The last time you called me,
you asked how I was holding up.
I said I was fine, but I should
have told you to read my page.
Since you dumped me, my thoughts
ended up here. I wish you would
scroll through my poetry, starting
with the ones in February because
perhaps then you would understand
how I was holding up.

© Matthew Harlovic

You were such a worry wart.
You would dwell on the possibility
of us breaking up. You always
said if and when the
relationship ends, you’d ****
yourself. You said you couldn’t
live without me, but then you
dumped me. Although months have
passed without response from you, I haven’t
come across your name in the newspaper
nor has it come up on the television.
I know you won’t **** yourself.
I don’t want you to, but what I want is
for you to stop being such a worry wart.  

© Matthew Harlovic

I tried, it's true and what we once had was tried-and-true
and I'd be lying if I said you haven't tried it too.

© Matthew Harlovic

You sugar-coated the truth,
only to get a sweet tooth.

© Matthew Harlovic

You put me on a health regime,
full of fruits, kale, and hummus,
you put me on an exercise plan,
and taught me what a burpee was.
You have always put me on something,
taught me something about myself or others,
actuated some facet of my potential, and for that I thank you.

© Matthew Harlovic

We used to celebrate the fifteenth of May
as the day we first started dating. Though
you thought the fifteenth was the correct date,
we did not start our relationship in May.
We started in June, a few weeks
after my graduation. The fifteenth
of May was the day we first started dating,
but we only dated for a week, and then
you dropped the let’s stay friends bit.  
A month later, we tried again,
and that try lasted for two years.
Perhaps the superstition of our first fifteenth
brought us to where we are, perhaps not.
But the fifteenth of May is in a few weeks,
so where are you, my friend?

© Matthew Harlovic

I've found fear in the causality of death itself,
the parting breath, preceding the prospect of
hell, or heaven or some almighty power
to whom I'll come to know in my final hour.

© Matthew Harlovic

A poem with five
moras above and below
and seven above.

© Matthew Harlovic

I’m not a smooth talker,
I can’t sweep you off your feet
but I’ll walk with you longer
than your shadow does down the street.

© Matthew Harlovic

You were always on the tip of your toes,
balancing on thin air,
positioning your center
of mass directly over the
base of your support circle,
edging your way from point
A to point B as you objectified
the manner of manipulation,
and yet I still managed to fall for you.
And you, *you were always on the tip of my tongue,
but when you asked if
I would be there for you
if and when you fall,
I lost my footing.
For the reason that
you meant it in a way that
would associate me as a form of webbing,
a safety net per se and I watched you
walk on thin air for years, but I will not
wait for you to fall because I’m here for you
as a friend, not a cobweb.

© Matthew Harlovic

Time is measured
by the length of blade
from the strength of the stone
to the parting day.
Time is treasured
by the angst of a sage
from the shade of the sun
to its passing age.

© Matthew Harlovic

My younger self; he,
as hard-headed as a ram
takes life by the horns.

© Matthew Harlovic

Is it considered ******
to uproot a sapling before
it digs its roots into the Earth?

© Matthew Harlovic

Before you help me,
you better help yourself first
because they tell me it’s unhealthy
for you to be my nurse.

© Matthew Harlovic

I danced the masquerade with an alabaster mask
renounced the language like Rasmas Rask.
I basked in the both of my gender expectations,
rendered a new personal equation.

© Matthew Harlovic

She wanted space-time
so I left the dimension
to return only when
my name was mentioned.

I found peace of mind
the very day you gave me
a piece of your mind.

© Matthew Harlovic

I have revised love letters
to contend with the headers
to change always and forever
to thanks for the effort.

© Matthew Harlovic

Though passions may dim and fade away,
the love we have will always stay.
Hope springs eternal in our passion play.
Tomorrow delivers our new born day.

© Matthew Harlovic

You mixed together
empty promises, white lies,
false hopes, and half truths.

© Matthew Harlovic

We are all afraid about something,
not of something. For the reason
that there is no fear in abstraction,
it is always in relation to something.

