I'm trying to finish this famous contemporary poet's
fourth collection, which groans under the weight of
all the glowing blurbs on the back cover.

The famous contemporary poet avoids rhyme as if
it was a downed wire and finds form too restrictive--
hangs her skelly on a hook when she composes.

The famous contemporary poet writes a few poems,
carefully packed in vignettes, snapshots, and musings,
all the excelsior found in any packing crate.

In high school I had an acquaintance, this guy.
He'd toss out something cryptic and then wait
like he'd flipped you a Rubik's Cube.

Everything out of his mouth was a test and he'd give
you this bright smirk, like can you figure it out and
get to where I am, up here?

I would like to meet the famous contemporary poet
and show her one of mine, plain as the flat of my hand
when it breaks her nose and the blood comes.

I am trying to finish the famous contemporary poet's
fourth collection even though it's like watching a movie
with muddy sound, in dialect, no captions.

1 Ring
5 Rings
10 Rings
20 Rings…

I was just sleeping—
walking down the stairs
with heavy feet.

The window cracks
shining light to my face—
tempting me back to bed.
Opposite of a charming kiss
given unto a princess in slumber.

…

But I cant go to sleep
as she doubled the rings on the door.

So I opened the door
and like a dead corpse,
I faded by the light.

“Ahhh.”

At that moment
I remembered what I dreamt of…

“Lying and Semaniusly”
Blurted out
as I realized
I was already blocked?

“That makes no sense!”
I thought to myself.

Why would they do that?
What was the reason for it?
Was it necessary?

All of these questions
and my mind was tied
to the self-deprecating rings
that stopped me
from searching in this dream.

———————————-

To acknowledge
that I left the dream confused
was frustrating.

But cleanly
I came out of the dream—
and had to check
if it really was a dream…

Contumely so—
I left with a new word.

“Semaniusly”?

You wanted my words
you’ve wanted my thoughts,
and all that you’ve heard;
It’s my heart that you’ve got.
Love I’m right here
and I forever will be,
my lips will brush your ear
for all eternity.

I’ll bathe in your soul
and I’ll drown in your eyes
you will make me whole
and you will light my skies.
Love; I am blind
for you’re all I can see,
but I will never mind
for all eternity.

She speaks to me in poetry
in calligraphy and with cartography,
and bestows upon me these blessings;
endless dreams and epiphanies.
I correspond with you and you to me,
attached and complimenting eachother as a wave to the sea.
Upon our flesh two puzzle pieces as each completing,
Darling I could never resist, quickly defeating.

You keep each secret like a stone
before you put it into your pocket.
And I don’t ever want you to feel alone,
you’ve got me locked up like a locket.
Your luscious hair isn’t the only weight
that lies upon your soft shoulders.
And I just want to be in your future and current state,
so let me pick up and carry those boulders.

So please don’t you ever abandon me
like Lipton’s alligator soup and Altoids sour candy.

you’ve suffered
for so long

and now
you want to give up

because all
you’ve ever wanted
was to be
something
to someone —

to belong
in this world

your knees buckle
and hit the ground

you try to cry
but nothing comes out

you ask yourself:
am i emotionless?
am i
down
for the count?

touching the surface
you look
for ways
to escape
this spiral

is this
the final
temperamental break?

you scream
shaking your fist
at the sky

you search
for hope —
but you see it
nowhere
at all

maybe one day
you’ll wake up

and realize
hope
was always
around

move
forward,
rebound.

this is your
time —

your time to
not let your
emotions
drown.

There was once a time
when men were championed for being sent off to war
celebrated
for having gone to battle

Should they have survived,
they would come home to their people,
drinking wine and parading about their accomplishments
while everyone gathered to listen to their tales

Yet, today, men are actively discouraged from sharing their battles

and I know,
a breakup,
or a depressive episode,
or even just a bad day
are not on the level of grandeur as a bloodied fight to the death

but even the small victories were once reason for banners to be hung
and the small losses; a reason for mourning

so, please, share your battles, whether they were a win or a loss,
because you never know
which fight will be the one to consume you

Instagram.
open.
close.
Text Messages.
open.
close.
Discord.
open.
close.
Back to Insta.

Forget why.

"So come on let's go
let's go below zero and hide from the sun
I'll love you forever, where we'll have some fun,
Yes, let'***** the North Pole and live happily,"

huh.
North Pole kinda screws up the tempo a bit

Wait did I answer James?!?!?
or was that yesterday?
nope. five minutes ago.
Do i answer again???
would that look weird?
Nevermind, i'll figure that out later
Oooooh new message from James
LMAOOO what is he even talking about

I should write a poem.
nooo I should sleep
I should write a poem about not sleeping
then sleep while thinking of my next poem
nooo i should prep for my meeting tomorrow
agenda bullet points
bullet point
point and laugh
that'd make for a good wheel of fortune clue
no.
focus.
where's the doc?!?!
Google Drive tab number 7
WHY IS IT OPEN TWICEEEEE

"Please, don't cry no tears now, it's Christmas, baby
My snowman and meeeeeeee"

I  just thought about it,

"where we'll have some fun"
what if "fun" though??
is writing this fun?
am i having fun?
am i sad?
am i happy?
anxious?
all of it?
none of it?

of right. Insta
someone typing
someone stopped
me, wondering if I said too much
me, saying more

meetingmeetingmeetinggggg
should i print this?
make it into a pdf?

and also "it's christmas baby"
.... it's July
right?

i think i need to sleep

be gentle with us
or don’t.
the stars still fall without permission.

but if you must touch us
touch slow.
for we are poets,
woven from breathless skies
and midnight trembles.

we feel too deeply,
like a violin played in a burning cathedral.
it is not a fault
only a fire
that never learned silence.

we do not fall in love,
we crash.
like galaxies meeting at full speed.
we love like we are dying,
we live like we are fading,
but in our minds
we fly barefoot across constellations.

our hearts
are black roses
growing among the red
soft to the gaze,
sharp to the soul.

you will not see it in our steps
or in the way we drink our tea.
but we are stained glass
already cracked
still catching the light.
and if you press too hard,
we will bleed beauty.

a poet is not always seen
sometimes just a smile in the corner
a sigh in the crowd.
we are everywhere,
soft and wild.

we tell stories
so the silence doesn’t win.
we wear masks
not to hide
but to protect the soft
from the cruel.

we notice the things you forget.
the chipped cup.
the tremble in your laugh.
the way sorrow dresses like strength.

and when we love
we love your entire world.
not just your name
but the way it sits in our lungs.
not just your eyes
but the way they flinch when the past whispers.

we adore the broken
shards glinting red
like stained mirrors
still daring to reflect stars.

we have kissed the devil
with trembling mouths,
left pieces of our soul
in places no light touched
and still returned.

we are fragile
yes
but not weak.
our hearts are ruins and gardens
at once.

so if you come close
come gently.

because when we hurt
we hurt in verses.
and when we fall
we don’t land.
we become.

so this is your only warning,
written in blood and ink:

be gentle with us.
or
watch the beauty bleed.