"believable" poems
I say to my woman, "Jeffers was
a great poet. think of a title
like Be Angry At The Sun. don't you
realize how great that is?
"you like that negative stuff." she
says
"positively," I agree, finishing my
drink and pouring another.
"in one of Jeffers' poems, not the sun poem,
this woman ***** a stallion because her
husband is such a gross spirit. and it's
believable. then the husband goes out
to **** the stallion and the stallion
kills him."
"I never heard of Jeffers," she
says.
"you never heard of Big Sur? Jeffers
made Big Sur famous just like D. H. Lawrence
made Taos famous. when a
great writer writes about where he
lives the mob comes in and takes
over."
"well you write about San Pedro," she
says.
"yeah," I say, "and have you read the
papers lately? they are going to construct
a marina here, one of the largest in the
world, millions and billions of dollars,
there is going to be a huge shopping
center, yachts and condominiums every-
where!"
"and to think," my woman says smiling, "that you've only
lived here for three years!"
"I still think," I say,
changing the subject,
"you ought to read Jeffers."
8k
Her face displayed a smile,
Her skin made out of false matters,
She painted herself in gold.
How beautiful where her skin,
Her skin striking in the sun,
The paint shone bright,
And inchmeal, she melts.
How could you paint
Plastic out of gold?
Have you dreamt of a world
Filled with her infamous thoughts?
Have you lived in a world
Where her existence
Is just a living nightmare?
Beings? Night terrors?
All because of a
toxic Barbie doll.
You sit by my wooden dresser
There in the corner of my bedroom.
Sweeter you look in front of me,
Than the way you chatter behind me.
Every piece I hold onto,
Thee steal and smirk...
Doing it as if I have not yet caught.
You loved taking my heart into your palm.
Breaking them into pieces
And would make ******* out of them.
What a waste for me to let you
Break it for me.
Call me bossy,
Maybe I’m just clever.
You could be so jealous
I guess I’m just smart.
Do you have those brains, too?
I’ve heard you had none.
You’re pulling me down,
While you had nothing to brag about.
The best of me,
Oh that crap of yours,
I give it my all,
While you had none.
Responsibility, what a word.
Recalling the first times,
You seemed to look innocent.
It was memorable
for you never liked me,
Neither did I.
“Best friend”?
It is such a believable name,
Isn’t it? But, I don’t remember it.
“Stop being my friend”
****** then leave me behind.
I would not be the one doing it for you.
Opening your diary,
While you never read mine.
You ask how I was,
I answered, “I’m fine.”
Your concern? Angelic yet fake.
Look now who’s a Barbie in her smile.
I am not playing puppets,
I just knew what to do.
I just had a lot of things in mind,
Wishing you told me yours.
I saw those words you held against me,
“She’s this girl and she’s that.”
You little ****** don’t be such a brat.
My mother taught me gossiping is bad,
Why do you do it to me?
I looked like a villain
but I was just a victim.
Oh, I learned in my life...
How I could say “no”,
It is brave, little one.
And to learn is to never trust
And to never talk to a Barbie doll.
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 7:43 AM UTC
Little perfect girl
standing in front of
you lot
Acting, performing
a bubbly act
Smiling, laughing
making jokes
Her performance
is so believable
So good
just breath-taking
But here's one thing
she's not on stage.
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 9:57 AM UTC
Over the past couple of years I’ve made some new friends
Gay ones
Coming from a small town there wasn’t a lot of that growing up
But I grew up not judging people and accepting my friends
Religion, race and ****** orientation
And then I got made fun of for having friends
They said, “Oh you’re probably gay now too right?”
