Our hearts become abandoned churches
housing the broken stained glass colors
shattered in the reflection
of who we used to dream ourselves to be
while being afraid
to face what we have become

and we have become monsters
much worse than any of the ones
we use to fear
living beneath our beds
and in our closest
and down dark alleys

men who ****** truth
children who **** children
mothers who grieve for attention
fathers who hope for death
clergymen who stalk prey
prayers of hate
spoiled milk and rotten flesh
no longer the kin of kind
only the kings of misery

and then petition the empty sky
for the answer of how we became so cruel
that we would abandon our hearts
with the churches along roads
too overgrown to find or travel down

looking for the devil at the crossroads
so we have someone else to blame
for the shameful mess we have made
of who we use to dream ourselves to be

What’s is it that we are looking for
as we stare blankly at the sun
pretending to not be blind

what is it that we hope to find
in the lost space weaved
throughout the colors of our eyes
is there anybody there
we would really want to find

what is it we were thinking
when we lost our train of thought
I can’t remember were there
even any passengers on board

what is it that we are waiting for
before we can see the white
of one another’s eye
is it the lost meaning of the life
we are about to take away

different god
different country
same pride
same loss

killing in the name of who created who
the last whisper of a man praying
to a god praying to a man
pretending to not be blind
as he stared blankly at the sun

All poetry is horrible
the same way all babies are beautiful

you can’t say
what happened to that babies face
they same way you cant say
that poem made me cry
from places I didn’t know I had tears

so yea

your baby is the most
absolutely cutest thing I ever saw
and your poetry is garbage
pure garbage

but just like people
who can’t stop having babies
ugly babies
cute babies
adorable babies
not so adorable babies

we cant stop writing poetry
no matter how bad it gets
no matter how horrible they are
just keep writing

I mean we can’t just be *******
to make babies
there’s more to ******* than that


right?

She peeled off her skin long before
she ever took off her skirt
and I sat there watching
her heart beat beneath her ribs

  mesmerized

  listening to it beat

  watching it

      rise and fall

         rise

          and

            fall

I don’t remember that night ending
but then suddenly
it had been days since I had seen her
and then months

and I thought

I would never see her heart beat again
and then she was standing before me
dressed to the nines
more beautiful than a ten
her bones still exposed
her heart somehow even more radiant

  beating

    rise and fall

       rise and fall

and we danced
and then I could understand
the language of the stars
and I heard each one whisper her name
they were all making wishes
and saying their prayers

she smiled gently to the sky
and answered each prayer
and granted each wish
and then looked back down at me
and slid her hands beneath my ribs
and up and over my heart
and pulled it out

and then whispered

the meaning of life

and all the secrets

the universe had to give

and then in the language of truth and love
she pressed eternity between our lips
and I became

a schoolboy falling in love

an infant being born

a new leaf on an ancient tree

a flower blooming during autumns last breath

an old man lying on his deathbed

  smiling

   looking back at his life

   well lived

   well loved

and then her skirt came off
and my clothes
and the rest of her clothes
and the night felt long and endless
and so did the kisses
and the love we made

and created

and shared

and then morning came
and the sun smiled
and she smiled
and I smiled too

and even now to this day
I can still hear the stars
say their prayers
and make their wishes
and I smile again
just knowing she is out there

somewhere

Making this world more beautiful
with her heart beat

   rise and fall

     rise and fall

      rise and fall

We might all be made of stardust
but no one shines like you
and the only time I hear
the angels sing
is whenever I hear your name
and when those same syllables
fall from my mouth
it feels like the slow pour of molasses
and it reminds me of when
the gods first created love
and love created life
and then life
made sweet sweet love
on beds made out of sin and poetry
and if you are not
the definition of beauty
then beauty has no definition
and all this stardust
is being wasted
when none of us
can shine
quite the same way
as you