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mk Aug 2015
I.
if you'd never told me you loved me
i wouldn't be lying awake at 3:03am wishing you were besides me
i wouldn't see lovers together & burn flames of envy
the pangs of missing you wouldn't cause me to skip meals
i wouldn't spend all my time wanting to hurry back home & so that i could talk to you
i wouldn't worry all the time about how you were doing without me
my body would not crave your touch
my heart would not slowly fade away
my mind would not constantly be haunted by the memories of us
if you'd never told me you loved me


II.
if you'd never told me you loved me
i would be lying awake at 3:03am wondering how i could get you to love me despite all my numerous flaws
i would see lovers together & my frail heart would crash & burn knowing we'd never be together
i would skip meals over meals, filling my stomach with the "what ifs"
i would spend all my time wanting to talk to you, even though you weren't mine
i would worry all the time about how you were doing without me when i was fading away without you
my body would crave your touch
my heart would slowly fade away
my mind would constantly be haunted by the the thought of me & you never becoming an "us"
if you'd never told me you loved me


III.
if you'd never told me you loved me
i wouldn't have been able to stay up till 3:03am and later giggling on the phone with you hoping my laughter wouldn't wake the whole house
i wouldn't see lovers together & know that i had my very own back at home
i wouldn't be skipping meals just because of the butterlies in my stomach everytime i'd think of you
i wouldn't be able to spend all my time talking to you, being with you, making memories with you
i wouldn't be able to pick up the phone & call you whenever i worried about you
my body wouldn't have been able to feel your touch
my heart would never have felt so much pure love
my mind would never be able to keep itself occupied in the wondrous memories of us
if you'd never told me you loved me


-
*if you'd never told me you loved me,
i would still die loving you.
there is good & bad in everything,
but to die not knowing you felt the same way
well, that would be death of the worst kind

i guess what i'm trying to say is,
thank you for telling me you love me
three possible outcomes of the same scenario; each worse than the other.
// say a prayer but let the good times roll //
I was selfish, when I was a little girl I would never share my graham crackers
because I wanted every sweet crumble in my mouth.
I am selfish because your love is more rare than any gem
but when it's shared with all of them the artists, the worthy
I feel as insignificant as the moonrocks I thought helped me soar through your galaxy
but were actually pure, poison. But no matter how toxic you believe yourself to be
every whisper of the wind reminds me of your melody.

There is a volcano of good inside you, I've seen it bubble and spurt
in your steamy passion for music and fashion, authenticity
is the heat eminating from the lava trapping everyone you meet
in a warmth so intoxicating, you make James Franco as dull as carbon dating
I saw that ****** volcano whenever you met someone new
I walked along its edge hearing the passion playing from your guitar,
strumming with dust, magic like a star

it's taken you trillions of years to get here so when I felt
your violent vibrations as you detoxed in my bed
I thought I'd hold the death of lightyears in my arms.
Like the medicated forever you lived for so long until you forgot
happiness was cleaner than any **** and brighter than any lightshow

But you know this, you knew this you hold libraries of knowledge in
every freckle on your body if I placed each one like a stepping stone
towards a computer I'd create a whole new wikepedia before iOs 8 was done
I'd predict it as predictable as your smile lifts the sun
and if those freckles were questions on a gameshow I already won

I will never know what goes on inside your head or to a comfortable point
but I prefer fluttering butterlies and a **** good joint
to any complacent ride and with you by my side I for once in this life
feel un-alone because being with someone who steps on their own
shards of glass every day because the pain is easier than bending
over to pick up the pieces pushes on the door of my opinion of evil
He could never be evil. He is delicate3 like the crumbling
of sweet graham *******

He is alive like the Happy New Year bellows we unisonly screamed with our
friends and the rest of toads after dancing for hours then dancing for more

You know my struggle, or try to know and that effort means more to me than
the fuel of a pollen to a buzzing bee
Your life, has been as ****** up as that time we almost died in your huge-*** truck
when you were higher than jesus and I went down on you in prayer
that moment, we got struck with inconceivable luck I thought I saw a *** of gold.

