**** it.
poetry isn't for you,
it isn't for anyone.
why show the world
your wounds?
keep it all wrapped up
under a knit blanket, i suppose.
fight your demons alone;
a war in your own mind.
don't let anyone see
the scars, not on your wrist,
but in your thoughts.
stay silent, stay quiet.
maybe you'll get through it.
hide it inside, hidden
by fake smiles and fake friends.
move on with your music
and a whole new reality.
the world is a dangerous place;
people don't understand
and people don't know.
don't show your marks,
pull down your sleeves.

no,
poetry isn't for anyone.

Can you look me in the eye?
Tell me exactly why?

Whisper the secret of how you fell
So swiftly under my gentle spell?

Will you press your lips to mine?
Give me a kiss to stop all time?

-ARI

The acrylic style that found a gap in my brave flavored fortune. Writing me off like a bad tattoo at 15. I found the ink left in your blood dripped house on the prairie. Discovered fossils of ancients. Left the air heavy around the place. Dusty shelves filled with eyes that have watched lives move around for years.

Discovery found in the cobwebs in the corner. All eyes on the show. The one on repeat in black an white. Playing static on hollow walls, Inner ears and plastic heart beats. Detected the frightened feelings inside the couch. The imbedded body parts left over time. Avoiding the obviously oblivious.

Cans line the walls of denial built on falsified rumors of comforted table cloths. Crock of **** that was. Crock pots are the best. Just let everything boil all day, then accept and devour. Heated heaven in a porcelain platter dished up by perfect palms pausing to elate you. Here have another one.

Avoidance techniques only hold their ground for so long. Winter will wander off and this ground you stand on will thaw. Those footprint will stick in the ground like the ink the typewriters would explode on papers untouched. Stuck. Leaving particles of life across the windowed season.

When you fall asleep I will still kiss your upper back.  This does not take place in hope that you will wake up, I want my kiss to seep into your nerve endings and find myself in your dreams. Dripping my kiss into every ounce of your future.

I want to tell this to you now. But I could never find the words to tell you. I wrote hieroglyphics across your eyelids, stapled memos to your chest, and flew banners in the scenery while you dreamt.

Translations of these words alone will not be sufficient enough to tell you what I want to share.  I... Miss you. I miss you like a front tooth on picture day.

This is the picture painted to represent years of learning in a warehouse hidden in the hills of yesterday. We gain knowledge by digging neurotic craters, filling those holes with interesting things like the evolution of humankind, the platypus, or how politicians sleep at night.

Arts not the same for all of us. We all know I'm better with painted fingers, because then I can redesign my scars with regrets i have not learned from yet.

I will be able tell you every detail of why, just not now. Attempt to Imagine art so intricate that we never let anyone see it, we keep it locked away for years and years. Stored away in a dome of stay out of my occupancy.

I Built barriers buried under burned books and belated beautiful bones that never knew who they were in the first place. Praying to a god that doesn't speak to me in the first place. That guy hasn't said a **** word since I went deaf.

It's natural to be afraid

So step into this

Be terrified with me