not only do i have to face it
i also have to shed it
once it's done, i can't erase it
even if they don't get it

not only do i have to think it
i also have to push it
being a poet isn't a blessing
it's a curse, it's a bunch of *******

not only do i have to write it
i also have to read it
once i read, i get what i need
even if i don't need it

not only do i have a trigger
i also have to pull it
being a poet isn't a blessing
it's a curse, it's a bunch of *******

I was swept off my feet
When you grabbed me by the arm
You stole me away into the night
And had me completely disarmed
I couldn't see anything around us
Except tall buildings and fainted lights
We ran through alley ways
Up and down stairs, we took flight
My hand in your hand
Your eyes spoke in rhythm to me
Your kisses and your fingers
All over my body.
Tonight you will have me
And tomorrow I'll be gone
Just as quickly as we met
We both will have moved on.

I cried.
Not because you shattered my dreams or ripped my heart out of me.
Not because you destroyed every hope I ever had in men.
Not because you learned to hate me and abused my body and soul.

I cried because as I chopped this onion it forced me to cry. That's just what onions do. Kinda like you. That's just what you do.

I watched her skin
Go from black and white
Then
Start filling out
With color again
Slowly saw the warmth
That had once withdrawn
Come creeping back in
And the pursed lips
Pointed with sorrows kiss
Turned inside out and up again
Refreshed like my favorite web page
Reanimated
Alive instead of stagnant
And black hair turned to brown
Her grey eyes turned to hazel explosions
And the walls came crumbling down
Without knowing
What the showing of such warmth did
I saw my skin start filling in to
I was not smiling
But there was life anew
Brewing and burning through
The dark illusions I was struggling with
I never got a chance to thank her for it
So this is it
A poem of gratitude

Vicious Monday.
Bones ache.
Heart barely bothers to
Beat.

Leave the bedroom window
Open for us.
I'm coming home to
Retreat,

Let's just eat, and find
Comfort in not caring if
We nap the afternoon
Away.

I want passive dreams
Of daytime intensity.
Bed and woman of the same
Soft density.

Nap. Little
Night between nighttimes.
Little rest between
Responsibilities.

Sometimes there is just
Too much day
In a
Day.