I am so straight
I am so straight
That I like to listen to classical music because
It makes me feel an emotion I haven’t felt yet
I am so straight
That I cry at the end of really good movies
Because the actor or actresses performance was so believable
Or the story was something that touched me soft
I am so straight
My favorite color is purple
I am so straight
That I watch sports with my gay friends and we
Discuss the color of the team’s jerseys
I am so straight
That I broke up with my smokin’ hot, perfect 10, girlfriend
Because she didn’t have the incredible ability to carry on
A decent conversation
I am so straight
That I like to wear skinny jeans because I believe it shows off my figure better
And you come up to me and say I look gay
And girls come up to me and say I like your style
And then I kiss them
I am so straight
I write poetry about things I like to do
*** THC and partying with all of my friends, regardless of how they love
I am so straight
That I’m not even on this planet
The world is a sphere
Full of bends and curves
I’m straight out suspended in space
I am so straight
Jan 16, 2011
Jan 16, 2011 at 2:23 PM UTC
When looking for love you don't need a map
But falling inlove is falling into a trap
Not knowing the destination to the road you're taking
Not knowing whether it's true or its just faking
Wondering whether or not you'll make it
Falling inlove is just toxic
When you fall inlove you give your all
When love shatters your all goes in flames
When you fall inlove you believe you can conquer everything
But when love breaks you don't feel left with anything
Falling inlove gives you hope
The hope is broken when you were not caught from your fall
When you fall inlove you vow to go against all odds to be happy
When you fall inlove you believe the unbelievable is believable
But falling inlove is painful
Sometimes you fall for someone who's not grateful
But does it pay to love someone who's not graceful?
Aug 24, 2019
Aug 24, 2019 at 1:32 PM UTC
*all poems write themselves, following plans that are drawn only
as the poem goes along, neither leading or following, but
carrying the writer along as first violin, a VIP passenger,
the first viewer, a consultant but not a conductor*
***a poem is written based on what has happened
a poem is written based on what was hoped to happen
a poem was written based on what could never happen
but is so well imagined that it is more real than if it happened***
*I willingly tell you I will not tell you which is what, for there is no difference between them for the writer, the first passenger,
though undeniably fully aware of the quality of the ware
that is proffered, plottered or just perchanced
perhaps you are thinking, but of course,
this is the way,
the way of all of us,
the way it has and will be and no
disclaimer needed for no believable claims are made
perhaps
for the weave is oft tight, tight as near-truth, and so well imagined, it wraps the first passenger in a cloak of skin
that actually feels, though cloaks cannot feel,
but belief is easily eased
there are no lines or lies in my writings
there are no definitions and
perception is only your truth
Therefore,
my poems are splats and drips.
you make them into paintings that hang
in your own private museum
but authenticated by me as
first viewer,
3/13/18
1:09am
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 2:21 PM UTC
I look up and wear my best smile.
I say cheese just for
an added effect
plus a free cute little chuckle
they will surely buy into it now!
Falling into the trap that
I am ok
Even though
I'm not
I used to be able to go places
not caring about appearance.
But others stared.
I was the weird kid who didn't
smile
laugh
frown
or cry.
Apparently if I don't look the part
I become an outcast.
People tried to guess my problems
Maybe she needs counseling.
Have u considered ADHD?
Is she depressed?
They wouldn't stop.
The questions surrounded me
I would lie awake wondering
"What are the theories they made today?"
I couldn't take it anymore.
I
Put
The
Mask
Back
On
I hated it but there were
too many questions;
my reasons became
less and less
believable,
and
more and more
suspicious.
I aways wear the mask now.
Can't forget to smile!
Say cheese!
Oh and laugh at that,
I imagine it was a joke.
Take that smile off now,
they might be saying something serious.
Wrinkle your forehead,
As if you are confused.
Because that's what normal people do.
I think.
And no matter what, don't take the mask off again.
Because they will know
this time
that it was all
just an act,
right from the start.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 5:47 PM UTC
Isaiah you are such a joy. I don't think that I've ever met anyone so happy. Even when you cry you try to smile. You are so innocent and I love that.
You see only the good in everyone.
