Why do I need a foot long sub,
And a "giganto gulp" from 7/11?
Why am I taught to consume so well,
But not taught to balance my credit?
I'm getting full....
Full of  debt full of something.
Call it regret?
I didn't mean to notice it,
I'll continue being mislead.

Sitting in a row I see the white,
But behind them I see their shadow monsters.
Each monster is different,
Some from abuse,
Some genetic.

Their shadows manifest in different shapes.

I see yours sitting behind you,
Its a child cowering in a corner,
A child who feels alone.
But rather than addressing your feelings
With sharpened steel you snap-
A rubber band instead.
Leaving bumps instead of bloodied hands and scars.

I see yours sitting behind you.
A man breathing flames from his eyes,
Fire burning his chest.
You've come to terms, you know how to silence the fire.
You can put the flames out and away.
It hurts me to see them.

I see yours standing behind and over you,
A barely clothed child crying
Pure sadness.
The monster had his grips, his jaws, sunk into you.
But no more.
I cannot fathom the pain. I cannot emphasize with you.
I've never had to think about that pain.
Its not fair.

But here we sit, a room of broken people,
Yet no one knows.
No one shares it because its my problem.
My life. My choice.
It just hurts to know we're one in a room of broken.

Observing you
Animated, you speak in increasing overtones, filtering even traces of any creeping monotones.
With a passion that boils like lava in volcanic fissures, you express your convictions in strong hand gestures.
I see in you a certain glow, within which your inner strength shows.
I know now that you're one to stand up and not leave.
I see in you, a solid belief.

Your head whips back, as growing laughter wracks you in vibrations sharp, every little motion originating from your hearts little shards.
I see in you, something I don't see in me, a bravery to bear the brunt of a dishonest society.
No need have you, to repress or regress every feeling or thought, so subconsciously you confess. You detest going through the motions, but know enough to be true to your emotions.
I see in you something for me, honesty.

As you speak of the people you lost and the people you just had to let go of, an incomplete smile and lying eyes tell the story that your lips just cannot. Smothered by the memories, your smile waits for the tension to release.
It twitches and ceases, seemingly against its own wishes.
I see a broken world in your eyes, but also a flame that never dies.
I see in you a veteran of storms, a resounding bell that never stops.

A temper you hold, that often flares in your eyebrows.
I steal a glimpse, even when you won't let it show. But you hold your beast down, and a more permanent smile replaces that momentary frown, as you reject the things that make you drown.
I see in you kindness and resilience.
I see in you, empathy and forbearance.

You speak of a thousand places and times and a oceanful of faces.
You speak of the worlds that you are a part of, the experiences that you're at the heart of.
Your eyes tell is wonders that are and have been. Even your songs bear the mark of the celestial, a beauty that stands on a pedestal.
I see in you, the work of God and now to the effect I see how you really are, imperfectly perfect.

He wore a wife beater.
Which hung on him more like a to do list-
Than his clothing choice for the day.
His choice of beverage of the night was Coors Light.
Twenty four of them.
Although it would be hard to argue that something else would have been in his hand
Had it too been on sale at 2 for $20.
His math skills were heightened on Fridays.
On the weekend he was somewhat of a savant.
Dividing dollars by can volume to determine.
His most frugal choice.
As he moseyed to his car,
Hips struggling to hold his
Tattered sweatpants,
One wondered whether it too ran on alcohol.

I don't understand. Are scars invisible? No? Then how come I have to tell people my story? My scars tell you everything you want to know about me. The way I walk, talk, how I dress. It's me. How I act. Everything I do should just scream what my life is like and what I have gone through. Sadly, people only look, they do not observe. If people would just take a few more seconds to really look at someone then they would truly know how to react and care for them. Not just let them fall back into their holes....

Yesterday, she caught her curves
in the center of her palms.
She cuddled the skin
and coddled the effort
that she put in
to make it shrink
but she still thinks
it made no difference.

© Matthew Harlovic

"Help me to understand what's so special to you about it", she said as she laid back on the leather love seat.

Alright, I'll try to give you a peak.

"Why not more than a peak, why not speak more of this art you like", She asked as she took a sip of her coffee.

Because my dear a peak is all you need.
It's all you must understand so that your body,mind and soul craves to feed.
It's not an art to me by the way, it's more like a way of life.
It's rhythm and soul drawn into a mesmerising canvas by the usage of words.
It's blood and sweat drawn from our hands inked into a piece of paper.
It's simply just Poetry.

I cannot define it.
However as much as I could put words out there would it ever be enough?

But Darling it is special to me because it brings me freedom.
It draws me away from the pain that drowns me in this world.
It allows me to pause for once in my life and see the world. To see our generation grow and unfold.
Poetry tells me to pause and admire what is around me, to stop and smell the freshness, the purity, the danger, the emotions all around me.
Poetry allows me to share what so many of us fail to do.
We keep moving with the motion that we forget to stop and admire.
We forget that we are humans and that we're not robots that are required to just move.
Poetry brings me back to reality at the same time it makes me feel as if I could break the laws of gravity.
Do you understand dear?