If I could go back there,
to that day in first grade when I yanked my project (on bridges, yellow cover decorated in crayon) too fast from Allison's hands and her fingers blistered on the staples,
I would be standing there,
next to Miss A as she lined up the class,
ready with a band aid and a hug and I would say, "Be more careful next time, alright?" and Allison and I would get yelled at for skipping in the hallway to art class,
the moment of shock dissipating from my mind like so many accidents of the year.

If I could go back there,
to that night in April of eighth grade where I learned what true poetry was,
I would be there at ten twenty-four,
and I would wake the dead to keep myself from typing those fateful lines if I had to,
and I would save myself from skewing the feather-light foundation of our group of five
that later was heaped with bricks at odd angles
which came tumbling down.

If I could go back there,
to the last Monday before 9th grade began (whether it was Monday morning or Monday night I forget),
I would give myself a Mountain Dew and say, "He's fine, but go for her,"
and then as I ran down the b
to the day in fifth grade when I realized no one was laughing with me,
the day that I realized I was an outcast, and that "being different" wasn't good,
I would be waiting with my pink-haired baby sitter as I stepped off the school bus,
a Lilly Quench book in hand and a mug of hot chocolate (even though it was March) in the other,
and I would pull from my pocket the same necklace I was wearing,
a wire-wrapped amethyst on a crumby silvery chain
that was the first of many,
and there would be acceptance in the house that night.

If I could go back there,
to the moment I learned about eating disorders in health class from an over weight gym teacher who couldn't care less about the students,
I would bump the kid next to me from his seat (let him whine, he's a ****) and sit down,
a plate of chocolate cake and a spoon to eat it with making a mess of the plastic desk,
and maybe I would realize that I was already skinny enough.

If I could go back there,
to those nights when I learned the true power of words,
to the moment I skewed the foundations of a solid friendship of five,
I'd shout and scream and wake the dead to stop myself typing those fateful lines,
heaping bricks upon bricks to collapse my only bonds,
and I would give myself a mug of Theraflu to knock me out,
and whisper in my ear as I nodded off, "Stop being so **** impulsive."

If I could go back there,
to the last Monday before 9th grade started (whether it was the Monday morning or Monday night I never recall),
to the night where I should have closed my laptop for good when Joanne signed off but instead I reopened it at 12:17,
I would give myself a bottle of water and tell myself, "He's fine, but go anyway"
because it meant the world to Allison that I do so,
and as I ran out of the house in the opposite direction of our suicidal friend to meet up with her,
I would head toward's his house and tell him we were coming so he could be awake and his dad asleep when we showed up at the door at 2:23.

If I could go back there,
to March 19, 2012,
when I learned about life from Death himself,
when I learned that some things are worth living for and that isolationism doesn't work but it will have to work for me,
I would stand there at the foot of my bed,
freezing cold because I refused to turn on the heat,
I would hold my hand and be supportive because now I know that no one else will be,
that no one can be there for everyone always,
and I would stay with me for the months to come and relive the hellish months to come because no one should have to hold the world up alone,
knowing that they can't even maintain a grip on themselves.

If I could go back there,
I would save myself.

(Niamh Price), this is thy own dedication, thy shortened sentences art lovely, they showeth me mine homeland of Ireland, wherein the druids didst roam, wherein tales went back far and old, as niamh thy soul I feeleth its pain, yet soo amazing thou art friend.

(Gary L), this one is thine own writing, sir, thy friendship is inviting, thy lyrical sense is enticing, as thou doth speak truth when thou seeith it, never quit! On thy works and on thineself, thou art who thou art, a beautiful man, with timeless knowledge.

(SPT), this poem is for thou as a treat, I feeleth thine anguish mix in with thy compassion, thou art a hopeful mansion, filled with words of someone who hath lived age's, thy pages art touching, and I thank thee for thy support and guiding me through h.p.

(Ignatius Hosiana), brother thou art a hopeless romantic like me, hoping for his queen, seeing her only in thine dream's, yet as we scream, as brother's we doth unite! In color of skin's, black and white we overcometh the ideology of hatred, loving the hater.

(Dedpoet), mine Mexican friend, how canst I not loveth thee, thy word's dark, ghetto, and deep, as I've been around hood part's to knoweth enough, the most beauty LIES awake in the hood, the places the rich men overlook, is wherein the eyes of God art .

(Wonderman poetry), brother thy words of Christ uplift me, not a perfect being mineself, thyself showeth me the light in the darkness and thus when I'm down, thine godly loving giveth me help, as thou knoweth brother, love and forgives as Christ taught!

(poetessa diabolica), word's that thou uses art so complex, for thee so I respect, for all thy love thou hath given me, the hope that thou planted me, to showeth me, God still lingers in man's soul's, despite the devil trying to rear around, I thankest thou poetess...

