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CMXIClement May 2020
Eye to eye,
I want to be lost in you.
Peering through the windows to a spirit of fire.
To be leveled with merely a glance
that leaves me defenseless yet safe.

Lip to lip,
I want to savor you.
Leaving chills where our fingertips trace.
Painting with the brush of my tongue on the canvas of yours
vibrant watercolors of orchids.

Hip to hip,
   I want to traverse ancient ruins of toppled granite, layered with moss and scaled with ivy.
I want to walk coasts kissed by the waves of seas,
as they topple the sandcastle we built and left behind.

Side to side,
I want stand with you and nurture your passions.
To inspire you, and for you to inspire me.
To stare at a wonder brimming with zeal,
to marvel at a soul so compassionate.

Heart to heart,
I want to discover you, to learn the depths of who you are.
To unveil the mystery of a goddess.
I want you to learn me, and see me.
To share in each other's pain and triumph.

Hand in hand,
I want to walk with you on sunlit roads and darkened paths.
To uplift you and encourage you.
To be there to celebrate your success,
And hold you up in failure.

From me to you,
This is my heart, and I never had much.
I always craved that connection, and oneness.
I can live without it, I know I'm self-sustained,
but there will always be an ache in my heart for you.
CMXIClement May 2020
We stole away
                    (The air cool, and lively),
                        
           Strolling down a side street at a calm, and quiet pace.

          The ambient noise of several a raised voice echoed
                             faintly through pulses of bass.
                                                           ­                                     
                                                               In that moment,
                             A world removed...

              (Something came over me) With impulse, revelry;  
        
           (Grabbing her hand) -- "May I have this dance?"--and then  
                              we swam in waves of 'Frenesi'.

                                                     ­  Nervously laughing,
                   you, always self-conscious

                         It was one of things I so loved about you
              
                 I wanted us to breathe the air of life lived carefree,
                              And to bask in adventures anew.

Laughing, twirling
On a moonlit night

Time stood still, as we swayed like waves in the ocean

The world was ours, near those downtown bars as
we painted the sidewalk with motion.

But life moves on
And time moves forward..

Silence replaced laughter, joy with indifference

And with a colossal divide, a crack at a time
her face grew blurred from the distance.

                                                      ­  And then one day
                                A vague silhouette.

          The lover I knew was gone, though once she was close..

        Those fiery chocolate eyes were now veneered with  
                       icy guise..there was no more repose.

                                                        ­    Old memories,
                          Nostalgic thoughts.

                    It seemed a losing battle, the battle we fought;

               So, raise a toast, I say:  à la fille que je connaissais,
                                  j'espère que tu trouver de la joie.
If you've never heard Frenesi by Artie Shaw, I highly encourage you to.  Fantastic song if it's your style.
CMXIClement Jun 2020
Small circles,
friends,
habits,
family.
Small cycles,
seasons,
habits,
family.
Small circles because...
seasonal friends.
habitual cycles.
familial circles.
Small cycles because...
habitual friends.
seasonal habits.
familial circles.
Family cycles caused...
circular habits and...
seasonal friends and...
circles of habits and..
seasonal family...
cycles of circles,
circles of cycles,
cycles of circles that spiraled me earth-ward,
circles of cycles that spun me sky-ward.
Circles of habits that turned me inward.
And then breaking cycles that turned me outward.
Sometimes a broken circle is closer to perfect.
Tri a new Angle.  Sometimes square is better than circles.
CMXIClement May 2020
I stared at you,
a cold empty face.
You didn't have much time for me,
and nothing much to say.

You never really touched me,
and if you did you made it hurt.
With spite you said I remind you of him,
I felt to blame, but wasn't sure.

Was it my fault when you left?
Because you never said goodbye.
Yet you took the others with you,
and the soul of a small boy died.

Strangely as I grew older,
you relied on me the most.
I kept trying to earn your love,
to bleed affection from a ghost.

With my early twenties scattered,
I couldn't pinpoint how I felt.
I was broken and alone,
while juggling shards of shattered self.

