are you strong-willed?
                     nothing can break me
                     i'm already broken
did i hurt you?
                      no one can hurt me
                      you're going to
did someone hurt you?
                       no one can hurt me.
                       he ripped my heart out and i
                       still haven't found it
are you scared?
                       fearless
                       terrified
how did you wait for me for so long?
                       patience is a virtue, my friend
                       i've been on my knees for years
can you handle it?
                        i'm ready.
                       i'm so scared
your eyes lack life
                        i'm complete
                       please don't look at me
are you happy?
                         i'm at peace
                        never
do you want me to stop?
                          maybe
                         please
why won't you let me in?
                          i'm not a stranger
                         it hurts
                         please it hurts
                         stay away, please go away
                         *please make it stop

The poetry of flesh
Is porous pink skin
Breathing
Needing to be touched
To find peace of mind

Perched perfectly on tumblr and facebook
For everyone to get a good look
At how I felt a month ago
But why wait so long
Because words need trimming
Stanzas need perfecting
Lines need to find their proper place
And that takes time
And in my mind
A thirty day cycle will suffice

I tell my internet friend
That she is safe
As much as I want to
I will never get to
Meet you
There will be no café date
No train station meeting
The miles between us
Are more than I can overcome
So she will never have to see me
Or believe that she will be deceived
For some ulterior motive
I am not out for lust
I am not out to touch **** or ****
And even if I fall in love
It will never be so she is free to be
As honest as she needs to be
Because she is my favorite
Long distance internet friend

Poetry lives, sleeps, deep, deep within,
The words, waiting, waiting, waiting,
Nurtured, soothed, lovingly cajoled,
Given form and purpose, till they rise,
Coming to life, unbidden, bursting free.

They echo around the globe, touching,
Slipping silkily into hearts and minds,
Subtly connecting with new-born ideas,
Mingling, coalescing, waiting, waiting,
That’s where poetry come from, (yes),
Poetry lives, sleeps, deep, deep within.

©Paul M Chafer 2016

1565

Some Arrows slay but whom they strike—
But this slew all but him—
Who so appareled his Escape—
Too trackless for a Tomb—

Money melting in a spoon,
let's shoot it into our veins.
Flashing Kardashian lights,
streaming into our brains.
Donald Trump! He's our man!
Mark Muslims is the plan!

All-you-can-eat-
Pile. It. The. ****. High.
When you walk or
When you talk,
let the words squeak out
like they're between
Your thighs.

Thighs. American thighs,
Dreaming next to our Calvins.
Our slacktivism, our regurgitated ideas
spitballing out of our McDonald's mouths
into our peers' ears, distilled by years
And years of "almost-knowledge"
that we quasi-ascertained,
if we knew what that meant --
but we've been left behind!
No child left the **** behind!
We were left behind and there's no
possible way we slacked off, that we're dumb,
that we aren't the movie stars destined for
Lamborghini cars, five-star bars, designer bodies
for designer you and designer me:
the most special of the unique, the
Pearls that have been made in the
darkest parts of the sea, the darkest parts of
origin. Origin. ******. ****.
American ****: virginal ideals sliding around
the muck of a marketable ****, fuckfest,
******* of the American mind, the
congratulations of the American ego,
the proud mother and father tears associated with
buying and lying, "trying" and frying our food,
our ideas, our friends, our neo-impressionistic
children in Jordans, skinny jeans, on tumblr:
the unknowing cousin of Fox News, surprised
by its own wit and wisdom: they're ******* twins.
Carbon copies, unknowing, unwilling, un-un-un.

The romanticism of mental illness.
The close-up of reality-tv emotion.
The manipulation taught to servers
from managers.
The manipulation taught to customers
from society.

All we care about is ****, image, and ***.
Self-preservation: **** Donald Trump
and *******.

I will never be loved like I love
Never feel that straight human compassion
That I was born with and cultivated
I will never lay weakly in my bed
Turning my head to the grandchildren
Smiling as what little breath I have left
Exits my tired and sore chest
I will never see the wisdom I have to offer
Passed down my gene pool
See flowers by the pool as my coffin is buried
I will never see humanity rise and be
What I know it can but never will be
For me loving is a gift and a curse
It elevates and it hurts beyond measure
And I do not know if I would pass on this terrible treasure
Though I know I will never be loved like I deserve
Sometimes I still dream of a brighter more loving world