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There’s some knowledge you need to hear of how I feel
I remember the images of my dreams and they’re all of you
I’m dealing with some demons and you’re helping me heal
I live in my own world, your eyes are my sun and field
I always look to women with respect when carrying the shield
Loss is the leash on my depression as we’re increasingly real
Seeing you crumble is a weight but your stories are heard
Please feel assured, because I care for you the most
And I need you in every sense of the word
You are the vision in every poem I’ve ever wrote
Anger can’t defeat the distance or keep us afloat
Keep relieving my pressure to maintain the goal
My conscious is only in-line when you speak your soul
We’re taken somewhere we have never been before
Everything has an end, but at least peak through the door
Only time will tell whether my choices were wrong
Either way, where I’m going, I’m taking you along
KG
I was hoping we'd get along
After I made you a playlist of songs
So I sink back on the sofa and shut my eyes
But you seize & enkindle my lids
And I fell, regret, and yelled last year
And I know you've been through & received  
Far worse than the displeasing playlist
KG
Some poems seize love effortlessly… the little ones, inconsequential, cheery and bright, the ones that take flight without much incentive; at times more homage than inventive; the ones sweet and light, easy to chew, they make you feel good before passing right through; they won’t get under your skin, they won’t make you itch; they won’t make any waves but they hope to bewitch…

Some poems are harder to love... the difficult ones, different and new; the ones that were hard to consume, bitter, broken or tough to get through; the **** ones that might be true; the ones that demanded blood, that broke hearts and poured salt in open wounds; they won’t lift you up, they won’t dry your tears; far too sincere, they feed on your fears… they’re hard to love, like, let out or let go, but sometimes those are the poems we need to know

NCL June 2019
Throbbing
Pain, in time with the cadence of the heart
and
The run-up to ecstasy

How I forgot, for some moments
How I remembered, but now with a tiny joy

It had been soon long. Is that why I cried?
* Recalling all those cold months of alone?
* Fearing the thing, the powerful presence of loneliness, would revisit me?
(I still dream that sometimes)
* With release, blessed mutual release?
(Worthy of more flowing to be sure)

Again, I don't need to know the answers
It's enough to share this feeling
Thank you so very much Eloise*, for the title and conversation that led me to this poem.

*A poet here, (among many others!), well worth reading, if you haven't yet. had that pleasure.
When eyes meet
As our souls collide
And you are the centre of my universe
So I’m in the room, surrounded by vivid individuals,
with all their vibrant lives, with all the things they have to say,
and I’m in the room, but half removed, a blue-bland thing,
a flat, one-dimensional thing with fuzzy unholding edges.
And I think to myself, I’m going to end up so alone
because I am such a no-person, such a flat, empty space
of a person, such a flimsy, hollowed out sort of thing.
And in this room, if one person was to simply disappear
and not disturb the balance, then surely it would be me,
the non-person who lacks all substance, who is simply not integral
enough to leave behind some long-lasting, uncloseable void.
So I go into the other room and try to make myself whole
by becoming useful but still I’m that bland, hollow thing,
still am I that name-checked no-person with nothing to say.
And so I go outside to escape myself and the long, sad, empty inevitable
and I look at the lightless sky and think to myself in the cold:
I could unpick the thread of myself from existence
and all that would be left are two small indents
to be smoothed away with the sweep of a hand.
It hurts, so I look up to the sky and dream of the island
until I’m full of tears and then I mangle my no-person face
into a smile and go back to the room, and really,
I’m living okay. I’m living okay, I’m reminded,
because there’s nothing to be sad about today,
nothing you could possibly be worried about today,
you sad, empty-headed little no-person.
a little thing about a day
post me a poem
about the passion you feel

make me cry
love

and die in your words


nevermore a ravens quoth

post me an oath

of sorrow from your soul
Fall to me, all you streets of Rome,
With your embrowned oils from torched walls and breccia of shadows,
The pizzicato of stairways and afternoon slowly closed
Like the thick, leathery-echo from this book of all roads.

Fallen, smoldering empire of storefronts and back-shop heirlooms,
Your lupine hills unbound with milk of cur in the wind and woods,
To your fallow fields rowed deep by a conquest of oars,
To the deepest silence and soot-muted oneness of Pompeii,
And a sky that is an ancient coin, without worth,
But still rubbed smooth at the edges by overfond lovers.
Yes, more Rome.

For a slide video of this and other poems, please check out my Instagram page at chrissaitta or my Tumblr page at Chris-Saitta.
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