As time progressed I began to heal,
and put myself in a better place.
I understand too much to hate you,
But I don't have much to say.

I know the pain you went through,
that you were damaged from the start.
A lonely child you were too,
with missing pieces of your heart.

I couldn't bring myself to do to you,
the things you did to me.
To perpetuate that awful cycle,
so forgiveness set me free.

Forgiveness is a habit,
not a singular event.
Sometimes past words and actions
muster up my soul's lament.

But through it all you're still my heart,
and that's not an easy pill to swallow.
But I won't live life filled with resentment,
we're not guaranteed tomorrow.

I remember the night we danced
to Such Great Heights by Iron and Wine.
I wanted you to know that I could love you through it all.
I will give more than I was given, dearest mom of mine.
CMXIClement Oct 2020
To love is to give every
ounce of yourself to
her in word and deed.

To love is to ride the
wave of a chaotic sea,
to crash and froth
against the cliffs,
edges jagged and strewn
with large rocks.


To love is to coast on
and tread the gentle
currents, while the orange
glow of a serene late day
sun casts himself benevolently
on the sea, and the shores she kisses.


For it to end is
for sound to seem faded
and taste to be bland.

In this death there
is no mourning...
only the cold hollow
chill of a winter night...
still... windless...indifferent
as the moon's shallow light
.
CMXIClement Jun 2020
To be captured,
by the radiance in your eyes,
the flow of your hair.

To be enamored by your grace,
to be a guest of honor in your life.
to be a recipient of what makes people love you.

To be a part of your family, and a family for once.
To have a place in your lineage, and a place for once.
To have a place in your heart, and someone's heart for once.

I'm independent, yet I want to be claimed.
I'm my own person, but I want to be owned.
I'm my own man, but I want to be someone's.
CMXIClement Oct 2020
I am from my birth pillow.
I am from loneliness, sadness...
spaciness...
...I was always looking for something.

I am from dandelions and tall, tall grass.
The breeze sifted through the yard, and the
blades swayed in perfect synchrony.

I am from Christmas Eve at Grandpa's
house, and the low status gifts.  From
****** communication.  From stones, and Nelsons.

I am from living in fear,
and abandonment.  From,"You're like him."
And luckily from, "You weren't MEANT to fit in."

I am from the cross and communion, and then
realizing I cannot see his face in nature's mirror.
With my own reflection being distorted by the glass.

I am from Illinois, and Scandinavian blood...
From potato soup and at times, nothing.
I am from her absence, and how fast she left.

I am from burnt up, few remaining, and rare pictures.
I am from toys I once collected, now melted.  The pillow
I had now gone.

I am from the feeling I had a consumerists mark
on the world, but my impression is more.  More than
toys or things, I have who I am.  My memories.

I have my worth.
worth
CMXIClement Jun 2020
Alone he walks down a rocky road,
shadow scattered with winding turns.
With canvas sacks he carries this load.
While eyes fall sleepy and muscles burn.

Each step taken with intention,
To reach the end of this twisted path.
Each step fueled by retention
of memories from distant past.

Alone he walks, as shadows laugh.
Nocturnal creatures stare, and jeer.
His lonely journey a social gaffe,
He takes solace behind a stoic veneer.

He never had roots, as the trees beside him.
But he met other caiteoiri along the way.
He spoke with them in moonlight dim,
With unspoken knowing that they would stray.

Not well understood, this roving man.
But those that tried could see his heart.
A vagabond that most have banned.
For reasons only seen in part.

Cricket chirps, they sound then subside
as he nears them along the crooked way.
They pick back up with distance wide.
He can sense the awful things they say.

He did not ask for this nightly trek.
Or to carry the burden of this sailcloth sack.
Sympathy is rarely a prospect.
Some folks never wander this stony track.

Some will say they understand,
but those that do, they know the truth.
That to say such things is sleight of hand.
No one can really know but you.
CMXIClement Jun 2020
A cold, cold winter.
City sleeps and I'm awake,
During that summer.
CMXIClement Sep 2020
Florescent lights pierce
my eyelids at five o'clock.
I open them and I squint.
I have to remember to
turn my head when I wake up.

