I've written so many,
Some  grandiose, some terse,
And published them here,
To express and converse.
But the most pretentious of all
You've read or passed over,
Is  The Invisible Poem,
Subtitled, Blank Verse.
Some gave it their blessings,
Some cried foul, and some cursed.
Isn't brevity the soul of wit; (Shakespeare)
Writing is 1% inspiration, 99% elimination; (Louise Brooks)
To write good poems is the secret of brevity; (Dejan Stojanovic)
So,
Be sincere. Be brief. Be seated. (FDR)
Take it as is,
For better or worse.

Tick Tick Tock tock it goes
Speaking the tongue of the old
Round and round the hands do spin
Spilling the guts of man and the wellness within.

Check and Check a must you have 
lest u varnish in its tide and mist
It yawns and growls its bowel is starved!
Three long arms that punch without molding a fist.

Time oh time you stole HIs life!
made Him wrinkle and wriggly like winter.
Why do we live a life of strife?
If time clocks and washes us all away like a passing river.

At night, white roses glow as bright as the moon
and as round.
They curtsey in the breeze, necks dipping.
Underfoot, pea flowers explode across the dirt,
imitating the scattered stars above.
In darkness, the most vibrant grass is deepened
to a celestial backdrop.
In this garden I can’t help but think
the moon must be a narcissist,
looking nightly down upon
her mirrored sphere --
Ah, how beautiful I am!

I know a girl that piles on the necklaces
“Makes me look pretty,” she says
She’s all nervous, high-pitched laughter that jangles
as she fidgets with her armored collarbones

Rose red rashes bloom around ivory flesh,
She scratches at her skin inflamed
Ring ring ring around her pretty little neck
With those posey necklaces and gemstones

She smiles fondly at each reflection
of chains and rocks entangled
Wrung wrung wrung of beauty is she
Bitten so fiercely to her ivory bones

Her laughter hacks into little cough spurts,
and the metal winks dully as it strangles
Ring ring ring around her rosy little neck--
she piles on more necklaces.

She always loved a little magic.
But, don't we all
Admire the art in deception and
Manipulation of the truth?

I guess we all love a little magic.
Maybe, even too much but
We are taught to do what we love.

So she picked up her wand,
All smeared in black,
Her eyelashes her stage,
And performed her illusion.

Green Kisses

it’s grotesque.
The hum drum sound your lips make when they’re sour.
it’s a shame I love sour candy.
she’s so lost, just look at her
does she even know no one wants her here?

Pity.
On you.

For assuming I was anything less than your opinions.
is it because I wear my hair down in loose tendrils, so you can see them twirl.
or is it because I wear shorts, so you can see the scars,
I doubt you noticed those anyways.

you seem to only have eyes for the lime eyed monster in the mirror.
is he as pretty as you?

I wish you could understand why I sit in the back, why I speak when spoken to, why I never smile.

You.
I imagine you figure it’s because of you,
isn’t everything
because of you?

Or you’d like to assume it is.

Your hands, dead grass green with vanity,
While I, dousing myself in insanity,
hope , that, maybe one day you’ll see colors less loved.

There's something about your style and the way that you smile.
You're bright and free and then there is little ol' me.
You could take the world if you wanted.
Step on whoever and never be haunted.
If I choose to be the rain to your sunshine would you knock me off and say that you're fine?
Why is it only me who can see.
You're not a god,
You're not a king,
You're just a boy and flawed like the rest.
How about you play another song about love
and pretend it's not about yourself.
You don't know love but I wish you knew humility.
Now I've the inability to forget and forgive
your arrogant attempts to lead.

You paint me up with colors
That don’t speak to all my flaws
You airbrush bits of who I am
And look at me in awe

I am your prized possession
Your trophy and your muse
Within me rests your vanity
and things you cannot lose

I used to want a love like this
To shower me in praise
Your flattery is dreary now-
It lacks the warmth I crave

This love it leaves me empty
Like I’m only halfway living
How could you ever be my vessel
If you can’t touch my inner being?

If you can’t trace the patterns of my soul
To the creases in my brow
How could you love me one day
If you can’t truly love me now

See, all I ever wanted
Was someone who would say
“I see through all your brokenness
And still, I choose to stay”