© Matthew Harlovic

Neither man nor machine,
these beings; being pipe dreams
were conceived by the silver screen.
Unseen by the naked eye,
they have taken you and I
by surprise like a tractor beam.
Neither the factor of genes nor factories
nor anthropological capacity.
These beings, being faculties of thought,
predetermine the preface of the plot.

© Matthew Harlovic

She was a walking paradox
in a pair of Doc’s.

© Matthew Harlovic

She loves him,
or at least, a part of him.
She does what she does,
she loves on a whim.

© Matthew Harlovic

As long as you
still have the will
to love again,
you will. I promise
you that my friend.

© Matthew Harlovic

I’m a cry wolf
wrapped in steel wool.
I fell head over heels
for a part of the whole.  

© Matthew Harlovic

Distance didn’t make
my heart grow fonder,
it just gave me a reason
to wander.

© Matthew Harlovic

Let’s take a long walk in a short run
on Adam’s tongue, on Adam’s tongue
where I tasted the barrel of your gun
when we were young, when we were young.

© Matthew Harlovic

you made me promise
to never lose hope
but who would’ve
thought you were
the one to lose it.

© Matthew Harlovic

I flatlined in the flatlands.

© Matthew Harlovic

If three-dimensional objects
cast two-dimensional shadows,
then fourth-dimensional objects
cast three-dimensional shadows.
If this hypothesis holds true, then
we are the shadows of the fourth dimension.

© Matthew Harlovic

To my bloomed beauty,
rival roses reach for your
garden, not your heart.

© Matthew Harlovic

To my bloomed beauty,
oh my flower in the sun,
you were my Janis.

© Matthew Harlovic

In the name of the Zenith,
the Nadir, and the Meridian.
I’ll follow Vivienne
to the waters of oblivion.

© Matthew Harlovic

Hi. My name is Matt.
My brain is in a vat.
I exist in the eyes
of Schrödinger's cat.

© Matthew Harlovic

I've committed quantum suicide
to exist in a coherent superposition.

© Matthew Harlovic

To my bloomed beauty,
we wilted in the winter
but we won’t wither.

© Matthew Harlovic

I am just another
dumb ****
dumbstruck
by dumb luck.

© Matthew Harlovic

Waste (wāst) v. 1. To use, consume, spend, or expend thoughtlessly or carelessly: For hours on end we laid waste beneath the plastered moon. 2. To cause to lose energy, strength, or vigor; exhaust, tire, or enfeeble:  The tar wasted her lungs. 3. To fail to take advantage of or use for profit; lose: You wasted an opportunity to be with me. 4. a. To destroy completely. b. Slang. To ****; ******. The cigarettes wasted our relationship. 5. Garbage; trash. You had the audacity to choose to keep them than throw them in the waste basket.  6. Regarded or discarded as worthless or useless. You were a waste of my time.

© Matthew Harlovic

I urge you to object your permanence
for nothing in this world is permanent.

© Matthew Harlovic

she’s no angel
nor does she have wings
but god-**** can that girl sing.

© Matthew Harlovic

Our Father, hails Mary,
the mother of a coward.

© Matthew Harlovic

Since I’m too hardheaded for a gunshot,
I’ll wait for these thoughts
to fade like phases of sunspots.

© Matthew Harlovic

For the wistful youth
bitten by the wit
of the forbidden fruit,
loose lips strip the tree of its roots.

© Matthew Harlovic

I found my being,
my nothingness,
in a glass of gin.

© Matthew Harlovic

As the only sun
dial in my family,
spacetime encompasses
the face of a fallacy.

© Matthew Harlovic

This morning,
my father and I
chased leaves together
after we argued for an hour
on relationship complexities.
And after a while of paved palms,
he bellowed with a fistful of yellow,
when you waver with the wind,
things will fall in your favor.
Since this morning, the wind
has been wavering Eastward.

© Matthew Harlovic

I will not sugar coat the truth anymore
with similes and metaphors.
I may have a sweet tooth for wordplay
but not for fabrication.

© Matthew Harlovic