I never told you about this
You talked about your porch swing in the rain
Where you went
When you wanted not to run from the tempest
But to embrace it
Because that’s who you are
A nomad of heartbreak
You let me in
Just long enough to fall
When I landed
You were gone
Like the passing of the storm
Only when you left
The sun didn’t come out
It just got darker

****** if I know
I just have to write
It’s a compulsion
There’s nothing to fight

It comes and goes
I give it no thought
I will not take the blame
It is not of my lot

I wish I were cured
That I wasn’t afflicted
It wouldn’t be so bad
If my writing was gifted

But no it’s not praised
Not garnished with stars
It’s just the nonsense
Of an old guy with scars

Ok. Here’s how it’s going to happen.
I’m going to tell you a joke.
You’ll laugh.
I’ll write you a poem.
You’ll like it.
We’ll hang out.
I’m going to ask about you.
You’ll ask about me.
I’ll give you a vague but reassuring response.
I’ll tell you another joke to change the subject.
You’ll look into my dead blue eyes and wonder.
But just for a moment.
I’ll write you more poetry.
Encouraging **** that references things you’ve told me about yourself.
You’re going to take that as me listening to you and you’ll point it out to your friends.
It’s to validate the eventuality.
Next comes the gesture.
Go with you to see a dying relative, help you bury a rabbit (I didn’t actually bury it. I just threw it in the dumpster. Then I kicked a bunch of dirt around and told you that was the spot. So all that time you were just standing over a meaningless patch of dirt crying.)
We bang.
Then like a **** at an ****, I just leave you feeling disgusted with yourself.

It came upon a Christmas eve not so long ago
A beast deformed in stature, walked out from the snow
It’s eyes were sharp and wild, jagged teeth like shards
It went from house to house leaving hoof prints in the yards.
Glancing into windows warm with light and life
It was here to reconcile an old and bitter strife
It had a bag that screamed and cried as it dragged it on the ground
An awful thing just an awful thing, to have to hear that sound
It threw its nose into the air and began to sniff and snort
This demon was on to something but what I can’t report
In the bitter cold, you could smell it’s breath of rot and discontent
The chains that draped its frame, made its spine look broke and bent
The wind it howled in vain to warn the people of this beast
It’s cries went unregarded as people sat before their feast
The demon ceased its searching when it came upon my house
I did my best to hide and stay as quiet as a mouse
I walked back into the shadows in the corner of my room
Voiceless, breathless, terrified what was this thing of gloom
I heard it leap onto the deck and drop its sack upon the floor
A resounding thud caked in mud, it wasn’t crying anymore
I left my room and crept down the stairs to see if it got in
Hoping it wasn’t that demon who they said would eat my skin
It stood before the fireplace, the front door was opened wide
I don’t know how this thing got in but I had nowhere left to hide
It turned its face from the fire with a scowl you’d have to see
The demon had a quarrel alright and the quarrel was with me
It pulled out from the pocket of its robe all blacked and charred
A burning piece of paper then it handed me its card
The card read only “Krampus” before I felt it’s claws upon my throat
Now I’m in a bag with other kids set for some other place remote
We were bad and didn’t listen to our parents and their orders
We broke a lot of rules and disrespected borders
Now ole Krampus has us and he’ll probably sell us off as food
This is what you get if you’re whiny, mean, or rude
Now have a merry Christmas and do as you’ve been told
Lest you wind up in a demons bag being dragged upon the road

so this is a poem about nothing
so you might be on your way
if you're hoping it becomes something
this may well ruin your day

atomically I'm 99% nothing
so what of my thoughts of you
those ones that just leave me wanting
the ones that leave me askew

nothing happened and nothing's clear
something was and now it's gone
nothing holds nothing dear
somethings final curtain drawn

nothing only need be said
and i might have one less scar
some things should be left for dead
not shared across a bar

nothing is as something was
and that is what's to be
in a hundred years they won't remember
you them or me

She’s the accidental brush stroke that made Rembrandt smile.
A wrong chord at the right time that makes the concerto that much better.
She’s the halo around the moon, on a dew soaked night when she’s a ghost of herself.
A lie and smile, so beautiful you don’t care about the truth because of how she looked at you.
She’s a celestial mystery encompassing everything beautiful one could hope to experience in a lifetime.

How is it I can have 219 contacts in my phone, and none of them are friends or family?

Oh she's like the moon alright.
Radiant, beautiful, and utterly utterly dead inside.

i’m lost
alone
and broken

At times.
It seems like I've got a bag literally filled with **** tied to my waist. Because I think or I have convinced myself I need it. That I am to suffer the weighing stench my own failings.
Well **** that ****. I'm human. And I hold no doubts that there are far worse than I in character by comparison. Am I the best I can be? Probably not. However I like to think I'm doing a little better than the guy wearing a diaper while being led around the room by an under aged Cambodian girl. That ******* has issues.

