I watched you write me love notes,
Appreciating the way you loop your y's
And the cursive that looks like graphite smoke
On an untouched canvas

The way you hold your hand is elegant,
Every movement fine, performed with grace
And you mutter what you're writing
Just to make sure it sounds perfect.

Sometimes, you scribe little poems outside the margin
Sweetness dripping like honey off tongues,
Enraptured by your words, spellbound
I'll fall into you

Is there tear gas in this room?
Because I can't stop crying
The gas crawls down my esophagus
And crushes my wounded heart.

“God this hurts”

I keep typing,
Praying to computer screen
That I'll forget the smell of your hair
I type till my fingers bleed
So I can forget what your touch feels like
How our lips fit perfectly together.

“God I hate myself”

The only phrase I think of
When I'm pleading for things to back to normal
Back to the days
Where you didn't want to to crack open my skull
And see all of the ugly things
That drift around my cranium

“Baby please I'm sorry. I’m a mess,
A klutz, who waltzes around with stupidity
Baby I get this feeling in my head
When you are not around
I want to keep writing you these love letters
By sliding them under your doors called your eyelids”
But I can’t

I sit alone in the bus called life
Looking across my seat
I see you, my love
Holding onto the bar
Your pretty Blue headlights
That make me drawn to you
Your pretty Blue headlights
Covered with the rain I caused
I'm a rain man,
you see, when people get close to me
I get scared
And force the skies rain to tears with pain.


The only thing that floats in my mind
Is that I hope the man of you life
Buys you flowers
Sunflowers especially
And shows up to your work unexpectedly.
I hope you can travel to Paris
and keep a long list of all of the countries
you've cuddled in.
With him.
I hope you he can handle seeing the stars
From your eyes every time you guys cuddle
Under the moon light.
I hope he can teach you how to slow dance
And I hope that he can teach me
On how to be a better man.

One
   scent
would
     always
stop
me in my tracks

The hearty,
          spicy,
              warm,
          comforting­
      smell
of Pumpkin Spice

Any form
              A latte
it didn't matter
             A candle
it sent my mind back
             A car freshener
to thanksgiving pie
             A chemical illusion
to a time
         filled with
     laughter,
         filled with
     joy,
         filled with
     food.

This perfectly
      magical
  scent would
       send me rushing home

I'd fling
          open
   my door
              catch a
                    whiff of that
                                                elusive
    ­                                       scent

My hands
          would
      shake
           my
     mouth
           would
     water
          tastebuds
    tired
of nothing
             but endless

nuts and yogurt and
nuts and yogurt and
yogurt and nuts and
nuts and yogurt and

Craving
          that
delicious food
that
     danced in my
         dreams, almost
tasting the
     Sweet
     Buttery
     Slice
     of
     one
     Perfect
     Pie.

Only to find an
                             empty
kitchen, a dark
house, a
                             dusty
kitchen, a clean
plate, and

my mom's hopeless eyes
staring
              at
                    the
           ­                  empty
          
                                           ceiling.

Shirley!
Shirley, Shirley bo Birley Bonana fanna fo Firley
Fee fy mo Mirley, Shirley!

Lincoln!
Lincoln, Lincoln bo Bincoln Bonana fanna fo Fincoln
Fee fy mo Mincoln, Lincoln!

Come on everybody!
I say now let's play a game
I betcha I can make a rhyme out of anybody's name
The first letter of the name, I treat it like it wasn't there
But a B or an F or an M will appear
And then I say bo add a B then I say the name and Bonana fanna and a
fo
And then I say the name again with an F very plain
and a fee fy and a mo
And then I say the name again with an M this time
and there isn't any name that I can't rhyme

Arnold!
Arnold, Arnold bo Barnold Bonana fanna fo Farnold
Fee fy mo Marnold Arnold!

They said they couldn’t **** another
a man a soldier might call a brother
but clearing death from sodden trenches
repairing trucks with rusty wrenches.
These men did their bit too.

