She has nothing to say
not one simple word
to explain
how she arrived
at this complication

the things that i think about-
no one else would want to think about
and i'm convinced nobody does think
about them.

i treat my past memories as razor blades
and carve into my skin until
i am lacking sufficient blood
and i am struggling for oxygen.

i wish someone would explain to me
why you still have such a hold on me
and why your words still echo the walls of
my empty mind
especially on lonely nights
like these.

why can't i fall out of love with someone
who never loved me to begin with?

I said it before.
But i didnt explain.
The complexity of my words.
What did i say?
"My tears are like knives
And im crying all over my body
Ive got scars all over"
See i wasnt lying.
My cheeks look like a cuttingboard.
Each time my body gets cut open
My blood runs black.
It oozes through my veins, and out to the ground.
I am not to be understood.
Like one runs into a train
The roads so similiar
But wind up here,
On this one tear.
These tears that cut,
Are like unopenable doors that shut.
The wind up closes,
As my final thoughts choose to vanish.
These tears
These knives
Prove often to be poetic
Because i often write about the scars.
I often write about my pain
but my silence echoes.
Bouncing
Bouncin
Bounci
Bounc
Boun
Bou
Bo
B.
*silence

I'm sorry.

For what?

Everything.

I don't understand.

I know.

Will you explain?

No.

Why not?

I can't.
I'm sorry.

What is poetry???
Poetry shows the power of words poetry is the means of bringing the wind in the grasses into the house

poetry is a pheasant disappearing in a brush poetry is a lot of things to a lot of people it is a chiseled marble of language
We may feel we know what a thing is  but have trouble defining it that holds the true meaning as poetry....

Poetry is a thought caught in the act of dawning. Poetry is painting in words  its a medium for self expression a song that rhymes and displays beauty.

Poetry is an echo asking a shadow to dance it is the art of employing words  in extraordinary ways poetry is the art of uniting pleasure with truth

To became a poet  its a condition not profession
Painting is silent poetry..... And poetry is painting that speaks  poetry is what happens when nothing else can....it is a deal of joy and pain...

Poetry is nearer to vital truth than history...


What is poetry to you?????

what does it mean
when home
no longer feels like
home?