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Jon Shierling Jul 2014
I DON'T WANT TO WRITE ANYMORE.
I WANT TO DO.
I WANT TO GET OUT OF THIS ****** CHAIR AND FIND YOU.
I DON'T WANT TO STARE AT THIS COMPUTER.
I WANT TO BE.
I WANT TO BURN THROUGH MY CITY WITH A SOUL ON FIRE.
I DON'T WANT TO LISTEN TO MUSIC.
I WANT TO LIVE IT.
I WANT TO TEAR DOWN THIS LIE AND DANCE WITH YOU.
Jon Shierling Jul 2014
Perhaps the people who are no good at accepting things, or accepting the faults (real and imagined) of others, are that way because they're no good at accepting their own.
Jon Shierling Jul 2014
Go then.
Get thee hence.
Forget me, forget my love
and my heart beating it's way toward
those mountains where dreams go to be remembered.

I banish you.
And the lingering kiss.
The ghosts of loves and lives once possible
I renounce.
I remove.

Please.
Take my heart and burn it.
Take this from my hands and eat of it
life from my love.
Clothe yourself with me
and set my shackled soul free.

I am kept alive
by the whispers of memory.
Your bare shoulder.
The smell of pine needles.
Knowing you were near before I could see you.

What am I?
These hands.
This soul.
Nothing.
Jon Shierling Jul 2014
So there he sat
wounded and weary
spilling platitudes
***** and dreary
when first I found him
darkened and dangerous
working wounds with weathered hands
and wondering why on this worthwhile
world we stand?

From then to now and now to then
rumors of rancor and roaring
at children's feces filling
a head howling with horrendous chiding
hiding
from how near he might be to crying.
Jon Shierling Jul 2014
Oh don't gimme that look again babe,
that sideways glance you sneak through
those curtains of grapevines you cultivate so well,
kinda like you got some sort of suspicion
that maybe I used to be a blues player
or a James Bond villain.

I sure as **** ain't no Nick Cave
but I got a couple of bad seeds
you might have been lookin for.

Think of this as a forwards backwards
inside out message to you
and maybe I'll show it to the future,
that is if there is a future
worth showin this **** to.

I tell ya one thing though
and even though this'll make me
sound exactly like what I am,
that is to say one arrogant sonofabitch
that wants to give, I mean
really give something to you.

I want to give you whatever you'll have of me
because I don't write poetry

I live it.
And it hurts most of the time.

Except for that select couple of seconds
when you walk me back through your history
and you forget what I used to be.
Jon Shierling Jul 2014
I am cold and aloof
crawling through empty castles
with my solid eyes and ethereal body

A body you still hunger for

Or is it my soul you send your tendrils after
crooning songs of happiness and children
probing crevices made known to you in my weakness

Ah, and when that fails to move
my heart encased in the shards of empty loves
you send a hand searching for mine

I am not those witless dogs you take to bed
to prove your own power over the gender
that you blame for what you are

And whine all you want about how we're perfect
that we deserve each other
that I can use you as I like

I shall not be moved

You're happy to **** my ****
but you daren't listen to what I speak
Use me as you have been used
and deny it even to yourself

Don't forget that I was birthed in this
a child of the lies we tell ourselves
Son of passions whose sources
shuffle like unwanted abortions into the corner

You will never again win my hopes
while wishing for me to help you ****** your brother
You will never turn again your own hate
into your conception of what my love is
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