will you still love me
if I don't smile today?
if my tears fall like raindrops
and my world tears at the seams?
if my voice breaks when I talk
and I seek the comfort of dreams?

will you still love me
if I don't cheer up today?
if I sit rigid in silence
and spend the whole day in bed?
if I find solace in cigarettes
and don't keep myself fed?

will you still love me
if I don't laugh today?
if I keep my thoughts hidden
and don't say what I mean?
if I curl up in darkness
and stare at a screen?

will you still love me
if I don't calm down today?
if my patience wears thin
and snaps like a thread?
if my eyes no longer sparkle
and are absent instead?

will you still love me
if I don't smile today?

Tears that I’ve shed
Are written in books you have never read
I keep the ink warm so it bleeds the words
I have never said.

Too afraid to shed my skin,
These walls weren’t to keep you out
But to keep me in,
And all of my dark sides play violins
Mixed with guitar, a metal opera to see if I sin
But you’ll never know the secrets that I keep
In the gardens out back, where I bury them deep
Hope they grow limbs to cradle you in sleep.

Tears that I’ve shed,
Warm the cooler side of an empty bed
Maybe if I lay a little closer to the edge
I can feel the remnants of your skin.

How it feels to feel so lost
When the world stops spinning at the cost
Of never knowing what it was ever worth
Devalued in the palm of my hand,
You could sell me love, but all I have are pennies.

Words I could never speak
Leak from these shakes leaves
Whisper from the ink and breeze
Carrying my heart like a desperate plea,

Don’t you look me in the eyes
I cannot return to stone,
Once you’ve broken the curse
All I have is this home,
And I know I can never face you -
Without the weight of my pen.

Riddles on my face like a bad tattoo
I’m a maze that no one seems to get through
Amazed that everywhere I look, there’s a new you
But I remain, the bonded spine adhered with the glue
So turn around, or flip the pages
I hope it hurts you, like it hurts my face with
Tears that I’ve shed.

I hope you know
I write about you in books you’ll never read
It's like you were never real,
So tell me now, alone, inside your mind
How does it feel?

Loved or needed—needed or loved?
Does it still deserve to be a question?
This doubt will never be erased
from the human language.
It burns from inside
reducing plans to ash.

Do they seek to heal their broken thoughts,
or do they want to stay in hidden safety?

It’s unclear how to love all the sketches
made by routines, invisible seconds,
trivial matters
picked out from life
like slimy red, blue, and golden fish,
slipping through cold, wet fingers.

Existence as a heap of doubts
punched by blinding moments
bringing elusive clarity
that dims and flares again and again.
Needed or loved.
Loved by need,
an unbreakable union
without a sigh,
without rhythm
as a sharp dissonance.

You arrived
like breath drawn
before the world had lungs.

Not loud.
Not sudden.
Just known.

Like hands that fit
before fingers are taught
what touching means.

We’ve been this before.
I don’t know when.
But my bones do.

My mouth
does not remember
your name—
only the taste
of syllables
I’ve missed
since the last time
we let go.

You looked at me
like you’d seen me
fall before.
I looked at you
like I knew
how you break
when no one is watching.

There’s no story here,
just a pull—
not magnetic,
but cellular.

And a quiet
that builds a room
for both of us
to tremble in.

You,
telling the night
it doesn’t need
to be brave.
Me,
learning the sound
of not flinching.

Time and time again,
we find each other.

In every life
our paths cross—
two souls entwined,
learning more to return.

To grow each other.
To know this feeling
and better express it.

No love is true or false
Love is love
Same for all
Sacred and pure.

It is just that
Some people love and
some only pretend.

i want to peel your skin back
and reveal your deepest sweetness.
to look at your veins
and memorize their paths.
maybe then i’d understand
why you are so rough on the outside.
it takes a lot of work,
digging your fingernails into the flesh,
pulling and pulling until you are bare.
but it is all worth it;
to visit your center,
to break past what conceals you,
and take you apart
slice by slice.

