Daddy why don't you love me?
Is it because i look more of 'her'?
Is it because i am a reminder of what has gone and will never return?
Everyday i see a father hold his daughter dearly,
With so much affection and love,
And then i look at us.
Is there even an 'us' anymore?
Was there ever an 'us' to begin with?
Why daddy why?
Why must you push me away?
Cant you see daddy? i'm hurting too,
I smile for the sake of you, reminding you that i'm here,
That i'm here to share your grief with and morn over our lost,
But why daddy why?
Why must you scorn at me with such raw hate?
Cant you see daddy our numbers will never add up
You lost one.....................................
But I've lost two.

Self
Lubricated poetry
To loosen your bowels
My words
To be my
Poetry
B
     E
   N
D

Over for me
Let me hear your
Howl

Rainwater is pooling on Panola Mountain tonight , plants are rooting
atop her granite escarpments , Bucks are foraging across the lowlands ,
a crescent Moon will become visible as the storm moves Eastward ....
Couples will fall in love tomorrow across the lawn , family reunions and carefree children will run and laugh in the park ... Herons forage to the cacophony of bullfrogs , insects , whippoorwills and owls .. Alexander Lake on this night mirrors a million stars , turtle doves will sound the call to morning , turkey hens will echo across her plentiful moors ...

I need to find new ways to express
the same way I've felt year after year.
Unique combinations of perfect poetry
that somehow convey exactly what I go through on a day to day basis.

This is me once again trying to shoot that target,
even if I never get the chance to yell bullseye.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

I miss the sparks we had in every moment together, the ones that ignited our love to burn ferociously blue, not a gentle red.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

That was great but I think I missed, I'll give it another try.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

There is no remedy to prescribe for this disease of a life you left me lost in. All I can hope for now is that these words navigate their way onto your screen.

I design maps in every poem I jot down, with the illusion that someday you WILL find the path back to us.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

No... that one was accurate, but I'll try to be more precise.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

I falsify myself anytime someone looks at me by wearing a mask that I'm not sure I can ever take off.

I don't have the courage to do that, because there's not a right way to explain how such permenant blemishes didn't start off as birthmarks.  They don't even look like scars, but rather lesions where you chose to purposely poison every inch of my being.   

My only method of eradicating you from my body was to turn my emotional pen and ink into something that I'm not embarrased to show the world.

My tattoos are etched so that I can finally decide what I look like on the outside, the person I saw myself becoming before I met you. Although, even these painful shades I continue forcing myself to endure won't hide the knowledge I am left blinded by.
 
We both know the real ones were engraved a long time ago in spaces so buried, so bottomless that not even the busiest gravedigger could stumble upon them.

- - - - - - - - - -

That felt like a closer hit.

Next time I decide to load my handgun I'll make sure to take a deep breath and focus, maybe then can I actually shoot the center of these criminal emotions that ****** me time and time again.

While she is sleeping
I send these words,
silent to her eyes but to the ears I pray they be heard.
I send them straight to her universe. My eyes gaze upon a starry night while she lay in darkness with eyes shut tight; I am there, though I cannot touch with my hands, I know she will feel these words hit her ears. While streaks of light flicker in her eyes, I am watching stars shoot across the midnight sky, thinking of which words to write,  knowing they will reach you.
Then I feel a slight grin appear on her face; falling deeper into her space, I could have sworn I heard her say, "I can hear you."

The ogre that I am, I sit in my man-cave.
It’s bathed in light from my TV and laptop.
Each is a portal to our ugly world.
Regulated crystal-city skyscrapers
Form Giant’s Causeways.
Aircraft eagle overhead
Reminding me of vultures
And 9\11.

Cars beetling about the suburbs,
Some Beetles, Ha Ha.
River highways cascading cars.
Ants rush everywhere,
A seething nest.

So many an ant,
Holding a conch to the ear,
Or staring mesmerised at that tiny screen.
Yoda fingers his phone…

And me I sit here,
Metamorphosing metaphors
For a while
Before I visit Facebook Land
Once again.

Paul Butters