They saw the world differently and portrayed it...

...جهان را جور دیگری دیدند و بر من تصویر کردند

rocking on this swing again
where I crept into the moon
so many nights with
and without you

twirling tongue spells
whispering kisses on the wind

I sat in blackness
sky light communion
praying begging manifestivals
for just the slightest uplift
in your shadowed lids
to peep ignite

while you steeped in other brew
as if I could pry you
from your own entrapments

you employ them
in places you won't let me
because you're scared
to open your hand
fully

dailies distract the knowing
and warm your frigid sheets
then you wonder why
there's no space
for we

I know I'm Sunday mornings
flung swift at your door
requiring all your insides
from turned-out pockets

but I'm also
high-gloss, full-color
edge-of-your-seat
content symph in inter-D
and every last **** one
of the funnies

plus those coupons in the middle
to places you've never been
they kick back everything
you've thrown in
10,000 folds

uncreasing dewy
unto you

it still stings a little. the more days that pass, my mind erases you more and more. sometimes i don't want it to, because i'm afraid that i will not find better- but fear is a lack of faith, and my flowers are growing. change is the only thing i have.

so i let it continue. i proceed to forget our smiles and sunny, happy laughter. you used to light up the room. you still are. somewhere new.

-somewhere new

conceptcollection

The ******* the bridge,
Always on a yellow blouse
And a white flowing skirt.
Never a night does she misses her spot.
Elbows on the railings
Hair fluttering as wild as the wind
Always obscuring her face from sight.

Every night, I wonder
Who is she?
Where is she from?
Why this lonely bridge?
Never seen her move a muscle
Nor utter a sound.
It was rather strange.

Until one night, I decided to chat with her.
"Hey" I called but no response.
She must be coy...
"Hey..." I tried again and approached her this time.
No response still.
Is she deaf?

I touch her shoulder and she turns
She gave a shrilling scream
And that was all I remembered.
In the hospital I woke
And when asked why I had passed out on a bridge,
I could give no response.
I was cold.
The memory brought nothing but pure terror.

For how could I tell them
That the ******* the bridge
Had no face?
Yet she had always gazed down at the flowing stream below
And she had screamed right at me with no mouth on her empty face.

Anytime I walk on the bridge
Her spot is always empty
For she's forever gone
But I still have this wary feeling
That she watches me from the shadows
With that faceless horror
Waiting to take my face for hers.

elders carry stories
of themselves foaming
at the mouth
like rabid dogs

like the language they spoke
was *****.

Nuns with sharp rulers,
sharply ruled the catholic schools

No choice, but to
submit and Americanize
with cheeseburgers and denim

lonely tears for home
   missing the
  gentle breeze of pine and juniper trees

while forgotten brothers and sisters hang with
touchy pastors whose love for Christ
told them to be quiet.

For my 2016 writing project, I’ve decided to write a single line of poetry every day for an entire year. Below, is December’s poem. Enjoy!

A year in the rearview.
A solitary month remains.
We must make the most of this opportunity.
Do now what could be left for next year.

I decided to love.
Chosen above all else.
I chose to be happy.
My reflection smiling back at me.

Be selfish in this moment.
Be better.
Devote yourself to something bigger.
An actual member of the human race.

I choose to give.
My fellow man deserves giving.
The world needs more of us.
These are armies I can support.

Lay down your arms.
Pick up love instead.
Confront the new year boldly.
Do so with bravery.

You don't need a revolution.
Lay claim to yourself.
Hold dear those you love.
Hold more, if you can.

Those are actions that can save the world.
Some will laugh.
Others will mock.
Let them.

They are the problem.
We are the solution.
We are the new year.