Ezis 10h
Every night
you come to me in my dreams
I see your face all night and day
Though it never goes my way
My dreams once in color
now are in full grey

You tell me it was all in my head,
this thing between you and me
We were never meant to be
can't you see?
I refuse to believe this
But his love is never for free

You laugh at me and my imagination
You don't commit awake or asleep
You'll never like me as much as I like you
This much I know to be true
I can see his body
especially his tattoo

My brain likes to tortures me
Putting doubt in my mind
These nightmares leave me crying,
I question why I'm still trying
If I told you I wasn't falling
I'd definitely be lying
The Dream,
The relenting call,
Here I,

I want to believe those fleeting dreams,
To move on and be,

I am beguiled by the seas of everything I wanted to be,
Adrift on the forever of it all.

Writing the lines forming before me, ultimately trapped in time,
A relentless mind running blind in the wilds of what I will never become.

Yet I am young.

I follow the beating drums of a different tune,
A strange mind,
Waltz to the curious muze.

~Robert van Lingen
i look into the bottom of my plastic cup;
the one stained with lipstick on the rim and beer foam oozing down the sides
and suddenly i don’t hate you as much as i thought i did.
i begin to love you
to want all of you
but i never knew what love really was
because when it was your turn to drink just to feel,
and you had suddenly begun to feel the same as me,
i realized that i definitely never knew what love was.
i just knew what wanting something bad for you truly felt like
and wanting it so bad felt so damn good
and wrong
but also right, in some kind of fucked up way.
and it felt like cheap beer,
and heartbreak,
and nothing past what happened secretly in your room between us
and the ever familiar sheets.
because when the cup is empty
and the keg is tapped
we slowly swim out of our muddied minds
and pry ourselves away from each other’s hot sticky bodies.
and i don’t stay.
i shrug on my clothes and bite my lip
all to not kiss you goodbye
and i leave that room that smells like bad decisions,
and finally know...
finally realize,
drunk love is always deeper than it actually is,
and what it truly is behind my romanticizing heart
is that it’s nothing.
it’s nothing but a few minutes of ecstasy
and you will still feel the same about me when you’re sober.
you will still need a few drinks to feel the way i felt.
so i don’t love you, right?
i drunk love you, and nothing more.
you’ve made that clear.
so my drunk love is a sinking boat,
and here i am again
drowning in my beer.
one of the last poems i will be writing about this toxic person. it is helping me cope honestly, and i have come to terms that it isn't meant to be. and that's okay. i have found someone else now. more happy poems to come probably!
Let me take it back to my childhood
When six flags was still called wildwood
Where I had every race as a neighbor
We were all working class trying to make it out of our hood
My best friend back then was a white kid
We was tight he liked the same things I did
Despite us being different colors, man
We were tight as Elmer's, and we called each other brothers
While I was trying to keep my Nikes clean
He was trying to scuff his Chucks up
He was grunge, I was fresh we were young
And we cuss along to rap trying to sneaking into punk clubs
But things changed when his pops got laid off
He blamed my father for the loss of his job
He said immigrants robbed citizens jobs
And I better never set foot again in his yard
As we became adults in a cult called America, he got himself a job as an officer of law
My thoughts got blacker and his views got cracker
There was no way backwards, to the roots at heart
Many years apart, I recognized him in the news
He shot a black man that was sitting in his car
Near the same park where we used to shoot hoops
And all I could blame was the cause

You grew up
No you didn't change
You were made the same
As those before you came
You grew up
All our growing pains
Were given like our names
You just bought the blame
You grew up

You ever have a friend that became a fanatic
Most of you all haven't
But if you ever did
You'd understand the one thing they all have in common
That somebody took advantage of their damage as a kid
I knew a guy who's folks were professors
Proof in the flesh that Allah was a blesser
Grew up in a mid-western town, where there weren't many brown people he could seek reflection
Got picked on in school during lectures
Graduated hating everybody in his class
Picked on because he prayed five to the east
And he didn't eat meat that Allah said was bad
One day a man approached him in a mosque
Changed his life when he asked him a question
Do you ever feel your life was a loss
And what if I could teach you that life is a weapon
Attracted strong to the feeling of acceptance
He was soon gone with delusions of a cause
People of the present had faces of the past, make it easier to blast them if he feel they did him wrong
You can raise a child in a house full love
But can't keep them safe in a world full of hate
So he blew up
The only mistake that could hold all the blame

You grew up
No you didn't change
You were made the same
As those before you came
You grew up
All our growing pains
Were given like our names
You just bought the blame
You grew up

