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If you see her again before I do, tell her the way she left left me shaking like a winter windchime;
the song too frozen to melt on her tongue.
I am scared of all her moving on.
The only serious love poems I write are about the same person who hides God in her hair and shows me the lingerie she bought while I try to unfog my glasses to look at her straight.
I am too convinced that she is made up of lines that lead straight to my firework skin. There has been too many explosions here.
The only way to deal with missing you is to tell you and wait and see if you feel the same. Or novacane.
I imagine you taste like an acid trip... all conspiracy theories and sugary words too sober to ever speak.
If you see her again before I do, tell her that I am a mess without her.  That my mind only settles with her tear-stained cheeks and the only way I can see the ocean in the winter in Canada is to look into her eyes.
I am scared that I am being overdramatic.
I want to rub our wrists together so we can trade scars.
Tell me the story of how you met your best friend and I'll tell you the story of how I fell out of loving my mother.
I would rather listen to you ramble than check the time.
If you see her again before I do, tell her that on the way home from her arms I counted 1200 streetlamps, 13 lovers, 3 liquor stores and 72 shakes of my knees.
Tell her I miss her like Frances misses Kurt.  Like dive bars miss blues music.
When I see you again, lover, I'll tell you that when you told me your name two years ago, I was surprised that it wasn't Love.
I dreamt
of mine own death

and woke up...



smiling
One year ago exactly, I awoke to the miserable news that my dear friend, Morgan Helman, was dead. I called her voicemail and wept my goodbyes. I punched the wall and screamed until I thought my lungs would crack. I wrote a poem to express the ravaging anguish I was experiencing, and to try and honor her life. I read it as a eulogy at her funeral. In it, I mentioned a time when she had asked me to write a happy poem. Everything I had ever written was a result of sadness or some other tortured emotion. I apologized that what I wrote for her was far from happy. I told her someday I would a write a happy poem, though I doubted my own words. One year later, I have walked away from the depressed mental state I used to call home. On the anniversary of her passing, I completed this "happy" poem. It's different than what I'm used to creating. It might not be as artistic as some of my other poetry. But it is a vivid expression of the first step in a new direction. This poem is dedicated to Morgan Helman and the legacy of love she left in her wake.

You Are

Resonating laughter
as the child plays,
hallway smiles
on bad days.

Disney movies
when I'm sick,
lightsaber battles
as a kid.

Rope swings
for make believe Peter-Panning,
backyard sprinklers
spraying the trampoline.

Hot soup
after it snows,
Refreshing popsicles
when the sun glows.

Warm cookies
melting in my mouth,
playing cards
at Grandma's house.

Blazing campfires
engulfed in inspiration,
jam sessions
with passionate musicians.

Barefoot freedom
in the grass and on the beach,
Sandy paradise
sinking beneath my feet.

Captivating books
as it gently rains,
favorite songs
when I'm disarrayed.

Intimate poetry
as my soul sings,
genuine happiness
spilling out of me.

Caring parents
whose admiration lasts,
trustworthy friends
who remove my masks.

Comforting arms
when my friend dies,
calloused hands
pulling tears from drowning eyes.

Raw love
strung on splintered wood,
My God
you are everything good.

~ m.w. ~
2/3/14
I used to hate the cold,
What a strange thing.

But then I got use to this feeling,
The cold in my veins,
The air, and my heart.

I realized that the cold is
The only satisfactory
Feeling I could possible experience
At anytime.

A cold drink of water,
Trickling down my throat,
Finding its course through
My weary body.

A cold shower,
Finding its way down my spine,
To the drain that lays upon the
Shower I stand in.

A cold shoulder,
Being left behind
Has now become something
I am very used to.

A cold heart,
Something my body got use to
Years before,
My mind even knew what
The cold really felt like.

A satisfactory feeling coursing all
Throughout my body.

Never felt so good to feel
Absolutely nothing but what
I deserve,
The cold,
I cant do this.
I don't know how to go on.
Daddy please come back.
I'm really not that strong.
I'm so sorry
I'm not as strong as I thought
I once was,
I'm so sorry
That my jealousy  
Is out of control,
You liking their pictures and not mine.
What a silly thing to be upset about.
I'm so sorry
I cannot be as much help as you
Might need,
I'm waiting for you
To get tired of me
And for you to throw your hands up and say
It's over I'm done
I'm so sorry
I couldn't stay like I said
I could on that spring morning.
Now it's time for me to say goodbye ,
To our love, you
And life itself,
I'm so sorry
I just got to tired and
Honestly to stressed
To even take care of myself.
And with this
It's time for me to say goodbye cruel world
She's tired of people asking her how she's doing and if she's okay.
Because she doesn't even know what okay is anymore.
And it gets harder to fake it every passing day.


*But at the same time I want someone to notice that I'm not fine.
That I'm getting closer and closer to crossing that line.
What a wonderful way to settle the day and head into night.
Your best friend, hot tea, and a pipe
Daddy no.
Daddy please don't go.
I still need you
Even more than you know.
Who's going to be there to walk me down the isle?
Who's going to pull out the shotgun when a boy takes away my smile.
Who's going to fix the leaks in the roof?
Or **** the spiders that lurk in my room?
Who's going to check the closet for monsters or fight off the ones under my bed?
Who's going to calm the fears that run through my head?
Who's going to teach my kids someday how to catch the biggest fish?
Or how to turn last nights leftovers into a fresh new dish?
Daddy no
Please don't go
Can't you see I still need you,
More than you know.
When you are sleeping,
I hope you know that I never want
this feeling of completeness
to ever leave my grasp.
I'm afraid I'm holding on too much
and you might slip away.
What a clutz I am.

When you look in the mirror,
I hope you don't think of your life without
me by your side.

I crave you like a sons love

for his mother.

Before I was lost without
you.

Now,

I have found my
way home,

And home is honestly
where ever you

may be.

I hope it's with me.
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