poetry loses its meaning when you realize there isn't a single combination of words that can make someone love you back

wide-eyed, with daisies in my hair
and my mother’s heels
two sizes too big for me;
with an apron for a shield
and crayons for swords,
I stood at the crossroads.
there, I met the man in velvet black.
he beckoned me over with a gloved finger,
whispered in my ear a promise.
I held his hand,
he wrapped his arm around my shoulder,
and we walked onto the road.
his voice was the melody,
screeching the accompaniment.
the spotlight,
a white
purer than the sun.

If the sun had hands, he’d reach out
to touch the curve of the moon’s spine, tracing
his fingers along each crater as she lit up
for him like a paper lantern
in the sky. His flamed limbs enveloping
her, his Luna. The arch of her back
against the backdrop of night, her fullness
intoxicating. After all this time, still burning for her.

When the sun was given hands, he cursed them
as he watched the moon crumble
into ash in the blaze. His hands were Rome
and he couldn’t stop the collapse, the ruins of her
scattered across his cupped palms. He prayed
to Moirai for revival, but all three gods
were silent. Choking back flames of fury, he tossed
his beloved into the black expanse, each flake still lit
with a passion to rebel the stars
that continue to burn with foolish hope.

Haunted by the thought of you.

Nightmares terrorize
And torment my slumber,
Even though you're gone.

As if you never left.
Like I had never even ran.

Kicking my face in.
Pushing me to death.

You shower me with maggots.
And as they pour down my body,
And death seems like a gift,
You keep me.

Alive
Just enough.

To keep me.

This current resistance
in our duel circuit is
measured in ohmmms
of my meditated solace,
Mediated by the breaker
of a once-broken man
wary of a blown fuse
too burnt to salvage, a
lost cause to discard,
Replace & repeat with
each carless disregard of
the whattage we're wired
to handle, may a switch
on to off when overblown
prevent the spark that
burns down a home.

I've lived a life without emotion
Repressed feelings and thoughts
But nothing can hold so tightly to anger
As my whitened knuckles can,
absolutely desperate to not let go.

I once knew a girl named Mary
With long blonde curls and dark brown eyes
She knows the depths of me that no one reaches
I wonder if she can remember me,

and I wonder if she writes

Sometimes I wish I was blind.
No, don't get me wrong.
I'm grateful that I can see flowers and sunsets but,

It's that many times what my eyes see is distorted.

It's that I find myself making judgements about people based on what they wear, what their race is, where they come from, and caving in to stereotypes set in my mind instead of thinking about who they are as a person.

It's that I use words like ugly or fat to describe people as if looks alone defined them and as if I had the power to define beauty.

It's that I start comparing myself to others instead of being thankful for what I have and who I am.

It's that I start checking out guys
And seeing what's on the outside instead of wondering about what lies inside .

It's that I start selecting people to be friends with based on their appearance instead of wondering who they are as a human being.

It's that my eyes hinder me from focusing on what's truly important.

And perhaps if I was blind my soul would better understand that there is more than meets the eye.
That what makes certain humans great is how passionate they are when they talk about what they love.
How caring they can be in time of need.
How their personality can far outshine looks.
How even if physically a person may be falling apart on the inside they have the greatest heart.

Perhaps if I was blind,
Maybe then would I truly see.