I'm mute to the content
of others misgivings
            of my silent ego..

Clambering upon my
             every concern,
  yet I'm deaf to their every syllable.

But in reality I don't give a flying ****...

Lie still little rabbit
your hummingbird heart
holds you

saying
it’s okay -
     it’s okay -
          it’s okay -

you lie still.

As I try to get better,
Fighting hordes of darkness,
Slurring through words, letter by letter,
Praying someone will hear my cries.

As I try to get better,
Wrestling my restless mind,
Trying to figure out what’s the matter,
Attempting my painful self-therapy.

Now thinking I’m better,
A short-lived burst of happiness takes over,
Just glad I’d met her,
Dancing wildly to the laughter of friends,

I think I’m over her,
Thinking I can finally rest,
A killer stare fuelled by hate and anger,
Tears a hole in my once-mended chest.

From wanting friendship to realising I’ll never get her,
Please someone, help me get better.

that i've been reading your poetry
(on the new front page)
and,

I ******* love
your words; your worlds;
it's like i'm,
    there. right there,
with you.

you see, i didn't do what you do--
         write my story aloud
--when i was fifteen, or even twenty-two

just an inch off the ground
                        i confided in clouds
stayed lost (was a puff too proud)

that was then, sure, but even today
   (it's 11:11, now)
putting any of it down
committing to this word, not that
this sentiment,
      not that
this meaning
       (and not simultaneously that)
              is walking through fire

and so, for leading the way
           let me just say,
                       i love you

and please,
don't ever stop.

Silence comes
  from bones
that rot in the Earth
beneath a wet stone
with a carved name
   white as good teeth
in a hard jaw.

Silence is
  a homerun some kid
hit in Tennessee
in 1973 and a father
remembering the ball
  going like a bullet
deep into left center.

Silence is
  a brother grimacing
whispering your name,
through salt
  and tears on his cheeks,
one last time.

Silence, it just is...
  quiet, like pain.

That faithful dog is waiting at your door,
Bursting with unconditional Love.
He (or she) is pining
For your arrival.
Whining and crying,
All ashake.

At last you are here!
Forward he leaps,
Almost losing balance with the shake
Of his tail.
Ready to lick you
Into oblivion.

So you ruffle his ears
And pat him on the head.
“Good Boy!”

Meanwhile The Cat sits
In haughty isolation
Watching coolly
Indifferent to all.

But you still go to her
As she rolls over
And bears her furry tummy
For you to scratch
And her to purr.

I love these pets
Or rather
Family Members.
While they are with us,
There is nothing better.

Paul Butters

© PB 7\1\2018.

There is an entire universe
inside her head. And I'll be
kidding myself if I say I am
beginning to understand her,
when all I've ever done is just
catch a glimpse of the galaxies
within, through her eyes.

Now, despite having nebular
thoughts, what I know is that
I will neither fully grasp what's
going on in there nor will I ever
fathom the simplicity and
complexity of her soul.

But that's okay.
I'll love her, anyway.