I still believe in every lie.
Trust into mistrusted ones.
Care even they don't care.
Give time though they not even worth giving for.
Love who does not love me.

A neighbor of mine in the village
  Likes to tell how one spring
When she was a ******* the farm, she did
  A childlike thing.

One day she asked her father
  To give her a garden plot
To plant and tend and reap herself,
  And he said, “Why not?”

In casting about for a corner

Of walled-off ground where a shop had stood,
  And he said, “Just it.”

And he said, “That ought to make you
  An ideal one-girl farm,
And give you a chance to put some strength
  On your slim-jim arm.”

It was not enough of a garden,
  Her father said, to plough;
So she had to work it all by hand,


She wheeled the dung in the wheelbarrow
  Along a stretch of road;
But she always ran away and left
  Her not-nice load.

And hid from anyone passing.
  And then she begged the seed.
She says she thinks she planted one
  Of all things but ****.

A hill each of potatoes,

Tomatoes, beets, beans, pumpkins, corn,
  And even fruit trees

And yes, she has long mistrusted
  That a cider apple tree
In bearing there to-day is hers,
  Or at least may be.

Her crop was a miscellany
  When all was said and done,
A little bit of everything,


Now when she sees in the village
  How village things go,
Just when it seems to come in right,
  She says, “I know!

It’s as when I was a farmer——”
  Oh, never by way of advice!
And she never sins by telling the tale
  To the same person twice.

I looked out at the street,
      hoping for footsteps

coming up the path..

But all I heard was
            therapy sessions..

She hides her cries
In the makeup she applies
By streetlight.
Both wash away in the rain.

Devious and mistrusted
She's a little disgusted
By here reflection
In the window pane.

Beautifully tragic,
Hypocritical and magic,
She tries to
Hide her cries.
We pretend to look away.

Her parents called her stardust
And she covered her scars
Under tattooed stars
Until her body was the universe;
With a black hole over her heart.

Ten thousand constellations
Painted on a beautiful landscape
With no reservations,
Invisible lines
Connect-the-dots
And constantly change
Images making
And breaking
Alliances
To spell out
My name

How do you dislike me?  Let me count the ways.
At least half of what I do and half of what I say
Seems to irritate and frustrate you.  
My deeds mistrusted and misunderstood
As something other than selfless good.
Your suspicion steals a narrow view
Of how I would prefer to spend my time.
So the sentence precedes the crime
And love is shackled in its gaol,
A prisoner with no parole,
Once found guilty, condemned for all,
And nothing can now avail.
Imagined crimes will never fade
And penance be ne’er truly paid.

First the illicit thrill
Becomes routine habit
Run of the mill
Like you're invincible.

Once, your heart beated
Feverish, hesitant,
Now you swagger, unheated,
The cheat can't be cheated.

The check-out girl, Lizzie,
Is trusting and smiling
Then she turns away, busy
And you're suddenly dizzy.

To your pocket inside
Go the chocolate bars -
Though it's undignified
There's a strange kind of pride.

Then - out of the blue,
In front of the world,
One day she asks you....
And what can you do?

...But collapse to your core
Like a worm-eaten apple
Pray to fall through the floor
You are Named, evermore.

Oh - the shame! she's disgusted
You're a thief, you're mistrusted
All that shock and self-loathing
For those moments you lusted.

Poor girl, she won't be aware
That her face and her voice
Will feature forever
As worst memory, lowest nightmare.

You'll be chilled to the bone
And you'll ask yourself "Why?"
Without job, wife or home,
Foolish, guilty, alone?

life is peace like death.
emboldened by spurs we
charge
ever more gloriously
towards destruction.
catch me in
my descent into savagery.
an aching hunger
gnaws
in each of us
mistrusted by evolution.
proven friend to humans;
the accident of nature.
life is peace like death.

I’m wasted on
Mistrusted remedies misplaced among a messy world
Amidst the misappropriated masterpieces
Lost within our land
We were made for mighty minds
Need to metamorphosize
Find time
Stop the blind fantasizing
Come to die
Otherwise,
We future butterflies
Are consequently caterpillars
Falling from the trees
Can’t fly yet
Although we deny it
We are earthbound
Unfound but by the resounding sound of the hounds of time
And they will find us as we hide beneath our fear
Of death
Or we could face it
Face them, face death
This breath could be the last of the old way
The old order
At the border and the shore
Of life we know
Lets set sail
And stop pretending

I know it’s coming
There’s a mending

A trusted remedy
I beg you please
Don’t expect it from me

But if there’s a spirit in your flesh
Take the road and let it groan
For your home
Then listen

See there’s a meaning to the madness
It distracts us
From the atlas
In our souls
Neatly folded
Put on hold
The search for gold
Till we have time
Maybe till we’re older
Baby maybe till we’re bolder
Stay awake and let’s be soldiers
Storm the gates although they smolder
Though they’re heavier than boulders
Time to take back
What was stolen
Before time

life is peace like death.
emboldened by spurs we
charge
ever more gloriously
towards destruction.
catch me in
my descent into savagery.
an aching hunger
gnaws
in each of us
mistrusted by evolution.
proven friend to humans;
the accident of nature.
life is peace like death.

