What a strange feeling
it is to want to die
The joyous surround
always wondering why
someone would refuse
to just choose
happiness
As if this feeling
can be simply
harnessed
Like a mutt on a leash
Easily controlled
Always obeying the
commands it is told
Instead I feel despair
While others say
if I'm just grateful
for each and every day
then somehow I'll be cured
Which is like saying
if a man who's been laying
paralysed in bed
would thank God he has legs
then he'd be walking instead
People look at the
smile on my face
but they'll never know
how much practice it takes
to feel yourself break
drowning
in your own tears
that you hide in fear
from those who would ask
"What's wrong with you?"
while keeping that
super-glued
lie smothered across your face
Because if you tell them
the truth
That you just don't know what
to do
about the emptiness
and the darkeness
How getting through
every day
feels like you haven't slept
and you're starved to death
but you have to run
a race
And what's funny is that
you really are tired
and you never want to eat
Or maybe you can't stop
But if someone asked you
to run a race
you'd stare at them and laugh
in their face
Because you can't even
get out of bed.
So when a best friend's boyfriend
got down on one knee
As much as I wanted to feel it
I couldn't feel happy
So I put on my mask
and played the part
of the ecstatic friend
while holding my heart
to keep it from bleeding
Because blood would show
and no one could know
They wouldn't understand
why
I was feeling so low
that I wanted to
die.

Who are these people at the bridge to meet me? They are the villagers----
The rector, the midwife, the sexton, the agent for bees.
In my sleeveless summery dress I have no protection,
And they are all gloved and covered, why did nobody tell me?
They are smiling and taking out veils tacked to ancient hats.

I am **** as a chicken neck, does nobody love me?
Yes, here is the secretary of bees with her white shop smock,
Buttoning the cuffs at my wrists and the slit from my neck to my knees.
Now I am milkweed silk, the bees will not notice.
They will not smell my fear, my fear, my fear.

Which is the rector now, is it that man in black?
Which is the midwife, is that her blue coat?
Everybody is nodding a square black head, they are knights in visors,
Breastplates of cheesecloth knotted under the armpits.
Their smiles and their voces are changing. I am led through a beanfield.

Strips of tinfoil winking like people,
Feather dusters fanning their hands in a sea of bean flowers,
Creamy bean flowers with black eyes and leaves like bored hearts.
Is it blood clots the tendrils are dragging up that string?
No, no, it is scarlet flowers that will one day be edible.

Now they are giving me a fashionable white straw Italian hat
And a black veil that molds to my face, they are making me one of them.
They are leading me to the shorn grove, the circle of hives.
Is it the hawthorn that smells so sick?
The barren body of hawthon, etherizing its children.

Is it some operation that is taking place?
It is the surgeon my neighbors are waiting for,
This apparition in a green helmet,
Shining gloves and white suit.
Is it the butcher, the grocer, the postman, someone I know?

I cannot run, I am rooted, and the gorse hurts me
With its yellow purses, its spiky armory.
I could not run without having to run forever.
The white hive is snug as a ******,
Sealing off her brood cells, her honey, and quietly humming.

Smoke rolls and scarves in the grove.
The mind of the hive thinks this is the end of everything.
Here they come, the outriders, on their hysterical elastics.
If I stand very still, they will think I am cow-parsley,
A gullible head untouched by their animosity,

Not even nodding, a personage in a hedgerow.
The villagers open the chambers, they are hunting the queen.
Is she hiding, is she eating honey? She is very clever.
She is old, old, old, she must live another year, and she knows it.
While in their fingerjoint cells the new virgins

Dream of a duel they will win inevitably,
A curtain of wax dividing them from the bride flight,
The upflight of the murderess into a heaven that loves her.
The villagers are moving the virgins, there will be no killing.
The old queen does not show herself, is she so ungrateful?

I am exhausted, I am exhausted ----
Pillar of white in a blackout of knives.
I am the magician's girl who does not flinch.
The villagers are untying their disguises, they are shaking hands.
Whose is that long white box in the grove, what have they accomplished, why am I cold.

What has become of us
Amidst the hustle and bustle of city life
When did evolution condone us to regress into a state
Of uncalculated caucus
As we meander our way through the rapids of life

Rapid
Is hardly a best-fit descriptor
For we are past the point of speed
We mill around like headless horses
Buzzing bees
Stinging roaches
Fallen leaves
Roaring lions
Try to lead
But fail
Like cottons fighting breeze

Is this all we are?
Is this what we were made for?
To quickly climb the climb
And await the graceless fall
Parachutes prepared for praise
But our pride prevents and prevails

Till the day I climb the ladder
Shall I not attempt to see
What the view at the top might be like
I fear it enthralls me
But then reality strikes like a maddening blaze
And suddenly I see
That I'm well on my way up the hill
As I swing from bridge to bridge

Is this the way to live?
Uncautious steps with kleptomaniac ease
As we take what we desire
From our capitalistic divider
Though we hate to be the same
Not at all do we differ
Are we not all blinded mice
With a tetra-human vice
Spiders apt at spinning lies
Banking life on Friday highs

All around me boring beasts
Lost to whims, to say the least
What I fear most is the day
I give in and join the race
Is the day I eat my heart out
Just to enjoy the highest gaze

Till then here trapped in the zoo
Enclosure encasing truth

Finding fault with every human till the day I conform too

Your spine curves like a saxophone,
I intend to play our symphonies
on the pearls that decorate your skin,
That trumpet in your throat sings
loud and full of life,
Please share it with me tonight,
The metronome across your chest
is a warm reminder of who I have
been looking for,
We do not even notice the broken
strings we share in our necks,
looked past tongue tied apologies
in the midmorning outros,
lay with me here tonight,
as if we were a chorus,
in just the right tune

He was reading
So was she
She was giggling
Full of glee
His heart stopped
When their eyes met
She knew it'll be the first
She would never forget

He tried to approach her
But to no avail
His heart pumped faster
He knew he would fail

She was eagerly waiting
Wondering why he didn't move
Is there something on her face?
Did something came loose?

He broke through enmity
Believing it could be more
He got up and accidentally-
Yelled his name out!
"CAN WE BE FRIENDS!?"

She laughed so loud
He thought she was like the rest
He was about to leave
When she pulled him
"Hi, my name is …….."


@Erennwrites

my heart is unfair.
I feel too much way too fast.
but I am always too scared to say a thing.

not one person has ever matched my intensity.
so I sit quietly in love with people.
too afraid to expose my heart.

I've done it before,
been open about my feelings.
but now I lay with holes in my heart.

so, for now, I will keep quiet.
patch up my aching heart.
and wait until I am stupid enough to hope again.

Everybody's dying to be heard,
And yet it's silent...we don't make a sound.
If we'd realize the power of our words before we'd speak them, we'd be found.

We'd be found, closer than we are right now.
Maybe then we'd realize, we're all looking through the same eyes.

It really breaks my heart to watch this fall apart.
As we stand there in the distance, saying "It's too late to fix this."
We'll leave it up to someone else.
We'll give our thoughts away for free, and then we'll buy them off the shelf.

We're closer than we've ever been.
I think it's time for us to begin...
To find some kind of compromise.
Cause we're all looking through the same eyes.