Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Jun 2016 Ghost Writer 3
Pen Lux
ten years
of writing
and sharing.
of erasing fear
from what I share.

a decade later
and I am asked
to be quiet, told,
I talk too much.
figuring, if I talk
too much, too quickly,
I have learned nothing.

so I write.

this place is safe
pen on page
words on screen
no real name
truly facing shame(s).

words can hurt
but writing can change,
an outlook, an image,
a feeling, a tone.

there's something about here
me, alone, with these words,
that stops the constant curiosity
of what others may say or do,
because with these forms of words,
only beauty may resound.

no, "telephone game"
of, "who said this, she said,
he said," distorted and mangled.
re-angled! painful miscommunications
avoided so simply. LOOK HERE, look here!
if you misunderstood, read again, or interpret.
these words were written for me and about me,
inspired, perhaps, by others actions or words,
but honesty can happen in abstract ways
much like the daze that follows, when one
says and they say, so instead, I choose to
hurt no one, on purpose or by mistake
instead I will express myself within
this realm of word play!
(it has been ten years since I wrote and shared my first poem with another person, and 7 since I have been sharing here on HP. I figured since I am no good at doing push ups, I will do a 22 poems in 22 days challenge! feel free to join and tag your poem 22 in 22)
She kisses the boys and girls
that pay the most attention.
The boys play with vapor
and her girls play with tension.
I wish I was the only one
that she will decide to touch
but I am who I am
and, in a way, that is too much.

Sawblade-sunflower petals
wrap around an earthy cushion,
and the humidity hangs in the air
as her beige body is crumpled
and I feel too sober, pushing.

Baby yellow falls apart,
in her hair the flower starts
to trickle onto sheet and pillow,
decorating the absences
that define how hollow
she and I have felt before --
******* like an endangered species
on the killing floor, I whisper once,
I whisper sweet, "Don't you wish
that we didn't meet?"

She kisses the boys and girls
that give the most attention.
I played with vapor
and she played with tension.
And what doth she speak, O brother?

"Eternal is the damnation,
Fleeting is the mercy."
Next page