Many hearts could be broken
by the smallest token
of your strange affections;

How delightfully crushed,
cause hearts always want too much
as such jealous and hopeful
****** beating things
that turn out to be less agile
and more perfectly fragile.

As for me I will treasure these
sweet poetic interludes
at a safe distance from you,
cause I am certain
that you could put a major hurting
on my heart.

I will get small sparks
for little parts
of playful verses
throughout the day,
then type and save
them to my phone.
Eventually, working them
into to something by the end
of the night,

but if I don't have
any inspiration by evening's end,
I will play some instrumental music
I haven't listened to yet,
look at paintings online,
and read some poetry
from Tumblr till something hits.

I have passed out
tiny parcels,
perfect little
packages
filled with
my hopefulness.

Given the essence
of my impermanence,
pursued truths
to earn a bit,
but my restlessness
has me rushing towards
shocking storms
of lightning and loving
all that is a detriment
to my mental health.

A poet obsessive
observing and writing
perspectives I didn’t earn,
and in turn
passing them down
like I am a clown
all painted and streaked
while tears leaked,
aching for what
I never seek.

I have given dreams.
In fantasies
chased the lips of
someone I could love,
fantasized about sweet lies
as she would whisper sweetly
echoes of my feeling.

Poetry presented prosaically,
as everything I am, will be,
and was, with just a pinch
of what I will never see.

I am ill-equipped
to take a trip
down the bits
of a broken
rainbow road.

All sparkles
and glittering
a smattering
of shattering
glass reflections
that shred my
bare feet
as I am
journeying
down these
colorful streets.

I’d prefer
the more disturbed
shadowy
sidewalks
in the city of
forgotten loves
and lost memories.
A realm with
clouds that flit
from one
gloomy day
to the next.

I guess
I’ve just
become adapted to
grays and blues,
stray hues
that I use
to paint a world
where abuse
is just the dimming afterglow
of a happy ending tv show
where I learn a lesson
but don’t really grow.
I write but don’t know
why the sirens scream
and poets sing
similar sorrows.

Maybe, I should borrow
Cinderella’s glass slippers
so those rainbow shards
won’t bleed my feet,
and when I finally
fall asleep to meet
someone strange and sweet
my dreams won’t keep
waking me in tears.

I am the awkward
steward of my own stupid being,
pushing forwards
towards the shore,
not asking for
much more or
looking for
a reward,
just searching for
something to explore;

With A jealousy enveloping me
because I believe
so many things can be better,
yet the fog of complacency
hinders our society
as humanity drunkenly stumbles
towards chaos and a self-inflicted extinction
as we are all soon to be
evicted from our planet side life.

I am fury and glass
shattered so fast
that shards slash
and bleed me
before I can see freely,
thin lines of red streaking
and seeking something
underneath the skin.

As I walk through the wearisome
world that I live in,
with abusive people
and all that I give them,
that unspoken permission
to continue hurting
that heart that keeps turning
in self-recrimination,
ready for self-immolating,
exploding and incinerating,
cause I am tired of debating,
or outright stating
that I deserve better
than this ever-inflating bitterness;

When I cannot even
speak into existence
a pittance of the vengeance
that you deserve,
that well-earned remittance,
because my level of empathy
extends to those who hurt me,
while constantly denying
mercy for myself.

I am fatigued and ready to
fall to a slumber were
everyone I ever knew
can no longer reach
out and intrude
with their crude rude
self-important attitude.
Till, I am finally impervious
to all of this madness.

Don’t get caught in her eyes
cause that is where
her mysteries lie,
where the tiger hides
are waiting to pounce,
and devour every ounce
of the essence you have,
to satisfy the beast that resides
in her ever-enduring hunger.

You are a not a partner
just a hundred shades
of pretty little prey
that she craves,
and you will easily cave
to the charade that she parades,
to the play which she plays,
because you are desperate
in the perfect way
for her cruel love game.

Unprepared,
I sat and stared,
saw the despair
you shared,
not outright
but by the
fractures in your skin.

How your porcelain
starting cracking
and shattering,
how the weight
of everything
that was mattering
was just a smattering
expanding
and being pulled in,
an explosion, implosion,
finally denoting the eroding
of all that was once
your granite composure.

I am of
something that
once sparkled
fiercely and far above.

I am earth and mud,
cells and atoms
all that particle stuff
that doesn’t measure up
to enough
to stop all the pain in
the world.

I am of love.
Peace and poetry baring
sharing my caring
and creative heart
a pebble to start,
a ripple that turns to
tear apart oceans,
with emotions in motion
that will eventually stop.

I am life
bound for death,
not remembering
how or why
children cry
or when I decide
this is my right
to live or die.

I am.