My child, my lover,
Come away to discover
Continents far and new!
To love and to sigh,
To dream and to die
In a land as exotic as you!
Humid suns wink
Behind cloudy skies
So alluring and charming
So strangely alarming
With crocodile lids blink
Like the tears in your eyes.

There, all is order, beauty and leisure
Luxury, calm, quiet and pleasure.

Wood panels beaming
Polished and gleaming
Would decorate our room;
The rarest of flowers
In the height of their bloom
We’d while away the hours
Inhaling amber in our lungs,
Walls with deep mirrors hung
Our souls would feast,
On the wonders of the East
Whispering a sweet native tongue.

There, all is order, beauty and leisure
Luxury, calm, quiet and pleasure.

The aqueducts have, nestled,
In a drowsy slumber
With vagabond vessels
Lined unencumbered
Their sails unfurled
They come from the ends of the world.
- The twilight sky clouded
Leaving pastures shrouded,
The canals, the entire town,
Glows amber and blue;
The night falls down
In a soft, warm hue.

There, all is order, beauty and leisure
Luxury, calm, quiet and pleasure.

Weathered branches reaching out to catch falling leaves
Still and hard with a rigid shell
Giving so others can breathe
Full and vibrant at its peak
Then bitter cold rolls around
Losing color, looking bleak
But stays rooted in the ground.
Peaceful, quiet, independent
Living on its own.
Battered, broken, standing tall, living life unknown.

In freshman biology
I recall learning about the
Food chain and
Natural selection.

I remember how seemingly
Unimportant
Most of the lessons were.
How we'd go home and only a
Tiny few of us would remember.

Most of us left it at the door.

But when the tiny few of us
Who were so used to taking things home
Tried to leave the pecking order at the door,

Everyone else remembered.

They remembered we were
At the bottom of that order,
The bottom of the chain.

And they wouldn't let us
Forget.

They wouldn't let us forget
That we were at the bottom,
And as they slammed us against whatever they chose,
That they were the ones
At the top.

I remember eighth grade.
Agricultural studies.
And I remember
The first time we planted a sapling.

And my teacher told us
That we were the sapling.
That middle school planted our roots
And now we would grow.

I've always wanted to ask her:
If a tree falls in a forest
Does anybody care?

Because we made plenty of sound.
The thing is, we didn't even get to be trees.
Trees are strong and durable. We?
We were but brittle branches.

Branches that got stomped on,
Crushed,
Swung around,
Smashed into things,
And at the end of the day attempted to gather all the pieces
To try again.

To go into a flock of wolves
Disguised as a harmless sheep.
We didn't like being wolves.
We weren't feral. At least, not at first.

Soon, the sticks wanted stones to break the tree's bones,
And I'm not saying it was right,
But it was how we felt!

More than anything,
We felt alone.

In a world so full of love,
We were being taught to hate.
Even still, some of us tried to leave that lesson
At the door. But a few of us?

A few of us didn't even make it that far.
We couldn't.
Under the weight of it all, we just collapsed.
This time, we made no sound.

And still, nobody cared. If they'd
Cared, it wouldn't have come as such a
Surprise
To them.

And
even
still...

Some of us got back up. And some of us still do.
The world doesn't let us grow to be trees
So we have learned to blossom.

And even though flowers may not live as long
As trees, or grow as high, as strong as trees,
Despite all of these supposed flaws, if given the choice
Right now, any one of those trees would rather
Look down at a flower
Than up at each other.

Trees may last longer, grow taller, see the sun more often.
But flowers?
Despite trees blocking out the light,
Stealing precious nutrients,
And doing everything in their power to tower over us,
With as little sunlight as possible,
Flowers are still
Beautiful.

Let the wind take me like smoke
And every other over used metaphor
You’re a bore
No I am
I don’t know where I stand
Where we stand
We used to hold hands
Not anymore.
I’m in the bathroom hiding
Biding our time
Lets rewind
You’re always on my mind
Its inevitable that I’ll fall into my old ways
I’ll start littering again
And slithering around with suburban ****.
I haven’t become anything.
I’m just coming undone.
C.m.

8.3.14

his voice is like poetry
while I’m sleeping-

I cant make sense
of the information I’m
gleaning
in tidal waves
spawned by
the moon that is his mind.

the space is stuffy
and I’m
sweating,
tears for the idea
of a young man who never existed.

every new face is a pawn
in the facade
of a game I’ve spun together
over years of misfortune
and emotional torture.

I’m enraptured
by the subtleties of self
you capture in such
spirited convalescence.

In an effort of defense
I will plead the ignorance
of a meager age
and a shifty stage in life.

i am prone to strife
that entices me
late at night when
the dishes are piling and
ash is frosting my kitchen floor.

I’ll make it back to bed
when the sneaking wisps of daylight
come slithering
across
your uninhibited sprawl.

I really
should
stop
playing God.  
c.m.
8-19-14

If I listed out all of the things that have
Tripped me up
And troubled me
Truly my dear
You would never stop pitying me.

Take me backwards around that stop sign I split

My legs churn counter clockwise
To the backyard as kids

But I can't find a moment that will fit
The description
Of the happiness I sought as a prescription
And over took my kind
As an addiction.

I have to find the exact formula
To improvement
Because I can't keep living
In this whirlwind disaster
That has only begun to spin faster.

I have fallen into a
Petrifying and paralyzingly vortex;
The consumation of my years spindling around me.

I am wound in
Sloppy rings,
Sticky with sap and
Last nights spilt wine.

I've grown into where I  will remain now,
Regardless of personal preference.
Mostly I can settle for my comfortable domain
Of limited know-how;
But when my tongue trips
And my knees scrape on
Every protruding corner

I will remember
I am only living,

Hidden behind callouses
Of all those spitfire falacies
I was gullible enough to perceive.  

my bark has turned more
Into a disapproving grumble
When another inevitable wave
Comes to throw me under
In the tides of my troubles.

Perhaps I've grown accustomed
To the briney water rushing towards my ankles
And the gust that carries cold droplets
Across my hot, red face.

Let us jealously applaud
For those who trod on
Our aspirations,
And smile coyly knowing
We didn't let their
Questioning faces
Phase us.  

"****.
I grew up."
I wish I didn't say that so much.

At twelve I was twenty-five and
At twenty-five?
Well,
We'll get to that
if we can.

Regardless
I know that nothing's going to give me back  

Here,

now,  

              My short time.       with
you.

Deep breaths only multiply the weight
Of the question that's lingering in my chest.
I rise,
Against the counteractive distraction
Of avoidance.

I hear the words come out in short blurbs like a stop motion cartoon,

"So...excuse me mister,
there's uh,
something I've got to do."

I'm stumbling up to your room
And betting
On the mood
And the moon.

C.e.M.

I hear my last words
lose themselves
hanging from the precipice
of a precise demise.

Looking for nectar,
I pick at thorns and scabs
you name your regrettable yesterdays
though I won’t find any syrup
In your horseradish skull.

Tuesday’s malaise will spread
across the week turning sour and heavy.
Summer to fall I thought I had it solved.
Fall to winter,
I know nothing at all.



12.13.14. Cem copyrighted
edited 6.15.16