Have you ever felt disposable?
Like you're only worth as much as you are useful,
And you're just not useful for that long?

Have you ever felt disposable?
Like you're great and all,
But if something better comes along
It's into the garbage you'll go?

Have you ever felt disposable?
Like you're wonderful and all that jazz,
But if the old thing starts working again,
Losing you is no great loss.

Have you ever felt disposable?
Like every person before has thrown you away
Because you were lost, or just stopped working the way they wanted you to.
You weren't useful anymore, you weren't doing the thing they wanted you to do anymore.

Have you ever felt disposable?
Because I have.
When every person that came before you
Threw me away like a broken toy,
Because they were spoiled frustrated children,
Throwing people away because they didn't work how they wanted them to.
Because I was a toy, I was not human.
And because I have feel disposable,
That means I'm afraid that at any second you could throw me away,
Even though you're not them, and they're not you,
And you're not like that at all.
Because when you look at me,
You see me as human.

Have you ever felt disposable?
Because that means you've felt the fear that the person you love most will leave,
For one reason or another.
Whether it be entirely irrational or completely unfounded,
It means that every second that passes between the text message you've sent asking them "Are you leaving me?" and their response, feels like a knife to wrists,
Draining you of every drop of blood you could possible have or create
And you get cold, and the cold makes your joints stiff, and then the stiffness makes you ache and you're not only crying out of the fear and unnecessary anxiety, but you're crying because dear God, it hurts and you can't breathe because if you breath you'll sob and only cry harder.

Have you ever felt disposable?
Because if you have you know that wearing his hoodie makes you feel wrong, because at any second he could decide to leave and if he leaves you'll never want to take it off because it's the closest thing to a hug from him you'll ever get again.

Have you ever felt disposable?
Because after being disposed of, you start thinking all these terrible things because it's what you're used to.

Have you ever felt disposable?

When winds at night on windows roar
wax runs out dies candle's flame
you would hear a knock upon door
a familiar voice calling your name.

Don't respond nor open the eyes
the voice is keen over winds' howl
grows it louder its pitches rise
scaring even the brave barn owl.

Pull the blanket up your head
you are safe so long you hide
lie dead quiet not move on bed
with mom asleep by your side.

Between the pause your fears mount
if is a chance to be found out
one two three the calls you count
but count it right leave no doubt.

Three times the voice would call your name
for it has no power to do any more
but move onto where dies a candle's flame
and a child is awake behind closed door.

There I was in Heaven
Playing a game of Ping Pong
When I got a call from God
“I have a job for you going
Down to earth
And be born again.”
I protested “last time I was
On earth
There was a war on
I was hit
By an arrow in my chest
It was painful.”
“You have to”, he said
“A newly born needs a soul
Before you know it you will
Be back up here again.”
Gave me a hug he did
I'm still waiting, I forgot
For God time is meaningless
As he dwells in the abstract

there is a space
      far out at low tide
          near the mouth of a river
               where the sand is flat
                                                 and wet ~

one instantly remembers
why people thought the
     world had an edge

why they shook

        fists and sticks

ran clutching babe

         to safety of cave

when asteroids passed by ~

why when the goddess comet
               Venus
finally came to find her home

and Mars no longer suffered

when gravitational pull and
      magnetic fields
                   did     not     exist ~

when it could only
      be God
parted waters

and those
feet
in sand like this

saved them ~

global disaster destroyed
                  collective memory

so many have
       the tales

all of their gods
                  saved them ~

it’s easy to remember,
                all so innocent

when the moon
                 is new

when the season is summer

and toes, exposed

can follow a river

   to the sea

          at low tide ~

when stars reflect

                and the world
                       floats away

when it is at first
                       terrifying

to be so small

and simultaneously

invigorating to the
               point
of physical vibration

when recognizing oneself

as part of the all

made by the all

and therefore

yourself the all…………..


I see you Whitman

with your toes          in sand
                
                                                    like this    /

The fiery wind burns our skin
this simmering summer noon
but our resolve is not paper thin.

the river is all ours
I tell her
and she whispers love notes.

When we retreat under the banyan
she scans the grey for clouds
and I her eyes for a mystic hint.

how lovely it would be
if it rains now
she says.

it would
I swear by the river.

We walk away
dreaming good crop
swaying in the river wind.

Putting words together is a devolution of self;

the soft underwash of sea darkens sand,
a faded sun burns out over rooftops of rain,
a snow train stops in frost under polar stars;

but this is beyond me, over the edge.

We're all searching for a purpose
That makes this all seem worth it
A life that is fulfilling
Pray that God is willing

Spending time high and low
Taking life to and fro
On pins and needles in our mending
Hoping to sew a happy ending

Some folk find along the way
It's true in what some people say
There is no higher purpose
Than that of serving others

It takes the focus off one's self
And puts it onto someone else
With the filling of several needs
As on both sides blessings intercede

So give to those in need you find
Having received less from their lot in life
You will find that it is worth it
When you find this is your purpose

On this Friday night a poem to share with all who wish someone would write them a love poem. Or in some other show of affection give them love and kindness.


Bright Star  
           by John Keats

Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art —
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like Nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priest like task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors —
No — yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft swell and fall,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever — or else swoon to death.

I think if I would write a poem of love for the one I love,
It would be to simply voice softly in her ear, this poem written
by John Keats and given to his love,  ***** Brawne….  redzone to_,
a softly voiced enchantment in the night’s sky.

We’re not as perfect as we like to say,
it's just another game that we play,
as you fall under my angelic spell.
the demon comes out.
and it wants to stay.
Cherubs cry,
as I tighten the ties,
and angels sob,
I put the gag back in your mouth.
blood red tears streaming down your back.
leather against skin,
cause you like it like that.
Your so cute when you scream,
its your masochistic dream.
biting deep in your skin.
face in the pillow,
suffocating again.
But you like that don’t you.
nails in your flesh,
color me aroused.
what’s the safe word you ask?
put that gag back in your mouth.