"pushes" poems
It comes without warning;
you can't choose whether
or not it happens to you.
It's a calling.
The act of someone needing you,
not someone else,
but you.
You are the hero they need
to save them,
before there's nothing left to save.
You stay up late trying to find ways to become this hero.
You and the caller talk as long as the caller wants.
While this might not be the ideal situation for the hero,
they do it anyways in order
to make sure the caller doesn't end.
The hero swoops in at every situation they can,
trying to convince the caller;
trying to say how much they're needed.
Many times,
they succeed.
The caller decides they want to see another day.
They want to stay strong.
That gives the hero relief,
and only pushes them to try harder.
But,
there always seems to be one final time
when the hero's too late.
This is the time where it's not only the caller's end,
but the hero's, too.
The hero hits zero;
the hero doesn't want to continue
when they know how they
could've prevented this.
And that's when the cycle restarts-
the only difference being the hero
is now the caller.
The new hero,
on the other hand,
unknowingly waits for the call;
the call that could save a hero's life.
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 1:20 PM UTC
She weeps not for the shore
As distance creates a shadow
She embraces the current
Becoming the wave
And gently pushes her sea home
She chases not the sun
As the day is put to rest
She is the moonlight
That cradles the stars
Tightly to her *******
She yearns not
Her pain-streaked tears
That fall below her feet
She is the soil beneath her toes
Her pain now colors the tree
She worries not
The flowers' bloom
Or the leaves that fall like rain
She is the wind
That will kiss the ground
And sweep it all away
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 3:32 PM UTC
****** fantasies can be quite
A desire.
Would it be best to do it with your
Secret admirer,
Or just a **** dude?
Would you call it rude
If you showed up at his house
****
Having conversations about your
Tide tubes?
Is it true?
While time pushes by.
Is it real?
He sexing you and cutting you
Off like a deal
Will your heart heal?
Your fantasy desires coming
True,
With a man heart cold like
Steel.
Think about it,
Take a moment and think.
Not every man loves you.
Next min he’s there and the next
He’s gone like nair.
Babygirl it’s not love, its lust.
-Marci H.
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 9:31 PM UTC
Never should I love,
For never will you love me.
Never will your deep, blue eyes
Look in mine and read my mind,
Like a psychic running her fingers along the lines of my palms.
Palms that belong to hands you’ll never hold,
And handle with care like you would antique china
And at the same time grip with a firmness that tells me you’ll never let go.
You’ll never let go because you’ll never wrap your soft,
warm arms around me in the first place.
Your soul will never entangle with mine and fill that void
Left by a **** sliced deep within me.
A **** left by my father’s youth,
And my mother’s faith,
Whose knife cut out their acceptance for me
And gouged out my trust in them.
Can’t you see that you are the antidote to my lifelong suffering?
The Accutane to my welted face,
The braces to my crooked teeth,
The nitro to my aching heart
The rhino to my bulging nose
The morphine to my broken mind,
The running to my fading health
Running, running, running away
Far away from this broken house
Where your dreams never do come true and
Where you come out to yourself alone in the bathroom and
Where they can’t ever know the truth because my house is
Where God resides in the attic and
Where Jesus is the only one you should let in your room at night and
Where The Holy Spirit has possessed us all to live a lie because my house is
Where lifelong love is dead at the delivery room
And who is there to blame but me?
Who is there to blame but me?
But none of that matters to you.
It can’t matter to you,
Because all you do is love
And love
And love
And love
And love.
But you never love me.
Each year I have known you
I have reached out farther than the last,
Yearning for something I could never obtain.
Fifteen pushes past Fourteen,
Both of whom fall short of Sixteen’s growing arms,
Which are narrowly outpaced by Seventeen’s spindly, wirey fingertips.
Every Year’s efforts have met the same fate;
Failing to reach their target they instead grasp fruitlessly
Into a dark, brewing storm,
Full of tears,
And of crackling sparks of hope
That are met with the resounding booms of fate
Telling me that I am doomed to be alone.
