I Coined A Note It Said Today Is Seized,
Sip the dream that says please trust this lie,
Upon Thought given Where we look there will be,
A drink on belief crazy enough to his broken,
Frozen in lust tragically unspoken rules teach blown glass,
Ocean deep fulfilling and blessing cause open three mouths,
Tasting breaths quotes understandingly come easy thieves trust cursing,
Dreams of breaking end from souls that color eyes,
freed dark silence I sin cheat think softer images,
By hearts kissing plead courage tempting they're curiously searched,
love, beating, hands, forgive, pride, ears, thrilling, blue, found.

You may not have been birthed in the soil,
and granted,
you will not blossom
when spring melts winters wake
but inside of you
grows a thousand gardens
full of exploding stars.
You are of the earth
and your ashes
have been constructed with stardust,
and set free with the wind.
So you may not have a pretty face,
and your body may hold stories
of too many moonless nights alone.
But if you reach inside,
you will find a forest
for a ribcage
and a restless ocean heart.
So don't ever let anyone tell you
you are nothing.
You are a galaxy
holding a million different planets,
and my dear,
that is not nothing.

and here i am again
at the intersection
of pedestrian language
& old wives tales
swallowing gum
like 7 year memories
opening umbrellas inside
cause i can't seem get away
from all of this rain
i ******* with my left hand
cause i was told
back in highschool that
"it feels like someone else is doing it"
it gets me wondering
about the difference between
losing you and finding out
that some one else found you
or my sleep
or lack thereof
its starting to tear me apart
i keep having this dream
where you are in
an unfamiliar body of water
trying to wash my poetry
off of your hands
or the one where
something happens in my chest
every time you sit
on someone else's bed
i'm tired of feeling like something you've misplaced
but don't have the heart
to look for anymore
tired of you saying my name
like you're trying to bury it
i'm tired of wondering
if you can tell the difference
between the absence
of my voice & silence
the other day
i almost started sobbing
at work when a woman
asked me about
our equipment
i was explaining how
things come apart
and almost mentioned your name
it made me think
of how you used to say
things like "what would you do
if i showed up on your doorstep
one day?" now, i haunt
the windows in my house
i don't leave for weeks at a time
i sit on the porch like the dog
you didn't shoot behind the shed
the one that refuses to die
until you come home again
i told somebody once, that
you didn't even know
what my voicemail sounded like
i wonder if they thought
it was because you
are so important that i never
let it ring that many times
before picking up
or if you dont know
what it sounds like
because you've never called
you can't be the ****** weapon
and the search party
i'm tired of all the seats
to the ferris wheel in my chest
being empty
tired of your voice
being the one i look for
in abandoned places
that one sound i beg
to bounce back
down vacant hallways
i just seem to stand there
in all of that quiet
like someone looking for a mistake
on an eviction notice
so i guess the hardest part
isn't letting go
it's forgetting
you ever had a grip
in the first place
and since you've been gone
i wonder if when
you pushed yourself away from me
you used your left hand
so it felt like someone else did it

A twisting and twirling body of words,
It hangs out against the arms like the moon lit light
Casting the shadows of a lost and broken dream
Tapping the head and forming the jaw
The fires kiss the withering blade to life
Enriched by the life of a crazy decision,
Struggling to climb it's conscious roots,
Only to have wings form out of the scars,
Cheated by a fate of lust and celebrants,
Screaming at a insomniac mind,
Pleading to make it's reason one of logic and focus,
However lost it is to the dreams given by the hands it has felt,
Curious the traveling becomes from our mouths, the words we speak,
Fly on and distance point A to point B
For the simple line must be drawn to connect them once again.

do not fall in love with a poet
unless you can accept flickering candles at obscene hours
and ink stains that cover their fingers and clothes
and constant eye bags that they may need you to kiss

do not fall in love with a poet
unless you handle them dropping all and suddenly
composing
and then shutting you out in frustration of imperfection
sometimes words just do not do the things that they want

do not fall in love with a poet
if you do not appreciate paragraphs about your eyes
or if you do not have very beautiful prose
your simplicity will scare; they will simply hide their heart

do not fall in love with a poet
and solely be swept away by their mesmerizing verses
they will take you and transfix you in the dead of the night
leaving you breathless
but they'll be gone by morning

*k.c.

I return from off the ground,
Hands bloodied and body aching,
Brain swaying left to right,
The opportunity has passed it's self up,
Further away into the distance,
"I'm okay"
Tears are asking me why,
The cause for comfort and security are...
"No really, I'm okay"
Pools of fear gather around my feet,
Rising above my waist quickly,
I lean back and float,
"This has happened to me before"
Rapid breaks of an unconvincing breath,
Expectations are never achieved,
So I send mine to the burners,
Humor me with your thoughts,
"Thanks, but I'll be fine"
Asking to be alone
Judged that we are in the wrong
But we never searched for the answers
Welcome the smell of flowers
"I gotta go... Bye"