Stop with these requests
And all your questions,
I need some suggestions here
On how to live and breathe
And make these thoughts
For once seem clear.
It's not unheard of
To be unsure of things
All the time, but this is
One rhyme I have to get right
While the words are still ripe.
The problem, friend, is I'm
Too short to reach the branches,
So if you'll please take your stances,
I'll take your hand and that one's
Knee, to pluck what measly
Words I can from my dying tree.
My rhythm's all wrong now,
And this isn't some song I can
Just rewrite, revise, then call
It a night. These words are my
Soul, these words are my
Whole world, you see, and
To be off time means I'm
Out of my prime, and I
Still have to rhyme to make money.
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 12:22 AM UTC
I keep these words behind glass
in the fear that I might lose
the ability to make them on my own.
I keep them in jars and frames
and dust their letters clean
each day that I awaken.
I keep repeating them,
chanting the sounds to myself
and to your sleeping ear.
I keep these words behind glass
to remind myself of the words
that I'm too scared to throw away.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 11:26 PM UTC
Rearrange, re-estrange, re-derange.
Exchange the change you
Prearranged with something
Even stranger.
Interchange your long-range
Thoughts for something
Shorter, maybe don't be
Shortchanged this time around.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 11:11 PM UTC
I keep the tears in my head just for the night.
It's past the hour to be sad and I might
Feel the urge to set them free another day.
So I seal them tight, quite tightly away,
Until the time returns again for salt
To run and burn my cheeks because
This bucket of mine has a lot of leaks.
I can't seem to patch them up well
Enough to hold the product of those sixty minutes,
So the bucket swells and overflows its lip.
It's why my thoughts tend to slip, I think,
The days too long for just one hour,
That time spills and becomes a scattered shower
Full of my ills and my unpleasant days.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 10:55 PM UTC
Maybe you didn't put the stars up high
To make me hope to touch them.
Maybe you didn't make them shine
To turn this little planet dim.
But every day I hope to reach,
Every day I hope to see,
The stars loving you and
You loving me.
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 11:36 AM UTC
You're honest when you're drunk,
Forcing down a hunk of white bread and
Chugging water to keep it all down.
But the truth comes up and parades around town.
Teeth chew slowly while lips spew lonely truths
On counter and face and shoes.
You make a mess when you're drunk,
But it's so much cleaner, too.
Your anger is meaner and you say what you want,
You'll dare to leave but then you won't.
Stumble around and give me the words you found
While you drank your fears
And wiped those angry tears on my shirt.
You're younger when you're drunk,
Lines melt away and you come out to play.
You say what I didn't know I had to hear,
With no sign of fear that I might mind
Your unkind words and your babbling, bumbling mumbles.
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 11:33 AM UTC
I will write every word that I can,
I will write every emotion on every face,
Every tear, every star in endless space.
I will write endlessly,
I will write fearlessly, page by page,
Write to please every mind, every age.
I will write every story I can,
I will fill each book my soul, my ink,
I will not be afraid to share what I think.
I will write to the edge of my ability,
I will write wings upon my back,
And fly with words until my bones crack.
I will write 'til I'm dead,
I will write away my death,
And whisper poetry with final breath.
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 11:27 AM UTC
Here we are, skin on skin,
But no closer than we've ever been.
You're the one that I've always had to want,
The need that only stays to haunt.
Take my lips now, but you won't take your turn,
No matter how many love notes I burn.
You're the one I've always wanted in day,
The need that I can't get to stay.
The night is cold, star on star,
And your knife in my need will leave a scar.
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 11:15 AM UTC
I started stealing recently
Because of the feeling of power it gave me,
Like if somehow all that power
Would make the healing go faster,
But it only got me caught.
I started small, petty theft,
A piece of gum; not a lot.
The thrill was exciting
And made my heart beat stronger.
Every store was inviting me in saying,
"Come, stay a little longer."
So I did.
I lingered and I watched, and my
Heart raced as I fingered each item
With my eyes and paced the aisles restlessly.
They were just trinkets, what I stole,
Nothing anybody would miss,
Not like I did every night as I woke up
without a kiss
without a voice
without something to call my own.
So I started stealing to, if anything,
Distract me from what I was so painfully feeling.
Staring up at the ceiling every night
In a too large bed
With too many thoughts in a too small head.
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 8:15 PM UTC
My thoughts are louder than the
headphones in my ears, while I'm
Staring down the cliff face and
yelling "echo" through the fears.
But they're bouncing back and
beating against my face, which
Isn't my own, just a mask I've made
of paper and string and lace.
It's stuck there, covering my lips,
making me lie, changing the blips that
My radar is catching every day, while
sanity is beginning to sway
Against the endless tones
that aren't loud enough to drown
Out these dismal mental moans
screaming past my headphones.
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 8:13 PM UTC