How I hate to be a “poet”
Hate the sound of it,
“Puh” forced and lazy,
“Oh” as if it were surprising to be male and have emotion.
“It” as though verse were not infinite.
No I am simply ,
Floating endlessly over waves of lyrical truths.
Swept up in the gusts of life.

Be still
Be quiet
Listen...
The trees applaud your beauty,
The sun, it shines only to illuminate your eyes
The breeze, it only blows to caress your every curve.
What use do you have for the greed of man...
When the world loves you so.

If you look close enough you'll see the marks of previous self destruction
Listen long enough and you'll hear the emotions
That inspired the trails I ran razors down
                             Blood
The Crimson drops that reminded me no matter how dead I felt inside, somehow I was still alive,
A tangible effect,
causation: the constant disrespect of those so ignorant to call themselves human.
Purpose: to heal the wounds unseen with visible references of invisible pain.

Surely, though our story is to be found amongst the rooms and walls and shelves  within the library of Babel...

Each letter perfectly paired to the next, and every space in its rightful place.
Periods and commas punctuating every moment exactly as they should.

...That room has yet to be illuminated, The walls therein unseen, It’s shelves have been left unenumerated.
And the book is yet unnamed...

Lost is the certainty,
the written account,
existing within the infinite possibilities of algorithmic and mathematical clout.

...Leaving us to marvel and worry only armed with faith and good reason, through all of life’s seasons and its many unmeasurable miserable doubts.

I never know quite what to say,
When her eyes get that look,
While her hands try and find warmth against my skin,
Intensity,
Pain,
If I just had pens, paper
I'd be able to tell her...
But there's never time to read,
Once she finds the borders of my shirt,
Hands cold
Intensity,
Pain,
I've never said a dishonest thing,
She finds my zipper,
Futulity
Intensity,
Pain,
The sheets smell of smoke
The music bleeds angst,
Intensity,
Pain,
Her weight against mine and yet I can't quiet my mind,
Her Lips against my neck,
Teeth,
Intensity,
Pain,
I fulfill her desires
Her body trembling,
I stand...
Walk away,
leaving only,
Intensity
Pain.
I never really meant to stay.

The apple of my eye
why hide,
behind coffee cups,
that seed my jealous heart with yearning of like-contact with those lips,
behind phones,
that hold the attention of those eyes?
Oh how I despise the attentiveness you display
to screens and text,
while I,
hold words,
and,
breath