I had these anchors holding my smile down
As I smell the last time you laid your head on this pillow
I curse the sky for your poison
That induced me into a coma of despair
All I am hypnotized to do is use this pillow
To capture all of the screams
That seem to escape my slippery mouth
All I can see is a bunch of why’s floating with no answers
I seem useless like a politician
These are the whys
Why I failed to make you fall asleep happy
Every night

Why do I bother to be perfect?
it seems that the more I try to be what you believe is me
the more I peel off the the pages of *******
and spread them with the ashes
Left by this city I burned down

Why can’t I see myself in the mirror?
My shadow trumps the room with anger
All of the lights,
All of the lights,
All of the lights,
Went away when I stole your switch
But my brain snitched and broke every stitch
Left by the bits of hate thrown your way.

Why oh Why
Do I still Blast your music?
Maybe if I drown my heart with this bass
I can forget the way you carried my soul with grace
Until I slapped your hands away,
Why do my hands still hurt?

Why do I see her when I close my eyes to blink?
Why am I writing this poem?
Its not like she will hear it
Over the words I carved into her
She can't read it
I blinded her with my demons
Why?
Why did I say that?

I left my fake smile
At my house
Next to my innocence
I hide my fears
In a locked cabinet
Near where I hold hate
The hate that makes the floorboards
Creek deep within the night
Trying not to wake up the past
So I can sneak a few handfuls of Cheerios
To help crave my selfishness
I want you to count
The dark circles around my eyes
The circles are like the center of a tree
The amount of circles counts up
To the last time I had imagination
Come play at my house
This house is nothing but a butterfly net
It captures all the beautiful things
That flap around my life

There is a tide
Roaring up to my toes
As I am glued
To this crummy sand
This sand was God's plan
To bread the ashes
So we can store it in Poseidon's belly
I was the leftovers
From the City Hopkins Dance
Be kind
The sob stories
Are locked up
With the " how do you do's"
And the "I'm feeling fine"

There is a tide
Roaring up to my knees
People need to stop pleading
If they noticed me
Lurking in the shadows
Tied down behind them
They were too busy
With the racket ***** on recess
Maybe I could believe in it
Every white lie
Wiped across their unconcerned faces.

There is a tide
Roaring up to my wounded heart
Yes the heart
The heart that lays in my chest
The same chest that you laid on
Strawberries
That was the last thing I remember
About you

'Under the sky with you..
I wrote a line for you
and as your eyes found the Moon's,
those stars were fixed on you..
'Everything is beautiful, your broken smile too..'

And back at the tree house, I
wrote a poem for you well, tried*
but it was way too simplified..
I needed bigger words like;
The juxtaposition of this composition is too excruciating to be euphemism now..

... So darling let's be real,
You and I, we both know how we feel..
'craving love from others but rejecting it from ourselves..
If only my hugs could heal,
maybe then I could love myself..

'Lying on the field, eyes closed..
I thought of my bow and arrow,
'how I've tried to set the target on your heart,
but the thought of hurting you made it hard to let go..

Do I take your breath away?..
Or am I just a breath away from doing so?..

Oh I just want you. So. Bad.
'So bad that if you hurt me,
I'd hurt you back..
'Write a song, a traumatic chapter for dramatic impact..
If only feelings could change..
but maybe your feelings will..

Maybe one day you'll see everything is beautiful,

.. and I can be too.

To the poets on HP,

I wanted to use this space to say Happy Thanksgiving to everyone on HP. Whether you celebrate the holiday or not, we all have many things to be thankful for if we just take the time to look. I personally am thankful for each and every one of you who share your poetry with me and read and enjoy my work.  I am very thankful for all of the kindness I have been shown on this site. I appreciate it so very much.

I hope your day is filled with family, friends, happiness and many things to be thankful for.

Jack

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