I
am
the tip
of the iceberg.
10% there. 90% submerged
just waiting for a rogue ship to wreck.
I'm cold. Like ice. And what you can't see below the lapping of waves is more ice.
Large and impenetrable.
Our chance encounter
enough to break you
to pieces. You'll
only hurt yourself
trying to get to know me.
Your expectations left sore.
Your mind left reeling.
They must have warned you
these waters are cold
and choppy
and dark.

Even I, with scales on my eyes and large, heavy headphones pressed tightly against my ears, can see that this three week conversation has died out, although I have made every attempt to keep it burning.
Even I, with my nose bleeding, and my heart bleeding, and my soul dripping some strange, red liquid, know that this has run its course, which, coincidentally, was directly into an iceberg which I never saw. An iceburg that only exists in your eyes, yet this ship sailed, serene, into it, with no word of warning from your lips.
Even I, with guts spilled out, in the street, in front of your house, spelling your name, must aknowledge the fleeting nature of the situation. I guess.
Even I, with next to no knowledge of myself, know that I am lying.
But they are lies that I must eat with the eagerness of starving foxes - for that is what I am now. I am made of lies and paw-prints in the vacant lot, near the abandoned sugar factory, that place I still believe is haunted, to this day. Maybe it houses my ghosts.
But after my dinner of hollow lies, I am left famished still, even though I choked down one too many, coughing, and gasping for air, as if I were drowning in my own falsities. After my unsatisfying meal, I only want one dessert: A cigarette and an answer. But only one is possible, and I have already made my choice. The pull of Nicotine is much stronger than that of closure. So I don't really need it.
I am a blind man, who has wandered onto the train tracks, far outside of town, where the iron horses can really run. In the city (or something that may only resembe a city,) they prance. On display. "Look at my tall, graffitti-stained walls. See my beautiful face of cow-catcher grin and headlamp, cyclops eye."
I made my picnic on the tracks, thinking they were a bench. I guess that was a bad idea. And my reanimated corpse agrees, as it trusts that another train is still far away and stumbles about, picking up lost pieces.
I should build a house here. I really don't mind rebuilding, and the trainwrecks ain't so bad...
All in retrospect, friend.

Its so much easier searching Google or Pinterest looking for the perfect quote to effortlessly upload to the world.

So much easier letting another speak your words you can't seem to ever find.

So much faster to copy and paste, than forge your own complex emotions onto paper; no take backs, no rough draft.

So much harder to find the words that feed your soul, that truly illustrate your passions, your desires, your wants, your needs, your love.

This poem is for all the quotes that just don't suffice, for all the poems that aren't raw enough to deliver your missive. The ones that barely scratch the surface of your iceburg:

I don't have a problem with love; I love lots of things; I love babies and puppies, thunderstorms and laughing.

I love my job, my coworkers and kids, I love their tiny hands and developing brains, I love their arguments, and their ten second future careers. 

I love ten second future careers.

I love dancing and singing, I love being surrounded by trees that reach the skies and long walks on the beach where there's nothing around for miles.  

I love being uncomfortable, I love learning, I love awkward feelings of vulnerability.

I love being scared, but the kind of scared where I know I'm safe, but I allow my self to forget.

I love allowing myself to forget.

I love cliché and cheesy, I love pick up lines, and jokes that make your stomach hurt from laughter. Don't get me started on vulgarity and cursing; they're my drug of choice.

I love risky conversations and dark secrets, almost as much as I love life stories and scars. Man do I love scars! The narratives, the memories, the reminiscing.

I love reminiscing.

I love silence and I love noise, but mainly the kind of noise that echos joy and content. The noise that feels like home. The noise that eases my nerves like gabapentin never could.

I love meaningless drives and getting lost, or at least trying to, and finding myself in unknown territory that takes my breath away.

I love things that take my breath away.

I love hearing of your love for your son and your daughter, and how because you're a dad, you can french braid.

I love asking random questions from your jar that let me know you sentence by sentence, as we lay on your bed, just us in the room.

I love when it's just us in the room.

I love the feelings I get when I read your book; knowing that your hands have flipped these very pages.

I love staring at you while you strum your guitar and you smile sheepishly as I record you for later. I love watching your hands slightly tremble with everything you touch. 

I love everything you touch.

See, I know what love is. I know how to love, I know what to love, and who. I don't need help to love, or motivation, or reason, or rhyme. 

I'm a lover.

So if I slip, if I fall flat on my face and spew love from my pores, flicker love off my tongue, don't run. Don't be burdened with the fear of breaking my poor heart, or hurting my soul.
us lovers have enough love to balance out the pain, we have enough love to share and hoard all the same. 

So when I call you my lover, or love, or heaven forbid, say I love you, know that's part of my identity, it's my mark on the world, my rendition  on Charles Bukowskis words, "if you’re going to try, go all the way. Otherwise, don’t even start."

-kyla Goodson

Tomorrow morning, I will be your
      ghost again
            breathing salt into the
    wounds God left you healing.

                    Refection of
a flame that gives mist
     and winglets paling, I have
        arms that give night to girls
I have saliva that rises any deadman.

    Solstice, when do
  the dawns stop chilling? When
                 does warmth grow?

    Winter has had enough,
checking into a glass motel room:
                                  break the floor
    and call on a waitress to pick
it back up.

             I watch you sterilized
   perceived the tip of the iceburg
                            like a gift –

you must be leaving, sir, and
           get better once again.
                 before God pulls you in
        white’s chilly, and the morning is.

