I look in
The mirror.
I bare my teeth
But she won't
Back down.
I turn my back
To show how little
I care.
I know I'll
See that *****
In my nightmares.

I'm terrified

If man wasn't so busy killing another
He just might start;
Getting occupied loving his "sister's and brother's".


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry

I used to long for your arms around me
now all I long for is paper to place poetry
that I've written about you and nothings
that I wish would become somethings.
But that's somehow too much to ask for
I suppose it's more than I can really afford,
a longing for you.

I feel like every time I talk about him,
I use the wrong word.
When I say "******",
I feel like I'm giving him a paper bag,
Under which he can hide,
And distance himself from what he's done.
It feels like a type of absolution.

His name is Bryan.
He is a six foot and two inches tall monster,
That I wish lived only in my dreams.
He rides a motorcycle,
Has a dog named Gilbert,
And smokes unfiltered camels.

And I was wrong.
He is not a monster,
He is a person.
And he is not just a stupid boy,
He is a man.
And he is not just the generic term "******".

He is a human being who is seriously ****** up and I'm not going to give him the privilege of having his name withheld from my story.