Here’s to the poets;
Here’s to the lives
That started and ended
In short sentences,
Hiding behind the words and the commas,
In between the lines
There is a space;
There is a space for poets
To dream and dissect dreams,to
Examine the heights of their rationale
And the depth of their emotions,
Like teleporting from the tops of Adonis
To the bottom of dark alleys in Hamra.
Here’s to the artists,
Here’s to the works of art
Forgotten on sharp corners
Between the margins in a copybook
And light emerging from their classroom windows;
Here’s to the scribbles
That created life, when living
Seemed impossible.
Here’s to the outcasts,
Here’s to the girls
Who read comics
About super heroes
Hiding behind
Kashmir scarfs and ripped jeans,
Reading 6 words at a time
Because the area of a flashlight
Covers just enough to get her wondering,
To get her to forget how
Her tight jeans left scars on her untouched thighs,
And how her feet were painted red
Before and after
She had to wear twin towers to walk in.
Here’s to the jokers,
Here’s to the unappreciated laughter
To whatever happens after
Here’s to the grand stages you formed
Out of two desks put together
And a pencil/eraser microphone;
Here’s to us,
To our shattered talents and lost souls
Here’s to our oppressed minds
And distorted comprehension of ourselves
Here’s to us
And who ever falls in love with us.

When the haze of how we met finally cleared,
And your broken heart weighed heavier than it appeared,
When the nicotine air was overcome by a sweaty aroma,
And I awoke from my whisky-induced coma,
I remember seeing your face among the smoke,
And for once I felt someone hearing the words I spoke,
The long talks of fantasy and timeless novel,
Turned quickly into fear and endless grovel,
How you decorated your room with blood soaked artillery,
The long hours spent in your bathtub distillery,
All the while I offered you my heart,
To love you no matter the distance you put us apart,
Met only with your constantly draining rejection,
I came to find I was only part of your bed post collection,
But how I longed to feel your warmth once more,
The longing for you grew me tired and sore,
I thought you would never reciprocate my affections,
I placed my worth in your pathetic erections,
And now you ask me to stay- to love you in another state,
Oh but my dear this love is too much too late,
I cannot love someone I can never see,
I cannot love someone who could never love me.

~

On this silent beach,
sunset emotions filter a bashful skyline

We watch…poetry written in the sand
slowly eclipsed by a drowsy tide,
sea foam whispers erasing words
of deepest love

Minute granules float somber
neath aquamarine sighs

You fill my arms
upon moistened shores,
velvet lips satisfy my thirst
as warm salt water tingles
gently frame our bodies,
drenched in the moment

My eyes immerse in this beauty
which saturates me

Two souls, a lone silhouette
casting waves of rhythmic
yearnings on a desolate strand,  
passion glistens
of moonbeam blushes
and forever promises
*are kept

Tracing the outline of your scars
Is like reading your soul.
The stories they can tell.
Just more parts to your whole.
Never cover them,
Do not be ashamed
Your scars show the truth
Of life filled with love and pain.
They are a part of you,
What makes you truly whole
I'll trace the outline of each scar
To better understand your soul.