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robert May 2018
Sometimes I cry alone
Other times I do nothing
Nothing at all
Once I did a lot – in one day
But it wasn’t me
Went back inside
Closed the curtains
Opened ‘em: it was pouring
And I loved it
Skies and gods wept
Along with me
Staring outside, longing
For everything
And one day I wished
I wrote a song for Sienna
Who I never knew
But loved for nothing more
Than two sounds, combined
Into melody.
Song for Sienna
robert Jul 2018
Put me in your mouth
And in the name of freedom

Pull my trigger, boy.

I am the persistent gnawing
Inside your hideous skull

The barrel of your dreams.

The iron bringer of death
Defender of the weak;

But innocents beware!

Killer of cats and dogs alike
A tool for the robbers,

Thieves and murderers, too.

But for you, nothing more
Than a romanticized ending, I promise.

Now pull my trigger, baby.
freestyling
robert May 2018
So many things to look at – pretty
Girls with short hair, long hair,
Brunettes and blondes
Short and tall – they have secrets
They’ve got them all

The nice ones, too stuck on plans
To ever be free, college and marriage
Is all the dreams the see
The tall ones, those with
Beautiful smiles and smoking bodies
Their lights blotted out by insecurities

But who of them will look through me
And who can see the person
That I’d truly wish to be

I stand here, waiting for something
In between it all; someone who
Sees me for that which I am
A girl that doesn’t run from the skeletons
In my Titanic-sizes closet

And doesn’t die from boredom
When I sit still, when times get calm
But I’ve been here before
And I loved my time here, yet
How could I even sit still
With the cries I hear at night

I'm clueless as to how to fall in love
I think it should have happened
At this point, or maybe even long before
My mouth and lips are on someone’s thighs
The cheap guitar I own, neglected in the corner

You and me, for now, is all there is
It won’t last long
Until I won’t see you
Just like you never
Truly saw me.
A poem about my ability to misjudge others instead of giving them a chance.
robert May 2018
Brown apple, bad smell
My long forgotten lunchbox
I was just a kid
It had dinosaurs on it
And a volcano – almost empty
Inside but so much going on
On the outside (it looked cool)
And I miss it
Even with this rot inside
Even the things I don’t know
Nor remember
For there’s a hole in the middle
I can’t see through.
- robert
First poem on hellopoetry
robert May 2018
Love owes him proof
And guarantees written down
Or so he believes
His eyes caught by
Flies attracted to bright,
White lights in the subway
So sober and grim
How could anything,
Or someone, ever
Feel the same for him.
I had a date. On the way home I saw these flies attracted to an ugly lamp.
robert May 2018
Hi mama,

It doesn’t have to be Mother’s Day
For me to come up and say
That I love you (it's not just in May!)
Endlessly forgiving: your mother’s heart

Warm and caring in every way
Those without kids could never
Truly understand – including me
And even though you passed fifty,

Your patience with me is boundless
At times seems everlasting
Even though you passed fifty,
Your beauty and grace still blossoms!

Though you passed fifty,
You remain ever so young and full of spirit
Thank you for being my mother, mom
And thank you for letting me be your son, too.

Thank you for believing in me
As I believe in you.
Happy Mother's Day mom!
robert May 2018
White sneakers and t-shirts
With the dumbest prints
An Hawaii shirt on occasion
Joyful tales; a fool I make
So broken it looks like art
This high life is my lie life
Pink skin (but veins so black)
Like sugar so sweet
This ****** blues.
Short poem about the outside and the surface
robert Jul 2018
We swam under dusk
                  Faces lit by moonlight
Scavenging for scars
                  So bountiful they are.
I lost you in the coral
Guarded by ***** – threatening with
                  Their huge claws.
Eels flashing rows of white teeth,
                  Cutting tendons.
And I could not put up a fight
Swallowing the blood in my throat,
                  I ran.
My bare feet cut by shells and scales
                 My watery grave
This mockery of us.

— The End —