To the girl that let him go,
I thank you the most.

during my worst times
on the park benches
in the jails
or living with
******
I always had this certain
contentment-
I wouldn't call it
happiness-
it was more of an inner
balance
that settled for
whatever was occuring
and it helped in the
factories
and when relationships
went wrong
with the
girls.
it helped
through the
wars and the
hangovers
the backalley fights
the
hospitals.
to awaken in a cheap room
in a strange city and
pull up the shade-
this was the craziest kind of
contentment

and to walk across the floor
to an old dresser with a
cracked mirror-
see myself, ugly,
grinning at it all.
what matters most is
how well you
walk through the
fire.

little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.

Dear Suicide,
What must I do to acquire
that which most I know desire,
for I seek a warrior's death
while I draw upon my last breath.
The war known as life is daunting
and each passing battle is more haunting.
Believe me, to know what would be on my
epitaph is something I consider taunting.

Dear Reaper,
Were you the one that ferried the others away?
You must've been the entity that snatched those that strayed;
A chivalrous display while gifting the ebony bouquet.
Beautiful in its own way, your first impression was memorable
for your limited interaction shall never fade or decay.
I don't mean to downplay your game or integrity,
but ever since my birthday, you waiting for me is quite cliche'.

Dear Afflicted,
This is for everyone who is suffering or might not last.
I encourage those of you who are still breathing
to broadcast your demons and holdfast
upon the candle that brightens what darkness has amassed.
The world is full of people who a seek a sign just like you;
You don't have to be the outcast.
If no one else, let me bear the weight
for my experiences have molded me to this fate.
My shoulders and heart are yours to amputate,
and if your inner demons decide to dissipate,
perhaps the new dawn will come, and we can finally celebrate.

In the making of something incredible
For you are polished stone, that has been created
But are not representing the purpose that you were meant to serve
Tools are needed to complete the details
In which you will be put to work
And taken off the list that says reserved
With a hammer in one hand, and a nail in the other
The sculpting shall begin
For every chipped piece starts a journey that possibly won't end
But will continue on long after you're gone
For a legacy will be built
As the nail and the hammer will be passed on
For others to sculpt and have their dreams fulfilled
©Words of the Wise Poetry

I am not one to treat a beast decent
but I've fed that demon as of recent
this creature eats my peaceful pieces
with hate increased, my whole decreases

I.
There will be enough breath in you to shout,
and there will be enough people who love you to listen.

Kissing you was like swallowing
the salty, salty sea:

I have corals for ribs,
and seaweed limbs;
my bones are ship-wreck saves
and wishful pennies.

My heart is a sea-shell:
if you put your ear to it,
you’ll hear me screaming, shouting,
pining
for you.