I can't believe that you belong to me and there is not one mean bone in your body. How did this happen? We can't always understand how our babies become so much better than we are. We can just thank Jehovah that it is so. Your Lovey loves you to the moon and back.
My first grandbaby and first grandson.
I love you with all of my being. You are my sun, moon and stars. Your knowledge for technology is beyond believable. My Izzy baby I look forward to seeing the amazing little person you become.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 10:06 PM UTC
love is believable
in every moment of exhaustion
in every heartbroken home
in every dark spirit,
the meaning unfolds...
...in every night that sings
of tomorrow. in every suicide
i carry deep inside my head.
in every lonely smile
that plays across my lips.
love is believable i tell you,
in every scrap of history,
in every sheen of want.
what can be wrong
that some days i have a tough time
believing.
and in each chamber of my heart
i pray.
3k
2 times 2 is four, as my life path
always wonder if I am on the right path
wish I could calculate my path, extract the unknown
prove it with words and numbers, not just inner knowing and tarot cards
math is more believable to the severed body
I use other means to understand my body
holistic, artistic, there's always another way
deterministic, statistic, no place for the grey
calculate how best to waste your days
Apr 21, 2022
Apr 21, 2022 at 10:15 AM UTC
He bluntly crucified my friend
I’ve known liars, I‘ve known thieves
I’ve seen crooked lawyers in action
I was shocked by the jurors reaction
I have study the body languages of the fibbers
Read between the lines of the tell-tales
But to concocted a preposterous but believable story
Just to feed it to the judge: That is so cold, yet so bold
I always believe in the old saying,
Only fools represent themselves in the courts of law
My heart bleeds for my dearest friend
His soul have grown weaker than elastic knicker
**Akiane Kramarik said
"No matter what happens around us, or to us, through love,
our soul reaches immortality, conquering all dimensions and all destinies**
He had bathed in the forbidden sea, where the mermaid had warn him
Not to entered:, Where the daughters of Lucifer lured kindhearted men from good homes
He builds their house near the sand, and it slowly sank
He looks out to the Atlantic Ocean,
for guidance and saw the raging waves
Then he remembers nights of unsettling dream:
He have known liars, he have known pain,
Somehow, it was hard for him to stay afloat in
the murky water I’ve known liars
I have listened to both sides:
but earlier this week the judge was so quick to chooses sides
Is this the end for my friend?
Jun 24, 2017
Jun 24, 2017 at 5:00 PM UTC
.ah here comes england with its eccentricities, ah hier kommt polen mit seine christentum: where anyone can be a messiah, as stressed by the byzantines.
my first love was the love of the english grey,
(in honesty mentioned it was
the double-decker first, since
i fancied myself the great bus-driver of
the no. 5 bus back home)
earl grey came and said: ‘i can’t look
at these skies without sunglasses!’
and so it was, mid-autumn with sunglasses
at loss the sun-worshiper
enter the moon idiot,
looking for accents, looking for anything.
in england they called him das deutsche -
for reasons believable enough;
the luftwaffe eagerly anticipating the tunnelling
centipede that is the euro-star train-tunnel:
the panzers are rolling in!
the panzers are rolling in!
strange he never minded the coal-miners as useful
as minded by edvard gierek von silesia -
to the dispute of silesians not ex-patriated to saxony
(oh wait... texan boy doesn't sound as
nationalistic as minnesota boy?).
ooh pokey poo... writing about germany
became so **** so recently, i forget that i started it:
here’s to the english language’s chirality of s and z,
actually being superimposable:
from words in the socratic sense as encoded by plato
i don't get a bunch of ideas... virtue
does not make me ponder it with meaning or definition,
i only see the kabbalistic sensibility
of anti-alphabetical sequencing as v
i r t u e...
otherwise e i u r t v;
almost sounds like s.t.d.
