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silas Apr 2019
people have always said
the world you see
is the world you know

i see
my hands,
clouds of gray
made of ragged static edges

i see
the horizon,
a mosaic
dripping with vibrant reds and oranges

i see
the world,
disintegrating into dust

heavy breaths and quivering hands,
i want to shut out the world.
silas Apr 2019
a heart so full, so vibrant
it takes the breath away before it ever reaches my lips

arms so wide, so warm
i feel like a caterpillar wrapped in its cocoon

a mind so beautiful, so bright
i wonder if he is made of the stars

every single day
i can’t help but think
i am so lucky
to be able to love you.

it has taken me months
but i have finally realised;
he is the garden
and i am just a bee
can you believe i'm in love again?
  Dec 2018 silas
Janelle Tanguin

I intentionally failed to wish you
a happy birthday this year,
though I know significant dates,
hours, moments, people,
by heart.
I still search for you in boys
I mistake for bandages,
the ones with eyes almost
the same shade of your hazels,
lips resounding your laughter,
resembling a wisp of your smile,
But they aren't you.


Sometimes I pretend you're dead,
because it's less painful
to stop reaching out into voids.


My mom still blames you
for everything that preceded that year.
Though you probably had no idea what happened
when we stopped talking altogether.
Can you believe it's almost been three years?


My dad wonders who was my 'one that got away'
Though, I'm pretty sure he knows
it's you.


Remember how I mentioned Sylvia Plath?
How most everything she wrote
brimmed with melancholy?
How I loved every single word?
Especially that piece
where she talked about expectations
and disappointments.
You'll never know that
up to this day I still think
people are selfish enough to
always, eventually turn into the latter.
Even you.


It's sad I never got the chance
to tell you about Ted.
How she loved him so much,
she just had to dive headfirst
into the flames-- burning herself,
what was left of her--
after she found out
he never really loved her
the same way
she loved him
in the first place.


truth is,
some of us
never learn to accept
the love we think we deserve.


I don't know if you still read my poems
or if you still think about me,
about us, sometimes.
Every time you fall asleep past eleven,
a part of me hopes you do.
because I always remember you--
in birthday candles, red ribbons,
off-tune voice records, golden arches,
concrete sidewalks, pedestrian lanes,
the last flickers of city lights
softly fading out of the blue.
I remember you
in everything, in everywhere,
in everyone.
It's useless, no matter how much I try to forget.
No matter how much I just want to forget.
I want to forget.

But, how could I?

When forgetting means forsaking
the very memory of you.
  Sep 2018 silas
,how do you know when
(a human is too broken?)


human too broken?

like the light bulb, removal from its fixture, a simple shaking revelation of the tinkling filament spent, something that cannot be repaired, the only option is replacement and that makes
you cry

the empty box of oatmeal raisin cookies, you find secret’d,
hid by you, not to be found by you
at the bottom of the kitchen garbage,
but box betrayal, by the chartreuse tipped box lid sided
peeking upwards, asking, silencing screaming,
what did I do to deserve
this degrading

like the blouse now too tight that it brings stares as the buttons strain, unwelcome attention unintended,
you know it but still pretend not to see,
for you both once loved that silky guise that so
heightened the high tender, the match of your pink rose skin letting, no! making
your eyes glisten, like broken filament glass, on the sidewalk,
recalling the pleasured admiration,
rain remembered from the
prior priority of a life consisting of only
perfect gifts

so mean revert to the poseur question; this is how...

remove the human from a fixed place, whimpering-threatened,
you may hear clear the crackle cackling  of the innard shards against the misperception of a body intact,
even if you do,
no repair service you want,  can be found, see it nowhere,
is it even
anywhere advertised?

the body presumed intact is secret’d under a tactile coverlet,
holey scupperrd holy cuttered
so that the cells and bicuspids, the threads
no longer function in a tandem,
you keep it in the closet closed,
in the back, deep hid, where,
when it screams why,
it can be safe ignored,
because  ‘betrayed’ is no longer a word,
in your globe's dictionary,
the parental controls activated by you to
save your own inner child’s unconstrained confusion,
it has been removed

so the broken glass, the clothes you dressed each other,
if not weep-well,
well enough hid,
the fit is off,
the fit is off,
the coverlet ripped so bad and neither cares
an unexpected poem, unplanned, needing work
aug 4-5
  Sep 2018 silas
Hannah thomas
you turned me into a flower
beautiful to hold
and easy to cut down

spun my silk skin
into a blanket
just to keep you warm

set me on fire
just to watch me burn
left me ash and rubble

but I came out
phoenix and scarlet beauty
I came out
steel and armor heart

   - Try to break me now
  Sep 2018 silas
Pagan Paul
I could kiss you through the words of a rhyme,
letters delivered with tender exquisite affection,
each syllable a moisture drop on delicate lips,
velvet verse licking porcelain, tasting perfection.

Stanzas saturated with the metaphors of love,
dripping salaciously upon your excited sighs,
I kiss your lips through the words of a rhyme
as they glisten like a jewel between your thighs.

© Pagan Paul (20/02/18)
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