You said not to fall apart
And yet here we are
You went on to neglect me
When our troubles became hard

You said I couldn't see
What you imagined us to be
Fully awake but you're still asleep
Always dreaming instead of accepting me

I admired you from afar
With my own kind of art
I guess I'm a painter after all
But my work was mine and never ours

And then you found it was always me
That I was all you'd ever need
Guess you finally came around
To acknowledge I'm a human being

But love, I'm gonna accept you
Like the way you accepted me
Hoping that the flaws I see
Will eventually come to be
The end of you.

Goodbye...

I can't speak for the others
I can only reflect on my own thoughts and the heat of discomfort.

I can't speak for the woman who wept beside her oversized suitcases on the Piccadilly Line to Heathrow, I can only consider her tears and what they did to my own heartache.

I didn't speak, but I reached over after several minutes of communal silence and placed a tissue (clean and unused) on her lap.  Before I was back in my seat, she had taken it and covered her face in her grief and the tears came again.

The grandmother across from me got up next and placed a red stripped mint on the woman's skirt.

The dad who stood in the doorway, dressed for the beach, followed, leaving an offering of a capri-sun.

The child in the pram looked up at his mother and she smiled encouragement to him, as he offered his Spider-Man, pressing it to the woman's hand

and as she unveiled her face and saw the offerings, she laughed, brief and wet, but with a smile that stayed.  She hugged Spider-Man, nodded and then with a sensibility to a child's needs, handed it back with thanks.

After a moment she found my eyes, and mimed a request for a fresh tissue and then in the silence she settled for her journey as we all looked away, dutifully silent.

Oh the unease
        My heart is green: to be
A vessel filled with the envy of a sea without
       A land to conquer
My words are dry; as of a tongue itchy and ****
      My excessive indulgence of an activity of lonely
Before the groin pain I had  to fasten my *****
      I am the poem—of the words unsung: that of which
The lyrics come from my God above, and strong

But I’m so weak
      To please her of a valuable love
She’s young as of having heart in her large *******
I am old—to be a man carrying his pride
     She’s warm inside; as under a blanket of a cold night
A warmest embrace of a kiss so personal to face
     She was chased by her beauty; feeling unnatural to this world
An angel now disgraced
      Or a ghost haunting tears each time she appears

It’s clear to me now
     That a love sweet as ecstasy dreamt on my pillow
Is as it seems—only a dream!
               Therefore: is anything in my life as so real?

tonight i wont fall for it
though i cry on your shoulder,
i left this behind last year.
i have moved on
though i havent gone far
life without you is my greatest fear.

staring at the sidewalk the night of my birthday
i show up at your door
here for your roommate says my mouth
my tears say that i want more
its his bed i sleep in
dreaming of your lips on my skin
last summer car parked at the drive in
i was a sucker for your devil grin

I lost myself in thoughts of things to be
That I find my tears drowning me.
I have seen enough there is to see,
Yet, I do not know of any truth to set me free

I have prayed and prayed,
That I find no word left unsaid.
I have paid and paid,
And do not know of any price left unpaid.

I do not know what demon has cover my lantern's light.
Even the stars are scared of this cloudy night.
I am lost between what is left and what is right
That I do not know what is right or left to sacrifice.

I have faith all things shall pass away,
But I fear this as well might sway.
I shall pray just this last day.
And hope I am heard before my hair turns grey.

–Abdulmalik Jibril