(Donna,) thine little haiku's art a piece of the celestial, thy pieces extraterrestrial, and high up the Angels weep to thy words. Like cures and herbs they giveth me a better day to look to, as like glass, beautiful the words thou uses floweth to heavens moon!

(Rosalind Heather Alexander), speechless I am to thy grace, a Scottish lass as me part Scottish blob and mass, lol, just saying , two bloods of the same kind, now thou art writing thy soul out, keepeth it divine, thy soul canst not go rewind, so love on ahead.

(Soul-survivor), old friend, as we both preach the same predictions shalt we worry of ourn end? No, we shalt continue to showeth love, and giveth others hope, than when we die the Graves not it, but that God's love over-rose, so shalt we, auntie as I calleth thee.

(Icysky), young one please do not cry, the boy's canst seeith the fine stitching God made thee as, thou hath a vessel of rubies, and thou art like a wonderful movie, fast tracked to the best part, icy, let noone breaketh thine heart, and let thy lord guideth thee .

(Joe Malgeri), a freak hippy like me, playing music to the sun, giving lectures highly and fun, thou wilt find a queen like me one day, continue to haveth class, play tunes by night, showeth thy genuine ways. As thou doth, wonderful supporter, HP gypsie!!!

(Anthony Mooney,) an Irish hopeless romantic like me, thy soul hath beauty friend, let not hate overtake, bypass the anger and the heartbreak. Let thy pen jot down thy beauty, making the earth quake, unlike others dear mate, thou hath high class.

(Wolf spirit) ( aka quin,)though we don't talk, I loveth thee mine friend, though even thou doth not like me, thou art one of mine biggest inspiration's, thou art a true passionate, amongst the tribal nations, as I am Cherokee part mineself, thou inspireth me.

(Chris green, )affectionate of the the earth, thy woman Is lucky to haveth a poet by birth, for thy words drip like honey on a summer night, Chris friend, wonderful delight, I thank thee for kindness, for thy hope in refinement, and thou art a king of love.

(Pradip Chattopadhyay,) a man who canst writeth in all perspective, thy profile picture maketh me giggle everytime I seeith it, ( in a good way friend) I loveth thy style, and sense of humor, how thou writeth, and doesn't listen to rumors, a poet!!!

(Dark icE,) I just met thee, but thy sensuality is so delighting and like a dream, thy words sucketh me in as I canst ever get out, thy amour in poem's is a cloud, on which I linger for more of its nectar wet taste, immense in this place, unlike the human race.

(Beth StClair), mine best friend if back in the sixties, we wouldst hath layed flower's around ourn necks and head's, we wouldst hath sang the tunes of the Beatles and the dead, as I wouldst hath sung with Lennon, and zeppelin and thou wouldst hath watched.

(Vicki,) I've already wrote for thou and beth, but thou two art the best, Vicki in the crumby state of Ohio like me(lol) though me and thou aren't from here (were Angels of earth's dream's) thou art a poetic of kings and queens, thou art kind, sweet, and a a peace.

(Impeccable Space Poetess,) thy writing is like thunder. Maketh me laugh cry and rolleth over, I read again, like a books beautiful cover, thou art a friend, a poetry lover. Thou hath intelligence of God and heaven, never let man break thee or hurt thee.poetic!!!

(POETIC T,) a spirit light as a feather, free not a slave, not of this world, a man not a boy, thou hath been through strife and abuse, thy hands art not bound, thou hath cut the noose, please don't leaveth us, we all careth for thee. Friend of mine. And HP.

I’m sick of this electric energy
sub ways and motorcars
crumby rain and distraught smiles
empty faces gloom
shadows lurch and hang in dead air
untouched is the love that has collected dust
fallen into the synthetic mist
racing  speeds
                           fast
                                     fast
                                                zoom
                                                              and then it ends…
I want that electric energy
To show its impurities
To become raw
To become real
***** braces and zit cream
backwards living and hand sanitizer
***** breast enlargements and diet pills
***** not smiling
Afraid to appear too forward
***** smiling because you’re afraid people will think you’re negative
Afraid…
Afraid of what?
Just hold onto yourself and do as you please
Simply  because you enjoy It, because it sparks you on fire igniting your passions
Feel the rain
Let it fall onto your skin
Free of products
Free your skin from these creations
Made by man
Man craving more and more
Greed and hunger
Do not feed that man
Let him
Embrace
The level he is at
Let him learn to feel satisfaction
And how it works in opposition
The more you feed the hungrier you get
Let that rain penetrate deep inside of you
Notice the nature
The beauty
Close your eyes
And stop
Nothing is anything
And nothing is everything
Don’t be locked in chains your whole life
Only you hold the key
Forget the ideas
That made you feel
Anything but yourself
And remember
The wisdom you gained from hardships
Negativity is a sinking boat
Hold onto that flying power with positive thoughts and creations
Let your spirit soar high racing through the clouds let you become you
And please
Forget
That electric energy

