i thought i deserved the kind of love
that came with too many late night phone calls
and a ton of voicemails.
where have you been?
who are you with?
I had no idea I was covering up
his own insecurities with
ever bit of affection and forgiveness I had left.
where are you going?
who are you going to be with?
Countless times have i mistaken
his jealousy for thinking I was loved.
I didn't know that jealousy
was a prison he voluntarily stays in.
I didn't know I was already held captive
until he dangled the key right in front of me.

- CPM

I don't want you (anymore)
Get out of my dreams (now)
I had my chance (for a while)
You did nothing (every time)

So now I don't want to think of you (ever)

poetry is not just a rhyme

it is the singing of a song
competing against time

it is touching people's hearts
with no right way to start

it is losing yourself in words
letting yourself be heard

poetry is not just a couple words

IT IS a feeling, masked in tones and forms
chorusing of a place, where we belong
and thus from there, the readers know our song!

Happiness is thick air,
Full of anticipation;
A silvery autumn breeze
Skating across the textured sky;
Laughter bouncing between friends,
Escaping briefly to bring smiles to the faces of onlookers.
Nostalgia is when the moon is bright,
So the whole family steps outside to see it;
Driving at daybreak,
Hues of pink and gold and orange painting one’s vision;
Not quite catching fireflies,
But reaching for them anyway.
Anger is a rainy day,
When the sun still glimmers through the dark clouds;
An eyelash perched delicately on someone’s cheek,
Wiped away without a wish being made;
The pounding of music,
As it shakes bones and rattles hearts.
Sadness is a freezing winter night,
When not even breaths can be kept secret;
The dim glow of streetlamps at the glimmer of dawn,
Flickering before going out altogether until night falls again;
The last whisper of color in the air,
In the unrecognized moment that day warps into night and the world is almost still.
Emotions are yours to define.

Again and again
I do this to myself
I let the wrong ones in
I fall for the ones who don't feel anything for me
I'm too nice
Too sweet
Such an easy target for emotional manipulation
I think I have finally learned
To keep to myself
And not let anyone in anymore
Because I'm such a fool
To think I can change the mind
Of an emotionally detached individual
At least I try to enjoy the ride
While I'm being strung along.

We live in a society
that provides studies, education and university.
We live in a society
that also provides therapy.
See, if I said I refuse the education,
everyone would look at me in shock and irritation.
But if I told I take a therapy,
I would get an alien-look that makes me feel like here
I am not supposed to be.
Sure, it's not quite a thing you say at a party or your first date.
But why is it still labelled as something so bad?
Because let's face the fact.
Everyone carries at least one package of shit
in their bag pack.
And there is shit you better flush together with someone else.
So, I show respect,
to those who seek out for help.
This is not a sign of weakness but lion-strength.
Dealing with oneself, looking into the darkness of the past, making footsteps into the
old pain,
that deserves applause and acknowledged fame.
Society provides enough stinky people who keep carrying their shit.
Who got so used to the smell that they just live with it.
But the package gets heavier and heavier over time,
turning into bricks.
I understand that it's scary,
and some people would rather jump off the cliffs
of Grand Canyon than opening the seeming box of Pandora.
And I say it so simply and easy,
even cheesy,
but there is joy and peace waiting
piled under the shit.
So, people.
Look at it!
Get rid of it!
Go through the dark tunnel,
dare to make the step.
By healing yourself you also heal everyone else.
Flush that shit.

She sat, head down in her rags
Probably waiting for a meal
The deep silence in her eyes
Gave me the strangest feel
Not a beggar but a homeless,
A young kid, so innocent
Life miserable and in a mess
On the streets, her days were spent
So delicate, like a blooming rose
Her emerald eyes follows me around
She rushes to glimpse, then goes
And sits head down on the ground
As I reached to hold her hand
She moved her hands away
I felt her pain dig deep in my soul
So I left, to go the other way
Astonished, to feel her little hands,
Grasps my legs, tightly
Holding onto me and crying,
As I brushed her face slightly
I smiled at her cold face
And she hugged me again
Now she stays with me, at my place
Recovering from her past pain...


©sim