My gorgeous, beautiful, lovely, hot, shy, brunette, ***-naked wife without kids, is about to have a very memorable ****** in front of a totally safe, mixed audience of couples, with the HARDEST, LONGEST, MOST-PROTRUDING ******* EVER on her deliciously suckable, creamy, milk-white, B-cup *****;—a full-on, ****-naked, gushing, shattering, full-bodied ****** that will leave no muscles uninvolved.  She's going to feel it in her pinky toes.  It's broad daylight on a sunny day.  It couldn't be brighter.  The light couldn't be lighter.  It's hot and summery.  The room is silent except for the sounds of her breathing and heaving and moaning, and the sound of skin on skin contact, and the wet sounds of her very wet ******.  She's facing the transfixed faces.  Her legs are spread wide apart; her knees bend over my knees.  Her ***** is spread wide open; her juicy ****** glistens in the natural light.  My fingertips are all over her ****.  And then I go deep inside the glory of her womanhood.  My fingers come out soaking wet.  I firmly massage her own juices into her own ****.  They shine like high beams in the rain.  And then I pinch and twist and pull her bodacious ******* before I go back down for more basting nectar.  
     I'm fully clothed.  She's the only one who's naked, and she couldn't be more naked.  No one else has ever been so naked.  She's so naked you can almost see her ovaries.  We're in a huge, bulky recliner with plush pillows.  My hands are handling her more and more vigorously.  Her naked **** heave and bounce, and she touches herself as much as I touch her.  She's all over my lap, and up and down my chest.  Sometimes her ******* almost swallows my nose, sometimes it's eye to eye with an aroused spectator.  She jumps up and down on the cushion of her chubby *******.  She sounds like a wildcat in heat.  Her arms come down; she arches her back; her hands grip the armrests.  Her ****, straight up, look like two Tetons with Space Needles.  She holds the pose but keeps her hips in motion, riding my right hand.  Then she folds forward and ***** my fingers with naked enthusiasm and a ******* while tuning her sweaty Space Needles.  Her ******* are like toilet plungers.  You could fly flags from them.  She's 5'2" and her ******* are 5'3".  She could joust two knights at once with her hands tied behind her back.  Later, she'll be shy and embarrassed, but now she hides nothing.  She ***** my fingers like nobody's watching...and everybody's watching.  Her hormonal stank thickens the atmosphere in the small room like the heavy aroma of concupiscent flowers.  The pleasure dominates her.  She comes comes comes to the ******.  She loses all control.  She moans loudly and labors, looks into the audience (her face in a free fall), leans back into me, and gushes like her water just broke.  She has the greatest, longest, strongest, wettest, craziest ******* ****** of all time in front of an audience of embarrassed couples.
     And then it's over.  The spell is broken.  She goes limp.  We wrap a towel around her nakedness, and we lay there while the watchers dissemble to go **** and fantasize about this shy, lovely woman with the naked face and dangerous ******* and assertive ******* and succulent ******.  She laughs a little and cries a little, and she thanks me over and over.  And when all is said and done, she cannot stop smiling.  
     Whenever she remembers it, she blushes a beet-red blush.  But she savors the memory.  Her memory of it is excellent and accurate and very detailed.  We still see these same friends, and they're still good friends.  And they remember it just as well.  She'll never live it down, and she doesn't want to.  She takes playful teasing about it with equal parts grace and blushful embarrassment.  And she loves it.  She's good and true and faithful, my gorgeous, beautiful, lovely, hot-as-**** wife.  She's good and sweet and kind and shy and humble; and she had the greatest ****** of all time in front of an audience of friends who know exactly what she looks like ***-naked, back to front, hanging **** to open *******, writhing and spasming in ecstasy, with a totally, completely, absolutely unmasked ****** face.  She's the only friend for whom this is true.  She's not a pornstar.  She's otherwise anonymous.  She wants, needs, and loves my **** alone.  We make love a lot, and we **** a lot, and we love ******* each other...a lot.  We live happily ever after.  The end.

They say there's no thing as true love,
Humans are also fondly known to lie,
I just can't believe it,
Not after knowing you.

I can't say it enough times,
I need something more to really let you know,
I yearn for you,
You are a necessity.

Even when times get dark,
We light each other up,
Even when they plant seeds of doubt,
We sprout even brighter than before.

We grow, we love,
We tire, we sleep,
We rest, we're restless.
I think, I think of you.

Happy birthday- its what they'll say
With voices which typed words delay
Where on your behalf today they'll wish
Simply for your happiness

A wish to me, is like the Horizon
An imaginary line of undefined potential
& endless opportunity, preceding the powerless thrill of pursuit
Forever fading as we approach

When Happiness is fleeting
as all emotions are,
The golden light of April's dawn-
But a Silhouetted scar

Far from the chatter of the daylight hours,
Away from where the fireflies buzz.
The street lights hum with moths aflutter,
The river froths and churns.
She sits suspended in the air;
Her  arms are slack, blank is her stare;
Oh she wishes, floating there,
For the river to take her away.

I’m no longer a kid.
I care what people think of me;
the way I act,
the way I look,
the clothes I wear.

I’m no longer a kid.
Back then, letters were only building blocks used for spelling,
Why do they now mark the corner of my work?
Why do they determine my academic future?

I’m no longer a kid.
My tears are no longer spilled over a grazed knee
For now they pour over anxious thoughts-
Will they ever stop falling?

I'm no longer a kid.
We were told to be bodies full of kindness,
because everyone deserves love.
Why are some people treated differently?

I’m no longer a kid.
The world has opened up it’s true self to me
and now I drown in it.

-thelosstpoetjournals

i want food
i want to eat and sleep and be pampered
like a brat cat that gets so much love
enough of being a dog, it is tiring
and i think i am living in dog years
wait i was about to say cat years,
i want to live in tortoise years
as a tortoise

we all want to love
and be loved

the right way

Time carves out the stone—
Leaves return to soil as breath,
Then rise up again.

I want to open every fold in your brain
I want to intertwin
becoming one
as our souls mix like the water color in my palette
your stain like the paint on my fingers
the coffee in my mug.

