Happened to me on a street corner
on either a late night or an early morning.
It took a wallet full of cider, a charity of spirits,
a shared packet of ****** and the smell of glue.
Not the cheap stuff, the glue for models,
and they look alright, right? right man?

The night left me outside my head, with my thoughts,
I had a handful of anti-headaches.
We nearly bled out last time we admitted all our mistakes,
my friend, who always ends a night with a head
on my shoulder, snotting up my collar,
hiccuping up frag grenades,
**** and apologies.

The difference between me and her is that I was built for this ****. I was forged in heartbreak and birthed into quiet suffering, but I’ve conquered my demons and I’ve slept with angels. I’ve been taken advantage of, I’ve robbed, lied and lied to, I’ve been hungry and full, I’ve been drug through the mud and then after I’ve washed myself off time and time again. I was built for this ****, to be the stronger person. To be the person who won’t fall apart, the person who- over time will mend my tiny broken and cut up heart till all that’s left is a bruise and I’ll live with it. To be the person who can take rejection off the hands of someone who wasn’t built for that kind of ****. Never think of me as shattered, but rather a mosaic off all the battles I’ve lost and won. That’s the difference. I can take this ****.

When the waves peaked
the sunlight broke
through their belly,
filling the undertow
with stained glass,
blues, and greens.
At the foot of
something holy,
you felt like a child.
If you still
spoke to a God
you would have
done it then.
Instead, you scribbled
short prose
onto wrinkled
receipt paper,
released them
into the ebb.
You thought,
this sadness,
like the ocean,
belongs to all of us now.

She rests her head
Over the stains of my pleasure
That thought alone
Makes me feel better
She goes for your phone
But I know you won't let her
Because you're  still holding on
To our love with a tether
The string that binds us
That you refuse to sever
You ask for me back
But I'm far too clever
Your words mean nothing
When you say you regret her
I will not go back
Sorry love,
Never.

It's not a hobby. Be prepared to give your life to it.
Read, read, read: The more poetry you read now,
the better your's will become.
Don't quit your day job. No one ever got rich writing poetry.
If you are seeking fame or to get laid,
there are obviously easier methods.
Ignore criticism, unless it is useful, and even then be wary.
Consider: Your feelings do not constitute the universe;
your love life may not be all that interesting.
Write every day. Don't wait for the Muse.
She is a fickle ***** prone to take random vacations.
Forget originality. It will paralyze you.
Write like a ******. That's what poets are.
Look forward to embarrassing yourself.
Say it in the fewest, best words.
Nothing is easy. Be prepared to burn for it.
Be joyful, though you have considered all the facts.

~mce

It is raining
And the sky is gray but it holds
A sort of secret light
A brightness that lends a pearly quality to the falling drops.
It is a lovely, quiet radiance
And it reminds me of you.
In my head I see your face
Your moss green eyes, wide and framed by long dark lashes
Your hair, wild and reaching, the way it stirs in the wind and bounces when you laugh
Your white body in the darkness
A sliver of bone in moonlight
Strong and soft at once, smooth and unblemished, almost liquid, almost velvet, almost light.
I wonder
How the years will make you lovelier
For I know they will.
I see your beautiful hair
Gone silver like spun spidersilk
Falling in ringlets past your shoulders.
I see the forest in your eyes
Grow tall and reach for the heavens,
Gold and green mingling as ever, just as vibrant, just magnetic.
Something about your eyes in a face full of the carvings of laughter and tears, marked by every love and loss and sunny day,
Something about how unchanged they will be
But how much more complete
Makes my heart swell.
I want to see you grow like a tree, like a forest.
I want to see every way you change.
And I know that someday those fathomless eyes,
Young and old at the same time, like the trees,
Will look at me with doubt, with chagrin,
That you will wonder if I want you
As you age
That nothing I say then will be able to convince you completely that I do,
And it makes me smile sadly.
Because as I sit here gazing out the window, seeing in my mind's eye how you'll change,
I can't think of anything more beautiful and more inspiring
Than watching you grow old
Next to me.

The feathery touch
Of your skin
Is so sincere and warm
My blood starts throbbing beneath.
The bond between
Our hearts
Is strongly entwined
Obtaining a new truth.
Your breath,
Your touch,
Your gaze,
All drive me sanely mad
I no longer choke
On my own loneliness
Because you are my new clarity,
Igniting a flame in my soul,
Jumbling the insides
Of my stomach
In some chaste way.
I'm naive to your potency,
The fool...
Letting your love
Stain my heart
With no regrets.

Happy to be a crack within the wall,
That sinks as people think and pressure builds
To strive for freedom, love and life fulfilled
Beyond these callous constraints of control.
Abiding standards set by- who? We fall,
From Self, the Source of true condition killed.
Accepting life through these rose-tints we will
Barely breathe the blessing given to us all.

Through all distractions you cannot deny
We're here. We're- where? A spinning ball of being,
And yet we waste this time, find faults and criticise
Ourselves, and others, still longing for feeling.
The only things we need, an open eye
And mind to help us find our way to healing.