I spent last night consoling you
Your hurt flooding Kleenex after Kleenex
Make a mess, don't spare a thought
We ladies must stick together
When the arms that should protect us
Raise in anger
That is not the love of a man
That is the insecurity of a coward
In the dark, lost
You do not need more shadows
Keep on shining pretty girl
I'll be your mirror

He whistles round the corner
it's that time of day.
The nine to five has ended
and now it's time to play.
His lunchbox in his pickup truck
had been equipped with more then food.
The liquor store was the next stop
but not the fix for his mood.

Come six o clock he's made it home
and had a chance to eat.
By eat I mean drink his ***
finally kicks back his feet.
Day three without a shower
because there's no one to impress.
Half the time wearing yesterdays clothes
forgetting to undress.

By seven he's watching Wheel of Fortune
screaming slurs at the TV.
Never guessing puzzles right
and finding need to disagree.
His phones been off the hook for days
beeping in the distance.
Come Jeopardy the urge is strong
with more and more persistence.

He grabs the bag of goodies
holds it in his hand.
Getting excited by just the feel
of the syringe and rubber band.
He's sweating now profusely
anxious with desire.
With nothing left to lose (but life)
again he plays with fire.

music hollows
out an empty
heart and plays
its strings.

© Ben Ditmars 2014

Poetry is like gusts of fresh air
Harbinger of the soul’s catharsis
Flowing emotions through the pen
Concealed pain written across the pages
Healing the pain which was long buried

Beautiful Lies

Every day
and every breath
we take remains a
beautiful deception
like the promise of
black coffee or
lemon seeds in tea.

© Ben Ditmars 2014

My dad dug his foot into my back like a shovel breaking soil.
If I do enough push ups, can I put a smile on your face.
If I move the earth for you, will meteors stop me.

I carried sparklers in my hands while cannon-kisses erupted in the sky,
and my cousin swore that I'd hurt myself.
But I explained to him that history repeats itself,
and that my hurt is unavoidable.

Like the hug of a grieving grandmother,
and the staring off into space,
as her tears stain my white oxford lie.
There's no way to get out of this place.
Finding new ways to live in death.

I don't want to be cool. I don't want to be cool.

And her fingers left a ******* on my back.
And my mouth melted onto hers.
I love her until my eyes **** in sleep.
And it's deep. And it's deep.

The swirl of the ceiling sank down
like a child being drowned by his mother.
And I missed my brother, and I missed it all.

I don't want to be cool. I don't want to be cool.
No, not anymore.

Just as dusk
became us
lingered in
the air
reflections
overwhelmed
the substance
guided by our
breath.

© Ben Ditmars 2014

scratch off
your disease and
match the dollars,
instant cash from
bells and cherries
like the drawings
of a whistle aren't
symbolic or a warning
for bottomless desires,
buried dreams replaced by
objects cheaper than a
chance or step into
uncertainty.

© Ben Ditmars 2014