Telling me that never should I love,
For never will you love me.
But I never listen.
Because I know you too well.
And I know that someday,
Someday soon,
You’ll make the happy accident
Of stepping too close to my many straining hands,
And I’ll pull you near to me
And you’ll realize that you never loved her at all.
And that you always,
always have loved me.
-The Boy Who Loves You Too
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 10:42 PM UTC
Bees build around red liver,
Ants build around black bone.
It has begun: the tearing, the trampling on silks,
It has begun: the breaking of glass, wood, copper, nickel, silver, foam
Of gypsum, iron sheets, violin strings, trumpets, leaves, ***** crystals.
**** Phosphorescent fire from yellow walls
Engulfs animal and human hair.
Bees build around the honeycomb of lungs,
Ants build around white bone.
Torn is paper, rubber, linen, leather, flax,
Fiber, fabrics, cellulose, snakeskin, wire.
The roof and the wall collapse in flame and heat seizes the foundations.
Now there is only the earth, sandy, trodden down,
With one leafless tree.
Slowly, boring a tunnel, a guardian mole makes his way,
With a small red lamp fastened to his forehead.
He touches buried bodies, counts them, pushes on,
He distinguishes human ashes by their luminous vapor,
The ashes of each man by a different part of the spectrum.
Bees build around a red trace.
Ants build around the place left by my body.
I am afraid, so afraid of the guardian mole.
He has swollen eyelids, like a Patriarch
Who has sat much in the light of candles
Reading the great book of the species.
What will I tell him, I, a Jew of the New Testament,
Waiting two thousand years for the second coming of Jesus?
My broken body will deliver me to his sight
And he will count me among the helpers of death:
The uncircumcised.
21.5k
For all the earth in the world,
For the varied chunks,
shapes and shades
of brown, keep an eye out!
There, somewhere in the dirt,
Next to the writhing worm,
Gasping at pockets of sunlight,
Green life ruminates, and
pushes, pushes up,
through the soil,
intrepid, unlikely.
It abandons its old husk house,
what little safety it knew,
and, daring to dream,
thrusts itself into existence,
and feels the day's cooling kiss,
a multi cellular masterpiece,
when yesterday, there was only
dirt.
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 9:13 AM UTC
Air is no thing
Or so I thought
But it pushes
Gently, at my skin
Separating
Edging its way in
Through my pores
And in my veins
Sliding swiftly up
To brace my brain
Filling spaces
That once I thought
Was nothing
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 11:26 PM UTC
Close my eyes tonight
In hopes of happiness and peace
Using my determination as a light
To scare away the darkness and the monsters that comes with
Its hard to manage when you don't mind the dark some days
Don't mind walking in the dark
Prefer it most days
But that’s in this world
Not the world of my head
In the world of my head I have to shine this light around
And push it all away
So I can keep pushing forward
So that I can explore the new part of my mind
That is attempting to take over my world as we speak
I've already decided it can't have it
I won't let it squelch the things I've worked so hard for
Determination it shall fear
And I shall not fear it
No matter how hard it pushes
I may have to step back
But I refuse to stand at the bottom of this mountain
And pretend everything is ok.
I've already attempted that
I've already looked for the answer at the bottom of a bottle
The answer isn't there
The answer is in Determination and patience
Forgiveness of myself.
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 8:40 PM UTC
Being a girl in my day and age,
you get used to all the horn honks,
the wolf whistles,
and the "hey baby's",
and the guys saying "you're too pretty not to smile",
as though not having a smile on my face at all times is a sin.
But why should I smile when harassment becomes normal,
when a girl can't report it because even the police thinks she should be flattered,
but why should I be flattered that a guy wants to see up my dress so much that he 'accidentally' pushes it up,
why should I be flattered when a guy can't even use words so he whistles at me like I'm a dog.
