Why is hellopoetry.com black and white? I've always wondered about this... why my colorful photographs are required to travel back in time. How does this effect the poetry in any way, shape, or form? But I understand the wisdom of this design now. And it sets a great metaphor for all of the people of the pen involved in this truly noble motion, this secret society for people with passion, talent, and troubled minds and souls. Hello Poetry is black and white not because it has to be monochromatic and modern, but because us poets fill these pages with enough inovativeness and color already with our words, ideas, thoughts, songs, senryus, ballads, heartbreaks, insecurities, that adding literal color to this website would be overwhelming. These soft undertones of gray, black, and white may be considered drab and depressing to some, but to us poets it represents timelessness. And this is probably why we are all here. Hourly, daily, weekly, monthly, or even yearly publishing poems. Because we all know we are not going to live forever, and we are so entirely insignificant in the broad scheme of things and of the universe itself, that it is a bit comforting and helpful to have this coping mechanism or soft blankie to calm our fears, that this literature we write, however insignificant it may be, is absolutley permanent. And that maybe someday it will be remembered so a small bit of us may live on. Tom Riddle knew the needs and wants of man kind before anybody else realized it. Maybe he was just trying to cope with the fact that he is insignificant. These poems are all our Horcruxes so *viveamus per camenam nostram.

The arrogance that comes off your body in waves radiates its own heat
But, it's fake. Pretend.
A shield you use to protect the little boy you actually are inside
Most kids haven't and shouldn't see what you've seen.
I was sorry for the hate, and mistrust you found at such a young age
I just wanted to tell that little boy one day his world would be beautiful and that even in the ugliness of this house on the corner
He was already beautiful
I never got the chance to reach that little boy

You took over, although you were him in an older form
You had not resolved the hurt that little boy felt
The little boy whose mom was too busy smokin rocks as pretty as glass
Yelling at the boy to find his own dinner
And get mommys purse, she's running out of glass rocks
That little boy wasn't stupid, and the resentment he formed has take control
Your life is about you
It's about the hate you carry inside because, you never sat down with that little boy and let him cry
No, instead you built a wall to protect yourself  plus fatal toys to keep you safe too
Your friends were filled with that hate too
Wouldn't it surprise you to know that you were just a bunch of wounded little boys
Running a muck, surrounded by violence and death
When all you wanted was someone to tell you you were good enough

Now you're just an angry man
Filled with so much hate, your life is never going to change
You think your strong
You think you done and seen what others couldn't bare
But, you suffer everyday from what you've done
What you didn't stop
What could've happened to your best friend if you hadn't let the hate take the reigns
We can't go back
Nothing's going to change yesterday
But, you could've changed your today, which would've brought a brighter tomorrow
Stubborn as you were listening to all the yelling when you were a boy
No forgiveness
You don't care where your mom went
She'll die before you realize, you were just a boy who just tried to survive as he got older
You could let her know where those glass rocks led you and what it was like to turn around and sell those pretty rocks
What it was like getting wasted with your mom when your just in elementary school
By middle school, hope had been long gone
And high school lasted 5 minutes

Here you are
Just hate filled and waiting for what's owed to you
Thinking there are no consequences for your actions
Staying on a path that leads to no where because, you're too scared to see what the other side of life has to offer
I tried to be in your life but, I was deemed too innocent to be let into the world you lived in
I was too good for you
Only a coward would say that, and you're biggest fear is that little boy being exposed
Even though I told you I could see him, and that you didn't have to live that way anymore
You refused to change
Playing games with my heart, knowing you'd just fill yours with hate for me so you wouldn't suffer another loss
But, leave me standing in a puddle of my own heartbreak
I watched you walk away, I saw you look back
I saw the little boy in your eyes
I felt sadden for a moment
But shook it off
You didn't have to be this way, you could of started over
Your past was behind you but you walk as if its up in front of you
You'll be haunted by the little boy forever
Because, you were too scared to say "we'll be ok"

I feel nothing when I look at you now
You're no more than a frightened child during a thunder storm
You cling to the past like a blankie
Telling yourself it gives you the right to enter, interrupt and even destroy a life
It doesn't
When you're 50 you'll still be right where you are now, maybe married but in reality alone
You'll look in the mirror
And those innocent round brown eyes with tears spilling over the brim looking back at you
You've gone no where, that so called arrogance you sweat in, that's just the fear that tortures you everyday

I used to want to hug you
I used to encourage you to be more
You'll never be
And I can't stand the hate you made me feel when you were near
The hatred won
So welcome to your life
Because this is it
Dead end
The bridge that lead to the other side burned to ashes, from the fire you started
So don't mind me if I don't sit around and watch you stand still over there
Half alive, on the other side of the burnt down bridge, with the crying brown eyed boy...
Is you in the house on the corner
The house on the corner you never left

You choose fear
I choose life
You're right I don't belong here
I never did.
Goodbyes mean nothing round here
I'll just let the empty silence tell you

My little piece of security,
hiding me
from the monsters under my bed.

Every single thread
with love have has been fed
as every night we cuddle.

When my head is in a muddle
or the storms make me huddle,
my blanket is by my side.

