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Andrew Rueter Jul 2017
After all that time hope chasin'
I stumbled on a man named Mason
A man at heart but not in years
Love in my mind and in my tears
When we can't be together
For what seems like forever

Temptation when he tells me it's legal
But everybody would think I was evil
And laws become smudged
When everyone's a judge
Through the mud I trudge
On this path to nowhere and ask why
I can see happiness form in their eyes
When my walls begin to crumble
Because my Mason has disappeared

I live in the world
That makes me ashamed to feel love
And love to feel ashamed
There are asteroids floating in space
As I float dangerously in place
Before one hits my planet
I'd like to find someone that understands me completely
But the dust particles float around my cell
Sticking to my skin
Like tiny meteors constantly impacting me
I sink into the craters created
When my heart was cremated
The others were elated
When my love was traded
For a world with people I could talk with
I walk in a world with no one to walk with
Andrew T Jan 2017
While the light faded from the windowpane,
I tried to encourage and push you
like a door swinging slowly on its hinges;
But nothing ever made you happy,
nothing ever satisfied you--
as the cool air grew thick and muggy with warmth,
you stomped on top of the floorboards,
which concealed my wounds, my scars, the bruises
I would never let anyone examine.

We struggled to get on the same page,
couldn't even reach the same sentence.
So when you screamed at me, aggressively and loudly,
I gave you the silent treatment,
your threats unable to rattle me.

Why can't I stop thinking about the way you'd
dry the wet off your back with a bath towel?
Don't you miss how I would blow your belly button,
or how you would moan softly as I scratched your back
with my guitar pick?

The cinema plays homevideos of the two of us
laughing at the drunk girl who wrecked her bumper
on the parking space concrete, and the two of us
holding each other's hands at the John Mayer concert.

A nook, a camera, a pair of sunglasses,
a Michael Kors purse, an emerald bracelet;
gifts to show you I cared, to show you I wanted
more than just one night cuddling in
your younger sister's apartment.

F. Scott Fitzgerald died in his forties,
holding a wine bottle in his hand like a newborn,
as his wife Zelda built a fire pit
and burned his stories, page after page, until
the characters twisted and rolled into ash and charcoal.

Are we the writers?
Or are we the characters?

Tell me you don't love me anymore,
so I could finally close the door shut.
Don't leave me voicemails, or send me text messages
with emojis and memes.

I remember we would cruise around Maryland
and Virginia, in my dad's silver sedan,
blasting music and smoking *****.

But now we're swimming
in the deep end of the swimming pool.
You're wearing a life vest and I'm trying to keep afloat,
as the strong water hits my chest,
and the cold chills my bones.

You are Kate Winslet,
and I'm Leonardo DiCaprio
giving you the inflatable killer whale,
so that you could stay above water,
as I slip under the current of our decaying memory,
the years we've lost,
and the time which we'll never regain.

The door is closing on me
and everything darkens from the lights
to your face.

And I know now, that a piece of my heart
sits at the bottom of your mason jar,
like a corroded anchor
dug deep in the floor of the ocean.

Keep it,
and whether you come inside the house,
or walk out to the driveway,
close the door
like eyes
shutting for the last time.
crackedheart Sep 2015
I'll never forget our story
Because I'll always stare at stars
I'll forever keep our memories
In my Mason Jar
short poem yay ((feels incomplete tho))
I collect the stars
and drop them into mason jars
that once were home to
my honeysuckle jam

Suns  Suns  Suns
One by One
I use their lantern's glow
to light up my universe

Ahhh . . . , the universe is black
without it's light
And I pause in my gathering
to comtemplate

The sky is blue
A sea of blue
as far as I can see
A sea of blue without mermaids

Oh , that feeling
as I turn into blue
A lingering
A disintegration

A chorus of crickets
are singing ,
"Here Comes the Sun King"
he is one and done

Yeah !
I need a jar
to start collecting
all the lightning bolts

Didn't anybody tell you
that touching a bolt of lightning
was so much hotter
than kissing the sun

pause for reflection . . . . .

I opened all my jars of restraint
and freed the Suns
They fled smiling
glowing with joy

I contemplated
smashing all my  jars
but I made scupernong
wine instead .
Carter Ginter Oct 2014
The mason trudges on
night and day to finish
his masterpiece. Clockwork,
he waits like a prisoner
for the jurisdiction to
fall in his favor. Each
opportunity: he will steal it.
Adhesive to stone and
metal support:
This wall will not
fall. No, this one he will not
let dissemble. Opposing the
prior ruin, plagued
with age and abuse,
the once damaging blows
instead drive this puzzle together.

Attend carefully.
Every door slammed behind
to shut me out,
Each painful stab in your glace
lancing through my chest, into
the black cavity life has consumed
into me.
He will work
to layer his project, this
projection of my cautions, until
the last glimmer of light disappears
behind the last stone in the
last wall. Now a true prisoner,
my mind lies
in contentment.
figurative metaphor for the wall my mind builds to keep people out
olivia go Apr 2014
i am a terrible poet.
the words i tied together in attempt
to annunciate 
the way your kisses felt
along the soft of my 
cheeks were
mediocre and just barely enough.

just barely.

there weren't enough ways that i could describe
the mouthful 
of stars that spilled at the seams of my

lips as you gently traced them with warm finger tips.

mm, your finger tips.

your finger tips felt like a personal extension from god himself as

they dusted the empty jars i left untouched

in the forgotten spaces of me.

you held them tightly and filled them to the top

with a breathful of morning secrets

and hidden places to meet.

i found you.

i found you and allowed the words to slip

through my small hands

as you kissed my palms gently and sweetly

and folded them into your own to keep for just a little bit.
i could stay here)
i could lay underneath your tired smiles

and messy hair

until stars realigned themselves and directed

me to you all over again.
i could stay here)

i could tangle in-between your pale sheets
and make up all the words that

effortlessly translate the way i melted and simmered

at the sheer thought of waking up and knowing you again.

i could illustrate all of the galaxies you whispered

onto the trail of my back with

colors and warmth i never knew

and turn them into poorly strung together,

black and white strings of thought.

you were my favorite secret

and the cause of all of my writer’s block.

(i could stay here)

i’ve lived in florida my entire life

and have spent more days than i can count

under the sun and in the wake of rays that always burned,

but i’ve never felt more warmth than lying underneath

your expired thoughts and eclipsing eyes

as the moon seeped through your broken window blinds.

i forgot what it was like to breathe

until you took my face
sweetly and sincerely
and kissed me.
the paragraphs and ellipses that perforated my parenthetical
sighs of relief
stained the corners of my mouth
and lingered
long enough for me to remember
the after taste of your recycled sunshine
as you left me.

i am a terrible poet,
but a better kept secret it seems.

— The End —