Grizzo Apr 2017
I.
You always knew
the lies I've taught myself to believe
would never be good enough for him

We have the same smile
he is the last angel that can save
me

Love, I have no easy answers for you
I bury questions with every poem
but there is never enough dirt.

The ugliness behind our
pretty faces

burns holes
in the soul

and that's the first poem
I wrote about you that
wish I could burn
because I see myself
in your eyes and I wish
I could disappear from
the mirror

I don't
hate you.

I can't.

I
won't.

II.
my sweet Ollie,

your face looks like mine
you can see it in the eyes
especially when you smile

Have you discovered
children have a way
of noticing things
that are there,

seeing shapes
and shadows
that aren't?

There are monsters in the dark
but do not be afraid
I am there too.

I thought I
past the would,
could, should be

but there are no stars
in the sky and these
gnarled branches
won't give me release

and the future is the same as it always was

some things
cannot be hidden
cannot be undone
cannot be found
cannot be repaired

If I could still believe
in God and say a prayer
I would ask that he would read
these words you can't see yet

whisper them into your ear
so that with every heart beat
you have an answer for why we're
here

and one day
when you read this

know that I loved you
know that I missed you

There is still sunshine longing
to kiss your forehead

Don't sleep
until the day
is yours
and only yours.

My son, trust me
when I tell you,
there is nothing to fear
in the dark.

Fear the Heart.

BG-4/11/17
Grizzo Apr 2017
The only French I speak,
I learned
from the
uncrossable space
in bed

You.

Me.

I learned it
when we started
to just say bye
in the mornings

When we stopped
hugging after
work,

When I was too busy
playing games,
watching Netflix,
on my phone,

and you had already cleaned
the kitchen, put away the laundry,

You wanted something
you won't take now
because I wasn't too busy and I don't even play that game anymore, and I can't remember the shows but I'm sure they are still on Netflix,
and phones will always be a distraction from people to put everything down and take off the masks
we make so we can breathe
every day and connect as people. In those moments, I started missing you and you were already missing me. I just really wish I could stop going Supernova but there's a slowly swirling marble rock ball that's slowly making its way from sitting in fire of the pits of my stomach,

rolling up my chest, bouncing off ribs, escaping to the small of my back, rolling up my spine, spinning
counter clockwise
in figure eights
across my shoulder blades until it sits over my heart and sinks to my
Stomach
Again.

Now I've lost form and more and I really just need to get my

Shit together and restart.

Look at what you've done
to my poetry.

BG-4/10/17
Grizzo Apr 2017
If my tongue were a pen
every word would be a postmarked
love letter to your ears.

If my tongue were a pen
my words wouldn’t have
cut so deeply and left you
with coupons you’ll never

use and bills that are past
due.

The page is my playground.

My Church.
My Sanctuary.
My Womb,

Our eyes are doorways to
the secrets that make us
who we are

This dark haired face with three
day scruff and glasses is a
single sentence out of context,

and our chapter isn’t finished.

I am fishing on a lake
at five years old.
passing my driving test,
graduating high school,

I am both an old soul
who
lived too much
too young,
and a child reaching
for candles
in the darkness.

If my tongue were a pen,
my darling,

my soul
would slide its fingers
through your eyeballs

and bury itself in
the deepest recesses
of your heart

If my tongue were a pen
instead of picking up all the
bad memories of this apartment
with piles of dirty clothes,

you would
find the words and phrases
we phased out of our lives for a forgotten
reason at the end
of an empty bottle night.

I am moving to a new city at 25,
becoming a Father.
Invisible to my child.
A Stranger.

I am meeting you for the first time,
we are children holding hands
in the darkness
We were children jumping from
swings,
We were the children
who knew just enough

We told each other all our secrets
We shut doors
We blew out candles

if my tongue were a pen
My darling,

it would tell you
we are not a mistake.

we are a
collection
of unfortunate
accidents
that became
something
beautiful.

Turn the Page.

BG-4/10/17
Grizzo Apr 2017
the chill of winter winds left with the Spring, I still feel the gusts in my bones,
I see our ghosts trapped in the trees

This forest is never blessed with the stars, The Darkness is the only thing complete, The Moon shivers, consumed by clouds

I strike black stones, but can't get them to bleed,
Your fading ghosts whisper, "Come back to me."

BG-4/9/17
Napowrimo.net Day 9
Grizzo Apr 2017
It’s one of those things
you don’t notice is gone
until it’s gone.

The last cup of coffee.
The last roll of toilet paper.
The things we use to
make Home.

The clunking of your refrigerator
magnets on the cookie sheet
followed
by a chorus
of pictures, cards, and old
grocery lists quieting their
fluttering song.

We said nothing,
like nothing even changed.

BG-Sometime in 2017
Grizzo Apr 2017
I heard you howling in the distance,
saw your fading reflection
in the crimson moon
Your tone smelled of something
different, in a pitch only those
of the same pack know

We mostly hunt alone and rarely
cross paths but when we hear
the call of our own we abandon
the chase we return
the call, we charge fearlessly
into the darkness.

We’ve burnt houses trying
to save the ghosts we loved

Our blood shivers most violently
from the lost words of lovers
on December nights in half full
full size beds.

Those of us who stood
in pouring rain and left
what we found there in
a memory of a new beginning
to keep it safe from ourselves.

We’ve burned and swallowed
the ashes of so many maps
to Neverland and we can’t
remember the way
We’ve
caused shadows in smiles,
emerged from the dirt with rage
of a stubborn heart that continues
to beat.
We’ve
seen the heights
of the universe
and plummeted to the depths
of dimensions beyond
dimensions
We’ve
lifted our arms and eyes
more times than we’ve found
what we’re searching for

Our hope
torn apart by being laid
in a forgotten grave
Our talks
with Saints make
Hell a familiar place
like the sanctuary
of your freshly washed
childhood blankets
and the way they swallowed
everything you were

We solo hunt in crimson moon
rays and share different parts
of the same wilderness

The worlds can only crush
your skin if you are alone,

We return the call with the smell
of something different
charging through the darkness


BG-4/8/17
Inspired by Crywolf and his discography
Grizzo Apr 2017
the radio is
broken again
and this time
is the last time

Your songs no longer
fight the static.

the crunchy hiss
the empty stutter
between pops

crackling cackles,
unplugged from the wall
still playing the song
of something ending
into a new beginning

Your songs no longer
fight the static

but I still hum
them to myself

at the edge
of our universe

BG-4/8/17
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