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 6:33 AM UTC
It was not love at first sight. When you walked into the room the rest of the world did not slow down. There was no movie magic moment where our eyes met and I knew that you were the only girl I was ever going to fall in love with. Instead you were longing at first glance, yearning for a love that I never could have imagined before. I couldn’t picture our wedding or growing old together but I could vividly see the two of us together. Cuddled under blankets reading on a Sunday night. Decorating our apartment for Halloween. I could see Indian takeout in bubble baths with three cats curled up beside the sink. You were not love at first sight but you were better, you were real. You made love believable. I never had faith in finding a fairytale romance but in you I found forever. A reality of two souls bound together by a force neither of them can explain. You may not have been my love at first sight but you’re my love in every glance since. It’s heartbreaking that I can only look at the world through rose coloured glasses while you live in a world so far from make believe.
Jan 24, 2021
Jan 24, 2021 at 8:55 PM UTC
Perfectionism is deadly when it's believable:
A plant with infinite roots in my brain
As if my entire existence sprouted from that
Seed so evil that my very veins
Pump pride and pretensions through me
Pulsing, rising, filling me to the brim
With false dreams and glimmering hope
That feel hellishly hollow within.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 11:45 PM UTC
My Evidence professor told us
Testimony is not believable
Unless other facts back it up.
That terrified me.
My word means nothing
Unless I’ve left a trail of breadcrumbs
But I was raised to clean up
After I eat.
The chemotherapy left Dad a full head of hair,
And no one questioned his diagnosis.
Yet you search for scars on my wrists
As if corroborating evidence is necessary
To prove I’m not ok.
Our nation was founded on the ideas of liberty and justice
And I have the right to be thought of as
Innocent until proven guilty
Clearly you paid attention in civics
Because you hold on to this principle
With every ounce of willpower you possess.
The only thing is,
I didn’t realize mental illness is a crime.
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 12:10 PM UTC
oh how we worship the pretty people
despite them being the source of so much evil
and lust to be just like them
we find so much ******** believable and think each of them a gem
the glamorous, the beautiful, the ****
"did you see the new tweet? after the show I hope they text me!"
we follow them through the movies into their church steeples
hollywood and all it's heights of it's anointed peoples
the magazines are their bibles and we hold none of them liable
for the lies they've told or the lives they ruin being unreliable
with every story they're spinning
they want us to believe they're "winning"
marriage, divorce, wife number three
new baby carriage, move to the golf course, life under palm trees
remain calm and know things are always ok if you can sing and be pretty
I pity the soulless with hot faces, no social graces but lots of *** in the city
and we love their scandals we can't get enough
every news stand proving america has more than a crush
on the movie stars, on the models, on their cars, on the rush
of thinking we could be them if we just got a new nose and a tuck
who put Brangelina's kids' new brother on every magazine cover
but never the military heroes who live to protect you while they duck for cover?
**** the sheep who keep the weakness in our families
who want the news filled with the new runways fashion and grammys
instead of the problems that need solutions and what real life should mean
we need action and my reaction is to lift the small faction of thinkers up to be seen
we need a cause to cut loose the famous like weights and hate their **********
ignore the models, shun the actors, pay the teachers, appreciate the surgeons
being pretty is a gift not a skill
being hot isn't exactly curing cancer or healing the ill
but we still want what we can't have, much worse than reality
another prada handbag under the disposable christmas tree
them or us, I don't know what's a worse diversion
I guess I'm just not pretty enough to be a "real" person
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 1:03 AM UTC
-something real. Something strong and sturdy, believable. I want to write words that are heavy with lightness and dark with their brightness, to draw on a page a life so unbelievably real, so inconceivably mine
in creation
I want to write
-not just love. Not a ***** with a couple of drink-mangled bugs. I want to write about that feeling of blood churning and the warmth of emotion not physical feeling, to put into words the unwordable joy of being in the presence of
not just anyone
Anyone. Like the not-platonic-non-romantic affection that Rudy would not fail to hint at, that so-wanted kiss that Liesel gave, it wasn't so much the action as the meaning behind it. Like that itch on Death's ear when Liesel he came near, not to take her yet, but to steal her story, to live through it. To feel the words dance in his void, non-niceness, the infinite meanings and the power of phonic combinations.
