#dearblank
Dear Mariah,
Who are you? I don't know.
All I know are your words.
Your words with out capitals,
because they don't need to be constrained my things like grammar,
rules.
Your words without rhymes,
because they pain a picture on their own, just letters,
emotions.
Your words are just letters,
but together they are something more, something incredible-
consciousness.
Your words are something unique, something never before seen,
Your words are hope,
Pain,
Confusion,
Wonder.
Dear Mariah,
Treasure your words.
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 12:55 PM UTC
Are there stars on your ceiling tonight?
Does the moonlight reflect from the snow as you, I, and all the wonderful people who feel too much wander in the cold, wishing to no longer be lonely?
Please tell em the cold hasn't frozen those thoughts in limbo,
Please tell me your primal instinct hasn't been quelled.
I found you, in the dangerzone, while I was trying not to jump.
Trying not to say something stupid, to not be that same coward for fear of rejection and my own thoughts.
I had wanted to scream and break open my chest to show my feelings,
Hoping someone would understand and fix me and hold me together.
It is in that feeling that we are not alone.
It is true that we may never catch the sunlight,
But the Japanese have a word for the way the sun shines through the trees and that is beautiful.
We cannot never be alone, we cannot fly
But we can find words, and share them,
and hold each others' hands across a bridge over time and space,
Made of words
Without knowing, but with full understanding
And take a more fulfilling plunge.
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 11:35 AM UTC
I see a lot of myself in you, friend.
Where your scars lay,
I have glittering embers coursing through my veins
And I feel the same about poetry.
This is our challenge.
This is what we were made for.
Yes, you and I may delve deeper into the darkness than the light,
But we are phenomenal at our craft.
Your bio searches into the metaphorical implications
Of slicing butterflies that stand for our love
And nothing has ever sliced me deeper,
Because it is that kind of thing
That brings me back into the reality of my being.
Every drag of the cigarette
Takes away a second with my children,
A minute with my lover
And that is so scary.
With just your biography,
An explanation of something a thousand men, women, humans have done,
You have touched me in a more profound way
Than I have ever previously experienced on this site.
You and I,
We've got to turn that burning darkness in our synapses
Into gold.
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 2:08 AM UTC