Today, a mistake was made
              Some words were said,
      my sight went red
and my bond with you was severely frayed
       Now, I'm ******.
  Here's something that you missed
        you ****** up
     I've been betrayed
        So go to Hell and tell Satan
    you're a heathen worth hating

Today, a memory was lost
              Some things were forgotten
      I'm paying the cost
and all the love we shared has been tossed
       Out the window
  Here's something you don't know
           I ******* hate you
        I'm over all the *******
      So next time you decide to speak my name
   Remember you lost and I'm the game

Today, a truth shined through
         all the lies
   in which you relied
       I can't stand how I got ******* while you always got the best of me
        Now I'm enraged enough to say,  
             "*******!"
Yeah, today my blood congealed
               I sewed the wound shut,
       but the scar will never heal
                For this,
      I ******* hate you.
and I hope your death hurts a great deal

Today, a lie was told
      As if it was the gods honest truth
             I can see it all clearly now
  But what's the use?
      I'm tattered, battered and abused
And I'm blaming it all on you
              I've lost so much already
     What else is there to lose?
         I ******* hate you!
What story is there to tell?
          What's left to say?
      How about this....
                *GO TO HELL!!!

There's these sea of legs upon me. I've ****** my way through, lost love nights, fears stay tangled in my hair. touch my face we haven't lost it all

"If some people like your painting, fine.
If some don't, well, there's the door.

Take your work seriously
But don't take yourself seriously

Paint for yourself
Enjoy yourself"

I was watching a show on PBS today
"The Beauty of Oil Painting" with Gary & Kathwren Jenkins

Gary said this and I marveled at how much this echoed the attitude we should cultivate when writing poetry.

wispy clouds
on a blue sky
and a blood-
less sunset, lost on all for now
some despised boys in
cowardly mens bodies
have more bul-
lets than teeth,
yet the chickenshit bites
and mark and
grief they leave
behind, spent
casings litter the
halls of learning
peace, pieces, seething, see the thing
is now, lost on all for now  

so how much hate do you have to harbour, to ****** a child?

yet the clouds of
witnesses stay silent;
no, not the common
man, the common
women, who have
in common with you and
I, tears falling from, my eyes
our eyes, there is
horror, there is shock
there is mouths
open and no air is
getting to the lungs,
a silent scream for
justice, as no one
can bring the children back, memories do not cut the loses,
yet the clouds of
witnesses stay silent; those
seats of power
must be real com-
fortable at this hour
eschewing respon-
sibility, for there
is no gain by get-
ting involved,

the ultimate of pre-emptive fear,
how hard can they be to find leaving a yellow streak
wherever they go, crawling on their yellow bellies.

this is not to be read,
out loud for even the
sound and rhythm,
from anywhere in
world, would break hearts, my heart
cannot make rhyme and reason
about this crime,  see there is
an evil scaramouch, no credit
the pantywaist
deserves, takes on flesh and
payment is required.

What is lost on all for now..
What is lost on all for now..
What is lost on all Africa for now..
The value, the energy,
the beauty, the potential,
the future, there were
musicians, there were
geniuses, there philan-
thropists, there were
artists, * there were poets,*
they were children and
grandchildren, they
were going to be parents,
they were going have
children and that is
lost on all for now and forever.

Her eyes-chocolate I could melt in,
sparkling for me.
Her smile-the perfect curve upward,
touching freckled cheeks.
Her hair- sweeping, spiraling down,
cascading onto bare shoulders.
Her laugh-chiming notes,
echoing through quiet night to reach my ears.
Her love-arms embracing me,
soft touches filled with promise.
Her-a beauty so rare,
my breath catches in my throat when I see
her.

Desolate beach---
trudging alone,
an old memory
with a hook sharp,
pulls him backwards,
wobbly foot prints
on soggy sand--
instead of her petite feet
playfully filling each,
puddles appear,
reminding
the pools of tear
in her sad eyes,
at the moment
they parted for ever
without even a word.

They think your life's a walk in the park,
when in reality you're finding your way in the dark,
at the beginning there wasn't a mark,
but as I said that was just the start,

You reach out,
Wish you hadn't to shout for help,
Feel unable to assist yourself,
Always the one left on the shelf,

You hate to complain,
But suddenly your crying in the rain,
With the evil thoughts running through your brain,
Always left trying to refrain,

The helpless&selfless; thoughts of the day,
Leave it hard to see the sun rays,
Hiding away,
In one place you stay,
Trying to last the remainder of the way,

With tears in your eyes,
Speaking nothing but lies,
Countless tries, but still you say your fine,

Hoping one day,
You will be able to say,
You made it alive&now; its all okay!

i’ve been known to be reckless with myself, i’ve been told that i’m not sure of how precious life is, and the preciousness of it is exactly what made me play games with my heartbeat.
my fear of death disappeared at 13 when i discovered how my skin was made of paper and i could draw fault lines and create a spectacle of fire dancing over my veins;
i lost worth in myself when i lost the desire to nurture myself anymore.
i let you play with my hair and dance your fingers along my bare back, and convinced myself i loved you even if it sounded like an apology whenever i said it,
and it did nothing but show me that i’m flesh, and bones, and scraped knees.
it’s easy enough to see what you are when all you have to do is look, and at the same time, i’m doing all i can to flee from it.
you flew out of my veins in a jet of crimson cobwebs and i can’t take looking at you in another photo with that pretty girl you held hands with a few days after you left me and knowing i’m not going to be the one undoing the threads of your conscience tonight.
something without colour is sleeping in me, and its less frightening when the voices in your head tell you that the horizon is going to sing for you in the morning;
until every chord and ballad turns orange and you get to see the sky paint how much it loves you.