Shuttle leaves at 6 o'clock.
I do not have time to wake.
I lumber to my locker.
Carefully turning the dial.
Careful no one sees the code.

I dress myself lazily.
The coffee here is weak.
If not, then it is day old.
Beggers can't be choosers.
I ready my beach cruiser.

Waiting in line while my breath
forms a bellow of hot
human vapor.  They pull up.
I place my bike on the rack.
I get onto the shuttle.

Fifteen minutes later I
arrive at my shuttle stop.
A five mile ride to work
while the sun bleeds over the
horizon and shines on me.

There was a peace I felt as
I vibed to music on my
way to work.  I felt free then.
Then, arriving at work, I
worked until the ride back there.

As the sun set I waited.
Shuttle pulls up and I place
my bike on the rack.  Back to
the place I wake up squinting.
I can't wait for my bike ride....
OC, I, dont know,  I dont care, **** it.  Here you go.
CMXIClement Nov 2020
I longed to exist, to actualize.  
               To be cognizant, to perceive.
          I longed to feel and communicate,
                   for a moment of relief.

                            ....................

  So I stood on Earth, consumed by Fire.
My skin crackled and crisped under the heat.

  I wished for release from the searing sensation, a moment of relief.

  Then Water rushed in, meeting me and  Earth.  My skin cooled, Fire squelched with a billow of steam.
  
  Though, while I stood on earth, mud and mire formed.  I found myself stuck in a vacuous trap.
  
  I burned for the freedom, once known.   For a moment of my own.

  As I stood stagnant, a mighty and benevolent gust of Wind caught the sails of my desperation.   And lifting me up, it took me away.

  My heart soared, as did my spirit, and felt the rush of air sweep me to freedom...but I felt untethered...flipping and falling....

  I longed for the structure I once felt, standing on Earth.  Stable and unmoved.  Knowing nothing but stuck yet safe.

I longed for fire to consume me....

                               ..................


          I long to die, to be non-material...
      I long to not be aware, and to not see...
I long to feel no pain, and to speak no more
       For a moment not so disappointing..
CMXIClement May 2020
I am a piece of paper.

I have been cut down, and put through a mill.

I have been tossed by the winds, yet tethered to every word written upon me.

Words written in black ink, spelling in all capitals that I'm useless, and unlovable.  That I am in the way, and that when I am out of the way I am forgotten.

Words written in blood, saying that I have no reason to go on. I will never be accepted; that I am not enough.  

Words written in invisible ink saying that I will never be seen.

My paragraphs are blotted out, crossed through and rearranged by careless editors.

My crisp texture, and white color gives way to muddy boot prints.

I am rife with tears and crinkles at the hands of careless of writers.

I have been cut down, and put through a mill.

The truth is though...

I am a piece of paper.

I have many uses.

I can be your origami, a love note, or an airplane.

I can be an interesting article, or a beautiful story.

There, among the chicken-scratch and scar tissue, I have room to write my own words.

With caret marks I correct every word I
ever let define me.

My story isn't written on me.  The changes made to the words written on me are my story.

One thing this piece of paper has learned, is that you should never give people the power to write in
permanent maker what should only be written in pencil.

And you cannot control the whipping wind you whirl in, but you can be a page worth a second look.

We are all worth a revision.
CMXIClement Jun 2020
Through the tunnel, distant voices.
Through the tunnel, I see them.
Through the tunnel, the shadows strafe.
Through the tunnel, raging noises.

Through this tunnel all danger is funneled... does this keeps me protected and safe?

The inner walls, are drab and dreary.
The inner walls, comprised of the past.
The inner walls, lined with scars and sores.
The inner walls, are tired, weary.

The tunnel is caving? Yes, from pain I was braving from words, actions, and more.

A foxhole, a foxhole, only as good as its structure.
A foxhole, a tunnel, only as good as its shelter.
A tunnel, a defense, only good when intact.
A defense, a defense, will fall when punctured.

This defense mechanism is a curse and will worsen the person it was meant to protect.