My heart's a jug and when I was born it was filled with love
It ranneth over, life ran me over till I spilled the blood
I poured the cups and I left it up you to say enough
Never ending, never quenching, I sealed it up
Tried to change my reality but settled for, real enough
Life is better when you're thinking lesser go on give it up
When I was younger I was so determined I would change it all Couldn't fly but wasn't chained to fall
So where is it I put the blame and cause
Well, I grew up
tamia 2d
under the bridge
i'll find the hazy cigarette dream you live:
you love like you've never been hurt before
do they return to you what you give?

you're so beautiful, so bright
i love being in your light
but look—
you are burning
and i hope you'll never fade
is there a way i can help?
do i put the fire out for you,
do you want me to?
map the way,
send me a smoke signal,
and i will follow.
Your hand.... runs pass mine
As we sit and sigh, enjoying the time,
You turn to me as I turn to you
we sense how each other feel
But act as so we don't have a clue

I slide my palm over the small of your back
I lean in catching your scent,
before you turn and give me a kiss
We stare into each other eyes
In a moment of bliss.

Just to be close right now
burns as hot as fire
By an unspoken desire,
But I don't know how.
It's a fragile feeling
codependent on the other
A soft intimate moment
Between us.
Cassie May
Oh so colorful
And gay

Influenced at birth
Of tainted blood
And death

Hits of the second hand
Bulbs burnt of anger
So fierce

Eyes of beauty
Visions violets  
Upon ruptured grounds

Disorders of impending doom
Shoveled beneath insomnia
And psychosis

Pits of stench
And over ripened silhouettes
Consume the nights

Day exists.
Only to succumb to the night.  

Lower pains
Life trembles
Beneath the surface

Like padlocks and hollow doors.

Life swollen inside
The size and stench
Of a decomposed head

First bled three hundred nights before

Cassie May
Oh so colorless
And dismay

Covered in red
Nobody knew
Till the night it falls

Silenced at birth
The angel of death for two
Gave life to you

Cassie May
So gorgeous and pained
Lives in death

So colorful and gay.
I sat between Monet and Van Gogh
And wondered how much talent
Was in the room

I sat between Monet and Van Gogh
For breakfast and wondered what a
Starving artist really was,
Because they looked full

I sat between my mother and sister and wondered
How many favourite daughters were taking up space
Only one of us is out of this world
The other looks out of place

I sat between them and wondered if I could
Count the secrets between us
Maybe for once I’d win something

I sat between the guy who attacked me
And the counselor and wondered how much loss
Could be stuffed into this tiny shoe box room.
This tiny shoe box room
The only comfort in this tiny shoe box room was the chair,
The chair my abuser was sitting in
I am tired of being stepped on

I count numbers all the time but I hate math
20 minutes until there’s only 10 minutes left
That’s 3 10 minute periods
It’s reassurance, relief, remembrance

In between my parents I wonder how many times she’s accused him of things
I wonder how many times she’s gotten it right

In a world filled with blocked creativity,
Filled with not good enough, never good enough
Be the decimal that accepts the death of monet and Van Gogh
Carry the burden of being the next starving artist

Last night I slept under the starry night
And above the water lilies

Last night, I was the artist of my own world
Where Van Gogh whispered directions in my ear

And I accepted his help
With a Mona Lisa, self portrait,
He pushed an old wooden
wheelbarrow, the monk who
passed me by on the path

to the woods. On the way,
I stopped at the monk's
cemetery on the right. Huge

stone tombstones marked
out in Latin who they had
been in the monastic life

and when they died. I had
known none of them, but
God did in His timeless zone.

There was a feeling of peace
there; no rush or clamour
for recognition or status

other than that beyond the
world to give. I stood in silence
reading the names. Birds

sang or called to each other
from nearby trees. Sunlight
shone down like a blessed kiss.

I moved on towards the wood
and passed on through to
the private beach and stood

and stared at the sea. I pushed
away thoughts of Sophia lying
on Mr H's bed trying to seduce,

her eyes blue, her blouse loose.
There’s a whole different world out there
Beyond the one we know,
Full of poverty and hunger and never-ceasing prayer,
Where praises fall like snow.

In this land faith and joy abound;
Through the trials and pain and sorrow,
With glory and peace they are crowned
For they know salvation is on the morrow.

They have nothing, and everything;
They are poor and yet they are rich.
Not to wealth, but to God they cling,
And with His love their lives they enrich.
He is their One, their Only, as well He should be
And for this they are prosperous, we all can agree.
This is the second poem I ever wrote.  It was also written for a school project.
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