I started writing poems years ago.
Someone said i even missed my calling,
which is kinda flattering but may also have meant i was pretty lame at my real job.
I get distracted by the Likes
Verse and vice,
Prose and price,
On the site.
Statistics and counting,
not lofty fodder for wit and imagination and love and bleeding.
But, I get distracted by the likes,
And I want them.
Natalie said they don't count twice.
Ooh, once I was even trending.  But I suspect that's a ploy to bait me.
Still, a time in the sun, even if just a coding device.
No real poet would find that proper.
Perhaps I'm just not a poet, or even poetic.
I suspect there's other evidence to indict me.
Please don't be too harsh, or worse, click away.
I want to write a verse that strikes a chord,
But I get stuck on just which ones to play.
Because I'm looking for the lightening bolt to turn yellow.
I have IRBD envy.  But not of verse but of what, or who follows.
For Likes.
I know thats lame and not what a real poet would do.
A poet of noble and lofty thoughts, of obtuse meaning and lyric wordsmithing.
With a cult-like following and others just trying to figure out what it means,
But they know the poets name, and that counts for something.
I'm impure and unworthy, or perhaps not talented
A poetic imposter, a fraud.
I've got the likes to prove that anyway,
If, that's what they prove.

A misty sunrise fills the east
With yellow, gold and red.
The bowl of space a palest blue,
Sheds light upon our bed.
The warmth beside my soul, a feast
Of love for only you.

So let the birds, with song, remain
Within the morning hours,
To pour upon the crisp, new day
A hope, like cleansing showers.
For you I send refreshing rain
To wash the past away.

A quiet breeze so warm and slow,
Has drifted ‘cross my face.
It brings the scents from flower climbs,
And leaves without a trace.
It stirred this battered heart, you know,
To love this perfect time.

Like whispers lost at sea, we soar
Beyond the sky of fire.
Together. Lost together, free
To claim our each desire.
Like leaves we float to earth, once more
To close our eyes and be.

You see the pain that lies in her eyes,
But, alas, her eyes are dry,
She won't cry.
No, she won't cry.

You see the anger that burns from her gaze,
The madness that sets her eyes ablaze,
She won't cry.
No, she won't cry.

You see the fear that closes her eyes,
The smile she wears is but a disguise,
She won't cry.
No, she won't cry.

You see the hope that is finally dead,
She cannot trust for her heart has been bled,
She won't cry.
No, she won't cry.

You see the love that lies within,
But she shall never love again,
She won't cry.
No, she won't cry.

You see death's hand that has glazed her eyes,
No one saw her die inside,
They won't cry.
No, they won't cry.

Her beauty mocks me.
A graceful butterfly
Once blessing me
With her presence.

Tho, as life took its toll
I slowly lost hold and,
She swiftly flew into the sky.

Her beauty escaped me
Leaving me lost for words
And paralyzed with the fear
Of losing her,
Before she was mines.
Who knew butterflies could bite?

Cupid choked me
Her love revoked mines
Tho, I still think.
This lock and key
Belongs to this butterfly

She's all class
and manners.
The way you imagine
your grandmother was
when she was a twenty-something
Army wife while your grandfather
was eating mud for Christmas dinner
in a trench outside of Berlin.
All smiles and pearly white teeth
and slow dances for one.

In all actuality, you are trying to **** me with every chance you can get.
You makes my body reject food, reject sleep…all things that can make it better.
You convince my brain of one thing, and I have to fight to do the opposite.
It’s a chore to have to shower, brush my teeth, take care of myself with you in my life.
But you know that such simple tasks are the ones that will **** you.
You tell me to give up, to just give in, that no matter how hard I try that you will still beat me.

And that is the hardest part.

You convince my brain that it wants my body to die.
But my heart, my soul doesn’t want to, it can’t.
It’s a struggle every second of my life to convince myself that what I am doing against you’re “better judgement” is really the right thing to do. But sometimes everything gets confused and that’s when I have these big break downs.
And during these breakdowns you are always winning…to the point where I am ashamed of what I’ve done.
But then I have to remind myself it was you, Depression, that let it happen.
I, Alex, had no control.
So my body is trying to **** itself one way or another and all I can do is fight back the best I can.
It’s this horrible game of tug and war that neither side is winning.
You are so exhausting.

But I’m going to beat you. I’m going to win.

late at night, when only broken teenagers
and felines are awake. maybe it's 3
(or 4, or 5)
or right when sunshine slinks through.
somewhere between consciousness and slumber.
i turn, fingertips brushing your skin,
warmth dispersing under my pores.
not fully awake, not quite asleep, i wrap my arm
around your torso,
my lips placing lazy kisses upon your freckles.
your fingers, from alertness, or habit, grasp onto mine.
and somewhere between the state of consciousness and slumber,
i fall back asleep.

if you are going to ask what my favorite thing is, or
what on this earth makes me the happiest,
i would tell you to read the lines above