you're so good at telling stories

you forgot which one you're in

Pain is inevitable.
You won't know when and how it will strike you.
The best you can do is pray and hope it doesn't find you.

I came out with a little something
To tantalise the world with
I put on a magician cloak
And a top hat to top the world
There was that mind blowing show
At 7 pm each wednesday.
I sold people embroidered lies
And bought their colossal blunders
Yet, none could feed the hunger I carried
In the pit of my stomach
Or the thirst that would wipe out my barren eyes
Till some intruder having planned before
Broke in to the show, blasting the door
As audience fled, my cloak caught fire
The top hat descended like acid rain
corroding my magic into pieces of wood and wire
All gone and I stood watching
How my utmost dreams flew away .
Two tinsy droplets began dancing on my cheeks
The hunger that ached my stomach for weeks
Muttered: Voila!
And the intruder had left with nothing to say.

Hugs are thing I've lived on,
the difference between now and then is that I've learned to go longer without
But now that's a decision that I am starting to doubt.
Now some of my relationships just seem so impersonal,
and if I can remember what it feels like it'll be  a curse and a miracle.
Maybe it's how it gets me feeling emotionally protected
cause I'm strong but this life can blow my chest in,
Maybe I'm just being too overdramatic
If I am then it's most likely a habit.
Being someone who cries it's an emotional release, and I'm an addict
What I'm used to is escaping and keeping an attitude of "let me be"
especially when I try to keep them all from to ever see.
Because what need is there if they don't know what to do, or what to say?
It's a road I've always walked alone anyway.
I've been cried to but what do I have to complain about?!
Keeping a straight head is something I've had to learn without
any guidance. I haven't lived with both of my parents since 10.
I know it's longer than a lot of other kids get, but for a moment can I just pretend
that I can still be affected, that it's understandable to collapse?
It's not like anyone will catch me, I've pretty much seen them all just wait for the emotion to pass.
I've tried to do exactly that,
but then life beats harder with it's emotional circumstance bat.
"Alex, you don't need to go this by on your own"
Thanks, I'll let you know when I find someone who'll help me carry on.
"But just text me when you feel in the bad way"
Okay, but everything you've said is almost identical to what the others say.
And don't get me wrong, I've took of the popular advise,
But it either shows how they don't feel for me or what I've already realized earlier in this life.
This is probably the most I've straight up gotten but I feel there's more to pour,
"but if I do then who reads it"
Self loathing, I do not know anymore.
Sometimes I shouldn't listen to myself, but nobody else would talk to me,
and if they do I can tell their meaning isn't of much purity.
Just don't tell me you'll talk if you're not going to listen.
Communication's a one way street, and lately mine seems faded and distanced.

This pain is ******* the air from these lungs
It's making still this tongue
This blood won't move
These nerves won't sooth
My limbs are ice cold
There's holes in my soul
There's bruises on my body
My life story is shoddy
This pain will end
When I decend
I'm halfway there
It's all I can bare

Tonight we shared all our secrets
sheer in all their glory

Unlike a brushed-up story
where we characterize ourselves

Secrets as they were pure as life itself
right from our heart's preserved shelves

No edited version of truth as it was
no need to  glorify ourselves

Secrets as they were ; not to be ashamed of
a testimony of life lived to it's fullest

No story of our mind-confined selves
imprinted upon by a thousand impressions

Secrets of the spirit as God created
with all the elements he beholds in creation

No shame ; no guilt in feeling
the feelings bestowed by nature

Not a story of accomplishments
but secrets of realizations

Secrets that made us who we are
taking us a step closer to the creator

A night of acknowledging
and overcoming
who we thought we were supposed to be

stepping into who we are..
sacred, precious and holy
a speck in the galaxy
yet a complete universe in our being

our own God
that's who we are...

the past casts
a long shadow
on our life

to unveil its mysteries
to trace
how we have
become what we are
demands a leap of faith

acknowledging
the nooks and crannies
of a life
that took its turns
not by strict logic
but at times
followed coincidental paths
   leading nowhere
& then retraced its steps
to surge ahead
sure of its goal again

running the wide road
to its predictable end
yet vaguely aware
of alternatives
that remain possible worlds
outside the choices
we made

meandering through life
at one corner of the labyrinth
we notice we have lost the string
that could have led us back
had we ever wanted

we do not worry much

to have it all
requires time and space
beyond our ken

looking back is fine
going back impossible

It was the middle of summer
When we first met
I fell fast and hard
And yet

You never saw it
Ignored it, rather
I did everything I could
To make us matter

But your eyes were set
On that perfect little miss
And by the end of summer
You had your first kiss.

I'm crushed,maimed
Seriously injured
Crucio-d,if you will
I knew I was never yours
But it hurt you

Led me on
You knew how I felt
I was your friend
But not friend enough

It's summer again
I'm healed on the outside
But there's a blade with your name
Piercing my heart

Every single day

In the mist of all,
The pen is thy sword.
To guide words to a page.

Scribbling words,
Phrases forming.
Metaphorically speaking.
Like an actor with much,
Or too much.
Enthusiasm.

A heart is guided,
By its words.
The mind forms the phrases,
Pasting it to the page.

In the mind,
Images are forming.
Figuratively dancing,
In the eyes of the reader.

Many forms used,
Many styles created.
Forming phrases of wisdom.

The creator,
The master of this piece of art.
Forms Metaphors, Similies.
To say something.

A las!
Thy master piece is created.
Words pasted to the page.

This piece of art,
Was created by the writer.
Who is not afraid to share,
Their life story.
A writer by heart.
A Shakespeare in the making.

Creating poems of art,
Sharing their integrity.

They post their poems,
Unafraid to show their life.
That they live,
Everyday.

the challenge is to be surefooted
steps soft and light weaving
through the house as it resists
my every move
to stop and kiss innocent cheeks
make sure the bodies are still warm
prepare the same rituals
of hot coffee and cold juice
while the dogs wait patiently
for fresh air, water
they exist only for my care
and hurried touch
this day like any other
you are here as well
asleep in the back room
i know this as certain as i know
the path i need to take
towards my favorite chair
also waiting for me
to take pen to paper
in the near light
in the almost day
the challenge is to create a life story
strangers want to read