But I am not a *****
I cannot be won over by a whistle and sweet words,
no scratch behind my ears in the form of some misogynistic pick up line,
will give you a chance.
And if I laugh at your poor attempt,
it is not consent,
just because my lips curl into a smile,
does not mean you can come curl up with me.
My self worth does not exist on how fuckable I am in your perverted eyes,
it is not existent on if you want to 'hit that',
if you were to hit anything it should be your mindset that that is okay,
right out of your head.
Because I am not an object for your pleasure,
and I object to you treating me like I am.
I AM!
I AM!
I AM!
A WOMAN!
Built from all the things a man could never be.
And don't you ever ******* forget it.
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 3:16 AM UTC
I’m rendered powerless. Just about breathless. I watch as each layer of clothing gravitates toward the floor. Strip off the clothes that enveloped his beauty. My knees begin to fail me. Through his stare it feels as though he’s already probing every crevice of my being. Eye-fingers ravish me. He’s bare. My eyes haven’t left him. He smirks, refusing to leave me a spectator. Clammy hands penetrate the chill of the tile lined room. He strips me. I'm sure he senses me shaking.. goosebumps begin to rise. We step into shower. The tap is high, the temperature hot. The passion as well. He’s capturing me. Rapturing my frame, Grasping me. Gasping for me. He pulls me into him.. into the air. My legs incoherently wrap around him. The hot vapors aren't from the water, but our lust we heed. It’s wet. "Think ya can make it to the bedroom?" My throat closes. Barley touching, the pleasure, pressure, of his words render me unable to respond clearly. I nearly whimper out an answer. The smirk returns. This act meant for cleansing morphs into such a ***** one. I’m miserable within myself, the sheer amount of desire burns. Pushing me to the wall his body presses against me. He pushes into me. His hips. His lips. I feel him sliding in and out, violating, his tongue twisting around my own. His body as well. We’re intertwined...
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 5:20 PM UTC
I can smell it.
The scent of rain
Forth coming from the clouds.
I can taste it.
The sweetness of honeysuckle,
Drifting in the folds of the wind.
I can sense it.
The presence of spring,
As it shakes and dances up my spine.
The wriggling grass between my toes,
Sends shivers through my body
And soul.
The desire to run naked in the sun,
Urges and pushes its way forward.
The need to stretch my body out,
In a field of grass,
As the sun dances across
My cheeks and bare shoulders.
I wish to ****** the sun
With my innocents,
And to bed the grass
For the time being.
I love the feeling of the earth,
Messaging my feet as a lover does.
A sudden rain fall caresses my skin,
Intimately with every splashing moment.
Sep 27, 2010
Sep 27, 2010 at 9:39 PM UTC
You must begin early
while it is cool and your head clear
discernment, a sharpened tine
probing the rocky darkness
for all things latent and destructive.
Be aware that the velvet sage
of the leaves belies their power
to take over every space, remember
roots burrow deep, anchoring in
fissures we don’t even know exist.
You must delve as close
to the origin as possible
or the **** you think eradicated
will bide its time, germinating
in the still secret ground
waiting for light
to penetrate the moist earth
waking the sprout
who voraciously pushes up and out
a curled blemish
in your otherwise carefully tended garden.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 8:56 AM UTC
He walks with himself
He is his own best company.
He pushes forward and you often do not notice
You ignore his plead but you see him wander
A breathing tumble ****
Shrubbish, wobbly, and *****
He zig zags through the crowd
Sometimes he screams and he too cries
Just like you
Sometimes he trembles in the night
Just like you
Sometimes he dreams of better days
Just like you.