I don't get you
It's been said.
(By you.)
Your music poem heroic myth combos;
I don't got 'em in me according to you so ****

Pride is what I've got as far as:
Loving you, possessing you, longing you forever and ever and always
Faithing this: I get you and no one else can ever more, just me.

Me wrong: ha!
But apparently maybe
So call me
Or don't cause we sleep together;
no call needed bby

Speak instead so
I can scratch your dreams;
I'mma ******* Count of Monte Cristo type here,
All useless revenge
Offensive retreats I pretend are defense;
therefore, QED legitimate.

A chess player bluff but no
I'm not actually that fancy
I don't fence cause my wrist is ******
don’t play chess because it will not be just any another opponent, it will be my Papa, teaching me the best ways to beat him, in the end.
don’t conjugate Latin anymore,
(she died, the woman who whispered there is a way out of radical christianity and heterosexuality but more importantly taught Latin precisely, inspiring.)
I cheated on the last test anyway so **** that fake fact.

So I just been hoarding meanness
up down,
Left and right, inside out

(In other words: ******)

Sorrow isn't a thing we people make up but we sure spend a lot of time manufacturing it for each other it seems like, and I don't want to be good at doing this.

It doesn't make me tough
Or better
Or mas yours
Or honest or what I'm afraid you think I am:

A wilted desert thing
Secreting thorns first
Exploding them out in every direction
Unpredictably
Unblooming into a prickled seeding creature
nonetheless virile vibrant,
Hungering but not starved

Like home this summer,
The summer you wouldn't believe
If I told you how green it all was down I-25;
(ours and also you and Maria's but we count more than you and she cause she doesn't glow anymore who knows why I wish she would because she is the best poetry you have let out so far just opinion here.)

But so.
Unbelievable.
Like a desert dreamt itself into meadows and unknown greens that you know better words for than I do.

You missed this.

You hate missing things
Pretend they were never there.

You just want to turn longing into creation,
So you're the best at survival
And transforming and I don't want to just wilt out on you, I want to become a cactus that can be anywhere and all where
But I won’t pretend it wasn’t real because I was there and Santa Fe broke my heart and you can  forget all you want but that is fact and nothing changes it even though I can bear it, bore it all summer, and then broke a bunch of your bundles of trust this fall and now you can have reasons for what I've done wrong and I wont argue against the facts.

But I am not incapable or lazy or insane or crazy. I do not need men to tell me I'm bad with money when the only times I am is when I am wrapped into their lives. I do not need to be mistrusted when I know what I know and have done what I have done and do not try to reconcile the two.

Reconciliation? Personal analysis? **** that. All I had to know is that here we wouldn't birth fights about who did what wrong, and that I, I am not alone in this world.

P.S. Why am I the one left to keep us safe if you don't trust me enough to believe me when I say your child could be mine one day and I, I would not keep silent watches, build walls with peepholes. Keep believing it, though. Cause I'm the only one in on the secret who hasn't feared for a child's life around you yet. and I'd bet you any amount that every single other person has had that moment of terror. So figure out who it is you want on your side, kid.
( Don't leave yourself alone in this world. )

It was my last swig
  before I hit the gallows
of a slumber
   not too far mistaken
as an escape from the
   void and emptyness
of a lover's life's dreams.

All be it!

... is not misgivin',
     but mistrusted
in a lame being's spirit mind.

Impossible to touch and out of my reach,
Unwritten codes which warn to not breach
These laws of conduct; someone else's possession,
All their own in a mistrusted lesson;
Undeserving through many an eye. Thy quietly fear
With one life to lead, chances of kissing you disappear,
Even though you stand less than a breath away,
Honourable be; shall I leave in friendly play?
Or pursue with mother wolfs stare, a deer's kind face;
Hunting for her poor cubs in winter's bitter embrace.
Love of her young ones, her tired weary limbs drive,
Gluttony's ravenous kiss and her hungry prize.
Pushes this force to conquer starving lusts sneer,
The same power I'll use, to stalk you, my dear.

how when I have arrived at a distant place |
sleep beheads an animal when dreaming

           is in search for its body somewhere
        and lies over barbed coverts – I am that
        animal  again in, over and over, lost within

its hubris a dream forecasts with separate proof
near the end of this investigation.

what will they tell me when they see me
after all these years when it rained almost
every day? of what continued trace must I bear,
and may not be mistrusted yet? what evidence

is inflated, with nothing to report?
this long stumbling night
contorts its own version                 of being lost and again in,
                                      the same covetous body snared.

