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Rowan S Feb 2019
I ventured forth, again into the musty canyons
The dark, dank space that is
My past
Or more specifically

A perusal reveals:
Hats in boxes, brims unmet by sun in ages
Creased shirts, bands' crests emblazoned bright
Clever titles scrawled in sharpie on silent CDs
And everything coated with brown hair
Crooked and curled as the smile
That I wear presently
Upon this journey

Upon further inspection:
Percussive rhythms, beats tattooed
Into slick skin
A laughing afterthought of intimacy
A private joke shared between us
Among many

The messy box:
Conversations held hostage by anger
Fueled on one side by deceit and fury at the world
While the other fights a war, at another's side: alone
Confusion racking both
Where once there was naught but desire
To care, protect, discover, and journey
Hijacked, a spoiled child upending a puzzle
That his insolence will never allow him the
Of completing

And the box that releases a torrent of whispers upon opening:
My name
Hands on knees, rage relieved in an instant
Your laugh
At my protruding tongue, a face fraught with focus
Poetry, lilted and simple
About the charm in how I climb stairs

Ending with the lessons:
To seek patience; with the large, and especially the small
To love fully; as they say, time flies
To face fear; naked honesty will conquer this
To rely on; there is no shame in support

The grit of clenched teeth
Overcome by the solace of
Framed reality
I descend the shaking ladder
Leaving behind this echoing forrest
Mist clouded with
Shared impassioned melodies
I have sorted and cleaned enough
I will revisit from time to time

But. In practicing honesty:

I am a living memory of you

For as a sculptor
Slow and methodic with the clay
You have shaped and molded
My very being
And all can see
Your impassioned mark on me
A testament to kindness
Tried, and true
Rowan S Jan 2019
Creeping guilt
Haunting shame
Liquid burn
Checking out now
When my mind won't slow
Distilled rye
Filling the gray canyons, the crevices
Pulsing, swimming fire
Hopes that this poison
This pleasure
Will scorch
And end
This madness
Old poem. I used to drink for many reasons, but ultimately, it was always me searching for oblivion.
Vanessa Nov 2014
My lips are pierced shut
While my brain is scattering across the floor.
Everything is spilling out in front of you.
I'm breaking down
And loosing composure.

Struggling to collect the the pieces
In time before you make sense of it all.
Tiny fragments of grey matter
Covered in words you should have never read.

— The End —