Your life, has been like elephants trying to juggle circus tents
if I could give you 22 years of reassurance that you are a beautiful boy
I would.
I'd like to believe you don't even want anyone to, I think you're through
with playing rockstar to a show that you can't even hear the music to

4 months without any substance in your body is an extraordinary
achievement and I am more than proud of you.  You've been a teacher to me.
You've been a prime example of needing someone as much as needing oxygen, or
loathing crawling through your veing towards the very thing that washed away the pain.

If I ever figure out the vernacular I'm not too embarassed to throwup in front of you,
I'd spill every nauseaus word proclaiming my fascination with your determination
to finding love in this life.
My memory is awful, so I exxagerate most, but I'll try to learn your lessons
I'll try to learn how to coast.
Jessy Ivan Diaz Apr 2015
I remember the first time I wrote you a letter. I wanted to give it to you so bad, each line amongst the blank sheet of paper held secrets and emotions that only belonged to you.

I compared constellations to you, stars and galaxies held the word to shame when it came to beauty because of the way you sparkled; You made the dormant volcano inside me, awaken.

I knew that by the time the ash reached my neck the words "I love you" would never taste the same from the moment you came into my life. I thought I knew what fire tasted like, but the day I kissed you- Crustfied lava in my belly melted into butterlies and rose out of my mouth with your name forming at the edge my tounge and a home for you inside my heart.

And every-time you left my blood to turn at the edge of the blue abyss I wondered if I would ever see you again.

By the time you had come back the butterflies you gave life to, Migrated-looking for love where the sun was abundant and flowers with your name still inside; Sweet with the taste of your skin.

I was empty for months.

It was months after the great migration and spring was in the air, flowers still singing pieces of the way you said you missed me. It took me time to understand that some plants are poisonous to your health but I was so alive with the memories of us still intoxicating the contours of my mind. I was high off of your love, your body, every **** thing about you.

The day you returned, I was no longer the same. My voice was softer. My eyes keen, and my hands rougher against your skin. Yet, the love I had for you went untouched all these years despite the amount of life changing sequences we both faced.

You changed also, so many things were different.

The way you said your own name held fire. You held your chin higher than usual, and your voice rougher, but understanding. You spoke in a formulated manner, never giving in or up. You argued more, you were so stubborn with me. But amongst all that I could see and taste form your lips, one look into your eyes and I knew that nothing had changed between us.

Come morning, the sun kissed you before I could but I stared in awh, and jealousy because come tomorrow I know I wouldn't wake up with the ability to do the same. That doesn't mean that I wasn't grateful for tasting sunrise with your naked self, body and mind sleeping soundlessly next to me.

I knew from that day that I would never love anyone else the way that I love you.

Through the darkest of our days and the brightest, you still have a home within my heart. I will always be waiting for the day I get the chance to kiss you before the sun does.
Stu Harley Aug 2014
at the
family pinic
around
the 4th of July
the fresh smell of
buttered popcorn
and snow white
butterlies
in the
air that
i breathe
the last
golden summer
Frankie Fuller Jun 2017
I miss the masquerade of shadows.Those days as cold as ice.Who am I? I'll never know, nor understand when they would speak to me.Their hidden faces would always confess within a twilight hour ,and just late of spring.There, and so dear to midnight ,are the monarch butterlies and milkweed plants.They have an eloquent look of beauty , but without souls to ever ponder any disappointment of human loneliness. There was once a strangers confession of June.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2021
i once attested that... you can't a better barber... than a Turkish barber... for a while i thought that Romanian girls made great company... Copernican revision (almost): perhaps i just found me a Turkish gem... a delight from some mythical period of the height of the Ottoman empire...

