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honestly,  i don’t see myself as
a poet -
i am a historian who
writes
in poetic form

as are you
readers
and writers

our eyes
record
history as
it happens

storing it
in our hearts;
ushering it safely
on passage through
time

trading it with blank paper
in hopes of not
repeating the bad;
and reliving the good

i hate the word poet,
i am a historian
and so are you
life support
only works
when there
is life to
support.
The sea is the only creation
that can feel

(s)ympathy,
(e)mpathy, and
(a)pathy

all at once.

A beautiful contradiction.
You know why poetry matters to me?
Do you think this is all you can see
that this skin and bone pertains to be,
this is mouth and voice and identity
and ego and consciousness, this is me?
Though i am fallible and i am naive,
and i wear my heart upon my sleeve.
There is more to me that my face and speech
There is more to me than you can even reach.
There is so much to hear from the works of Ghibran or Neruda,
Or Poe or Elliot, Dickinson, or Plath.
And words from poetry is like sinking into a hot bath,
its like a dance in warm rain,
its like standing in the middle of a hurracaine
My words are not easy to speak
so i spill them out on pages of white sheet,
and they are hurt, bruised and frustrated
and its mostly about people i have dated.
And I would like to thank my past for its hard work and dedication
thanks to you my suffering became, my inspiration
Poetry is an art, a placebo, a cure, that i can 'do'
for i don't need no pills or physical freedom when i am blue
I simply find a safe room inside my head
and sit and write as i cry my tears in my bed.
These words are majestic and dance a ballroom waltz and trot,
these words are shameful, and ***** and seriously ****** up 'for-me-not's.
This is My moment, this is My silence, My ****** fears
This My rapture, My beauty, My steadfast tears,
and all alone a page they are written for one and for all,
and i hope desperately you can feel them and hear their call.
They are unique and potent, and deadly and insane,
for a wrote them at times when i had loved in vain.
And i started writing to find a way out,
of my life, my hurt, to let me quietly scream and shout.
These words are my breath standing on a canyon side,
these words are my juice, my burn, my life, my ride.
This is my love, my pain, my heart, my song,
its everything i did right, and all i did wrong,
its the moon, and the stars, and its the world in a day,
and it helps me to forget, forgive, with words i can't say.
There is something inside me stronger than my voice
and poetry helps me when i don't have that choice.
It's like a firework wishes to explode and i can't contain the heat,
and there are bullets are forming in my layrnx,
and there is tidal wave coming from my feet.
It's my labyrinth, my misunderstanding, my heart-******-break
it's my reflection, my questions, my wrath and my poisonous (Garden of Eden) snake.
It is my wanton lust, my passion and my unbridled perfect sin
It is my partition, my isolation, my grief, my inconsolable twin.....
It's my everything i am not when i am on the outside,
It's everything i am, even those parts i can't hide
It's everything i am.
It's everything i am not.
But, poetry matters
It's the very part of me.
I don’t know if it crawls beneath your skin
like it does mine,
the way it dances  
sometimes
in a sway  
of monotonous  
whispering
ballads,
and it does ballet
like no other,
applaud for its adornment  
afterwards

I don’t know if it looks in the mirror
and smiles  
that smile
that just doesn’t let you destroy it,
beautiful  
                                  beautiful

       ­         thing
it  
                       is

I don’t know if you believe it
like I believe it
when it promises  
to stay just  
a little bit longer
pub. tumblr on: April 5, 2013
I love you more,
much more than before.
I don't care if we're rich, I don't care if we're poor.
If we had no bed I'd be fine on the floor
When I'm with you I need nothing more.
I love you more,
much more than the rain.
I love how you touch, and I love what you say.
And if you asked me, I'd say yes right away,
I'd go with you no matter the place.
I love you more,
much more than the moon.
I'd run with you fast, not a moment to lose.
And if we got lost, I'd be happy, it's true
I don't care where we are, as long as there's you.
I love you more,
much more than before.
We don't have to be rich, it's okay if we're poor.
If we had no ceiling, walls or a floor,
It wouldn't matter too much.
I still love you more.
we keep waiting for
the music
to start
and the doves to
magically
fly in

but what if
the music never
starts
and the birds
never appear

shouldn’t we
just dance
anyways
I lust for you
to think of me
daydream
of your scribbled greetings
of your silent longing,
your thoughts of me
(thinking of you)

thirsty
for some confession
of truth
something drastic, something new

in this stagnant springtime

colours, bright and harsh
yet they fall upon me
oh so dull
the wind avoids my skin
walking in a vacuum
so constantly numb
so ardent for
a crack in
the continuity

it subdues
any passion
even my hatred
for routine

letting me subconsciously
slip
into the nightmare
of the "american dream"
the steady pretending
this enmeshment
it infects
the very seams of
my existence
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