Scranton has me wrapped
around its broken finger
I fell abruptly into the palm
of Philadelphia
with eager eyes
and shaking hands
but the boring consistency
of a quiet purgatory
is too easy to come home to
And truth be known,
I am no artist
I'm just an other
tired college student
with displaced anger,
alcohol poisoning
& a surplus of anxiety
thriving on a tethered
thread of hope some
sad boy with a guitar
gave me in high school
and it's wearing thin

/
One day,
With the absence of my mind
Ran to the river
What might cause for getting the creeps
I called out to her tune,
Would draw the magnitude

Which  made,
A stream of love
Reserved my chest with a colorful sailboat
I was moving
Along the unknown way with playing flute
Then came one of the exotic path

The distant villages,
Then along the earthy way
The meantime
When I became tired,
Have to rest
In the shade of green

Dropped the melody of birds
Plucked the flowers,
Hoped the song with flute
Then suddenly
I came to your home yard
You heard my mystic songs
And to be loved,
Beloved--
 
Was filled with songs of bird
Sky, Air, Meadows
That earthy way
Stars stood up  
Filled the night sky
The river grew with Silver Moon

Yet Fill with the moonlight
Follow the river down
To My old boat along the moonlit
/
@Musfiq us shaleheen

I've never liked the expression
'Sticks and stones may break my bones,
But words will never hurt me."
I think it undermines the power of words
It's undeniable that words have an impact on people
Letters strung together can sting a person's soul
When they are spoken with a tongue used like a whip
Words evoke passion,
They inspire us,
Make our blood boil,
Horrify us,
And yes, they can hurt us
To say that words can't hurt,
Is to demean all that words do
Look at Marat,
Martin Luther,
Shakespeare,
Darwin,
Hobbes,
Freud,
Orwell,
Paine
And tell me words can't change the world
Words are what I turn to when I have nothing left
I'd rather my bones break,
That would be much better,
Than to lose my dignity,
To have a record of voices
Tell me I'm useless,
I'm stupid,
I'm fat,
I'm never good enough
Always on repeat,
Always on my mind,
Always ringing true
Maybe I'm over analytical
Maybe I care too much
About things said in the past
But here's to all the "I love you's"
All the "I hate you's"
To saying "I don't give a ****"
The pen is indeed mightier than the sword
Because your words
Are what made me turn the blade
On myself

Van Gough ate yellow paint
To make is empty insides happy
If I swallow these pretty pills
Will I finally be free?

There is a bat in my closet.
I can hear it rattle its ratted wings
whenever I think about last summer,
the dark and curling feelings.

I can still see its putrid paws hanging over me
in the bathroom that summer night I came home crying.
The alcohol spilt on my dress was streaming
the words my friend  said as he threw
the open beer can at me.
“I love you and you’re too much of a ***** to love me back.”
I don’t understand why I felt so bad.
Why the bat inside beckoned to me,
hissed at me to take the razor,  
to free it from my cyclic center.

I can still feel the first cut,  
me shattering on the bathroom sink,
the bat inside of me screeching
through my watery skin.
I still do not know how to forgive myself
for being so stupid.
I do not know how to forgive the bat in me.
Instead I hide it in my closet,
Lay in bed each night hoping
its wings wont rattle through the door.

©DelaneyMiller