There's been so many tears it's dried.
In my best dreams, it was the guide.
It is wonderfully soft and soothing.

On rainy days it's uplifting.
When my world's ending , it's encouraging.
That's why I'll always love my blankie!

Sticks and stones break bones.
The whole world rushes over
To sign your cast - okay..

So if the mind cracks,
But no one cares to listen..
Does it make a sound?

If we go to war
With ourselves regularly,
Who's the terrorist?

I would say being
Mentally sick's more about
Being sane than calm.

Day One - It All Starts.
The sunshine dims, with daylight
Dwindling to dark.

Day Two - It sets in.
Scars and wounds are kept freshly
Scarlet red. It hurts.

Day Three - It Doesn't.
Sadly, it all becomes moot.
Now, it's your routine.

Day Four - Friends Notice.
That's why they stopped trying to
Convince you to live.

Day Five - Mom Worries.
She loses sleep, sort of like
How you have. Scary.

Day Six - You Give In.
Staring at the ceiling is
All you can manage.

Day Seven - You Choose.
You've had enough. **** it all.
You plan it all out.

Waking up at 4
In the morning, trying to
Drown in your own blood.

Taking the doctor's
Pills and shoving them all down
Your throat with no voice.

To secure things, you
Get your childhood blankie
And tighten a knot.

All your tears cascade
Upon the floor. you're thinking,
"What else do I have?"

You sum up your guts,
Step on the stool, and look out
The window. *Goodbye.

Just as you jump off,
You catch yourself. Still in bed.
Profusely sweating.

It was all a dream.
You cry until dry heaving
Saps your energy.

You last one more night;
Amen. Warriors like you
Deserve to fight on.

You are stronger than
Sticks, stones, words, pills, razors, life -
Keep going. **I beg.

The water on the runways bubbling as it suffers too,

A father at a young age juggling what the mothers do,

Playing dumb, days to duck, memory will come if it blows up the rhyme,

Waking up, take the cut, check to see the son if he woke up on time,

He runs up with a zoom on the one-day smile when,

The sun is in his in room as his son lays silent,

He takes him up his hugs as he breathes upon the breathing,

He wakes him with a nudge and then sees his son is bleeding,

Half the dream is live pacing with water bloodless in the hells roamed,

Panicking and mind racing, the father rushes to the cell phone,

While he cries in fallen hells with the one hidden meaning,

And he tries to call him help but his son isn’t breathing,

The wisdom of the house where the fun cost a friend,

He gives him mouth-to-mouth as his son coughs again.

~

I kiss my wife and kiss their heads,

I’ll give my life and give my breath,

A bit advice with bliss in death,

You never see it coming,

I miss the lights and **** the bed,

I live to fight and live to bless,

A friend of mine is missing next,

And dead or free and running.

~

Racing through the house as it thunders on the farm with hoops to slam and head below,

Wading through the crowds with a wonder in his arms like Superman but better bro,

Playing with guns at ease in a box of wetter shirts,

Begging his son to breathe as the coughs are getting worse,

The weather’s always something like the books in a peer review,

He never saw it coming as he looks in the rearview,

The one day he failed at the doors of necropolis,

His son’s face is pale like a horse in apocalypse,

He plays the game of life with the water bound for peering still,

He begs to stay alive as his father pounds the steering wheel,

Walk through truth and madness with a hundred sins today,

Caught in loops of traffic as his son begins to fade,

The rational will thank me with a coffin to hunt for,

He wraps him in a blankie and he walks him in the front door.

~

Muse of a rose where the hunt’s leading fellows,

Tubes in his nose and his son’s breathing shallow,

Kiss his eyes and more for me when there’s nothing there,

Live the life an orderly on a rocking chair,

The water wets the bones of the blind with the dumb laws leading,

The father checks his phone for the time and his son stops breathing,

The sadness in his eyes is a prize from the blind,

He panics and he cries as he tries one more time,

Bloodiest of bloods and every ring to wear,

Nothing that he does and everything to fear,

A fading joy’s pride to his moms in a better room to dance,

His baby boy died in his arms and he never knew the chance,

The man that ends an answer with a very fun painting,

He stands against the cancer with his buried son’s blankie.

~

I kiss my wife and kiss their heads,

I’ll give my life and give my breath,

A bit advice with bliss in death,

You never see it coming,

I miss the lights and **** the bed,

I live to fight and live to bless,

A friend of mine is missing next,

And dead or free and running.

audrey rarely got the mean reds
but when she did, the answer was never to stay in bed
she would grab a cup of joe
peer out the window
nibbling on her breakfast treat
while sparkling jewels radiated so neat
the sight would replenish her mind and warm her heart
after tiffany's, ms. hepburn's day would happily start

this was HER solution- here is mine.

the mean reds are affecting me as i type
my method of distraction always gets me out of this hype
simply put- i need a steaming cup of gypsy green tea
a warm blankie and dimly lit room help the thoughts start to flee
then all it takes is a song to set me in the mood
typically "find it" can configure a less shaken attitude
then i drift away and think of all my blessings
the mean reds are gone and my life is less distressing

thank you audrey.

