My tornado spins in vicious cycles.
Those calm winds, I haven't felt in a while.
'Cause the rain, it only ever pours.
Comes down on me so hard, it's leaving sores.

The winds kick up; become a cyclone.
One giant mess I can't seem to sort on my own.
And broken sticks and chunks of leaves,
they twirl inside my tornado of dis-beliefs.

My loves have left this hurricane on my plate.
After all my wrongs though, it's probably my fate,
To twirl so cluelessly in a mind I hate.
I'll be lost in my hurricane head for days.

It'd be nice if the sun could break through these clouds.
The clouds that 'cause the winds to crowd
Every last proper thought I know
Gets broken and tossed in my tornado.

I can't even distinguish right thoughts from wrong.
Anybody I know never sticks around too long.
They're thrown in my head, jumbled with everything else.
Take a decent beating, then to another hand they're dealt.

My loves have left this hurricane on my plate.
After all my wrongs though, it's probably my fate,
To twirl so cluelessly in a mind I hate.
I'll be lost in my hurricane head for days.

Or maybe it's me who's taking these beatings.
I sure as hell know that my skull's lost its feeling.
I know I'm loveless, sleepless, clueless.
I know I'm powerless, useless; just a mess.

I know I'm a lost child refusing the right care.
I know I wanna do this on my own, so don't you dare.
And I know I'm gunna fight this tornado alone.
But at the same time, everything i know,

**I really don't.

The walking dead fill these streets
Hollow eyes and empty minds
Cluelessly they shamble on
Knowing nothing of *****

Herb is my liberator
I find freedom in the kush
One ****** puff sets me free
My chains are broken by ****

Babylon consumes our minds
Men walk like zombies entranced
If everyone had a spliff
All the world would be at peace

...
I was born into this shadow of beauty we call the American dream, but I was raised in foreign silhouettes. The same exact silhouettes that raised my mother. My first memories were of her forest gods and alpine stories that have taught me how to write spiderwebs into the hearts of the miserable so my words could hold them together. My deadushka's magic could turn monsters into swans with a wink because his love was so contagious. My babushka's, on the other hand, showed me how to howl like darkness so even the wolves would know silence. I was born as spilled as it comes; as ink.  I now understand what tragedies look like at first;  ("Blessings")

As my mother picks her way across a war with me in her arms, the world catcalls that I am a half-blood puppet. The daughter with Russian strings and American footsteps. I arrive in America where I am reminded I belong here, but that was the first lie that my mother ever fed to me. To this day, it still tastes like expired love.

As my father spent all his kindness on me in the earliest years of my life I was given an English tongue and it bullied my Russian one into suicide. That is the only thing my father ever planted in me that he wanted to grow. Those seeds of words I would later bear fruit as ripe poetry.  Those fruit of the novels I will someday write as fiction into flesh. However, what is written beneath our skin doesn't necessarily always fit in our mouths. My father's greatest mistake was beating me into a ghost, but giving me the power to write about his hauntings.  His abuse moves into our house shortly after he realizes I am a tragedy, not a blessing.

As I write myself into the moon one day I will become, I meet a boy who's laughter makes all the planets look dull.  We learn to not walk like apologies, but like young legends. He was my first real taste of sunlight since I was brought here, and he spoke heaven into my eyes until I saw it. We loved each other like Peter Pan and Wendy did; deeply, cluelessly, and forever. Our immortality was a toy in the eyes of those who envied us. Yet he summoned the fires we should have feared as kids, but instead we stared into them and smiled. We were happy, and we were never sorry for that.

April 3rd, 2007. He died. That was the day I was old enough to grow out of a blessing and into the clothes of a tragedy. That was the day the heaven spilled from my eyes like the great flood and went with him. My mother theorizes that is why my eyes aren't as blue as hers anymore. The sounds of bullets hitting bodies today, even ten years later, between then and long ago, has the power to create painful afterimages of him. The post traumatic stress unfastens my blood from my my body and the poetry reacts by shutting me down all at once. Death asks me to write a spiderweb into his own heart, but I refuse.

I adopted grief into my family and he got along with abuse pretty well. To survive, I've left the nostalgia of that boy to hibernate deep in my bones.

Today is April 3rd, 2017.  I stand before a headstone that exists only sometimes in my head. I kneel before it and leave the skeleton of my love like a bouquet of roses. The shadows and silhouettes align, and I hold hands with both of them.

I weep as the odes of "it's not your fault" fall onto my ears like they do every year. From friends, lovers, and family. They mean well. Who knows, maybe someday I will have what it takes to believe them.

But he never grew up, so guilt still ***** it's wings here.

