I'm sorry

I'm not a very good communicationist

I'm not even a a good writer of rhyme

I seem to exist

most of the time

in my own mind

It's an ugly place

But thank you for your messages

Thank you for the poems

I'm sorry

I can't express myself better

but your words will always be

Home

(to me)

I'm sorry

I'm just a falling down shack

No

I won't take anything back

Sorry

don't even know why I wanted
to shape this as a poem
perhaps because Poetry is
the only Love
that ever loved me back
it's all I've ever known
despair lays heavily on a heart
that beat for so many others
now it just beats for one
and even then I wish I could
just stop it, shock it into dying
it beats for no reason, each season
it tick tocks upon the rocks
of where it has been bashed
by another's unsupported anger
unjustifiably angry with no reason
but I don't ******* care anymore!
Used, abused and given little hope
that I made a difference in breathing
just a little same oxygen that you do
it's irrelevant that the eyes are unseeing
the heart is still beating
just don't ******* care!

Do you?

Your chances are, your chances are...

Chances are the forecast -
is mistaken.

Rain is inevitable.
Down and bound
to arrive, sourced from
a cloudless sky

Chances are the forecast -
is mistaken.

Death is inevitable.
Down and bound
to arrive.
After one last
cloudless breath
taken, no more.

My mind stopped talking to me
about 6 weeks ago
So out of sheer loneliness
(and a little curiosity)
I started talking to my big toe

“Hey me old mate, how ya been?”

“Don’t old mate me
I haven’t seen you since
I don’t know when.
Oh, that’s right!
it was about the time
your big fat gut moved in!”

“Sorry I haven’t been around…”

“You’ve been ‘round alright
it’s actually a shape you wear well
but what do I know?
I’m kept in the dark most of the time
by the way, your shoes really smell!”

“But…”

“Oh No you didn’t
just bring **** into it
I know for a fact
they are just as mad at you,
and feeling the rejection
So is calf and knee and
elbow and poor little Pinkie toe too!
You no longer bother to have me rubbed
The only attention I get
is when you have me stubbed”

That was about when I stopped
talking to my big toe
It when on and on and on
Whinge, *****, whine!
Now I’m just lonely again
sigh
I really miss my mind

Printed a couple of poems
onto crisp white pages
My daughter coloured pictures
around words that took ages
Hole punched the left hand side
with Pink wool it is tied

Written and illustrated
by Helen and Chelsea

It's my greatest achievement to date
(beside my daughter, you see)

To all the ungrateful ******
that felt me up on the back seat
in some unknown parking lot
because you wouldn't spring
for a real date
Perhaps your waiting for me
to bled my angst onto this page
Pffft
Don't wait!
If you've decimated me
into tiny parts
where slot A no longer fits
for your tiny part B
you don't deserve to be carried,
vaunted upon a poetic chaise
it's a pathetic waste
of my Joie de vivre
I can't read another word
of You were my one and only
until you left me
so I'm just going to keep
writing about
how good I was for him
and how he doesn't deserve me
Because He doesn't care!
He's down and *****
on the back seat
in another unknown parking lot
with another faceless name
for him, it's freaking hot
So stop spilling your life's blood
upon an empty page
Pick up, move on
Discover life after ungrateful ******
Write something that will live longer
than just your age