The greatest battles/ wars- are those fought in one’s own mind.
Sometimes over & over again. Bridges you are forced to cross only to realize later you must backtrack and cross in a different manner.
To humble yourself enough to consider another option-
one previously beyond and above your scope of perception or ability.
To then fashion a device that will carry you- this time over your obstacles instead of trekking through them; thereby dredging the sticky matter and debris of that particular chaos with you to your next destination. --\
Which of course you will find is only more journey. Likely meant, at some point to be revisited by yourself in a higher consciousness.
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 12:41 AM UTC
if light bulbs got anxious and burned out any time someone caught them shining
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 12:17 PM UTC
i think about the stains on the ceiling, shaped like angels falling
about wooden walls like abstract art, you see an owl, then i see your subconscious
eyes are not windows to the soul, as some say
they hold the wear and tear of the day to day
and i could only venture to guess
that you're staring at your own reflection
when you comment on the hazel in mine.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 3:03 PM UTC
can't keep coffee
in my cup
it drips down the sides and sloshes over on yr shoes
and you look back at me,
biting yr tongue, i know
can't keep cigarettes
in my pack
i know i've quit but i buy another
how else can i feel proud
with no temptation to resist?
can't keep pace
with anyone
you tell me to stop comparing
"it'll come, give it time"
and i know, but even so
i can't keep you
not that i'd want to
my cells regenerate too fast
though i've stole the smallest part that i could manage
so i might keep a bit in tact
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 3:04 PM UTC
(no,) it's not horror by convention.
the walls are bare of bugs
(and indeed there are walls. bugs too, though not the sort to pester)
i've not been abruptly taken or shaken or prodded by torturous instruments of men or the mind.
for garish light i am able to adjust (though i'd prefer it dim)
i make no note of odor or obtrusive presence,
and so it is in my familiar crevice.
where joints come painlessly unhinged
(connected still by blood and tissue)
like the child's game with mismatched shapes
(this square simply won't fit in this tube)
(limbs irrevocably misaligned)
and there i'll float, when i've drifted
to the depths of a space that can't be removed
(aware and unable)
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 2:13 AM UTC
cold ground, bare feet
uphill, concrete
closed eyes, held breath
arms wrapped, meaningless.
rhymes that wouldn't fit the stanza
you're set to target, i'm a tangent.
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 8:20 AM UTC
only hope that no one's counting
how many times we've changed
our minds.
like car rides where you wanna dive
straight up and out the window
to the sky
and i really believed in an instant
that i might.
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 8:15 AM UTC
adrift for so long you forget
the water's shallow-
we can walk.
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 9:11 AM UTC
jesus, we're breathing! and the night turns into day.
was it so bad that you couldn't laugh?
has it ever been, and who's the judge of that?
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 9:09 AM UTC
awwwhh, **** the ocean and how the rain smelled!
i'm not here to conjure imagery of a pre-dawn traipse across town and the oh-so profound revelations
that came just before sleep.
shadows cast at such an angle that the front lawn looked like paradise,
the pretty words spoken in low tones as if we had a secret and couldn't let the world know.
because i wake up on the floor with something sticky in my hair and one contact twisted up in my eye that makes me squint.
i'm struck still by brash remarks on my own part
and the forgotten reactions by another
(memory fails in all the right places)
i can not look a soul in the eye and my mumbling is half-natural and three quarters shame.
and i feel it deeply.
there will be no romanticising the ache that sticks
in your head
i will not mention how i felt life,
so freely and completely in the very hours i seek here to discount.
**** the strange beauty in pain
and **** our futures
only time will drown out the rest
the least i could do is accurately encapsulate
the pure feeling of all the ways life is nothing at all
like a poem.
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 7:14 AM UTC