They allow even Death to live.
I want to write like Zusak, like Rowling, like me.
I want to write
-the philosophies. The thoughts and wishes and wonders of a minority. I want to write about those opinions of those whose voices are too small and their souls beautifully lit up but unseen, their ideologies so unmistakably right but also naive and innocent, to stage their feelings from transition to transition
their words to the wise
I want to write
-characters so flawed. Each with an inner splendor most radiant, but with their fields of starless black and heads that wander from this to that. I want to write lives and people so different, with not-so-good lives and not-so-normal features. People who, though lacking thereof, cliche the right things and believe
in the wrong
The wrong. Their thoughts and meanings about life and beyond, undesirable and judged but that is the human mentality, such as Hazel Grace felt about her casualties and Alaska Young wondered about the labyrinth's unending game. So standard at first, but then Gandalf came and Bilbo learned the differences between Hobbit and the untame. The reasons and purposes of life's grand living, through the eyes of those whose faces are shunned.
Hermione wasn't just a bibliosiac.
I want to write like Green, like Tolkien, like me.
Alas, the clock, a stained moon, it darkens, and the prejudice of people as well as the pride, unfortunately Austen couldn't lessen so much. Stereotypes triumphantly sit on the throne with their Mary-Sue maids catering from head to toe. I can't barge in, object to the crowning, because today I admit it: my writing is dying.
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 1:39 PM UTC
I woke ahead of the morning,
for reasons I hardly know.
I clad myself in fancy clothes
but for reasons I hardly know.
I put on a tie - attempted a knot
but failed as I waste more time.
I look at my clock, I look at my watch,
Wonder why it did not chime.
I gulp a steaming cup of espresso,
a shot of adrenaline pumped briskly,
I took my phone, dashed out quickly,
I then forgot my keys.
Found them seep in between the couch,
I had to sweat it out.
Crumpled shirt and an unbalanced tie
I foresee a morning shout.
I ignore a typical Monday dusk,
as I put on my cotton socks,
Slipped my toes into my brogues,
I took one last look at the clock.
I still had time, it is still early,
Perhaps a cigarette before I drive,
I lit one up, minty inhale,
the sun has started to rise.
I rushed in the car, started the engine,
and put my gear to reverse.
I zoom right out my greasy gate,
My tires, all four of them, bursts.
I took one look in the mirror,
I knew it's down the drain,
I might as well call in sick,
and tell my boss it's the rain.
Who would believe that all four tires,
would deflate so quickly at once?
It sounds like a bad joke by a bad comedian,
not believable - like a very bad pun.
I took one last look at my watch,
It's way past 'possible' o-clock.
I left the car to fend for itself,
I went into the house without my socks.
I jumped right back into my silky bed,
happy to see my five pillows.
I am not excited it's the start of the week,
but Tuesday can never be this mellow.
I shut the window, pulled the blinds,
Sleep deprived made me berserk.
"Mundane Monday", "Monday blues",
Whatever...you're the one at work.
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 9:29 AM UTC
Faked but believable,
her resolve to cut away
to throw away
to never resuscitate
all the bad parts
all the parts that chose her.
Replace the broken pieces
the useless pieces
with ones you pick out.