how   when   a selfishness manifests   itself   in complete   peace
    is when a dream, a piecemeal apparatus

you can feel even the resting tremor of it learn my structure
and are these now infinitely throbbing highlights  a  part

of  me  starting  small  convulsions   anywhere it goes

The child I was
Was the child I became
Sad, silent eyes that I don't remember
Showing
To myself Or
The world
My world was small and narrow
And surrounded by people that that I liked and even loved
However
Puzzling they seemed
Lots of friends as puzzled as I at this strange
World populated by those large, tall and passionless adults, calling the Many words of friendship
Not only I mistrusted.
We grew together and apart
And mourned those we lost in whatever ways,
The next generation children of the
Generations before
And before them.
We didn't think to complain
No one did then.
And now?
We finally find,  and I hope its not only I,
That the freedom
We've sought In so many
Inappropriate and self- destructive
Solutions, began
With one small journey
That stretches into some far off horizon
None of us can see.

Don't pretend

to be an angel

fallen.

or a star

lost in this

black velvet

night.


I trusted you.

you mistrusted

me. and now

our lives lie

like marbles

rolling in

different

arcs

across your

bedroom floor.


unrehearsed paths

racing each other

to nowhere

imparticular.


emotional outcasts

thrown from

our brief existence

to love's oblivion,


with no

future and

barely a past in

sight.


And in the

morning  light

we are not

what we intended

nor promised to

each other to  be,

we are so

much less.


clowns with masks

broken in two.

rainbows only

bleeding black

and white,

shadows of

what we

used to be ,

seeds never

taking root

in love.

I lay here, confused about where I am
I feel my body and I feel my skin
But it's this unnerving feeling I keep seeming to get
I don't know it yet.

And I ensile other thoughts, knowing what you need
I ask and answer anything
I feel so disconnected to who I am
I don't know who, and I definitely don't understand.

I ask you so many times how I can
Alleviate this pain, don't ask me how I am
I cannot answer, if I don't know
How do we seem so disconnected, two days ago we were so close.

You think I'm causing trouble
I would know when I am
I'm causing it to myself and my mind
I feel a sense of being snubbed, who knows why?

It's that frustration that I can't get to go
It's that feeling of failing but underserving, never saying no
Mistrusted, misrepresented, misunderstood by myself
That's what I am.

Little girl,
What happened to your world,
Your dreams and desires lost,
Where is your laughter,
That echoed everywhere.
Where is your quirky smile,
That pulled at heart strings,
Your joyful dance steps as you moved.
You were daddy's  little girl,
You adored him,
He defiled you,
You gave him trust,
He broke it to pieces,
You wanted love and affection,
Instead he gave you shame and trauma,
He was your hero,
He turned out to be zero.
That awful day he came to your room,
You were so happy to see him,
You hugged him,
But he pressed you down and climbed on you,
He molested you,
He exploited you.
He came again and again,
That wasn't bad he said,
He threatened you,
You cried and kept quiet.
Time went  by,
I saw you and I knew,
You mistrusted everyone,
You had nightmares,
You were afraid to be touched,
You bit your nails and lips.
It is sad some don't understand,
Come my dear,do not be afraid,
Let me ease your pain,stress and fears,
Have faith in me,
Talk to me about your trauma,
Open up, let it out of your chest,
Allow me to wipe your tears.
We cannot undo your dad's ugly crime,
It will take time,
He will be punished for abusing you.
I want you to be the same little girl,
Happy and joyful.
I know you will get better,
May God listen to your prayers,
A new, bright future for you,
Away from your dad's ***** eyes.

Too Much Caffeine in the Poetry

My brain feels spun,
The other kids are having fun.
I'm not sure what direction I'm on.
Should I be playing, slaying, laying down
I don't let the ground hold me up.
I sip apple juice from a Lego cup
Then let my thoughts erupt.
Blow off my mind, it's dusty
But I'll be a quick spitter like Rusty
The pinch hitter who lost the game
Still dancing all the same.
Oh and you just lost the game.

I'm sorry, I'm not sorry.
The engines are not starting,
The cylinders should be firing
Though now expiring, into nothing.
It's not snow, it's just a dusting.
I have a two, a five, a seven, jack and queen,
In other words, I am absolutely bluffing.
The suit does not match the shoes that
I wore to score a date too late.
Miss Cinderella it's half past eight
And those glass shoes are positively fake.

Today I wrote nothing,
Mistrusted my hand to stand on it's own
But Mr. Right, I was wrong.
You need to leave the page alone.
Today, I drank a drink that made me think
I'd never stop the twitching hop
My mind had surely bled
And left this mess before I went to bed.

Do you know tiredness like this?
A neck paralysed by the bouldering weight of the tormented day,
An equilibrium formed upon the belief,
That you have truly scaled the unforgiving walls of hell's cage,
And shared a meal with the devil himself,
A mistrusted silence that is desperately grasped,
In ignorant hope of momentary relief from the day,
An angry storm forming above your fluttering sails,
The only victory in hand,
Is that its grey clouds are familiar to your sky