There are hearts that break
in silence, with tears
that nobody can see.

So maybe,
                just maybe…

Some tears demand
to be written by the poet's pen,
so others can find beauty
in that which makes us cry.

Maybe,
           just maybe…

The tears of the poets' pen,
unveils the beauty
of love and pain
giving comfort to others
that they’re not alone.

And then again
maybe,
          just maybe…

There will be times
that nobody
will understand your feelings…

Write them anyway
because they are still
so **** beautiful!!*
~

i write my feelings
for i lack the courage to speak
coz darling my emotion
is vast as an ocean
and if telling you them
with my voice
trembles at the sight of you,
you'll drown

and i'll be left with the thought
of drowning with you
or left, rubbing my voice
against the wind

My body is the makeup of both hard and softness
The reds, browns, golds...
The light and darkness of all my ancestors.
Some men have lost themselves here,
Some men have found themselves here
Most women stand stronger next to this.

I am both war grounds and silent cities.
I am both girl trying not to drown in all this sadness, all this loss...
And woman trying not to drown in all this sadness, all this loss.
I am your blonde roast that starts a riot in you first thing in the morning
And your dark roast that goes down smooth, leaving you to want for a little more...

I am both the scab healing over bruised skin
And the area surrounding it.
I am both strong legs and soft lips
...Brown skin deep enough to hide flaws still.

I am the softness in light...
And the softness of honey, but still thick enough to swim in.
I am the hardness of knees on ground, praying to the man or woman who has made me both hard and soft.

I am the woman who cannot forget enough to truly forgive,
But human enough to help you if the light goes out.
I am consistent no's and the yes that matters,
I am shattered glass and spilled milk.

This skin mirrors both the earth and everything you give the universe on a new moon .
I am both woman dancing in nothing, but a skirt to the rhythm of the ocean ...
And the ocean kissing the shore wishing to be as free as that woman.

Sometimes this mouth...
Sometimes my words bite,
Creating harsh weather,
But I am tired of making storms of people, storms of my relations.

I am both soft belly and strong back.
Something you can count on,
A woman you can be sure of.
You can bet on me,
You can stand near me,
You can fall in my presence.
...You can be both hard and soft with me.

If you want to feel
As the poet feels,
Don't hold her hand;
Pick up his pen.

If you want to hear
A poet speak,
Don't listen to him;
Read her lips.

If you want to see
As the poet sees,
Don't look to his eyes,
But see with her's.

To smell like a poet,
Splash in the rain,
Dance dry in the sun;
Follow your nose.

But get an inkling
In your mind,
Deaf, mute or blind;
Find your center,
Sit with it.

I oftimes get a sense of it.

I am having writer's block
and experiencing all this anger
and hunger and love and regret,
I feel like I just don't have a bowl
for all these incredible feelings.
I just don't have enough respect for words anymore.
I want to make a cake out of this psychedelia
and I don't even have a sweet tooth.
Where do I put all of it?
Not how.... where?
I feel like drinking water without pills is vain.
Air left in my stomach
makes my mind a ****** stalker
who'll chase you down the road
suddenly have concussions and die in front of you
and make you call the police for a whole new different reason.
Writer's block is ghost town
and I am still human without a soul.
How to die beautifully?
Perhaps when the sun shines the brightest in the dusk
burning everyone more than ever.

Writing is
the frozen music
of an ellipsis,
the silent song
of a lonesome poet
who sings in the dark
among howling winds
crossing swords
in the white shades
of unseen things -
a winter on the Pole
on whose  obverse side
there's Rio,
and dancing
and mirth
and the sun's critique
of hegemony.

© Lazhar Bouazzi, May 31, 2016

Watch me as I fall
without you.
I've spent years
perfecting this dark energy;
you are not the first
to leave me longing.
Watch closely.
I can build a statue
from ashes,
inhabit order
surrounded
by chaos.
Watch as I consume,
without myself,
myself.
I can fall,
but I cannot fail.
Watch.
You only scratched
the surface
of who I was
and am,
but you let loose this
agony -
my flood,
my fuel.

You tend to me
in a way
no one else has before,
letting me grow
anew.

Would you hate me
if you knew
how I've been leaping
from heart to heart
like stones in a pond -
they all crumbled under my weight
and left me to drown.

I need to stop
digging up love
And let it grow instead