i remember the night you called me and told me you are in love with me

the terror and panic in one's voice when they find their soul bound to another never ceases to amaze me

and i miss you enough to make the whole world feel lonely;
echo dances above my mind in my
subconscious attempts at pulling you closer,
sooner
but she only sits on the best post and combs
through my hair with her soft + unforgiving fingers
she says "you're losing your way + Loneliness stole your line of sight. you're not a bad person for the way you tried to **** your sadness. you're helping yourself survive."
i am alone and i talk to the parts of things that
have been destroyed by love-
the picked flower forgotten
the child's toy that no longer sings
the city benches written on with black and red ink-
"would you do it again? let the fingers trace
with butane soaked tips, let the intimacy ignite
the flame, let the scars raise so terrifying and
pure.

would you do it again?"

yes.
always yes.

Age Is Just A Number

Age is just a number
So refuse to act your age
Reach that point in your life
You don't care what others say

Do what makes you happy
What keeps you young inside
As long as it hurts no one else
Just go and live your life

Date those that are younger
Or older if you choose
Pick the path that you take
The one that best for you

Don't look back and then wonder
On things you should have done
Do all the things that you want
And begin to have some fun

Age is just a number
So refuse to act your age
Reach that point in your life
You don't care what others say

Age is just a number

Poem by: Carl Joseph Roberts

I've got some scores to settle
      With the man upstairs,
And they range from the red on his hands,
      To the grey in my hairs.
7 billion fools sharing 13 stool
      In this game of musical chairs,
And a set of ****** rules
     Worse than middle school dares.

She was only a kid, her
Sleeves always Rolled down
Its seems like a long time
Since her Dads been around

Moms drunk at her boyfriends,
showing up half the week
When she's home. she's always
screaming, her drunk Breath Reeks

She's afraid on the Pavement,
while she jogs down the street
With thugs selling crack on every
Corner, afraid who she'd meet

With all this Pain and Desolation
seem, to be on every side,
And her Life outta Control
Makes her wonder if she died

So she gets out the Razor Blade
and Rolls up a sleeve
And see's the map of her past
when the Hurt wouldn't Leave

The Blade Pierces the skin, And
the Red Snake proves she can bleed
Feeling the Pain is the only way
she knows she's Alive...

The Salvation she finds comes
from a Sharp Steel Knive
In this deep black whole,
its her only way to control

What a shame that its all
for this poor young Soul

The Tome with out a Name
Without Subtance to Blame
Empty of Meaning and Void
Almost as though to Annoy
No message hidden Within
Never Started, no where to Begin
Yet Empty and without End
Without title it can't be Owned
So I guess this Isn't My Poem...JMF 2/1/15