I kept it.
It's safe even after all this time.
I bet you never thought
It would still be around almost thirty years later.
But it is!
And I still run my fingers across its seams
While thinking how you must have felt
As the needle and thread guided by your fingers
Made every stitch
Knowing you'd be giving it to me.
You loved me and made it for me,
And I wasn't even born yet!

It's not in pristine condition,
I'll admit.
But it's intact and as whole as I still am.
We both have our holes:
Our badge of honor to bear in this world.
But we're here,
And I now intend to keep it that way.

And one day,
One day you're going to see me
From whatever corner of the universe
Your soul now calls home,
You're going to see me,
And you're going to be proud
To say I was once your granddaughter.

I wasn't your favorite or even the best,
But I was yours
And that's all that matters to me.
Kind of like this Blankie you made just for me
Is mine.

A ***** roadside hotel should suffice.
Mom and Dad are arguing again,
And I am too little to know why.
I watch The Addams Family.
That night, I am scared that Thing
Will catch me sleeping on the floor.

There are no childhood photos
Or memories of a bedroom.
Only disconnected images
That jump from buying jars of honey
From the basement of an unknown Aunt
In the middle of the night
To steering the car from the passenger seat
With a paper plate.
I don't even know who was driving.
The mission halls were kinder.
I can remember running through the sadness
For a peanut butter and jelly.

We had family reunions
With strangers who let me play baseball,
And I ducked the tag
The way I've been ducking you.
The gravel mixed with blood;
I was reckless and young.
The arm I'd flung to catch me
Had dragged through the dirt.

At 5 years old, you brought me to a home
Where an older boy tried to tell me
Let's play Mommies and Daddies.
His Mommy must have known,
And when she flung back the sheet
His eyes widened,
Expanding like the ****
He had wanted me to ****.
I found you watching wrestling.
When I climbed in your lap
I wondered if she would tell you.
I don't think you ever held me again.

You dropped some quarters in my hand
To keep me quiet.
Hour 4 in the smoky haze
Of the VFW where you did not belong.
I won a cup from the crane machine.
Too late, you say to wash it first,
And there is dirt in my water.

Mom blows smoke rings
In the car outside your work.
I think she is spying.
The oval shapes bring calm-
An order I requested
On a night that made no sense.

There were no friends to call
When at 3 a.m. I pushed a car,
Wrapped in my blankie.
Friends would have been asleep,
Power rangers beside their beds
With the heat on.
But it was so cold, and we had run out of gas.
What had you run out of? Patience?
I can remember waking in the car;
You pressed a drink to my lips.
It tasted better than anything I'd had before.
I woke in the morning
In a house where I was hated,
And the kids had drank my nectar.
The cup said Tom's on the side.

You left me there.
I think her name was Michelle.
She told me I couldn't play
Until I'd learned to tie my shoe.
I sat and watched my sister on the park
With kids I didn't even know.
Laces on the ground, and I was ashamed.
Later, she'd tell me she didn't have the key
When her son put a pair of play handcuffs on me.
I spent the entire day waiting.
Her husband, it seemed, could get them off.
At 4p.m. I found the button
That released me.
She had known the whole time.

At 6, I saw you for the last time.
I watched, crying, from the window
As Pop told you to clear out.
When you drove off, was part of you relieved?
I think you must have been.
You didn't fight for us.
Dad got custody, but he didn't want us.

Dad raised us in bars.
I sang Hootie and the Blowfish
With a man named Cricket.
Watched a million pool cues
Bang against the Rusty Wallace decor
That was too close to the table.
My picture might still be on the wall
Of that place called Ernie's.
I know it like others knew their rooms-
The ones I didn't have
Or those that didn't welcome me.

When Mom left, you found a sucker.
Sheriff lady.
What a stupid ******* name.
I thought she was nice
Because she didn't get mad
When I couldn't finish my salad.
It lasted a week
Before she hit me.

It's funny.
I found the court documents
Where you wrote that Mom abused us-
Written like you'd cared.
But I can still hear the screams
Of my sister as they held her down
At 8 years old.
She couldn't even sit down the next day.
You were out drinking, of course.

The guidance counselor interrupted my lunch once
Said Derek, how are you doing?
You had driven your motorcycle through a parade
While we were at home being broken.
I said I was fine,
Because happiness and sadness
Started to look like the same **** thing to me.

You made me hope for a way out
When at 17 I fell in love.
I left that house for a warmer one,
Where I had begun lighting fires on my own.
You never taught me
How to be kind.
I was looking out for me at her expense.
I traded love for loyalty,
Brought her down to my level,
'til she felt too weak to leave me.

But with distance came perspective
And she left, too.
Which was good, I thought
When two years later
I learned I was the problem.

I'm in my thirties now.
Something is wrong.
I've had love and life and laughter,
But you still won't show up for me.
Sometimes I see you
Dancing in the eyes of my little girl-
Light that doesn't belong to me.

I think I am broken
In ways that cannot be mended-
In ways that cannot be loved for a lifetime.
I am built for friends to love, from a distance.
I am not made for you,
Nor you for I.
I am not meant to be happy.
I am just meant to die.