nope, they're still here... that swarm of butterflies...
with Nabokov giving chase...
although there's no taboo about borderline
mature girls to talk about...
that one instance with my ex's sister when
i first saw her... absolutely gone...
             of a more refined taste...
                       she's 32: i tell her she looks like
she's 28 she says she feels like so and...
what else am i going to call this feeling...
heightened digestive anxiety...
    diarrhoea?
                    well it's certainly not constipation...
funny how: this is almost love...
it's not... it's just the aftermath of the best
*** i've had since... i was having *** / *******
with my fantasy goggles on...
it took me several years to get over
the supposed "best ****" i was ever going to get...
a Russian by the name of Ilona...
yes... brilliant... that night before i was to leave
st. petersburg we had one of those...
7 hour marathons... as you do... since it's st. petersburg
in the summer and you have those
famous white nights of st. petersburg because
you're really close to the polar circle...
so... you can't sleep... and what's there to do?
chess, drink... books?!
- i never thought i could get over it...
until... Khada... or Khadiya... or...
i've heard the name several times, now...
i even wrote it down and showed it to her...
but when i heard it again...
she... almost silences the last letters...
   Khaadaya...           to hell with it...
i already almost can't remember her face...
and it has only been since: yesterday...
  but then... i somehow remember it... yet...
its contorting... it's... a mouth open showing me
her tongue... it's her most certainly fire-riddling auburn...
maybe mahogany...
a light shade of that wood...
most certainly a van morrison song...
although: not so much freedom in running around
with a transistor radio...
or it's just that i can't remember her face
because... there's so much immediacy involved
in all that happens during *******...
the face stretches through many contortions...
all those vowels and hardly any consonants
that might allow for lip-reading...
- maybe it has something to do with seeing
Christian Eriksen collapse live on the pitch...
my bets were on: dead... thunderstuck...
i just had to feed life a bone a muscle some sinew
flesh, **** and tongue...
in between hard-ons throughout the day:
no hand! hell... i wasn't even remotely going to
give myself such an easy escape...
too much "thinking": reimagining all the details...
ol' raven haired woman of Anatolia...
i tried to compose a list of songs to fit
with my emotions...
the cliches ran after i listened to...
spirit's when i touch you...
all of nine inch nails' pretty hate machine...
something from the hellraiser soundtrack...
now i'm sipping a straight pimm's i "stole"
and am listening to the obvious:
the eagles' witchy woman &
cliff richard's devil woman...
      funny how... love is *** first... for any man...
or best be...
i can't handle some choicest of fiddly parts
of... eh... the criteria of a "good mother"?
a good wife?
                    all this pre-planning ******* of
the modern man... boxed life-on-loan anyway...
in her own words:
'i'm a killer'... oddly enough:
i couldn't read any malice in her eyes...
like i said to her when she asked me what do i see
in them...  e-very-th-ing...
the good and the bad...
   when i see her again... i'm already gagging...
choking myself with these *******
butterflies... i'll tell her what she is...
   a NYMPH...
sometimes i'd come across these sad sad prostitutes...
they'd thank me for my tenderness
and tell me i was a good man...
two or three close calls with veteran women...
but never... a... ******* NYMPHOMANIAC!
like she didn't care about all she was going to
gorge on...
a slap on the tongue and all that...
ooze O OH! all that ooze of... a feline serpentine...
right now... no such "thing" as:
"too much of a good thing... can't be good"...