I've seen you.
One time you were seated on a bus. In the back to be more precise. You had your headphones on and you were reading. You were a little nervous. Maybe it was your first time on public transportation. Maybe it was your destination.
You had long black hair. It looked to me like black water, flowing out of the top of your head and tracing its way down to your shoulders. You'd smile occasionally and I'd hope that it wasn't something you were reading. I imagined instead you were thinking of someone. Because it appeared to be one of those smiles that occurs when someone fondly remembers something.
We both got off at the same stop and you asked me where Elm street was. The warmth you exuded at that moment set me at ease. I told you and you thanked me. I watched you walk away. I wanted to follow you. For my own selfish reason. So that I could go on about my day knowing you were ok.
I still think about you.

You on the other hand. You were my only friend in a strange place. I don't know why. I don't know how. We just paired up for reasons mysterious in nature. You were stunningly beautiful. If I had to describe you in the most apt manner I could. Unrealistically beautiful. But there you were.
We walked for hours. We discussed philosophy, relationships, people, love, and candles. There were just so many candles. You told me of your dream to race the Iditarod because it would be something no one would expect of you.
When we at last arrived at the end of our journey, you kissed me. Then you said "thank you for being here" and you left. Like a **** in the wind you stunk up my dreary ****** life with your beauty, sense of humor, and kindness but for a moment in time.
I've never forgotten you either.

Then there was you.
Everytime I see you my heart breaks because it knows it'll have to say goodbye to you. I've cursed the day I met you a thousand times everyday since. It seems only Anubis carries the balm that could sooth my heart.
Your laughter is my favorite song. You're artistic in motion and a melody by nature. In just knowing you, one is happy. because in knowing you one can imagine a world brighter. Void of darkness wherein hope springs eternal.
And though to you I am but another page. Full of words with no stock value. Looked upon only to feed a gluttonous urge.

I'm tired.
Of writing.
About things that aren't.
Things that were.
I'm tired.
Of being.
Someone I hate.
So I suffer.
I'm tired.
Of pain.
It's ******* exhausting.
I just want one day.
I'm tired.
Of wondering.
Is this the day?
Is this the day they take it all away?
I'm tired.
Of love.
It's a dreadful experience really.
I wouldn't risk it. Again.
I'm tired.
And I'd really like it if I could just go to sleep.

You want to be happy?
Stay dumb.
Don't inquire, don't learn, don't be curious.
Grow numb, stay dumb.
Once you know otherwise.
You can't go back.
And it *****.
The ultimate key to happiness. The secret they won't tell you.
Is to stay as dumb as **** for as long as you can.

I have but one friend, and she is a cat.
A passive beast, she won't **** a rat.
She's rather daunting when to be fed.
She'll probably eat me, after I'm dead.

There wasn't a method only a madness.
There was no serenity.
Only a sadness.

The stars will shine and the skies will cry.
Neither one cares for,
you or I.

The oceans will foam on the mouth of the wind.
While it whispers your name,
Now and again.

As supernovas go you were by far the brightest.
You needn't worry about that girl.
Not in the slightest.

This song isn't over and with you I'm not done.
For you are my moon.
And I was your sun.

The fireflies dance to your every whim.
Though unlike you.
They sometimes go dim.

This isn't goodnight and it isn't farewell.
Say it again.
Jamison Bell.

I'm not in the mood to write a poem, it just isn't in me to write tonight.
Others compose and some transcribe, while I ponder my plight out of spite.

I can't go a day much less three, without spilling some ink to thought.
I have no agenda, it's not very good, and most would prefer I not.

But I'm compelled I'm not sure why, these whims they must be contained.
Sorted and stacked in no real order, till nary a thought remained.

Placed before a very few, it is a banquet of souls exposed.
We pick and choose what we like, at times we turn up our nose.

It just doesn't matter if you like this poem just as you don't like me.
It isn't my soul, it's just some thoughts of what could and couldn't be.

Alas though here I sit, because something inside says I must.
The beauty of the irony is, it is this something I do not trust.

So I write more times than not of a woman I may not ever know.
Of how my heart wept on a cold winters night not so long ago.

The glow of her skin, the things she said that probably were not true.
The feel of her lips like petals I'd say perhaps roses caked in dew.

Or maybe I'll pen a little something that maybe makes no sense.
It doesn't matter, I have to write or else I get too tense.

So I'm done now, I've said my piece, and I thank you once again.
It's not for you. It's for her. I call her my favorite sin.