When I tell you that you scare me
I want you to take it as the biggest compliment
That I could possibly give you.
Because people who come and go
Who just scratch the surface and leave
Are easy to deal with.
They don’t make me believe that if I cry hard enough
All the bad will be washed away
They dont make me want to kiss them for the feeling of
Time passing and not regretting one second of it.
They dont make me fall apart like
A crumby piece of cake squished by a toddlers hand
They dont make me laugh until you cant even hear
My sound let alone my words
They just don’t make me feel anything.
So when I tell you that you scare me
Its because you make me feel things in extremes.
Its because I know that there is no possible way
That I can get out of this and not be changed
I will never be able to go back to the person I used to be
Because you wont scratch the surface
You will break me, and scatter me into a million different pieces
And maybe thats why you scare me so much
Because you make it seem okay
To not be a whole
And just be pieces of undetermined fate.

[Let this be a gift, my lover not met]
Let this be a gift, my lover not met
This shaky sonnet of weak, boyish hands
With eyes that gaze and trembling mind beset
I live up the dream, stupidly make plans
Await as your gentle brown hair flits by
Marvel the saccharine scent of your air
Contrite by the mind bewitching my eye
Guilty for my presence in yours, unfair
Your lithe little hands in my crumby own
And cute red lips pursed with naïveté
Pouring out poetry like pregnant tomes
And you’re wisdom abundant, be it may
Be you different with quirk, an odd one please
And I’ll always be the one who n’er flees.

How is it that I long for something I already possess?

I feel an orphan, though I lack not
my emotions feel imposter

like those of true loss,
my heart aches for more than a shadow
moreover, I carry the guilt of this pang
with knowledge of those who carry authentic sorrow

I ask the question.
Is bruised fruit better than nil?
Is bread, molded and crumby, better than none at all?

I know you love me, but do you enjoy me?
obligation does not breed true affection.
dutiful acceptance falls short
I long for a genuine, tangible love

4/16/2019

Closed off to the world,
That’s where I’m secure.
Terrified; so up I’ve curled,
Perhaps, this way I will endure.

I fear the unknown,
How can I face it?
I try to argue on my own,
But will the judge acquit?

I am comfortable,
Is that so wrong?
You call me a vegetable,
I resemble that, so I belong.

Can I bridge the gap between?
Is it getting nearer or farther?
I’ll just sit – observe the scene,
Change? What’s the bother?

In the past, this or that,
Not what I thought it’d be.
I can’t stand their chit-chat,
Talking always turns out crumby.

Who predicts the future?
None but God alone.
So I sit here in a stupor,
Apathy – now full-blown.

If I can’t know what to expect,
I might as well not do anything.
Of this – guilty – a viable suspect.
My uselessness: like a napkin ring.

If I venture into newness,
Evil surely awaits.
Positive outcomes in fewness,
I only see dire straits.

Let the world leave me in the dust,
You’ll see if I care!
It’s always been so prejudiced.
As long as I’m happy, that’s fair.

I’ll stay here and be constant,
I’ll let others make mistakes.
Fail? I’m too important.
I mean, for goodness sakes!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I can’t just end this here,
That was me in the past.
My pride – nothing dared interfere.
But God did, the obstacle passed.

I’ve learned more about losing,
I’ve lost more than I’m winning.
My victories, all by God’s choosing,
My choices are all towards learning.

You could me on quote, this:
“I had pride in my humility,”
A contradiction I always miss.
I focus now on vulnerability.

Because when I choose,
To choose spontaneity,
A boring life it eschews.
Abundant life, takes responsibility.

there's a certain script each parent gives to their child
"the wonderful words of life" if you will
it tells you about thing things you should probably know that stems from their morals and values
but your parents never really tell you how life truly is
they'll never tell you how badly your first heartbreak will fell, they'll just tell you they'll be more, and eventually this pain will fade, as if that's supposed to be helpful
they'll never tell you what to look for in a good person, i mean you're supposed to figure that out yourself, but some guidelines would have saved me a hell of a lot of sleepless nights crying silently to myself over some crumby guy
they'll never tell you that you should be living life and not hiding, they won't outright say it but they'll force you to be social, which doesn't make things better, worse actually
you parents will never tell you how badly life will take you in its arms, hold you close and show you love and then throw you into the dust and ******* over, repeatedly
they'll never tell you what life is, because they don't know what you're life will be

It's the devouring
chewing away at the world
crumby way to go

                    Kelly McManus