It is not enough to exist.
It is only enough when your existence leaves a kind of crater in a person.

Then you know that you are real.

Pretty as revenge.
So pretty their knuckles are always bleedin' cuz they knock you out
and you speak defeat ten times every time you open your mouth.

The girls in short skirts, man
they're sharks
and if you could swim farther, you should

But that perfume makes you feel funny and helpless and drunk
cuz *******
where did they ever get that stuff?

The kinda bite that feels like a kiss, thinkin'
there's something you missed
Where did you get those eyes, thighs, hair like the sunrise
and baby, make me a fool again.

And then it's the morning.

And you're a fool again.

Please
Take my love for granted.
It's what I have in abundance
and freely give to you.
Keep in mind
I love deep.
Deeper than seas or
The vacuum of space

My love is a vein of silver
Buried in the earth
Like all things deep and vast
There comes a Conqueror
To destroy the illusion
Of endless infinity

Please
Take my love for granted
I will always give it out.
Remember that I'm still a man
With a fragile heart.

I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm,
your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm,
yes, many loved before us, I know that we are not new,
in city and in forest they smiled like me and you,
but now it's come to distances and both of us must try,
your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
I'm not looking for another as I wander in my time,
walk me to the corner, our steps will always rhyme
you know my love goes with you as your love stays with me,
it's just the way it changes, like the shoreline and the sea,

but let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't
untie,
your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm,
your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm,
yes many loved before us, I know that we are not new,
in city and in forest they smiled like me and you,
but let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't
untie,
your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.

When did hating myself become such an art?

I am the Da Vinci of self loathing
aiding in the rebirth of shame and inadequacy

After breathing, it is the thing I do most in life

I don't quite recall when my childhood ended
Innocence, hope, love and happiness
were victims of it's downfall

I was a passionate child and now a passionless adult
Obliterated by the home truths of life

I see smiling faces and hear joyful laughter
They are content

I ask in a world
with unimaginable suffering and gross poverty
how anyone can be content with being content

It is a perplexing affair
as you see I am not without
my pomposity and hypocrisy

It is hard to live an ordinary life
when you feel you are destined for extraordinary things
but extraordinary is for the others
the rich, the beautiful, the exceptionally gifted

I am none of these things

Yet how come this underlying
undeniable, unrelenting, overwhelming feeling
burns through me
like a match reaching it's cindered fulfillment
that I am destined for those extraordinary things

I feel I am nothing
but I am something
a human being
In this world
with mind, body and emotion

Alas there it is again
emotion, my emotion
my pitiful yet unwavering hatred of the only one thing
I truly have and need,
myself.

I read
I read anything,
Prose or poem, article or essay,
I'm so hungry for it
I wish my eyes had detachable jaws
That ate ink and binary alike.

Its not for allure of assonance and alliteration,
The collective subjective seeking the objective,
But the idea whittled, still unvarnished,
Because that is what we are and that is who I am.

There's an idea
tiptoeing around in my mind.
A verse that is forming
one line at a time.
It will not be hurried,
but not to worry.
Soon it will appear
on my paper
by way of my pen.
Soon...
I just don't know when.

                Ida Werrett

The clock ticks away the minutes. Minutes we will never have again. Perhaps, minutes we didn't want to experience or notice. But the opportunity is now gone, past, extinct. We drift past one another in a hazy silence. A clouded aura shields us from prying eyes. We all seek to be known and yet, do all we can to protect ourselves from being scene....which blurs us one into another, individuals made just pairs of downcast eyes in a sea of people...a school, swimming to keep heads just far enough above the surface to breathe, and just low enough to maintain anonymity. Alive bleating hearts...we're as humble as sheep, wearing our coats carefully to hide the wolf beneath.

i remember every headache reminiscent!
a taste of burnt oranges like little
flames of flames of oceans like vents
at the bottom of my Being that bubbled up
all stupid words and furrowed brow

i know exactly how much weight is in an “i love you”
and in weighing them obsessively 5 am with a bottle
of god-knows-who from dad-knows-where i realized
it doesn’t really matter as much as highschool seems.

don’t tell me i don’t know anything
my soul is older than
the bark of the trees in my backyard,
as i still hear them
flirting with the birds as if things are
possible at all

(no judgement. i used to do the same
boys and girls and cut and run
just toys that whirl with waterguns)

Though it now smells like me.
Here I don't have a "side",
Though I am partial to the window.
By the window I get all the best,
the view of the world,
the dim city street,
the unpredictable, yet lovely, weather,
Yet also the view of you,
Quiet, and at your most vulnerable,
Appearing to be almost shy in slumber.
Kiss your shoulder, rolling away,
Now viewing the other half of my world.
Though it now smells like me,
This is not my bed.