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 2:11 PM UTC
Woke up early like I always do, no matter what I'm going through I sit and contemplate my present situation, like is this life worth living or am I wasting it, I got plans for myself but with what I know, I know there's a possibility of removing it from the shelf of possibilities, sometimes I can't control myself, so I get ****** off let some shots off and restock, my life is just a ramble that needs to be reshocked like defibrillators to your live stock, cause global warming turned to climate change and they make it seem it's not an issue by keeping your mind invisibly encaged and your nose in the tissue, I've been changing, so when it comes to blaming there's no one to blame but the cats who put our work to shame, **** the industry it's why I live in infamy like the US has for practically an entire century, continuing forensically but fail to catch their own trace of criminology, instead blaming you for your ideology passed down from generations along with theology, some things are more believable like the inconceivable evil that's injected inside the bloodstreams of my people, makin them turn from people to machines, **** that I'd rather be trapped in Saturn's rings but sometimes it's hard to stop some things
- This world has been ruled, dominated, and conquered for thousands of years.. I think it's about time to let that **** lay to rest -
Man I've been living for quite some time, and all I've seen is the world go from a bright shine to a darkened shrine, but I guess that's what will happen when you're born into a world that's already fastened their seatbelts for a global blastin, end the nukes end the fed end the ************* who will leave us for dead while they happily sit in bed waiting for their master Satan to come in faster, the worlds a disaster but it can be fixed if everyone pitches in to dethrone their "masters", mathematical factors plotting out disasters cause they're done on purpose like previous stories remastered, some will ridicule me but it won't matter when they realize the truth that's been hidden educationally generationally, you're serviceably useful to the machine aka the system, but the system needs you, you don't need to listen
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 7:48 PM UTC
she ignores me still,
the wonderous girl
who stole my heart.
she said...
she would love me forever,
no matter what.
she lied.
I am living proof,
that lies are believable
for I believed...
in her...
and in us.
she failed me,
and let me down,
when i needed her the most.
******* i needed her!
do not believe
that love is beautiful...
for it is false,
and indifferent,
and malignant.
i believed,
and look at me now...
telling all of this to you
strangers,
who don't care.
she lied, and i suffer.
she betrayed our promise,
and that is...
unforgivable.
need i say more?
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 5:53 PM UTC
Congratulations on your victory
it’s a shame the blood got on your clothes,
but each blade and pin you stick in me
will stain each and every thread anyone sews.
I hope that you are feeling proud
that you still have the power to wound,
as you want it known and shouted loud
“look at another thing I successfully ruined”
Go on and paint me as the villain,
just make sure that you’ve shaded well.
Every inch of the canvas is filled in,
express that story and scene that you wish to tell.
I’m not going to beg for mercy,
I’m not going to call you a hack.
I’m just sorry you see the worst in me,
if I was a mirror I’d be reflecting it back.
Well done on your gigantic win
I know the scene isn’t set exactly right,
ignore the blood, the guts and the skin,
we’ll have it cleaned by tomorrow’s first light.
Continue to embrace your golden moment,
though you didn’t have to work too hard.
Good fortune and a carefully picked opponent;
one who was already stressed and scarred.
Go on, cast me as an antagonist
but make it believable in each line.
Illustrate my hand holding a demand list,
but my other one has a white flag hidden behind.
I’m not going to plead for forgiveness
and I’m not searching for approval,
because when something is as vicious as this sickness
it’s a quick call for it’s removal.
This isn’t an invasion
it takes two sides to fight a war,
and you’ve given every clear indication
this is what you’ve been waiting for.
We don’t need bullets or guns,
we don’t need forces in the air or sea,
‘cause we’ve both got our mouths, and our tongues,
and a lot of repressed ancient history.
Aug 28, 2021
Aug 28, 2021 at 8:37 AM UTC
hidden heart do tell
secret way of wonder
where one way branches
stand on a box corner
and shout believable
hear the sound of
death's last breath
eyes open assault
holding court announce
revolution speaks
a physical language
too poor for peace
hunger watches grumbling
a bed too cold to sleep
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 12:44 PM UTC
You've made mistakes
Many, you know this.
Lived close enough to the edge to
feel the thrill of it but just far enough to
not fall off, you're strategic.
But the paint on the walls you've been building up is
starting to chip and sometimes you forget to laugh at
things you're supposed to
You don't listen with detail often and
when you do, you forget to care.
Apathy is not pretty on you but
neither is desperation.