---"Sermons with a colorblind priest."

It is
what I do
since the 50's
of my 18 years —

Mummy, do you
cry when you
walk away
and leave me
crying here (too?)

There were wars
where we fought it out,
like angry soldiers
without cause —
without loyalty...

So mummy, you should know,
I will forever
be loyal to you
even when I tell you
I am upset with you,
even when you
are digging your claws
so cluelessly
into my throat —

A fortune teller
once told you,
you told me,
that I didn't know,
sometimes,
if you loved me;
You said then,
"There's no way, right?"
like you weren't sure, and
I said, "Of course not."
I did not lie,
I know.
(even when my nightmares were of you forgetting me)

Like a person waking up from a car crash,
I know I have all my limbs,
I just don't
remember,
and I am just
scared.

I write
Like no
One will
See it.
I express
Myself the
Best way
My mind
Can describe.
I am
Not scared
To tell
The truth.
I will
Not fear
The thoughts
Of other
Human beings.
I do
Not give
A flying
**** what
You think.
Never will
A false
Statement come
Out of
My mouth.
Over dramatic
Or lack
Of detail,
I will
Tell my
Own story.
No one
Steps foot
In my
Life and
Takes over.
I let
That happen
Too many
Times before.
I’m not
About to
Let that
Happen again!
*******
Slutty *****.
I am
Not happy.
I am
Not fine.
I am
A crazy
******* *******.
I will
Never be
Able to
Make other
People happy
Because I
Cant make
Myself happy.
Cluelessly searching
For anything
To make
Me feel
The slightest
Of happiness.
Whether right
Or wrong,
I do
Not care.
I just
Want to
Be happy.
Good or
Bad, my
Mind will
Never know.
Do I
Even care?
I don’t
Believe so.

I wrote. Well, if I may say I do write sometimes. Sometimes like these, in particular when I find you wondering around in my head like a little squirrel between tree branches. I believe I put you somewhere in there, perhaps in the right side of my brain, where all the art is.

You see, I may have become such a bitter person. Believing isn't always an easy task. As well as staying up and growing strong. ***** aside, I'm not a good person after all. Yet there you are, single handedly ruin my walls down to the very bricks. I should be boiling furious right now, but your stupid smirk must have some sort of spell.

Words may define you less than my touch. But I will try my best. Nothing as close  as impossible as pointlessly trying to make you at least understand the urge I have toward you. While you standing there cluelessly, I'm just a long breath away from literally attacking your hair with my lips down at yours and I'm not even joking.

The worst part of believing is it's indescribable, blind most of the time. I say, to have faith is like having a double bladed dagger in your hands. You can hold it wrongly, you can hold it to tight, it can hurt you as much as it can protect you, it can be a weapon or it can be a life saver.

At nights like these with a hard drizzle, I try to write. To solemnly attempting to ease up a bit of that stabbing pain of missing the warmth of your arms around my waist. The sounds creep up on me. As one after another drop of rain brings the memories of that day when we kisses. My heart never beat as calmly, out of my prediction. While yours just, like a synchronize classical orchestra. Just, breath taking. I guess my heart always remind me how to live, but never how to love.

And it was just telling me, to love is to slowly letting your guards down. Because now, you aren't fighting alone.

And then we kissed.

I guess it is almost  like how they make those coins appeared from the back of your ears, magic.

I travel in your fair thoughts
As though to travel in your world.
Sometimes, I try to understand
Why your eyes cannot reach me.
Sometimes, I do not know you but--
But still I want to linger
Like I truly know you.                  

Shyly, I intend to blanket you with my palms
As if I can cocoon a butterfly back
Into its gentle sleep.
I am absorbed at it and I cannot disengage.

You bring hope and needed refuge to a wandering soul.
Cluelessly, your blue warmth caresses,
And it opens for me
Like an afternoon:
My rest from tough day's work.
Because of you I can somehow get by
With this life.

Love,
You're my north star,
And another,
And a few hundreds more.
I intend to walk and follow
My disregard for my longing heart.
But still, at night, you form for me
A constellation, a guiding invitation
Just to love again.

And how I need to lean on you,
Like a book leaning to another.
But at times, when I can see you reaching out,
It is my hand that readily un-fists and steadies,
Worried for which its not accountable of.

Because of you I can only imagine--
How immense would re-birthing
Drowned islands be inside your heart,
As I wonder at a far-off shore
How to get there, how to know you.

'Cause maybe
Just like me,
You are finding someone new.