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 2:44 AM UTC
he pushes me onto my knees
our father who art in heaven
i open my mouth for him
lord, i want to recommit my life, my heart to you
he holds my head in his hands and i take in all of him
you alone are worthy of all honor and praise
his eyes close and his head tilts back
***he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you
by his love***
i can feel tears running down my cheeks and i look up and capture his eyes
i saw the lord...lofty and exalted
his mouth tilted into a grin
***make your face shine on your servant; save me in your
steadfast love***
he pushes my head back and i come away with drool and tears dripping to the floor
now the works of the flesh are evident
i smile at him and my gaze demands his admiration
for this is the love of god
~
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 3:59 AM UTC
In the question of reassurance.
The single solemn response cannot always end with one that causes
the most anxiety.
The involvement of social media, random dm's, the arrangement of severed ties mended with one thing in mind.
For these reasons insecurity deepens.
Eventually things fall apart.
It's not always about opening your mouth.
There are other ways to be vocal.
Silence becomes deafening.
Defeating the purpose of awareness.
Tempers quickly raise and often the things that aren't meant to be said come out.
Echoing the loudest.
Petty arguments, the excuses that lead us into the messages we're quick to hide.
Despite how much time we've invested, the easiest thing to do is walk away.
Anxiety becoming the fear that pushes us the furthest into ourselves.
It's not always easy.
Opening up,
vocalizing a single woe that begins the journey of a thousand,
if not more.
If forced, we too begin to shut down and contemplate the single best thing.
Being seen as selfish, self-centered.
Quick burst that justifies wrongful intent with one that's right.
It's all about support.
Care & understanding.
The saving grace that bonds the realization that either of us are perfect.
That there are deeper issues at hand that seep far beyond.
the way we see ourselves, whether we are too big.
Too small, the things we find often too late, said behind our back.
outside of everything else do you truly understand the quality of reassurance.
the equivalent to the moment everything seems to come crashing down.
The times any slight movement brings us down the most.
Equally we both seek the same.
The response reflects the moment.
To defy standard and move to something meaningful.
At a point, the question deserves an answer.
Going in one ear, quickly coming out the other.
To vocalize seemingly in one direction unless the role is reversed
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 9:41 AM UTC
I see her often ....struggling all alone.
A diaper bag, pocketbook and the baby.
The look of distress on her face as she pushes the stroller home.
She raises her child all by herself.
Her pockets are not overflowing ....which means she's lacking wealth.
She shuffles off to work each day.
She's wondering when they will increase the dollars in her pay.
Single mom to some, Superwoman to her kids.....no regrets, it is what it is.
How I admire her strength and drive.
She's strong during the day, but at night she cries.
This is not the way it was supposed to be.
My child should be seeing double not just me.
Her mind is steady racing, but this is not a race.
The thought started here and now it's in a different place.
The sacrifices and staying up late when her child is sick.
She's snapping pictures at Christmas time as her daughter opens presents left by jolly ole Saint Nick.
She's thankful for this precious jewel that she must shape and shine.
Smiling as she puts her child to bed, because she has to be at work by nine.
There's always something to be done, so there's not much time to sit.
This is a full time job and one which she can't quit.
The cooking, the cleaning and washing clothes,
she's looking for some tissues so she can wipe a runny nose.
She thinks she's a single mom, but that's not entirely true.
The Lord is guiding and assisting ....pulling her through.
Keep your head up and don't let anyone or anything bring you down.
A queen's crown belongs on her head.....not upon the ground.
A dedication to the single mother's........Thank you for all that you do and have done.