This defense, this defense, is a watery grave.
This defense, this foxhole, is filling up fast.
This foxhole, this trap, no longer has purpose.
This trap, this trap, was not meant to save.
CMXIClement Oct 2020
Slithering subtlety, the serpent saw a shard shaped slightly like his self.  
He gazed into the glass, seeing a reflection.
"What beautiful feathers I have!", he said covered in scales.  "What beautiful colors--- and wow!  Look at my wings!"
He mused to himself, (it's no wonder I soared so much higher than the others...They had no wings!  No illustrious feathers!  They only have scales, that's why they're different than me!  They not like myself, or other birds that I see).

He slithered sedated and satisfied with a sullen, sad and insecure of sense self under surface.
Along the way he spotted a Gold Parakeet, he compared himself and said this through his teeth: "Your scales are ugly, and cracked, and dull.  You slither with your wings from trees very tall.  Why can't you fly, and be bright like me?  You're unable, and there's something wrong with you, all the other birds agree."
The parakeet parried the poisonous paragraph perfectly:
"When you see me, you see what you want.  You attack what I am because I have what you flaunt.  But I soar high, while your words sink low.  One day you'll be measured by the scales you show."
The parakeet pondered puzzled at the python's reply:
"I see only the reflection of the glass I passed by."
CMXIClement Jun 2020
Mid-summer breezes..
The scent of freshly cut grass
Death can smell so sweet.
Grass random I do not know let us see
CMXIClement Jun 2020
The pipes are frozen,
no heat or water.
The toilet to the brim with **** again.
We'll need two buckets.  
One for the toilet,
And one to ask the neighbors for water.
She used the shovel,
I asked for water.
I always hated the looks I got.
Looks of pity,
and mixed with disdain.
I walk to the kitchen, trash littered.
I look in the fridge,
There is nothing there.
Thank god there was a free meal program.
I would rush to school,
to get there early.
To make sure I got enough to eat.
I feel lucky.
Some kids don't have it.
But I can't forget my ribs showing.
Partly depression.
Partly their drug use.
Food stamps sell for fifty cents per dollar.
I look around and
Notice things are gone.
My room missing things they pawned off for cash.
I was never home.
That did not exist.
Just a house full of people I burdened.
I get back from school,
And the house is dark.
Never know where they go when they are gone.
I go to my room.
And I sit and cry.
Wishing someone would come home to see me.
I wanted a life.
One that was normal.
One where I was not so empty inside.
And under the bed
A razor is tucked.
A lesson learned from watching my sister.
Suicides an option:
Another lesson,
As I watched her overdose on the floor.
Life was empty and...
Was intermingled..
With fear, and anxiety, and sadness.
I would peer across
to the neighbors house.
I wondered what it was like to be them.
Seeing happiness...
I had to suppress
All the heartache and tears I longed to spill.
What could I have done?
Was this punishment?
My wants were so simple but no one cared.
They did not like me.
I reminded them
Of a man whose faults they embellished.
I woke one morning.
I heard noise downstairs.
Most of our items were now all curbside.
We were evicted,
but no one told me.
One day you have a home, then you do not.
Sheriff department
The following spring
Came into our house and emptied it all.
My last memory
Was of the neighbors,
Watching our family, our life on the street.
We left most items.
We took what we could.
We found a ****** house by the train tracks.
The house was condemned,
the landlord cared little.
But...that house is a story for later.
Enduring these things,
Your dreams become simple.
You dream for things people take for granted.
My dream was simple.
It is still simple.
To love, and be loved.  To help those in pain.
When you scale the wall,
Do not hop over.
Turn back, and look down to those outstretched hands.
To those now struggling,
Keep pressing forward.
I know it seems daunting, keep pressing on.
You suffered too much
To not be happy.
Go through the swamp 'til you see the meadow.
It exists, it does.
Beyond the veil
Of pain and agony, joy is waiting.
If anyone ever needs anyone to talk to, please do not hesitate.  There are so many who have gone through so much more, but I have gone through enough to know the power of empathy.  I am here, I promise.

— The End —