© 2010 J.S.P.

run, escape my fatality
on the horizon i see serenity
barbed wires, razor flies obstruct my way
quick! lay still, hide from the prey

baby cries echo in my sleep
brothers and sisters hazed emotions, unable to even weep

flying ships thunder over my head
mute my ears to escape this dread
famine overwhelms my perception
yet I stumble towards my destination

Foreign faces salute my courage to flee
yet they says they have no space; no space for a refugee
collapse, cry cluelessly
look up to faith to absolve me from this destiny
sudden light pardons me to go
yet flashbacks put me to an endless sleep, oh..

She brings forth hell's fury from my mouth;
A black, burning rage swimming through my veins,
And she smiles, and tells me that it makes me pretty.
I want to strangle her.

So effortlessly, so cluelessly, she begs my attention,
My obsession, my affection, my addiction.
She wraps her little angel legs around my waist,
The waist of a lonely god.

She's aware, as am I, that to continue this charade,
Is to dig her grave in the cemetery of a commoner.
Her stone will be unmarked, her death on my hands,
and yet, still I cannot bring myself to leave.

She intoxicates me, drives my mind
To the very brink of insanity, with
Love, and lust, and hatred, and desire, and guilt,
And absolute, catastrophic fury that threatens Armageddon.

I crave her lips, and her hips, and her hands,
And her stubborn, loud mouth,
And her words that tear me down,
And the violence she incites from my mind.

I am the worst substance for her, like drinking chlorine.
She is even worse for me, like mercury,
Bringing out the demon in me,
That awful creature of chaos that she loves to see.

And as I've mentioned previously,
Despite my desperation for release,
She has me in the palm of her hand. I could never escape.
I more than long for, I need, I crave her infuriating arrogance.

I am just another sad case of addiction,
Without hope of rehabilitation.
As long as she lingers on my breath,
I will continue to destroy.

The blood spattered streets paint the fire trucks red as they speed by following screams for help that will never arrive.
Tears,
from citizens, loved ones, from children waiting cluelessly for their father's return,
paint the early morning sky blue. The sky shines bright in contrast to dark, suffocating shadows of smoke that haunt the city streets.
On that day memories and buildings alike collapse in front of white ghostly faces.
People come to rest, motionless in a city that never sleeps.

But tomorrow,
there is no red blood or gore
no blue tears or sorrow
no pale white faces stricken with fear,
because when the smoke clears
and America's lungs can finally take a breathe,
all that's left is a flag standing alone and swaying freely,
possessing the same three colors,
that had haunted a nation just a day before,
but meaning so much more,
red, white and blue.

Safe Harbor

The picture is gray and colourless.
Shades of black pervade the photograph;
We are left to ponder at the real colors hidden therein.
Can’t you imagine what it was though?
See that vast horizon stretching like some
Big blue tarpaulin providing shelter to the Earth’s surface.
White foamed caps blinking, disappearing near and far.
The rock in the foreground beneath them becoming baked in the late August fever.
Rays of melted sunshine barred only by
Lofty lackadaisical puffs of moisture meandering across their endless plains.
Their bodies warmed by rock and soft smooth skin alike,
Recovering from the liquid ice from whence they came minutes before.
Simple refractions and reflections of light from millions of miles away dancing across
Infinitely changing patterns of molecules, ultimately landing on light kissed exteriors.
Two forms interlocked with passion’s grip,
And the sound of a breeze drifting sweet nature song into their minds from the Invisible Shore.
The taste of another being suffusing their mouths, searing their fingers, and engulfing their lungs.
It smells like warm crushed leaves, crashing waves, and contentment.
The beginning of autumn and the beginning of the end.
Fall into this image and continue with us.

Can’t you see them that evening?
Their emotions viciously tearing at their muscles, motions motivated by coursing chemicals.
Feathery sheets envelop them in the irony of the burdens to come.
Cluelessly they explore their youth in
Perfect rhythm; Imperfect beings consumed in all the wrong parts of life.


Now can you not recognize them?
Their despondent expressions are not unlike your own.
Weary faces from broken hearts.
Crushed by the movement of time, the fleeting feelings
They once had the chance to caress are nothing;
Nothing but the relapses we relive in sparks of neurons,
Electrified like the moments once were, flashed back to our mind’s eye.

Step back out into reality.  Pause.  Reminisce.
Where is that Unseen Shore?  That refuge for the rest of our existence?
Is it but a figment of our imagination?
The breeze of the trees, the whole continent behind you, is
Hidden yet holds everything real and true.
Without it would we not be left to drift through the blue expanses of the oceans of doubt?
Is our Safe Harbor not in those we love?
These questions threaten to drown us, but
Who are we to know the answers?

Clumsily, cluelessly, capriciously;
Varying walks of life, and such varied
ways of walking. Crawling and or quickly-
they advance through the concrete corridors.

