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Nov 2017 · 1.2k
childlike wonder
Erik Welsh Nov 2017
how easily, naturally
as kids we spilled our
hearts out to each other

i was with you then
in my closet, to get
away from our parents.
flashlight in front, hearts
in our hands.

i told you everything,
before forming the
questions i had for you.
i gave you everything,
hoping it wasn’t too much.

we spent nights situated
on top of those words,
wondering how it impacted.
how each other felt after.

as an adult, i feel
overwhelmed, out of
reach. childlike wonders
cease me as my vices
replace me.

where’s my childlike
wonder? buried in my
hands, where i crushed
my heart? or in my chest
where you placed yours?

so i searched. and as
naturally, easily as i
remembered, i spilt my
heart out on pen, and slid
it to you with a heart
embroidered on the side.

hoping it wasn’t too much.
my vices have no place over me anymore, so i can replace it with something better. i swore myself to protect my childlike wonder so i wouldn't cease into the vices my family had anyways.

i haven't felt this way in a while,
so i'll do the best i can.
Nov 2017 · 1.4k
thoughtless / thoughtful
Erik Welsh Nov 2017
t h o u g h t l e s s
--
i wonder if my brain doesn't know
what to think, or if it did
i wouldn't want it to.

thoughtlessness is just the veil we cover ourselves with
when you know the thought is something not needed to be said.
but some others aren't so concerned.

she curled her lips
at the expense of others;
smiled when our eyes met.
and for the 1000th time,
i was thoughtless.

uncover yourself!
liars, calm your tongues!

i wanted to explain
how discontent and irreparable i felt
from the words falling out of that woman's mouth.
it dripped, settled, and rooted itself in my heart,
missing the deep moat built to keep them out.

so i rebuilt it.
and i thought of all the ways
to keep it hidden.
--
t h o u g h t f u l
--
of gripping emotions
and little time,
i am thoughtful of you.

day in
night out

of connect the dots puzzles
found in old restaurants as kids,
we are the dots right next to each other
ready to fill in something grander.

and i am thoughtful of you.

of roots planted
in me by you,
or in you by me,
i felt connected
and rushed to say:

"of all places i'd want to be planted,
it'd be here."

of words unsaid, we might be setting ourselves up to be
star-crossed lovers, up high; harness detached, to be dropped.
but all this month i've been digging, and last night
i saw the first sparkle of gold, staring back at me
with your smile i never want to forget.

this smile not out of deception,
but adoration. comfort. belonging.

and i am thoughtful of you.

of pages read and words said,
under moonlight or incandescent bright home;
wherever we might be, i am thoughtful
of all you've done.

another day, yellow in essence
another out, black as my back turns

of those car rides up north
to fill in the rest of the dots,
i am thoughtful
of where you will be.

in this maze-like city
for the first time, i won't feel lost
for i have somewhere to be,
and you to find.

of lightly feathered emotions
and the realization we have
all the time in the world,

i am thoughtful of you.
two different poems
in reaction to two different people
in two different times
Nov 2017 · 304
cold stains, pt 1
Erik Welsh Nov 2017
the cold weather and my friends were never in the same place
i coexisted between the two and forgot what each of them felt like
for i was among both
but understood neither

the nights of caving in on hot chocolate stained sheets
and lights flickering out my window
gave the chance to see me as i am
and as i could be tomorrow

tired
searching

the lights flickered again tonight
as i changed the sheets to the bed

and for once
i wish it were’t my choice between them
Nov 2017 · 341
of an untrained mind, pt 1
Erik Welsh Nov 2017
“be who you want to be” my mom always swore
no restraints besides the ones given
by my peers
and untrained mind

some claim to be the seer
some don’t, and thank God
i claim to be none of the above

always wanting to know what it was like to succeed and be flawed
reared and dropped off

as broken
to be mended / made whole
“this is always a chore”

the king i dreamt of
lived in a place untouchable by flesh
but accepted my spirit

my untrained mind will never be fully trained
giving me limitations beyond my control
so i’ll just be who i want to be

and be yours all the same

— The End —