If I blew up,
could you contain me?
Pretty please?

In love they wore themselves in a green embrace.
A silken rain fell through the spring upon them.
In the park she fed the swans and he
whittled nervously with his strange hands.
And white was mixed with all their colours
as if they drew it from the flowering trees.

At night his two finger whistle brought her down
the waterfall stairs to his shy smile
which like an eddy, turned her round and round
lazily and slowly so her will
was nowhere—as in dreams things are and aren't.

Walking along avenues in the dark
street lamps sang like sopranos in their heads
with a voilence they never understood
and all their movements when they were together
had no conclusion.

Only leaning into the question had they motion;
after they parted were savage and swift as gulls.
asking and asking the hostile emptiness
they were as sharp as partly sculptured stone
and all who watched, forgetting, were amazed
to see them form and fade before their eyes.

In March of 2005, Dad packed his things
and left the house that he raised me in.
I didn’t notice anything missing, except for
a black and white photo album off the mantle
and the lounge chair he slept on for two years.

His new home, a renovated split-level,
was empty like an abandoned barn:
beautiful in its own tragic way, with
barely enough strength to keep it from
toppling over into a pile of rotted wood.

It was vacant, despite all the possessions
and bodies that lay lifeless inside the walls.

Years of silent dinners amplified by echoes
of awkward tiptoeing and closing doors
to hide the things nobody knew how to say.

With purest wings and thoughts divine,
the soul, so pure, gazes down and smiles,
for humans are peculiar creatures indeed,
what would it be like to live like that,
if only she knew.

Day after day she watched them play,
at war with each other and themselves.
Day after day she watched them love,
themselves, each other, and everything else.
Their emotions so strong and clearly shown,
yet changing at the blink of an eye.
How? Why?

Little did she realize, cracks were forming fast,
her halo slowly becoming rusted as she smiled,
beginning to feel as they feel and know as they know,
from simple, innocent observance.

One day it finally shattered and underneath her,
her world of heavenly delight,
the highest beings were angry at her change,
tainted by humanity's thoughts,
wings ripped off and in a ****** mess,
she was kicked down to the world she so loved to watch.

Tears escaped her as the drop commenced,
betrayed by her now-felt emotions,
down she plummeted, but much too far,
now chained and slaved to the demons of her new nature,
lashed with pain and feelings unwanted,
though it was far too late to return,
so with screams of regret, words of rage,
she slowly sank to the level of the creatures,
only envied for their happiness,
which is sadly only found in innocence and ignorance,
neither of which is to be had anymore.

I mixed liquid nitrogen
With my *** juices
Now I'm cool as ****

Interested in interesting intellectuals
Bringing bacon back, bread-bringing *******
Alliterating alliterative allocutions allowing abusive acronyms

For goodness and badness
And for some ugliness
Here’s the facts and I’ll lay them down right:
I’m a ******* sorcerer
And I don’t finish lists

Irony in the ironical first-person
I left someone behind when they told me to
And now I’m better off,
Know this poem’s for you.
Every time I see your face, I really hope you’re doing well
But deep in my mind I know that nothing’s changed
And you’re still the same, as I’m trying to change
To be a better person than I was when we met
But it’s something that you never noticed, yet
Something inside of me says we’re polar
Opposites and what really happened
Was for the best, for both of us
So I still keep in touch with
Friends around you
And I hope secretly
That you fall in
Unending mercy
And that I’m wrong.

I have 116 poems to read
And even fewer cares to give
I'm thinking less than 10
But greater than 9

In a sense, this is to say I'm sorry
I'll probably never read you
Don't take this the wrong way
I hardly remember to get on to write.
Maybe someday, when everything chills down
I'll be able to spend my day burning a cigar
Drinking in all your beautiful words,
Your wonderful idiosyncrasies
And every little feeling you leave behind with every single letter you type

But listen, as of now,
I'm swamped
Life is coming at me from all sides,
and if I weren't to make an excuse: I just don't give it enough time.
Take this community, and love me?
Actually do what you want, I'm not your boss.
Just know that I'm sorry for not paying attention
You're not a red-headed step-child
You're the family that lives far away
I don't call them either.