She stares
With a bagpack and a ribbon in her hair
I care
But the words have never left my tongue

I'm concerned she's scared
Of how I treat myself

It makes me fear
What she will do
It was only the tip of the iceburg

What if she only knew?

Cold is the shoulder wrapped in narcissistic delight -
The wanton
The diligent
The emptiness abides
But for iceburgs calving in the asiatic sea
Do they feel the tremor of the broken shard released
Can the blueblack glass reveal the depths of the mislaid man or
The woman -
Never given the chance to Be
It is too much to consider broken pieces should be saved,
Hidden for much later, when the sea will freeze again
Can he open to the touch
Can she build from what remains
We throw out the scattered remnants like the iceburg melting into sand
But consider the sand:
Remnants too, of shells and coral of bones and buildings fallen, broken, discarded
yet
Washing up on land
to build a new shore.

Don't **** with Jesus

So there was this alien abduction study
A real one
No goverments involved

It was the biggest
most official
alien abduction study ever

Spanning decades

Every abductee and their story
studied and scrutinized

Asking every question

Going over all the paralysed
and probed feelings of all of them

In some cases there was some awarness
Some comminication
Though not with words

After a while they started to notice an anomoly

In those cases where there was some degree of awarness
Which was a small percentage
Some abductees were able to communicate outwardly

In a small percentage of those
some abductees would inadvertantly
convey things like

Oh Jesus
Please help me Jesus

Or words to that effect



Now let me remind you
this was sciences study
and had been from the start



Until the Anomoly

EVERY TIME JESUS NAME WAS CONVEYED

The abduction abruptly ended

There was about 10 jesus cases
and this happened every time

See i'm not religious in the bible sense
But every time?


He knew their secret
Or at least came as close as any human ever

To me Jesus transcends religion
His word is essentialy love
And he had the biggest love following of all time
Bar none
Still does

They control you with fear you see
They farm it
It's their sustenance

So why wouldnt the name
of the most loved human being ever
strike fear in their hearts

So why didnt Jesus just tell everybody their secret
"Theyre here"
Could you imagine
They'd stone him for being crazy
before he even made it to the cross

Plus it wouldnt work
Everyone would be scared shitless

And thats what they feed on

Fear

So he had to teach us love
Love is our weapon
And once we build enough love
their whole dark twisted existance
will begin to unravel

The greatest trick an alien ever played
was convincing you the devil existed

We are a fear farm

But love can light the way
because they fear love

They fear Jesus and the power of his love


This is a true squashed story
Look it up if they havn't already buried it further
Tip of the iceburg...

plastic casing of grubby cash
avoiding the truth of my priviledge and circumstance
thirteen bruises and grabbing some ***
and here I am drunk, doing a dance

walk around
turn around

pop the lid off a beer with a fork
and remember, so sweet, and so cold,
how young you were fourteen hours ago

trudge in the mud of sculpted strip mall gardens
hedge around a wedge of forgotten iceburg lettuce

and let me know between the waves of coffee and Lexipro
what it must've meant
to turn twenty-two, a month ago

Always say “I love you”
Before hanging up the phone,
Or she will call you back
And ask why you didn't say it
Seems silly, but it's urgent
You need to know
That she always needs to hear it
Put her at the top of your list
Even if you are not at the top of hers
It's worth it
She's worth it
And always will be,
Tell her she's lovely
On the night she drinks too much
When her iceburg eyes
Melts into a Titanic sized sorrow
Show her love then
Even if she won't remember it
Don't let her fire dim
Or it will burn,
On the nights where your empty cavity
Of a chest misses
What was the best to me,
I hope will be your best, too
She's the most beautiful
Of all blessed messes,
That you don't need to clean-
No, her scars and her travesty
Is beautiful and she will color you
Even if you are pale
And unclean-
Love her today
Tomorrow
And every moment in between
Don't ever let her down,
Or end up like me
Wishing I said
“I love you”
The last time I talked to her on the phone
Because this time she didn't call back
And ask why
I didn't

be a poet or not
do or delete
amount
the same
a hill of beans

plus
or subtract
abstract
a drop in

the ocean
to hung
purple
naked

from
a nearby
pole
dark as a coal

by the moon
upside
down
or a nice

cup of tea
not really
much difference
older one is

ii

why sail it into
an iceburg..
leonardo would
never be allowed
into first class
that kind of spoilt
it..
love may transcend
the class barrier
but not a skanky irish
artist..
still,kate was game..

iii

love will transcend
anything
this is patiently
obvious..

excuse me
this rather bland
observation
and a rather

bad..
i am smashed
excuse me
go at the irish..

gosh.
when it comes
to that..
yes
love will transcend..!

the way life works is weird
all of the miscommunications
are unsettling and confusing
social media is just a distraction
a distraction from the real world,
an avoidance from confrontation
why is it that we constantly search for
avoidance
in reality we’re only hurting ourselves more
the more and more avoidance we face
the bigger and bigger problems become
that we dont.
throughout life,
we experience feelings all at once
or not at all
sometimes we think its better to run away
until everything catches up
and then we’re stuck
stuck in quicksand
and the only way of getting out
is to talk about the problem
breaking the ice
after we hit the iceburg

Depression is a war.
You can win or you can die.
It's a gun shooting off and hitting you in the heart
The gunpowder is the blood.
The sound of my heart breaking

Crushing my hopes and dreams
And everything I wanted to be
You were everything to me
But I was nothing.

The difference between you and me is that
while I was saving you
You were breaking me
You moved on but I was still here
Waiting..

I'm am the titanic you are the iceburg
Glossy but deadly
I held so many opportunities and you were there to sink them all
Thanks for letting me fall you left so quick I couldn't even hang on…

Depression