Many a shot mowed these men down
in trenches filled with awful sound
they fell and died, their blood as red
and in the end were still as dead.
These men did their bit too.

Some men can’t fight no matter what
so other work was what they got
and midst the cordite battle smell
they picked dead comrades as they fell.
These men did their bit too.

Four long years the battles raged
by Armistice young men had aged
so many young men had sadly died
pacifist stretcher men by their side.
These men did their bit too.

Pacifists choose simply not to ****
Clearing bodies became their great skill
patching up wounded and moving them back
under the vilest of mortar attack.
These men did their bit too.

Soldiers died that we might live
reconcile now and forgive
peaceful men did also die
honour them too where they do lie.
These men did their bit too.



©Joe Wilson – They also served… 2014

Please don’t call me beautiful
when your hands are between my legs,
and god forbid you say it as a seg-way
between you’re so hot
and my caution, your response
you’re sure you don’t want to?
I’m pretty sure the way my body looks,
nineteen and stress-infused with an Oreo belly
isn’t really what you pictured beneath my blouse,
and I’m positive you didn’t listen
to the story about my dad and the bad prom dress
because you cared. It was just sentiment. You said it was beautiful,
but really you wanted me to believe the act
like a description in the Playbill
and ride that trust all the way until the curtain dropped.
Please don’t call me beautiful
when the word ******* is before it
or if we are ******* because making love
is for married couples and you don’t even want me
sticking around for the ****** sunrise that peers
underneath your shade every morning.

Tell me I’m beautiful when I’m crying—
crack me open and watch the colors bleed
like a painting that hasn’t dried. Admire
the light that peaks through the clear parts
like a windowpane, no blinds.
Tell me I’m beautiful when I’m laughing,
when I’m reading my favorite part of a book,
when I’m stuffing my face with peanut-butter
pretzel bites and I haven’t washed my sheets in weeks,
and I’ll know you can’t be lying
because I’ve listened to the waves your heart makes
when you’re sleeping and I’ve called your smile
to the surface many times when you’ve tried
to deflect it back inside. You’ll know that
and you’ll know I’m beautiful.  
Call me beautiful
when you’re not even trying.
Call me beautiful when you’re by yourself
and the smell of my hair is still on your pillow,
or the memory of how dumb I sounded
singing my favorite song breaks your heart back
to the best little pieces.

What you call free
sounds like crap!
What I call free,
well.. we just can't have that.
It's not like we can run away on our own.
So is there ever a place we can really call a home?
With one issue,
causes another.
I'm tired of this world
lets create one better!
I'm sure people really wouldn't mind that,
but who's gonna be the one who gets shot in the back?
We try to express ourselves over music like, pop and rap
but, like a wise women once said.
"Ain't no body got time for that."
So is anyone out there gonna take a stand?
While I'm the one out here who's raising my hand.
With my fist held high
I reach to the sky
Join me my friends
to surely make this to an end!
We have the power to change our world,
but we need to do it together,
with every boy and girl.
For the future is within our hands!
All we need to do, is just think of a master plan.

Who the **** are you
to come in and take over
something you have no idea about.

Taking control of so many
so many mind that need molding
that need a teacher
not a ******* like you
you stupid liar.

I know more than you
yet you hold yourself so high
like we ******* respect you
and thank you for coming

but we were better off without you
better with no teacher
better without your hypocritical
better just roaming in out open mindedness

But no
you had to come and take over
take over my favorite part of the day,
ruining it,
causing the experience
to fester in my hatred for you
and my loathing of your existence.

Two more weeks.
thats what is left of you.
Two more weeks and we will finally be rid of you and
your nonsence
you piece of ******* ****

Hey you're more than pretty. You're gorgeous. You're eyes sparkle brighter than any star. Your smile beats the moon. Your hair is so much fun to play with. Remember not to starve, purge, cut, tear, stab, poke, burn, scratch. There's no need too. I don't need to see your face to know your beautiful. I don't care what the mirror says. You deserve to know the ugly truth. You will always be beautiful and there's nothing you can say or do to change that.