i think i am lost


because i've felt nothing
to be right, anger in every
drink of water, i used to be soft
and gentle,

but I am too calculated now
bleeding white lies and pretends
soup broth, brittle bones
snapping beneath a touch
or shaken by a lust
awaken by a kiss
put to sleep all the same

I have so little to give
I have been fronting with
what my mother wants to
hear, and I'm afraid it's all
a fib,

what if I am only a shell of
words my father has spoken
paper mache and tea leaves
a prophecy spoken too soon
what if I am to fail
swallowed up in
this bitterness


what if I
am to
fail.

When I say I miss you,
it's not just that I want to see you.
I spoke with you face to face tonight,
but I still miss you.

I miss you like 2am misses the sunlight,
like the warm beach misses snowflakes,
like a fish misses the hillside,
as a poet misses the words he couldn't find.

I want to write you down,
for each part of our lives to rhyme,
I want to be yours and you, mine,
but you're the poem trapped in my mind.

*~ Matthew Walker ~

The way she underlines
her favorite parts in this book
says more than words could.

She never draws straight,
but scribbles little lines
that connect the syllables
in the same way
she etches her little things
one by one, piece by piece
into something worth reading.

I want to highlight
each beautiful characteristic,
underline with sharpie
so her imprint is permanent,
write notes in the margin
to ensure I never forget.

*m.w.

Foresee the dance of the drunk pen,
On a white forgotten page,
And as the Indian ink has left its charm,
Through poetic swords of faith.
No, she said, to the young heart,
A sad dilemma song,
Drunk with broken words,
He bleed the crusade all along.
The blood has been painted,
Over the pages of art laid thorns,
As number he grew, he faded
Into the delusional walks and pavement songs.
The floors were carpeted red,
Like a heartbreak prom in lights,
While I laid drunk with my thoughts,
Like the dark soul of Broadway nights.
The black colour embracing,
Sweet sadistic vines of hope,
In the illest of fate, my heart sings
Like a mysterious misanthrope.