if you are, go back to your fridge and get all your egg based
products, ‘cause you missed them, you missed them and you need them and the neighbors not lending any ingredients.
And when you get there, wherever it is that I pushed you to, don’t worry
about telling me—
Cause I
Will notice
And most of all remember that if you’ve been pushed, if you’ve really
been pushed, you’ll be dearly missed when you’re gone.
-Marty Schoenleber III
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 4:05 PM UTC
My biggest fear is that I am too late,
afraid what my actions would cost,
scared of leaving anything to fate,
I have so much on my plate,
My worst nightmare is that i won't make it
Simply because i am my biggest critic,
with every night that comes i repeatedly tell myself,
Don't quit, don't quit,
As I hide behind the words I create,
I have so much on my plate
Who knows what father time has in store
I know for a fact I don't want to stay still
but rather explore,
Find the most exciting thrill
From the most highest mountain,
to the lowest valley,
Every nook and cranny,
to the dirtiest alley,
Hell, I would have love to meet John and Annie,
Who met when they were kids
and died together at the age of ninety
It would be great if we all knew our fate
Truth be told, we all have so much on our plate
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 11:59 PM UTC