The moon witnessed them.
There was great intimacy.
Not physically.
Not sexually.
Their hearts wrapped around each other's fingers.
Their words caressed their empty voids.
There was no denial that the moment was surreal.
It seemed too good to be true.
Then again, all good things come to an end.
When was the last time someone touched you?
No, not in-between thighs or chest.
When was the last time your heart was touched?
In the background were victory noises of strangers that seemingly depicted the joy in their smiles.
They didn't have to say it.
Their dead cigarette butts and weeds that were stuck on their skin were witnesses.
It was pure bliss.
A blessing-
that's what they feel towards each other.
This is not a poem about lovers.
Soulmates come in various forms.
Love comes in many perspectives.
Sometimes, soulmates don't stay together forever.
Sometimes, they part.
Sometimes, they don't.
It is all in their hands.
The same hands the cold wind kissed.
For the warm to match with the cold.
For the broken to find it's missing pieces.

( FAH )

i'll leave behind a legacy of lengthy love poems
so that no reader could ever tell
     that i've never loved a heart who loved me back

i'll ensure that my body leave behind no bone unbroken
so no anthropologist would ever guess
     that i spent my entire life scared to death

and i'll fill each dusty corner of my tiny little house
with plants and books and trinkets of memories forgotten
so that the coroner could never publish
     how empty i really felt

oh-
          of all words i've ever spoken
    i pray that these will never read broken:

*i will sow this great earth with ideas for blooming
each incapable of death so that no child ever guess
    that i didn't live forever

new disney film about a little girl with arthritis and two alcoholic parents and she begs them every night to stop screaming

new disney film about a child that has a father in prison and a mother that can't make rent anymore

"when i grow up i want to be a divorce lawyer" said the four year old at recess to his friends

god's mouth gave us grenades and waterlilies

"if I buy this lipstick I'll have good *** for the first time in my life"

baby you're so much more than a Consumer Demographic to me

i'm good at bleeding

i'm good at apologizing when I'm not actually sorry
if it's sad just make it sound beautiful

is that blood gushing out of your nose or are you just happy to see me

romantic banter like "did you take your zoloft?" "did you take your lithium?"
there are no princesses here

I exist as a mirror
Wild lights have glazed over your skin
My whispers are tarnished
Our bodies a shield
Against the coming chills of a brittle wind

I linger with a breeze-like touch,
It comes out hoarse and swollen.
Thoughts  uttered with a breath of regret
Or a sigh of relief.

Your face turns foreign, a mesh of dark warmth
A light without the sun.
We’re all a wounded red
on the inside.

We live another complication everyday,
Adding another thread to bind us.

It's been so long...
Can't move my wings, my limbs--
How did I get stuck?
Did I do this to myself?
The *puppeteer is pulling too hard!
I want to move,
But I can't
I'm twisted up,
The thread is too tight;
I can feel the dread of suffocation on the horizon.
I'm trying, I'm fighting,
I want to be free!
But I can't move anymore...

The thread won't let me,
The strings are being pulled too tight--
My prison, it cuts into my skin,
I can barely breathe enough to live on...
I want this suffering to end!

Aah! Yes...
I remember now,
I took the thread of my own free will!

It started that day...
When I heard them speak,
I did as they asked,
And the thread wound around me.
I didn't ask for answers and didn't speak of my questions;
I kept on going where their path lead,
And I ended up here:
Suffocated, stranded, in naïve ignorance.

Even though the puppeteer wants me to move,
Even though I can feel his anxiety to help;
He can't do a thing.
The thread has been wound too tight,
*If the thread won't snap soon,
I will.

How to deal with an addiction to hellopoetry:

Step one: Admit you have a problem

Step two: Start by limiting your time on it

Step three: Join a support group and share your feelings

Step four: Have the people in the support group talk to you about quitting hellopoetry.

Step 5: Slaughter everyone within a 10 mile radius with a chainsaw and go back on hellopoetry

Step 6: When the police knock on your door offer to help them sign up for hellopoetry.

Step 7: Creepily pet your chainsaw like a cat.

Step 8: Never mind, I'm too busy on hello poetry

1298

The Mushroom is the Elf of Plants—
At Evening, it is not—
At Morning, in a Truffled Hut
It stop upon a Spot

As if it tarried always
And yet its whole Career
Is shorter than a Snake’s Delay
And fleeter than a Tare—

’Tis Vegetation’s Juggler—
The Germ of Alibi—
Doth like a Bubble antedate
And like a Bubble, hie—

I feel as if the Grass was pleased
To have it intermit—
This surreptitious scion
Of Summer’s circumspect.

Had Nature any supple Face
Or could she one contemn—
Had Nature an Apostate—
That Mushroom—it is Him!

Aligned to unite
With others who lost their way
It’s a mess we perceived
To those in dismay
These lines create dreams 
For the broken
For the ones never spoken-
Of Love & Courage

Conjuring up notions of time
Structuring of desires preludes
To pursue what’s lost 
To preach and beseech truth
Faith denotes eternally
Surviving pain and deceit
What speaks only bleeds
To fabricate amity

Not fazed by power
But to denote greed
Greed of Love & Passion
Exhaling Hate & Deception
To succor the pillar of fate
To exist in this factual state

Your heart's a fragile thing. 
Everyone’s heart is. 
Don’t ever contaminate hatred
Contaminate love instead.