I don't seek your permission...
To write about the what, why and how.
It could be a haiku or come in the shape of a cow.

I don't need your approval...
When I don't sound the least bit poetic...
In my mismatched metaphors or ill-rhymed acrostic.

I'm not asking for your blessing...
When I pen down and put up what I think...
Be it in cloying cliches or in tear drenched ink.

I don't crave for your understanding...
When my 10 word poems weren't filtered through your poetic lens,
Or if my contributions in collaborations lack in sense.

I don't hope for your likes...
If my content does not tickle your fancy,
Or if my words just rubs you silly.

I mean no disrespect...
But don't be too quick to click on the 'comment' button.
Private messaging has been put there for a reason.

I don't mean to cramp your style...*
You're entitled to your own opinions of course...
But if you've got nothing good to say, please save it and shove it up yours.

You lose a job
the lover you tied your life with drifts elsewhere
the place you grew root seems not home anymore
the days are vacuous and nights a crawler
your head echoes with the deafening groan

I deserve no love, even from me.

Surely it’s the worst portrait you drew of yourself
and an erroneous one.

The job was filling your purse but emptying your purpose
the lover was no fairy but a fair weather friend
the home was only a harbor you anchored before sail.

There’s a world at your doorstep begging your attention
withering without your love.

Pick up and hold them to your breast
see how quickly unburdens your chest
your spirits soar.

From thence you would never cease
to love yourself from the core!

She's becoming numb to him
She use to feel comfort in there kiss
Now she can't feel the texture of his lips
It's like he's not there
Like she's kissing air
She loved his voice
But now it's like he's horsed
Somewhere along the line she lost him
When she looks his way
Her gaze he doesn't meet
Because he too has become numb
He use to run his fingers through her hair
The feeling of it set him free
Like he was touching a cloud
But now a storm has set in
He loved her hugs
But now it feels like he's touching a hollow shell
And when he does look in her eyes
Love is not there
Only a blank stare
He was her reflection and she was his
But now it's only transparency
They look through each other
She's out on the porch giving her life to a little white stick
Blowing smoke in the air
Using her fingers to draw images in it
And he sits in what use to be her favorite chair
Staring at a muted tv screen
He found peace in the quiet
But when they slept
They dreamed of of each other
Every morning the woke next to each other
And somewhere sat hope
Trying to build a bridge
To mend the gap the swept between them
And bring them back together
Hoping there's still time
To fix what's broken

You watch a ****** movie
and it rates 1.3 stars higher
because you watched it with her.

She carried them about,
stones in her pockets.
Each one a little secret.

The weight of them
distracting her in conversations.
The bulk of them
effecting her posture.
They would knock
when she would walk.

While she could manage
the slight though ever present
force they exerted
she was perpetually terrified
that one day,
in the midst of some random encounter,
a small hole would
open up
allowing them to tumble out.

They did eventually become too heavy
and the pressure of them
made a space
where
sickness poured in
taking their place.

Stones in the pockets
was not the official diagnosis.
But that's what killed her.
I know
because I watched it.

And I miss her.  
That one woman who loved me
unconditionally.
I need her at times
like now.

I carry no stones of my own
and I am not afraid of holes
but
sometimes
we need the kind of love
that has no strings
like when the other kinds
wish to bury us.