words moved me, and
God
i wanted my fingers to blister and my
bones to ache
but my mind withers and my heart breaks
i swallowed ink and still i couldn’t
make the words flow like they used to as if
almost as if
they refuse to

Getting out of bed is a feat some days
I just want to sleep some days
To get away. From the noise of the world

The guilt
The expectations
The intrusive memories of pain & blame that whisper loudly through my shame

The painstaking loudness is consuming and immense
It drains me of my lifeforce, my freeness, my subsistence

But I tread through the dark whirling water
I swim opposite the fierce tidal current, trying not to falter
If I let myself sink it will be too difficult to clear the heavy sandpapery water from my lungs

I see the light in brief gasps of red as I tread the voices in my head

Dysfunctional. Defective. Dead. like a battery
But I’m still Living. Operating. Performing.

Performing for most, a glimmer of a smile and a happy anecdote

But not all, not all of the Someones

I found the ones who breathe air into my tired lungs
The ones who offer me refuge on their lifeboats of truth
So that I may rest my weary body when I am too tired and it's too foggy

I heal, I recharge, I feel steady on their barge
Only then do I return to the waters
On my own
Maintaining
Building up
Becoming more resilient with each wave

The wind kisses my sun-red cheeks
Tiny sand pebbles tickle my feet
Droplets of sweat develop in sheets
Close my eyes and soak up the heat
The laughter of children fills my ears
The roar of waves washing away my fears
I take a breath, a smile tugs on my lips
Not future, no past, there is only this

I ran over your tongue
like silk
or is it
fine wine
You sloshed me in your mouth
tasting the way
I ripened with age
I danced with your taste buds
I thought I did well
but then
you spit me out
and decided you preferred
the 2010

"Why can't we ever see eye to eye?"

Of course not, everyone's a different height

People say “get over it”
But aching hearts are screaming to be free.

People say “get over it”
But they are deaf to all the pleas.

People say “get over it”
But they don’t want those sad souls to succeed.

People say “get over it”
Because they want us to shut up and agree.

The poet in me is bursting to be free
To take the pen of countless men and write

“Oh to break through this mess of angry love
to put right what has died in me.

The strong surviving part that cries tears
Has many fears of living”

Breakout prisoner of mine and don’t analyze yourself

Be young in passion and take care
In fashion of the reckless

Be reckless, loveless lover

MOORE