Helen

Helen Apr 2015

I'm Mindful of the Mud that Ruins my New Shoes

Parties are for the Pretties,
the Perfects and the Prudes
the Pretties hate the Perfects,
all the rest are left to suffer
beneath their combined attitudes

One must listen to platitudes
that paints the sky so pink
The blue that bends so blindly
never barely connects so kindly
to the instance that it bled ink

Mindful of the mired muck
that insists my shoe should stick
insidious brown upon the ground
whispers words in rejection
leaving a life form I needs drink

For where I step is septic
solid ground is unsolid, at best
but my best foot forward
is wearing pretty new shoes
mud caked, is my best guess

I have no idea what this means... Had an automatic writing moment... Take what you will from it :)

Helen Apr 2015

Dead is Dead (she said)

He:* What's happening to us?
We're dying!

She placed her hand
upon his chest and said,

We're not dying!
We are already dead,
it's just our hearts
that won't stop trying

Helen Apr 2015

Finally!

My divorce
will be final
in 3 days,

I'm shocked!.!.

I never thought...
it would take
so long

to get a gun license

'apparently' there's a cooling off period *rolls eyes*

Helen Mar 2015

to be me

I'm going to let you
be me
because I don't want
to be

Helen Mar 2015

Embrace Verbosity

repeat yourself over and over
wield words as your weapon
repeat it as many times you need
until you drown beneath
your own perception

Tell the boy you fell in love with that you don't appreciate his lust, tell the girl your dreaming of that she's the only one you think of

Shout out to the universe
that you're unimpressed
Scream in the face of the world
that you deserve only the best

Get into the face of the *****,
or the *******,
that hurt you the most
and insist you are worth
the air you breathe, make sure
*you're extremely verbose

Helen Mar 2015

How Many?

So many voices, so many signs, so many times I thought you were mine
So many pieces are scattered across the floor, so many pictures of what came before
So many promises, so many pleas, so many Thank You's that never appease?
If we stand beneath the sunset
and it glitters upon our face
How many times
must we walk along a path
we've already traced?
With fingertips roughned by calluses that map a journey, forever heading South?
How many times must the sun set again before your taste will leave my mouth?