any movement in reality is a joke...
i'm a poo'et that can't make a living off of the trade
and she's a *******...
that she sleeps with other men doesn't bother me...
i just like the she is when she sleeps with me:
other men are abstract as with them she's: a she...
i can almost imagine myself living in ancient Rome...
fathering *******...
being a good foster father figure...
being really... really liberal classically about...
what's mine and what's not...
i posit the idea above genes...
                         i posit the idea above genes...
an illuminating splinter on a night sky...
a joyous smile...
a glistening: ****** expression of staging being...
ASTOUNDED...
i.e.: what the **** just happened?!
m'ah head exploded and i'm still without any
obligations to make concrete sacrifices
to state: this be love that be commitment...
          she's a killer... like hell: she's a man-eater...
i was just ******* a "caricature" of a mantis...
                      at £2 per minute... am i going to listening
to some more... winging that *** is a chore?
thank god no!
HEAD LIKE A HOLE... HEAD LIKE A HOLE...
i was so *** starved for the past 4 years
that the whole #metoo movement passed me by...
with her i'm at loss to even explore being
bored with ***...
to explore alternative avenues
with latex and gimp suits and ******...
so... frankly... it's still somehow wholesome...
proper kosher...
i would never want *** to become boring:
i rather starve and not have: and then have it...
sanely... than have to double up on fetishes
and escape plans to being:
i am addicted to the idea of two bodies colliding...
coercing... moulding each other...
today's international football was...
        oh yes... that grand brotherhood of man...
also some sparring in boxing in Paris for the olympic
games between amateur boxers...
if my stomach is filled with butterflies...
my brain is a custard of wriggling maggots...
while my heart remains a stone...
no ulterior motive... thank god...
thank god i've escaped the fantasy land
of performance art of *******...
i'll gladly leave that boney-****-imitation of the hand
behind: i'd chop it off if i was:
doubly left-handed...
but i'm not... and i need some balance when i
type missing typos...
     grr...
              pimm's: too sweet... i'll need a beer or two
to put my palette straight...
mein gott: what an afternoon...
the crab bucket will be screaming right about now...
oh i know the crab bucket **** list...
why not me? why am i not wearing his shoes...
crab bucket my ***...
when i left the brothel there was still
agonised girl screaming into the mobile about
commitment...
oh welcome night... some depeche mode?
please do... and if i feel like this after tomorrow's harrowing
bicycle round-and-round...
i'll most surely feel better:
besides...
only this Friday journalists unearthed previously
unpublished poems... ahem... "poems"
by none other than... Jim Morrison...
rock star... *** god.. lyricist...
ah... there we go... LYRICIST...
i abhor lyricism...
       i have only one excuse for minding lyricism:
the music tends to be louder than the lyrics...
the bass guitar is somehow audible...
check out Metallica...
two... three songs when you can actually
hear it... the devil's dance...
but... otherwise... all primarily rhythm & solo guitars...
drums and lyrics...
rhyme: rhyme my *** with has...
                 that i have one...
oh boy... when i'm dead... when i'm dead:
and this is how i wrote...
it doesn't matter: what i wrote: about...
although... maybe that too...
     too much airy ******* fairy akin to...
verbatim:
    december isles
  hot morning chambers
of the new day
idiot first to awaken (be born)
w/shadows of new play
learned men
in Sunday best
we've had our chance to rest
to mourn the passing of day
to lament the death of our
glorious member
  (she whispers secret messages
of love in the garden
to her friends, the bees)
the garden would be there
forevermore...