~Completely unaware of the outside world
or anything other than themselves, for that matter.~

The issue lies in the wanting of more.
I've not much left to give and I'm sickly
'cause everybody's got their friends-big leagues.
From me to you, its not simple. Like harried
marriage; marred and probably charred, but

this is war-
~extra judiciously~

As most of you know,

I am catastrophic.

And as most of you know,

I feel alone.

I see cobwebs collecting cluelessly in between the lines of your poems.

They age and sit and stay the same,
those poems from forever ago.

But aging is healthy, and time can be good,
what makes me sad is the static.

There are only ever old poems. Never new thoughts or feelings or the same thoughts and feelings strung and wrapped in different words.

It’s just cobwebs.

I used to read your poems religiously, I used to ponder what they meant.

But now I think I have my answers, and now I’m sure I’ve lost a friend.

What used help me cope has now become just a bigger reminder,

That everything I love will leave me in some way or another.

But I still read and I still write and I still think about the past

like a ghost in an old library reading only ancient texts

and I can’t conjure up the courage to say anything face to face

so I put it in a poem and I pray that you will find it.

Even if you do not write I pray that you still read.

Even if we do not talk I still put pieces of you into my words.

Even if we hate each other’s guts I still hope that you are happy

and I guess all I can really do is just keep on writing:

We were hiding under the stars
Replaying all of our favorite songs
Looking at eachother like we never wanted to see the sun.
To the right of our first date
Didn't know what the future held
But we hoped it held a wedding
Down the street from our first kiss
If we go down this road then you have to promise to never fall asleep behind the wheel

But you were cluelessly driving off the street
An found yourself on someone elses high way

I crashed into my road of mistakes
As you sped away

Cluelessly i blankly glared at the snow white writing pad
  As my hand scribbled furiously
Back and forth my fingers moved the pen as it mercilessly tainted the paper
Ideas somersaulted in my skull
My time was limitless
As my pen tried to define my destiny
The scribbling noise was enough evidence that the two were glued in a mutual conversation
Ohhh what do i say
The pen spoke as it continued to *** the blue fluid
You are more than a mystery
The now colored paper replied
Neither could i explain nor understand
As ideas frothed from my recess deep in the core of my brain
Where creativity nested waiting for right moment to erupt like an active volcano
It takes more than thinking it needs focusing the climaxing pen breathed out
Am making a poet am creating a voice of reason
By jumbling alphabets and sometimes drawing blanks
I make words play on top of you
I smiled as it dawned to me i had an arsenal to fight this word war
Pen as my spear and the book my shield
With both i am a knight
A literature warrior
Who can unite intellectuals
And create a kingdom of creativity
Poetry is born

...romanticize my relationships with people
because in my ringlorn disillusionment
my pallid impression of the world
isn't the epic, the quest, the legend
i wanted to manifest

but you? your quiet brand of suburbia
somehow made me feel like a hero of antiquity
ever-loving, ever-present, a rock:
the constant in an algebraic expression
the cad software that lived out my whims
the physics formula sheet, my failsafe safety net
a little of freud, novel and systematic
a little of kant, faithful and kind
the well-worn dog-eared comfort books that,
with increasing rarity, part the dust on
my nightstand beside hot caffeinated mugs

sometimes i feel the need to...
...tell you that in my heart,
you are not the mage, the warrior, the paladin
not the manic pixie dream girl, but the healer
who was always more and deserved to be
treated as such by this flawed protagonist

sometimes i feel the need to...
...say the wrong words, do the wrong things
for the right reasons:
steadfast and diligent,
you stubbornly remained
in spite of my shortcomings
a witness to my character growth
as i compiled my own
dictionary of obscure sorrows
embraced my own archetype

sometimes i feel the need to...
...tell you you are perfect as you are
pencil-wielding, scab-scratching,
violin-playing, head-patting,
bread-baking, sweater-donning
girl who dared to embark on an
adventure with this half-baked
cluelessly charming *******

to be sad is not to despair
but to feel the beauty of it all at once
our adventure may not be as grand
our hero's journey may not take us far
but it is precious nonetheless
we'll make it through somehow :)

Sometimes I smile being the thorn
Of the self-righteous and first born

Not sorry to ruin a few moments.
Stolen seconds from swollen swine
A brief pause gained against their gnaw.

Yell your yodel of a young victim
While your cup runneth o’er
And you greed grows

Forgive me for my moment of misstep
I feel so foolish to consider my value
In equality with the self-centered fool

Clearly here is the treasure
Your dreams of monotonous money
The perpetual pit of possessions
The incessant itch of inflation
The ceaseless clawing for cash
While I cluelessly cling
To dreams of art and time.