You remember when you wanted to
save yourself for the right one and
now it's funny to think about how
your list is too long to keep track and
you can no longer count your reckless on your fingers
There's a boy who brings you sunflowers and
before you can tell him he's too good for you,
you hurt him,
unintentionally.
You could say sorry but there's no correct apology for
I can't love you.
There's no believable way to say
I don't deserve you or
don't know how to or
Convince a hopeless romantic that
you're really just pathetic.
You're drifting off the road in your dreams but
The car is still intact the next morning
During the day you think about all of the sleep you didn't get
You couldn't get, you're not sure when rest became
a chore instead of a reward.
Your lonely has turned into habit and
the smell of gasoline is more appealing than perfume
Sometimes you don't appreciate things you should and
that's just normal routine.
But you're tired most days and it has become
a purposeful cycle of
Consciously messing up to fix it later,
the trouble keeps you busy,
The ache is constant but
it keeps you full.
You used to collect records that
now collect dust sitting in a room
in a house that no one really lives in,
Someone does, yes, but only quietly.
There is a doe-eyed girl who has
drowned in your search for passion,
You're guilty for crimes you didn't mean to
commit, mostly careless in intention and
you never meant to hurt anyone but yourself.
Your arms are wide but you're shaking and
there are so many questions that
you'll never have answered.
What happens when your fingers break
from reaching out too much?
What do you do when you've run out of
bones to crack?
Will your spine still stretch after you've bent backwards
so many times?
How can you possibly love someone
when you don't know how to yourself?
You're learning, you swear.
Trying to understand that appreciation
doesn't directly translate to narcissm, that
You don't always have to feel bad for
what isn't your fault.
You've made mistakes,
many, you know this.
Move farther away from the cliff,
don't hold your breath, this is life,
my dear,
you know this.
You'll be okay,
You know this.
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC
Everything (physically) erased, nothing ever forgotten. Every word spoken or written is engrained in my brain, I will never be the same. Unlike no other you came you conquered you (changed). Seven existential hours that would change my DNA and internal making, making, making what I knew up until then surprisingly malleable. Your words your actions your face your voice filled up every millimeter of me that everything else inside was pushed to the brim and seeped out of my pores. Everything I once was became everything you ever were, ever are. There is a chair in the back of my mind that is reserved for you to sit there and continue to hotwire (my mind) and thoughts into something much better than I ever could have fathomed. Your puppet strings control what and who I am and it is impossible to think there is any other living organism that could possess that undeniable ability. There is a keyhole somewhere inside myself. There is a key inside of you. Keyholes the size of pinholes as vast as Sirius. Small, believable, existing. Keys the shape of orchids and birch as natural as the metamorphosis of roots (into) trees. I never knew what (my) purpose was until you. Or maybe I always knew what I was before you and you opened the windows to the (soul) otherwise known as brown eyes so timid to everyone besides you. The smallest organs became so (full of) nothing but visions of you. There is a special place in my slowly beating heart perfectly executed to fit all of you. A twin bed that only holds one girl has an infinite amount of room for whatever (love) you could continue to bring into my life. The impossibility to (for)get and erase has left me with an endless amount of hope to see you again. The possibility of knowing that you are still somewhere out there and I am still somewhere down here, although unsure where. I cannot ascertain whether or not feelings are reciprocated but I know I know they are. I know you know where you are. I know you know I do not know where I am but you could figure it all out for me. You had it all figured out for me. Plans stretched farther than the 3000 miles separating my red string from yours. Our strings are still connected. There is nothing in the world that can cut them no matter the distance no matter the people no matter the time no matter the place. I know and somehow you know fate will bring our two oceans together. One calm ocean full of creatures so logical and tides so serene they make a beautifully flawed human being known as yourself. One ocean plagued by waves and uncertainty as to what is below the surface that makes up a human being, me. Both oceans surround land full of love. Our continents will merge. Our love will emerge. (You, only you.)
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 12:42 PM UTC