I’m not going to lose anymore.
I’m not going to take it in the gut without throwing a punch back.
I’m not going to go down without attempting to get up.
I refuse to lose you without burning myself trying to win you back.
I refuse to look for refuge or safety like I used to because I found something I want to fight for.
I refuse to let you go without staring down the chamber of a .44, looking you in the eye before you pull the trigger.

So if you pull the trigger, at least let me know why.
If you’re going to **** me, **** me on my feet.
I don’t want you to be my enemy.
I don’t want you to be the anchor that pulls me down to the bottom again.
I don’t want you to be a missed chance, or a “could have been”
I don’t want you to become someone I resent, or a waste of time.

I know you’re looking at this.
I know you’re watching and reading these words.
You know what I want.
It’s been a few weeks, but the time we spent is valuable to me.
And dare I say it was valuable to you too.

I don’t waste my words.
I don’t say things if I don’t mean it.
I don’t lead people on.
I don’t tell you I care for you if I’m just going to spit behind your back.
I don’t say “I love you” if I didn’t put so much thought into what I was saying.

You’re right. We are different.
But I was never looking for the same. I have enough of the same.

I want you because you teach me.
You unlocked something I never thought I knew about myself.
You taught me how to be vulnerable.
You’re someone I didn’t know I could grow to love.
And you have so much more to teach me that you don’t even know.

I know your time is precious,
But want you to be mine.
I never promised you forever -
But I promised you one day at a time.

And If you want it, you still have it.


Yeah?

Do you even recognize me
my pale skin
and innocent lips

I have come from so far
still to be me
skin and lips

My eyes still hazel and gold
now different
forced to change

Yet the same

Is it words?
Is it rhythm?
Is it emotion?

Thoughts just jumbled onto a page,
in hopes that they match some literary device?

Structure.
Or imagery.
Parallel
                          ....lines?
Outside of
                                  ....the box?

But what's a box besides,
                                        What we make it?

Why can't we take
                our perspective,
                shift it    
                          ,
                                around
                                            And change it?
Write poems for,
                          a
                              new (or even all of them)
                                  generation(s)?

They don't have to rhyme.
Or make sense.
Or even be legible.
As long as it helps you, isn't that enough?

"But others read them too"

But they don't always.
Some poems I write on my worst days.
They're
            bad.
They don't,
                  rhyme.
My handwriting is.........
                                      crap.

The words aren't
                          even eloquent.
Putting
            them (my thoughts that is)
                          down to paper helps
                                    me  though.  (or is that too selfish)

But what
                is a
                          poem (a real one)
anyhow?

I guess I'll never, really, know.

My mother's did
Everytime she's miss
She use his clothes
Hope him hold her so close to real
And throwback their memory

I may not be your
cup of tea
but
for
others
I might be
everything that
fills a cup and more

I used to be able to tell you everything
I used to be able to be myself
Now I am struggling to let you in
Now I feel like we´re both someone else

This year has been like a rollercoaster ride
So many lows, so many highs
I've tried to put our differences aside
Just so I wouldn't have to say goodbye

You used to laugh at my jokes
You used to come when I needed you the most
I didn't see the fire through the smoke
You didn't notice I was just a ghost

This time I can´t read your mind
It's been ten seconds, but it seems like an age
It's like painting the rainbow colourblind
How did you end up on a different page?

I used to be able to tell you everything
I used to know you loved me more than words
Now I'm struggling to feel a thing
Still missing us really hurts

26. Februar 2018

Walking down the street
Looking so ugly
It can’t possibly be human
Though it is human
But only slightly

People don’t believe in it
They say it’s non existent
Though it does exist
You just don’t notice

Because you see
It walks like everyone else
It breaths like everyone else
It wears clothing like everyone else
But it’s a disguise

The zombie in today’s society
Seems human at first glance
It does the basic human things
Breath, walk, eat
But it’s hard

It can barely sleep
It lacks emotion,
The ability to feel
It’s a disturbance
But the zombie in today’s society is me

I am the disturbance
And just like the zombie
I may seem alive
But I’m already dead
So you might as well
Just shoot me in the head

Because
At the end of the day
Nobody likes
A zombie.

My writing is not like the others',
The pin-pricked prowess of principal in
another author's cite is indifferent to mine:
The spice in soliciting that salivating bite,
the singe that would make Tobasco sauce cry-
My words have no such gripe.
Instead, I write
A mellow slumber that is my words,
Carefully thought of, written, or typed.

T* wo
W eeks
E arly...
,
N ot
T he
Y oungest...
,
F orever
O btaining
R adiant
T wo
H ues

O nly
F or

F ew
E yes...
,
B right
R ivalries
U nite...
,
A new
R elative's
Y earling...


                          *Hello Again, My Reminder Of my Birth
                                                     *2-24-00