Just a touch

Feel the droplets burst on an open wound
Cluelessly doomed
See the bults from miles
Erasing the joy and smiles

hear the thunder call my name
It won't be the same
No storm can last forever
But to you, its whatever

You had to touch her skin
Ur careless face with a grin
Love is just a word you said
Without you.. I'm dead

Leave me in the pours
Cold,  shivers down my spine
Why couldn't I be urs ?
Cuz she was more devine

Standing on the edge
looking at the pain
The sounds of a whistling train

Just a touch of rain

We dream in the dark
too close to our hearts
to be hidden from view
to be scattered askew
like the raindrops that fall
through windows, down walls
aside bleak shooting stars
that land somewhere too far
away from our hearts,
as we dream in the dark.

We dream in the dark,
finding it hard to see
what's in front of ourselves
equally cluelessly.
It's funny how different
we see things in this light -
I'm dreaming at midday,
you're dreaming at night.
I stood next to you
as we walked down the street
you watched people pass by
and I watched our feet.
I thought you might hear
the thoughts my mind screamed
I forgot you weren't listening
I forgot that we dreamed.
I forgot, since the start
we have dreamed in the dark.

We dream in the dark,
we dream and we paint
now in this state of mind
I might lose track of fate
I don't see the sun rising
for the colors and strokes
I don't hear the clock ticking
for the words that you spoke.
But still, time will exist
as well as will fate
regardless of us
and our ignorant state.
I can sleep days away
I can close my mind's eye
and it won't change a thing
it won't buy any time.
So I hide the same thoughts
in the back of my mind
for a stormier day
for a much colder night
hide the dangerous art
that I dream in the dark.

Some people say I haven't loved ,
They say I walk on the street alone.

Well I have loved ,
Walked on endless road with her.

I had a crush back then,
After the examination of class tenth.

She took my breath away,
In no time I had fallen for her.

I was happy and about to explode,
When I saw her everything got slowed.

She was  cute ,
Looked beautiful in every suit.

Finally we were together,
I held her hands and she held my heart.

She was a beautiful and funny girl,
For me she was purer than a pearl.

There were times when she was angry,
But I held her tightly and persuaded her every single time.

We used to meet near the edge of a quite and  beautiful beach,
Where we were alone holding hands and no-one could reach.

The wind was soft and cool,
So I wrapped my arms around her.

Moon was shining bright ,
Like the sun in the daylight.

My hands were cold ,
Her eyes were warm.

That day we talked all night,
Laughing about that silly fight....

I kissed her in the fore head,
She held me tightly.

Everything was fine ,
Until the clock struck nine.

When my alarm went on,
I woke up and sat cluelessly.

My heart throbbed ,
As all my happiness were robbed.

I thought and thought endlessly,
I felt bad as I couldn't do anything.

Tears rolled down my cheeks,
For a moment I felt like I was sick.

But then a sweet voice called my name,
And she appeared
I asked her if it was a dream, she smiled....

And poured coffee in my cup,
I whispered if it's a dream don't wake me up.....don't wake me up.

Our love was held together by just twine
How could you be the reason I cry?
At the very least I thought you were mine.

And so I believed everything was fine
You were once the muse of my love struck sigh.
Horrid love held together by just twine

You, twisted love, sent shivers down my spine
What was it that caused you to always lie?
Oh how I cluelessly thought you were mine

You strangled me with your sadistic vine.
At times, I wanted to lay down and die.
Dangerous love tied together with twine.  

You blinded me and robbed me of my shine
After all this time, I must ask you: Why?
Was I right to think you were ever mine?

I credited our love as the Gods’ sign
It is my heart that will not say goodbye  
Our love was held together by just twine
At the very least I thought you were mine.

the woman was dragging the little girl along
yanking her arm, speaking in unfriendly and resentful tones

the woman had a mean looking face
nothing pretty about it. her short black hair
and mean looking face had gotten all they would ever need
to remain forever mean,
forever short and forever mean

the man of the couple cluelessly held the hand of what must have been his other daughter, mostly in silence.
he might have said something to the woman,
too old, too mean, too chinese, too ugly  to be his au pair
so she might have been his wife,
or his girlfriend or his ccp incentive
but given the girls white supremacy he must have left another wife

both the little girls had long, thick hair; it was pretty hair

i saw them when i was walking home from work one night
i was tired and confused, it was getting dark out
all over the bricks of downtown seattle

given how old the man and women looked, the little girls could have been his granddaughters, but that didn't occur to me at the time
because children often have a good time with their grandparents.