Blois 55m

I'm a builder.
My poems are houses.
ghost houses.
Mad houses.
Burn victims hospitals.
Pet cemeteries.
to unknown soldiers.

But also, sometimes,
they are what they are meant to be.
A beating heart with space enough
for them all to dwell.

Usually, not even that.
Only rubble.
Only silence.

lightness descends
in the head,

as brief visions of yours,
reincarnate within myself

you were not just a beauty
last night,
you were a poetic illusion,

an art made of small verses,
brewing sinful temptations

and I read you very slowly,
like one of my own written creations,

for I have been a starving reader
all my life,

and you were finally
an end to my starvation.

I have no intentions of seeing you fall down.
Nor be happy while everything crumbles in front of you.
I've been there, where you are right now.
The reality you wanted to see,
seems like an impossible dream.

You've turned your back to me when I offered my hands.
You've pushed me away when I'm willing to hug all your
broken shards.
Your broken pieces cut through my heart.
I was wounded by my own love to you.

Dear, I'd still wanted to hold you close to mine.
Until all your pieces are fixed together.
While mine are being cut apart.

But seems like this is not what  you want.
If seeing you fall down is what you wanted me to look,
I won't see it.
If cutting all of ties will bring you peace,
I'll grant it to you.
If me being out of sight would relieve you,
I'll gladly walk away.

I covered up all my love for you with words of hate.
If that would help you feel a less guilty.,
I'll live under that covers.

I don't mind being branded as the bad person in your story.
But if blocking me away will help you,
Then I'll be the first to leave.

Finding happiness is what I wanted to see from you.
No tears, just smile.
But I know that happiness is not with me.

thank you.

She reaches for a pumpkin smile and glass dancers swim to find treasure evening radiance falls from her hair and secret earrings are found on the street melts into ecstasy sex is redefined all the while breaking rules of tradition like fireworks explode and celebrate love like a satin sky.

© Matthew Goff

Inspired by Laura Kerr

My hands are clean,
But I was accused of stealing.
I was left alone,
But I was judge of getting what is not mine.

Am I the suspect now?
When on the first place,
I was the victim.

How could the suspect now
Be the one who is the victim.
And me, as the convicted.

You said it was yours on the first place.
It was also mine when you left it to rot.
I tried to fix it.
Slowly, gently.
Until it shines again.

When you see the beauty again.
You ripped from my hands.
Claiming it was yours
And I;  Stolen it away from you.

I’m the suspect.
The accused.
The convicted.

The real suspect now walked down the road.
With banner on her head saying
She was the victim.

A victim.
A victim with a rotten smile.
Pretending to be nice
When deep inside
Lurks the devil.

Take it.
Take it all.
Leave nothing to me.
Let it rot again in your hands
Until it dims again.

Cup your azure hands
blow the little spark
embers of You
into full Awareness

Radiant Self
illumine the
very tears, kisses, smiles
that drop like suns
from my eyes

kneeling at the altar of my
heart You have lit
an eternal flame that cannot be

save me blessed One from
the cold black ashes
dungeon darkness
of another life
another womb
I pray…..

Nakia 2d

We're supposed to look ahead
Cast our eyes towards the future
Look towards what we want to reach
But plans don't work
We run around
Driving ourselves crazy
Planning for things
When we might not even wake up to see tomorrow
We bash our heads against walls
Thinking about how we failed when
Life goes sour and time runs out
And everything you care about falls away
Pieces of us go into everything we do
And we point out the little man afraid to cast his legacy in the hearts of millions
Or possibly just a few
But is he so wrong?
Life does not make schedules
We can't put tragedy on hold
Some plans work
A lot of them don't
Everyday is just a guessing game
A shot in the dark with a unknown target
And for what?
To be left or forgotten
I praise the outcast
Refusing to be forgotten
Going against the mold
Keeping dreams of the past
Close to their heart
Because thoughts that haven't been thought
Love that hasn't blossomed
Smiles not smiled
Plans unmade
Those are the things that work

I’ve been feeding it in my head
Feeding the hunger of a man
A man with such thoughts:

Thought of being killed
Killed by his own hand

Thought of being hit
Hit by his own faults

Thought of being hated
Hated by his own lord

Thought of being dead
Dead by his own heart

And I’ve been hiding it beneath this
Hiding under the smile frown
And skin made of stone.


I think I’m happy but never genuinely.

I love staring into your big beautiful brown eyes
Your hair when it’s down makes my heart skip a beat just long enough to make my stomach all weak
your full lips that makes me smile deep down inside but I try not to let it show
Your soft perfect complexion that makes it so hard to sit next to too without slowly grabbing your hand
The way way you smile over the smallest things that gives me hope that my life is the best it’s ever been
The way I can completely be myself without worrying that you’ll judge me
Just the way that you are you.

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