Post page depression
The feeling you get after reading a poem or passage
One that touches you so deeply
You connect to every loop
Every curve
Every change of pattern in the writer’s hands
Held captive aboard ship of his imagination
Floating on an endless sea of words
Drowning yourself in syllables and sounds
Diving deeper down
Until you finish the poem
Then what do you do?
Go on rants
Seek a write that can match or even top
The emotions you felt when reading the other
This my friends
Is post page depression

Even though we have never met I want to thank you,
for all the things you did and didn't do, for not being true.
For scaring, scarring, smothering and hurting, for no cause,
for making her the women three times the one she was.
For stealing her innocence as she gave in unconditionally,
only to leave and return, threatening to abandon, ruthlessly,
as you played your psychological games, with her life and mind,
manipulating her to believe you're the best she would ever find.

The possibility of sharing ancestry with you, brings me shame,
so repulsive enough to consider changing my family name.
Knowing this relationship was destroying her from within,
being the egoistic ******* you are, continuing instead of leaving.
As she became the compensation for your childhood deprivations,
did you overlook the possibility of this not being the solution?
Draining her passion with conceited affection, at your discretion
for the sake of your satisfaction, but here's a revelation.

She was never going to cheat, deceive or leave, could you not see,
that she was not a part of the vicious cycle of your family?
On the contrary, growing up in this drama, unfortunately,
you became your father, the man you never wanted to be.
Gaining liberation, building walls of caution, she will be fine.
God and patience will lavishly reward her, when it's the right time.
I wish you wealth, health, fortune and a long life of prosperity,
because it is fairly obvious, there is no hope for you in eternity.

I can drive down those empty country roads and just be alone with my thoughts but truly, my memories.
I can open up boxes that I never would before.
I can explore possibilities and what ifs, had my river changed direction.
I can be alone with the sadness.
The kind of sadness that sticks to your ribs.
It fills me up and over the edge.
It seeps out of me like swirls of tendrils and branches. It permeates the very air I breathe, taints the water I drink.
It puts clouds over the sun in my days and flips my world upside down in a matter of moments.
Mere moments, the threads and shreds that my life hangs on.
Like that spoken hope that dangles from a string, the moments are what dangle on such delicate lines from my life, just like a child’s mobile.
I pull them to myself and let my thoughts run free…
What if the happiness had not stopped there?
Does it not have to be so abrupt?
And then it all comes back to me, I gather it all back up and put it back in boxes.

But things didn’t happen like that… and well, thats just the way it is…

As I pull into the driveway, I am right back where I started.

I want something big and bold
I want to show it to the world
I want people to scream with delight
When I write something new

But then again, I want something secret
I want to write amazing lines just for me
I want my inspiration to be from something
That’s only from me, lines that are only for me

I want to capture what I really feel
Like how the music seizes my soul
And how I fight for it to let go
I want to be a Wordsworth or Neruda

But then again, I want to be unknown
I want to give my words to only a few
For they mean more than the world to me
Because they are the spirit that breathes in me

I want to tear at people’s souls
Like how people rip through mine
I want people to request my poems
Like they request songs on the radio

But then again, I want no one to know of my writings
Because my writings are my secret companions
I want not a soul to cherish them except I
Because my writings are mine

i once knew a boy who was made of the world

he held sunlight in the back of his throat

and lit up the world when he sang

his eyes were made of embers

and his hair from the stormy sea

his breath smelled of morning dew

and his voice was the forest rising from a long sleep

he asked me to breathe him in

and hold him there

when the world was dark and gray

and when i let him go, he said,

he would take me far away

where beauty and everything are the same.

he sipped his cigarettes
small, savoring drags
delicate but in no way effeminate
much as he sipped his whiskey
fully focused on each small intake
caressing, in his way,
the few things
he genuinely loved

Huddling and cuddling I held you so lightly
Do you remember those cold nights my child?
You were mumbling and drooling, and cooed ever so slightly
When I pointed at the moon, you looked up and smiled

“Mooooon!” I said to you, to which you replied,
“Mooo!”
And then I laughed a little - and maybe - I cried
We’d shared an experience so unfathomable in consequence
And by naming it, to you I had lied

Will you forgive me my child, for that cosmic crime?
The moment when I stole that which shone in your eyes
When you echoed my mistakes reverberating in time
But ignorant, I wrapped you, so snugly in those dark skies

Do you remember those cold nights my child?

In this cold night, the moon has lit up full again
Only tonight, our bodies share not this blanket of lights
Disillusioned with disillusions we have become since then
But still I wish to unwrap you from the words I write

My child, I ask you, look up once more,
But let not facticity blindfold your sight
Feel that which language bids you withhold
And play I pray with the rabbit that lives in the sky

Did kindergarten teach you anything?

To say you’re sorry when you hurt someone

Do not take what is not yours

They do not teach you how to break hearts

Empty souls?

Taint innocence?

They did not teach you

How did you learn?