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this poem
is not about you

even though
your spirit is in every word
your voice sounds strong
in the halls of my mind
telling me things
I am now sure
I want to know

this poem is
about me

trying to understand
you
 May 2016 Jon Gilbert
Sjr1000
I don't know what I'm doing
I don't know what I'm feeling
I don't know where I'm going
I don't know who I'm being
I'm overwhelmed,
frustrated,
I can't cope

These are the slogans
I repeat to myself
Over and over again

Oh yeah

I'm a failure too
I've lived this life
What did I do?
What do I have to
show for it?

These facts about myself
are the one thing
I'm very positive about.

I repeat these slogans
day in and day out
always wondering
what I'm so
depressed about

I bury my head in these sands

Suffocating
Smothering
choking on anxiety
in my own
advertising slogans
on my private airwaves

To complicate
matters
worse
just because we think something
doesn't make it true
that goes for
self worth too.

But

Mindfulness
stands
watching the passing cars
from a freeway overpass
like our racing thoughts
not holding on
not making them go away,
in peace
simply
letting them
be.
States of mind are transitory, come and go.
 Jan 2016 Jon Gilbert
chris
"please don't fall in love with me.
i'll write about the way your collar
bones curve and the way your lip
trembles when you're upset. i'll focus
more on the way you twiddle your
thumbs counter clockwise rather than
the words slipping from your mouth.
i'll remember your favourite song and
listen to it on repeat until the lyrics are
engraved into the crevasses of my
brain, but i'll forget why you prefer*
coffee over tea.  please don't fall in love
with me because once you realise i'm
not good enough, i'll write about you
until my palms bleed and my bones
begin to ache to serve as a reminder
that i should've tried harder to make
you stay. i should've focused more on
the feeling i got when you held me
rather than how many *******
freckles you had on your arms. i
should've woken you up to a fresh cup
*of coffee, not tea."
-o.c
To the world you're just a rose
To me you're my one and only
You weep because you don't feel loved
You ask to be held so I hold you tightly
Your thorns cause my blood to spill
I try not to think of the pain it causes
I hold tighter and you cry louder
And nothing seems to make you blossom
And this may not be worth it for me
But you still ask to be loved and held
But I do it and you can't recognize it
I am the queen of what ifs
Sitting on a throne of could've beens

My fears are my loyal subjects
Escorting my dreams to the gallows

My ambitions are now prisoners
To my court of procrastination

I, the queen
Reign over all of this regret
May we never forget

I, The Queen ©


I GOT DAILY POEM!!! Wow, thank you to everyone who read, commented, shared and liked this and thanks to anyone who reads this and does the same. Yay :)






Written and shared on Hello Poetry on January 11, 2016. Copywrite and all rights reserved under Bianca Reyes
I will be turning myself in today
Life in prison awaits me
Must say I definitely deserve it
I killed a girl and I'd do it again
She would fill my head with ideas
Telling me I was worthless
Saying I should just disappear
Maybe she was right all along
But when I saw her in the mirror
My blood boiled and it enraged me
So I suffocated her one quiet night
Drowned her negativity with my pillow
Saw the malice in her eyes fade and die
Never again will she drag me down
For I am a better person now
I killed the woman in my mind
The one that said I was a waste of space
The one that said I'd never inspire
She didn't know what I was capable of
I was capable of loving myself
I killed the side of me that didn't love
Written on January  13, 2016 and shared via Hello Poetry on January 14, 2016. Copywrite belongs  to Bianca Reyes.
 Jan 2016 Jon Gilbert
v V v
Sometimes I awaken to
a hovering swarm of
stinging can’t be sures.

I have learned from experience
that on those days
it is best to avoid all reflection.

Mental or optical,
either one if given rope
will string you up,
tie you down to guilt
like a sinking ship
where the longer you
stay on board
the harder it is to get off.

I’d like to think
a long drive
would clear my mind.

A long drive driven at night.

I’d head out west toward
the widening sky and
reflective green mile markers,
400 to be exact.

They have seen
their fair share of
my failures.

Dallas - Ft Worth
To New Mexico,
I could drive it
eyes closed
and never miss
a turn.

But in years past
It wasn't so easy.
Back then I missed
a lot of turns
and messed up a lot of life.

From the guilt
of the sinking ship
to the heat of
midnight pavement,

at least the pavement
brought a tiny bit of pleasure,
still brings a tiny bit of pleasure.

For 30 years
I’ve gone this way
leaving ashes of me,
bits and pieces here and there

while white reflective numbers
count out the many milestones
I’d rather soon forget:


                    Tears of regret at mile markers
                    349, 288, 275, 263, 217, etc.

                    Swerved to miss a deer
                    at mile marker 321,

                    First on the scene of a 2am
                    accident.  Quiet moaning,
                    mile marker 285,

                    met my guardian angel
                    on a cliff with no guardrail,
                    mile marker 250,

                    panic attack at 249,

                    219 in drifting snow,
                    invisible except for green paint
                    found on my bumper,

                    Stopped the car to *****
                    at 216, 201, 185, that’s all,
                    wait, one more time,
                    mile marker 59.

                    Attacked by giant frogs
                    at 213,

                    The wind whipped giants at
                    the gates of Fluvanna, 201,

                    saw Christ come forth
                    from a swirling fog
                    at 192,  barefoot,
                    dragging a cross uphill,
                    I had seen him in the dark
                    at marker 195 at 4am,
                    so I stopped and waited
                    for the suns to rise over
                    an eastern hill,
                    and when they did
                    I went on.

                    The suicidal lure of
                    velvety pillowed
                    train tracks at 155,
                    unfortunately inaccessible
                    from the road,
                    occasionally they still call my name.

                    at 140 I threw away everything
                    that was true about love,
                    the repercussions of such
                    are still felt 3 decades later,                         
                    so be careful of the promises      
                    you make, and stay away from
                    mile marker 140,
                    Satan lives there beneath a rock.
                    
                    Smothering loneliness
                    at mile marker 125, 101, 94.

                    76 total emptiness.

                    Nothingness  45, 44, 43, 42, 41.

                    Amnesia from 40 to 1.

                    At the state line
                    there are no numbers
                    only a huge red and yellow sign
                    that says  “Bienvenido!”

                    I breathe a sigh of relief
                    and roll up my window,

                    no more hovering swarms
                    past or present
                    at least for tonight,

                    at least on this side of the line.
 Dec 2015 Jon Gilbert
niamh
Buried
 Dec 2015 Jon Gilbert
niamh
When the night is still,
She comes,
Licks the nib
And spits her words
Upon my pages.
I wake to read thoughts
I didn't know I had
But the writing
Reads like a mirror.
With shaking hands
I tear the treacherous paper.
Words born of wine
And what is best left buried.
The mirror me waits.
***** in hand.
Nothing stays buried forever.
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