I messaged with words that sound written down,
they were,
got a new courage that has been found,
I didnt trail off, but the world lost it's sound,
who knew?
I guess you would had to have if it really made sense,
trying to appreciate his recompense,
It's cloudy and I hear the rhymes,
but that doesnt take care of all the I'm fines,
I hear it and want to hug you,
so wrapping in written syllables,
I try to believe in miracles,
hoping that you can see the prayers coming out of my head,
when you saw my smile instead,
calling me your best friend,
Sending songs you'll forget,
but I bet you'll feel at home,
so I'll send them along with a phone,
full of mysteries that will plague us both.
Don't dare to say you miss me the most,
because I raise my coffee in toast,
that you'll be happy tomorrow,
and at least smile today,
spoken with fiery words in sentences that arent coherent,
So i guess I'll tuck in my shirt to see that smirk,
and remain in adherence,
as my poem fades away,
and I'll sign off with a tackle and a dance,
and thank God again for poetic miles,
and happenstance.

I hope you feel better.

"You're like the sunset" I said to her

"Why?" she answered.

I stared to the sunset while saying,

"Sunsets are beautiful. Everyone loves it even though they can only stare or look at it. But nobody owns them. Nobody can own them."

"Just like you" I said quietly as if she won't hear it.

I am a happy person. I’m full of love and happiness. I welcome mornings with a smile and will to be alive. But that time came, the time when it’s so hard to get up in the morning. The time when it’s so hard to eat; to talk; and even to breathe. The time when I thought giving up is the only solution to all of this. The time when sadness, anger, confusion, and hopelessness ate me alive.

I personally didn’t think I can make it, but you did.

For the friend who stood by me when I can’t even stand on my own; who stood by me through the disaster; who never left me; who never let go of my hand, telling me that everything will be okay and this disaster will fade and will turn into rainbows and ponies.

For the friend who never judged me because of who I am and what I am going through; who accepted my flaws; who helped me embrace my own; who endured the times when my heart and mind ached, grieved, and tortured, and believed in me, that I can be healed and recovered.

For the friend who, when everything was falling apart for me, gave me hope; who gave me a place to live and air to breathe; who gave me the strength and will to live; who gave me faith that this world wasn’t a source of vexation and pain and everything will begin to change.

For the friend who never stopped telling me that this will all end - that it will take a while but it will all be worth it; who never gets tired of picking up the broken pieces of myself; who never gets so sick of joining me to sit in the dark and go through my paranoid mind; who never gave up on me, pushing me to make it through the storm eating me alive.

You made me smile when I thought I couldn’t.
You embraced me with love and care.
You spitted out words that made me strong.
You made me believe that I can make it.
You waited for me to heal.
You saw me at my worst yet you never stopped.
You never left.

Thank you.

It's the night,
before another rotation,
things feel right,
unspoken words,
have turned into one way actions,
elusive internet *******,
replaced by the piggle wiggle's,
chainsaw snoring,
the room smells of seroquel, feet,
and the helping of hope,
sticks from a recovery melted poet,
legs of jell-o,
mood of mellow,
dancing twilight in a skyline,
of building and buses,
a year ago he was drunk,
and jail was his entitlement a week,
later,
two years and more,
have evaporated to chemicals and nights that no longer exist,
and lust,
and fair share of unalibitical rust,
the sounds and smells he's,
holding onto this year,
the only hourglass sand bits,
not fallen through, for the feels of fear,
will only disappear,
Birthdays in rehab,
birthdays ad non infinitum,
courtships of programming & meetings,
the poet,
now producing naturally foreign unforced smiles,
better get his sponsor,
to sign his slip.

And is it love that shakes
My bones, Or lack of it?

i have nightmares about bridges burning a lot,
probably because the last one i burned killed all my elation
i still think of you everyday,
your face still brings me to my knees,
i can feel your presence in every room,
because the bullets intrude my anatomy every time you even glance at me.
even if I’m not looking back.

love has always been a hollow ribcage for me,
a burned down church,
that I always went back to to pray to,
only to be brought to my knees by it’s absence,
every single time.
all I knew about love was that it was violent,
that it made people into glass,
that it broke people like wrecking ***** against buildings
and there I was for years waiting for you to come and destroy me just like every time my father walked out that door.
but you never did.
instead you planted flowers in a garden that had been barren for years,
you ended the winter that was electrifying throughout me,
you taught me that maybe my insides weren’t so hollow,
because my heartbeat felt like more than just the sound of spoons clinking together to remind me that it was time to eat away at my own insides again.

but you’re gone,
and here I am feeding away at my insides again,
except there is nothing left for me to destroy,
my body is a graveyard.
and maybe love does turn you into glass,
because every time you speak to me,
my insides shatter like fine china in tight palms,
you made me feel like more than just a felon,
that my hands were fluent in something beyond destruction,
but when you kept asking me to come back,
i threw rocks at my own windows,
because it hurt so much to have to walk away,
i painted my own self image against your brain,
so that you wouldn’t see me as that girl that turned your body into melted honey,
you’d see me for the demons chanting in the back of my head.
and I guess it worked,
because you told me you do not love me anymore,
i wonder if you hung that painting in your bedroom.
saw it every morning and finally became too disturbed that you put me to rest.
or maybe you got tired of the girl who cried wolf,
i mean isn’t that why you left in the first place?

you told me you felt lost after i left,
and here I am, I caught your illness.
i would have done anything to try and recreate how you made me feel,
but just like any person who tries to recreate Picasso or Monet
it’s never quite as good the second time
or third,
or fourth,
sure the cigarettes burn like the way the memory of your flesh burns against my mind,
but it hurts less.
so I smoke a pack a day, swallowing the smoke like I’ve learned to swallow my pride,
but then it just reminds me of the puff of smoke I see every time you walk away from my bones.
i become a sad child again,
there is nothing more devastating than doorways for me.
but I want you to know that I woke up this morning,
and there was sunlight slipping through the cracks of the earth,
earth that has been grey for too long,
your ghost did not slip through my walls,
the sound of your voice does not crack at my sidewalks anymore.

my insides are no longer hollow.
there are daisies blooming,
in my ribcage,
where there is also a city i have built around all the bridges i have burned,
including ours,
you told me you do not want me anymore,
you have told the world of my madness,
used my painting as a flag for your newly built town.
just know that i am still standing.
you have not broken me,
she has not broken me,
i was whole before you,
and i am whole now.
do not tell me you have found crystals mining through someone else’s anatomy,
don’t tell me you’re finally healed,
remember,
it’s never quite as good the second time.
or the third,
or the fourth.

your portrait was painted in chalk on the sidewalks of my life,
but it rained yesterday,
and you are gone,
except it did not bring me to my knees,
i am not mourning it's disappearance,
i am mourning your losses,
you have settled for crystals,
and let gold slip through your fingers,
i have used your bones to build myself up,
instead of beating myself down.
they say the first cut is the deepest,
but i am done bleeding.