You silly fat ******* these things you don't see.
Your political rhetoric ****** sickens me.

I tire of the lies the half truths and the like.
I'd be pleased to place your head on a spike.

As a warning to anyone who would bring forth hate.
Every four years this **** won't abate.

May I suggest we try something new.
You all go away and come back with a clue.

As to what we can do to make things change.
What sort of policies and laws to arrange?

I may have written down a suggestion or two.
I'll go and retrieve them if you'll just give me a few.

Here's one I wrote while I was high one night.
Free Doritos for all an inalienable right.

Ok so maybe that one isn't so suiting.
Give me a minute my system's rebooting.

These beliefs you hold onto, have just got to go.
Too many variables and things we just don't know.

Persecuting someone because of what they believe?
Have an idea instead, then you'll have nothing to grieve.

Try teaching your kids to be not like you.
To be a good person and not as soft as a shoe.

To say what they mean and mean what they say.
Change will be here tomorrow it takes more than a day.

Stop pandering to the big corporate *******.
Leeches I say! The lot of them! Suckers!

Pharmaceutical companies? They profit from pain!
What you're paying to live? It's ******* insane.

We're brought up to think more money less time?
To ponder or question is considered a crime?

**** that, **** him, and **** her too!
It's time for change, we should try something new.

Worst case scenario? I'm entirely wrong.
I know I'm repeating a familiar song.

Let peace rule out and let's all get laid.
To hell with whitey! Let us all get paid.

Look I'm not really here to bring you peace.
I don't really care about you or your niece.

But you're asking me questions pertaining to matters.
My mind starts a ticking and synapses scatter.

So I give you my thoughts and feelings on ****.
I just found my bowl, it's time for a hit.

So take it or leave it I don't really care.
You don't like my answers? So go over there.

I want so desperately to believe the illusion.
To think I can be one of those people.

I like to listen to other people. The things they say.
What they did. Where they went. Who they were with.

I kid myself sometimes.
I let myself believe I'm one of them.

Till I'm staring at a bottle of scotch at a table alone.
The bottle reminds me. It's just a dream.

I drink but I do not curse them. I don't blame them.
I wouldn't want me there either.

Still though.
What it must be like.

I won't find out in this lifetime.
In this life it's just me and the Jameson.

Family gatherings. Holidays. Parties.
I watch them on tv and wonder.

What is that like?
To be surrounded by people who want you there.

Every acquaintance I have is paid for.
I rent out the illusion of inclusion.

I pretend that where I am is where I'm wanted.
Until I've fixed the railing or solved the problem.

Or handed over the cash.
Once this is done the illusion vanishes.

I'm asked to leave.
"You should go."

I hear that a lot.
Until the next time.

When they'll need money, ****, or me to fix something.
Then I can relish in the ideology.

For a moment.
I have a purpose.

In a place beyond where we laugh
Past the birches, the moors, and the swamps
Under a hunters moon and hidden from ourselves
These demonic truths
Who we are, who we aren’t
The sacrifices, the angst.....
I drink with my truth
She mocks me, taunts me
I love her
It’s like walking through a blizzard to a fire that just keeps moving further away
The snow is cold and deep
And yet I keep typing
All the while knowing
That for as much as I love writing
She’ll never love me back

I figured I could prove them wrong.
That despite the fact they were supposed to be my all knowing parents.
That they were wrong.
I thought for sure I’d find someone.
Something.
I didn’t.
I didn’t find anything.
Which means they were right.
I wasted my life trying to prove them wrong.
And they were right all along.

Well. Needless to say. I’m done.
I think I gave it a decent shot. I loved as much as I could. I tried to do the right thing. I ****** up a lot. But I figured if I made up for it some other way, that I’d find some redemption.
Turns out, I don’t.
I don’t know. (sigh)
It doesn’t matter I suppose.
I wish the rest of you the best of luck.
This just wasn’t my time.

Because I don't have anyone to listen and I just need to vent.

My heart hurts sometimes.
It's unable to pump at full capacity so it gets tired. My breathing becomes labored. So I go somewhere to be alone. I tell myself I'm going to be ok over and over again.
The pain I'm sure is minimal compared to a lot of other people. I think about them. All of them. And it pangs me to think of their suffering. Because I know they have people that care about them. So I keep telling myself to snap out of it.
It still hurts though. I know one of these breaths will be my last. I know that's true for everyone. I just wish mine didn't hurt so much.
I just wanted to write this out. To pretend for a moment someone was listening.

You locked me out.
Now I'm on the outside looking in.
Hurting but not hurting.
Yes it hurts. But I'll never let you see it.
I know why I'm out here. And even if you laid out the red carpet.
I'd stay where I am.
Because *******, that's why!