am i the only one who... doesn't want to...
reengage with some... variation of a "loss"
of innocence?
i want the *** on display thick splodges
of worn limps... gearing up to a wedding with
death: a second birth...
and all that "filth" in between...
i want... the whole... experience...
like a seagull chick... FEED ME...
i want to turn my mouth into an eye
and my eyes into mouths...
i want to become a monstrosity...
a gargantuan take on butter...
  i want to overflow in the sick and the sweat
and marble of all that's human...
to hell with being a child...
inherently cruel...
an untrained bladder...
              at least the games of *** and informal
cordiality...
nothing sinister since no latex
or gimp suits invoked...
just kosher: *** deprived ***...

& in between ******* a pull of the chin
to explore those lips and tongue with
my lips and tongue...
ol' raven hair of Anatolia...

- on a canopy of ****-rod soft-core
girlies with nothing to do but pose naked
and dangle a latex ***** for
for some lap-dog...
       slurp...
                     i had to dig to the deepest
core of imitation Dante...
i needed to find me a nymphomaniac...
to escape the...
what's it called...
the subversion of men... of nullifying men...
of... sedating men...

i'm 6ft2... 218 pounds of Otis Redding's worth
of love man...
some other time... 260 pound worth of
a chunk of beef...
            slimming girl... just slimming:
for all the tenderness i want to give...
i'd be a gladiator in some other time and reference
of space... now i'm fighting pseudo-intellectuals
and the crab-bucket...
****'s sake...
but i'm still armed with a giggle...
so it's: just aye-alright...

correct me if i'm wrong... all that inheritance...
i'm not going to pet an anglo-saxon woman
and her thesis on anti-racism...
erm... ha ha!
                  when a black loved up to a black woman...
when a ol' whitey cuddled up to a...
Turkish delight... or a Thai surprise...
ha!
                             it's a black toddler one you can
fiddle with the afro...
while it tempts your torso being a make-shift bed...
how can you just kick a dog...
how can you not love such bundles of...
the antithesis of an exoskeleton?

how jazz, soul, rhythm & bass degenerated into...
rap synth...
because... it's not exactly even rap these days:
is it?
well... it's hardly that you... didn't see it coming...
god... loving this girl when she mingles with
me drinking alone is doubly exhausting:
because the reality of going forward
is forever an impasse...
a brick wall... take care... concentrate on
the undying emotion: right now...
focus on the butterlies:
on the hypersensitive digestive system...
it's not diarrhoea: it's just your digestive system
working overtime...

i'm in love: but not for keeps...
for illumination...
hammer met up with nail...
out came two planks of wood stuck together...

- just like i can't stomach: on repeat...
i don't own these anglo-saxon women...
there's not grand brotherhood of man...
i don't want to be trapped in some guilt riddled
libido game where she showcases herself
on some... vague: moral stand-off posit...
i'll just go where something is better: & available...

beginning with Romanian, perhaps just
ending with Turkic...
    to hell with these striptease in straitjackets...
how's that for... ahem... "lyricism":
oh, wait... lyricism doesn't appreciate
concrete punctuation / prepositional riddled
language...

one more night with a ***** movie in my mind
where i'm somehow, "somehow" the star...
mein gott: how she slapped that phallus
on her tongue...
how she's... completely involved in nothing
sensible...
how i despise old age:
how i'd sooner stab myself in the neck,
throw myself off a bridge... tame drowning...
anything to heighten the erotica than...
die off... slowly ******* neglected...
right now: spontaneously...
i'd bring a knife and ask her to finish me off:
but of course... i'm shy of ******* her a dozen
times...

none of the leather of neglect:
all her parts being so, so... jaw-like...
mandible...
oh look... what a hallow night...
the moon is here... all horned...
the constellations are in place...
but there are still those roaming stars that...
shouldn't be here...

i will now welcome sleep.
blackrainboots Jan 2017
Paper butterflies
with cream and white
fluttering wings

Rapidly beating hearts
against fragile chests,
they float
around rooms

Rooms covered with
memories from
the past
a past that
can no longer
be remembered

Soft whispers of
a forgotten song
now only left to be
lost music notes
and an abandoned harmony

Paper butterlies float
trying to find remnants of
a life they once knew
trying to find a place to belong
inspired by: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=70p3WpFGn18
i  love to see the flowers blooming in the spring
a lovely piece of nature such a wonderous thing
there in all there splendour with colors by the score
putting on there show spring is here once more

birds begin to sing in the early morn
in perfect harmony singing in the dawn
butterlies return with colors by the score
colors of the rainbow and a whole lot more

sun begins to shine to help the flowers grow
there in all there glory with there flower show
rabbits in the fields having lots of fun
happy as can be now that springs begun
theres lots of things in nature that we all can see
wonders to behold that we can watch for free
rabbits running round in spring time sun
all around the fields having so much fun

daffodils and snowdrops and some crocus to
showing of there colors there for you to view
badgers and the squirrels running wild and free
all the things of nature there for you to see

trees they stand so tall reaching for the sky
kestrels and buzzards hover way up high
butterlies they flutter spreading out there wings
ladybirds with spots forming in to rings

the beauty that is nature for all the world to see
there in all its glory that we can view for free

— The End —