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The holiest places have graffiti in the stalls
The most sacred alters are surrounded by bar stools and covered in half emptied glasses
The most beautiful hymns sound like your breath in my ear as you tell me you want to take me home
The sincerest of "amen"s come in the form of me fixing my lipstick as you pay the tab
There was never a place for wild children
So now we just worship in bars.
I apologize in advance for spilling my boiled blood on the floor of your bedroom
But I am running out of ways to show you the wax and whiskey running through these veins.
I'm sorry for showing up at your doorstep with every watch I could carry
But I needed to show you how the clocks laugh every time you tell me "forever".
I may not be pretty enough for you but I promise
I can shatter every mirror until I look like something Picasso would stutter at.
It seems like I'm down to my very last petal but if you give me a moment
I could gather the fallen ones from my feet and arrange them on your mattress
And pull you down to it by your hips to show you how much I adore you.
His compassion disgusted me.
I thrived on the **** of the Earth
And he just wanted to fix it,
like scrubbing the poetry off of bathroom stalls.
I told him, "Baby, love me violently,
See my soft spots and sink your teeth in.
No point in trying to fight my demons
When they've already won."
Tell her in another world you're close enough to hold her
Tell her about your affinity for that which is not manmade but is still breakable
Tell her she's malleable in a way that makes things afraid to touch her
Tell her how you misspelled "perfection" using the letters of her name
Tell her you don't want to drink unless it's from the dips of her collarbones
Tell her she's your favourite China shop
Tell her you knew she liked it rough
Tell her she'll shatter under the weight of your softness
Tell her she's not like the other girls before her
Tell her she's the question and the answer
Tell her she's more light than tunnel
Tell her she's art
Tell her she makes you believe in God
But just don't tell her you still call me when you're drunk
"But I don't want to die." said a tiny young girl, tearfully.

"You don’t die, not really,
There's another life afterwards, a better life,
Just waiting for you.
You'll be able to see Nanny again,
When you're up in heaven." replied her Mother at once, comforting her.

How do you escape death?
Truth is, you can't.
It's the only guarantee of life,
The only certainty.
Inevitable.

Humans try to conquer their fear of death
By painting wonderful mental pictures,
Creating a mirage of white lies,
Of reassurance.
Hoping,
Convincing themselves that there's a better life.
Dreaming of heaven;
Clear blue skies,
Songbirds chirping harmoniously
From dawn until dusk,
Rewards for good behaviour,
for those deemed obedient enough.
Paradise.
But realistic?
I'll leave that for you to decide.

Heaven symbolises the escape from the fear of dying.
An attempt to comfort,
To put minds at rest.
Religion:
Created to make people feel less frightened, and
followed by those scared of death,
scared of the unknown.
I don't mean to intentionally offend religious people in any way through this poem, I'm just expressing my personal opinions about this topic.
What is a poet?

A poet is able to capture a feeling with words.
To adeptly potray one. single. instance.
with words.
With scribbled, illegible
Or cleansingly, typed
clear, crystal, words.

I,
am not a poet.

I am a monkey,
deftly punching on a typewriter,
finger smashing keys,
expecting Shakespeare
to appear on a backlit screen
or a pure white notepad.

I am,
not a poet.

I am the grouch,
in a trash can.
Yellow moss on a rock,
pointing south. South.

I am not,
a poet.

I thought I dripped words
like blood out of my veins.
I thought my muse,
was darkness.
Then the sun came out.

So,
I am not a,
poet.

I am a high school English paper.
I am the run-ons,
too many ands,
too many commas.
Not even a proper sentence.
I am the red-marked essay.


I am not a poet.

And I have nothing else to say.
Inspired by Rob Rutledge's "This is not a poem."

© copy right protected
Some Autumn evening..
I grabbed a cigarette.
Lit it without thinking.
A few years after..
Another Autumn day..
I met you.
I love you daily.
Without thinking
Because who knows?
One day, you may replace...
My pack of Marlboro Menthols.
For Kylia, my new love.
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