Fear
made me
F$%k
the best
thing
that my
heart
felt

A boy frolics in a field of forget-me-nots
to the song in his heart.
Spinning, spinning, spinning…
until he falls in love with the music.

Rolling down hills to rolling up joints
and picking up a guitar.
The music crescendos…
His life has just begun.

The guitar is played daily.
Sitting on the front stoop,
amplifier plugged in—
a concert for the block.

Time continues to tick.
Life is getting hard.
The guitar is forsaken
just when he needs it most.

Making music no longer,
he turns to substance.
Spinning, spinning, spinning
out of control.

He needs the pain
to go away.
Needles at night
and sleep by day.

The man is tired
and lonely
as the endless darkness
inside him.

When the veil between worlds is thinnest
the man slips away
and finally
he finds his peace.

the forming of substance 05
Stephan W

"But I will not drive them (the 'inhabitants') out in a single year,
because the land would become desolate
and the wild animals too numerous for you.
Little by little I will drive them out before you;

Until you have increased enough to take
possession of the land."
~Exodus

.
Within the sphere- formless and void,
there was all but nothing to inhabit.
Existing within the eternity of the moment,
unable to retain--
it could only experience.

It could behold perfection,
but not hold on to it;

No need..
perfection was ever-present--
In full view of the sphere
and the precious spirit- encased within,
now, wrapped within a living, breathing skin-
this body- for the spirit,
and the spirit for the one body

each part of the heart-- a city in itself.

.  .
Reaching across the chasm,
there is an almost symmetry in
the layout of the cities

     but their inhabitants are unruly

and the spaces between far too great
for any kind of order to become able to
break through the chaos--
there is no longer communication
between the cities.

There is a yearning for consolidated-Sovereignty,
but the cities have long forgotten themselves-
Strewn about.. in the pain of it all,
they no longer know each other.

.  .  .
But the spirit within the body-- it remembers.
There is a gathering back into wholeness-
waiting..
and so we learn how to wait also.

Parts, and pieces-- members rebuilt-
little by little
Not too fast- take it easy;
70 years, maybe more.
Which way will it go-


There is a promised land;
waiting to be taken--

    one city at a time.

I yearn for something long gone in the depths of the future;
Not able to place a finger on its familiarity.

Discovering what is already known
Can be a clarifying process of redundancy.

When a step forward feels like a tumble backward
Toward the inevitable direction of it all.

When a puzzle forms around me
I stand there, inert.

The challenge beckons me further. It calls me closer,
Etching itself deeper into my path.

Smiling at the fantasy of completion on the other side,
A field of emotional mishaps rains down before me.

your soul speaks of dark and light
the sun shined but you cast me in the dark
did you know i’m scared of it?
bad things happen there
between the hours of dusk and dawn
but i never wanted to tell you
i never wanted to add
to your growing list of burdens
for i was already one
maybe since birth
perhaps even before
“i did my best”
yes there was minimal food
a lack of love and care i didn’t realize i needed
there was light and a roof over my head
you left me there
and the light burned out
i sat in the dark scared and alone
did you ever care?
you just wanted someone to take care of you
even if the cost was my innocence
i don’t think you did it on purpose
and i don’t think you’re consciously
aware of the harm you caused
i’ve been screaming for years
even in whispers
please just hear me
please just understand me

I cannot write.

I put aside the pen,
I turn off the light.
I step outside
into the falling dusk,
lowering my head
as if to console myself,
whispering tenderly,
'this is only temporary.'

It has been years,
I still cannot write.

there’s an
impostor
in the mirror
and she has
my smile.

She loves me.
She wants me to run.
Not away—
but through.

Through brush and bramble,
collecting spurs in my coat
like medals no one pinned.

She wants my tangles.
My matted fur.
The parts of me
I tried to groom into quiet.

She says,
“Bring it all.
Let it snarl.
Let it reek of survival.”

She doesn’t flinch
when I bare my teeth
without anger.

She knows the difference
between danger
and damage.

She doesn’t reach
to smooth me.
She walks beside me
and watches me shed.

And I think—
maybe this is what love is:
not a leash,
not a cage,
not a cure—

but a clearing
where I can pant,
live,
bleed,
and be seen.

I pray,
   to find a way.
To express,
    with success.
What I need,
     to say.

How many times
must I think it through?
It's been three years now,
I no longer even know you.
Some may argue I never did.

But I saw it in you.
I saw it in your eyes, kid.
Two out of two, they both sat low.
Tears welled in your eyes when it was time for you to go.

Pe nun me scurdà 'e te aggio piantato
dint'a nu vase argiento,na violetta
cu 'e llacreme 'e chist'uocchie l'aggio arracquata
e ll'aggio mise nomme:"Oh mia diletta!".
E songhe addeventato 'o ciardiniere
'e chesta pianta...simbolo d'ammore
"Oh dolce violetta del pensiero...
...he mise na radice int'a stu core!".

my emotions lurch
like a boat in a storm;
violent and unrelenting.
the time has come
to abandon ship
and sink to the inky depths
*calm at last