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Colm Jul 2019
So many wait
For another life
To walk into their own
Just to change the self

When really they
Are the only person
Who can pull apart the former fabric
Who can lend a mending hand to help
Change comes from within
forgiveness for self is a thunderstorm ferocious,
cracking sounds so god awful fearful
that one questions his-her sanity,
an overage so unnatural that
only nature could create it

it is a moment momentousness
when the exhalation of exhaustion,
the winner and loser, both you,
surrender ne’er knowing
which you is which,
life’s son of *****, or just a plain jane mothering version,
either way you say to yourself got to
get past that lousy stinking
love affair
win the race to clean slate,
where the end is insight where everything replaced
in its used to be placed

goaded into melted nothingness,
goaded into believing that’s a real thing,
that when you finally get there,
enough is enough,  
get out of jail ticket will work,
but it ain’t never free,
even if you paid for it in
what you call
throwing bad after good,
monopoly money,
nope, ain’t never free

no idea what to put in the second empty closet,
who needs an attached to-the-wall-tile
toothbrush holder with one extra emptying space,
where to hide picture albums in a space
outta sight, outta mind, you still can find

why you didn’t care enough to
daily mat-wipe street shoes before
riveted in place
before entering your own! apartment and no,
you are consciously unconscious immobilized by
the missing calling out of her “don’t forget”

in the car’s ashtray,
a red kissed blotted red lipstick
tissue that needs discard-action,
but you incapable of either,
those collected records and cd’s,
her teasing your old fashion ways,
reluctance to let go

so you read
“that to forgive one self doesn’t forgive forgetting”
and it hits home, home run, score to the core,
since you wrote those words on a sun rain afternoon,
a punctuating thunderstorm day
refusing to decide
which
haunts worse

<>
Colm Mar 2019
No matter how many doors or windows or walls or structures may stand to fall, on the growing wasteland of this Earth.

It's refreshing to know that it all will end, and that with that end, there is no real difference between the unearthed and earthed.

There is only the idea of time beneath it all.
Just taking a breath - Time doesn't really concur
Colm Mar 2019
The love of my life doesn't mean
Heart and soul
It means choose and choice
Part and whole
Mean, Doesn't Mean
Bohemian Mar 2019
°                °       ☽     °   °              °
      °   °          °     

  _________
If you feel free
Being wicked even,that you've turned
The acceptance may begin to vindicate the sins.
emma hunt david Jan 2019
I'm 12 and I've been reading for 352 days straight and I have no interest in the people around me and why should I?
I'm 14 in this one and my sheets have polka dots on them and my pillow is Avril Lavigne's face and I'm thinking about the girl at school with pink hair and slow penmanship.
When I'm 16 you are 15 and holding my hand and I'm asking about french homework and trying not to focus on the movement of your thumb around mine which is not friendship.
This time I'm 21 and your thick bones outline my thin and I like this small feeling.
I spent a lot of time growing up wondering about my ****** orientation and struggling to find a box I could fit and move and wiggle in at the same time as being terrified of other people and completely fascinated at the thought of not being.
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