Oct 7, 2012
Oct 7, 2012 at 1:07 PM UTC
The Fear Of Failure
*The fear of failure at least for me
Helps me to survive
It drives me to do better
And makes me live my life
The fear of failure pushes me
To make sure that I succeed
Shows me where I need to go
And what I truly need
The fear of failure guides me
Shows me where I'm at
Helps me to push forward
And makes sure I don't look back
The fear of failure is all I need
To make sure I stay the path
It shows me that the life I lead
Must be one of giving back
The fear of failure*
Poem by : Carl Joseph Roberts
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 10:01 AM UTC
You're a volcano in winter
Made when the Earth splintered
Tectonic plates shifted
And you were gifted
The frigid air outside is subzero
So you become my volcanic hero
When you scorch the cold
With your warmth so bold
I await an eruption
But there's a disruption
Dormant you remain
With suspicion engrained
But entering your main vent
Was not my main intent
Yet now that I'm in your magma chamber
I can see your anger
You're made of lava and ash
So you demand drama and cash
And violently explode in a flash
You've become my Krakatoa
When I wish I didn't know ya
Because of your grand magnitude
I question my aptitude
And insecurity ensues
As confidence I lose
I realize I've gone too far
When I feel your lava discharge
That pushes me into your crater
The pain I feel couldn't be greater
When all I see is an ashen cloud
And all I hear is your lashing growl
Inside of your volcano
There is a tornado
As sure as day glow
I feel I must lay low
And dodge the debris
While playing referee
As you're dissecting me
In your burning sea
That swirls in a cyclone maelstrom
Hell is where it was mailed from
I receive it
Reprieveless
I begin to drown in fire
And wish to retire
You think you're neat
Yet despite your heat
You're a cold blooded lizard
But outside there's a blizzard
So I get used to your volcano
I can't contain my disdain though
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 6:18 AM UTC
The Saga of battle face off between Arjuna & Karna.
Karna gets the Naga ashtra from the Lord Brahma.
The Naga ashtra arrow is set to hit the target without miss.
Arjun Chariot is Guided by Lord Krishna.
Arjun & Karna face to battle for the survival for the supremacy
Battle of best in the Kurukshetra between karna & Arjun
Arjun is know as the Best in the Bow.
But while the situation is different with karna with Naga Ashtra arrow.
Force of Arrow from bow making huge noise of impact in the wind.
With every arrow from bow of both are hitting in the mid air & collapsing
Karna lefts the Arrow of Naga ashtra & prays the Slogan to be effective
Arjun no answer to the arrow of Naga
Keeps quite & focus towards Lord Krishna
Lord krishna smiling replies to bow
Arjuna replies with angry Iam an Hero & can face with my Bow.
Karna with Big laughter speeds the Arrow of Naga towards Arjun.
The Naga Ashtra is a Destruction weapon in the world.
Naga Ashtra targets the Head of the Arjuna
Lord Krishna pushes the chariot by his thumb towards down earth
Arrow of Naga is straight towards Arjuna Head.
Lord Krishna Commands to bow the head down
Arjuna does so the arrow is supposed to hit the head with out miss.
Arrow is will not stop without hitting head.
Karana is eager to celebrate the Victory of best in Kurushetra
Lord Krishna hears the sound of hitting head
& Turns to see the What happened?
Lord Krishna says yes the arrow hit the head
Arjuna replies Lord Iam safe
According to Shastra Naga Ashtra hit the Head of Chariot
Karana will not able to reuse the Ashtra of Naga
as it has hit the Head of Chariot.
By this Arjuna Leaps wider angle to arrow the Bow
& the Bow lands on Karana chest.
The Battle of Big is won by Arjun in the period of Kurushetra.
Yours
Shankar Pattabi
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 10:19 PM UTC
Fear, Is a battle.
Fear is a Disease.
My disease.
Fear, puts me in places,
That I know I shouldn't be in.
Like I woke up in a dark attic, not knowing how I got there, or why.
See, it's not...things...I'm afraid of.
It's not people, or pain, or injury, or death.
Fear puts thoughts in you, that are totally and completely out of character, until they begin changing how you define yourself.
I am,
The fearful.
I am,
The untrusting.
Trust and fear come hand in hand, but purvey the opposite effects of one another.
Trust, puts fear to sleep. A silent, peaceful slumber. A place fear would rather be anyway. Trust allows you to see what is hopefully the truth in others.
Ah...you see. "Hopefully." There is that little seed of doubt.
Fear is the abusive sibling of the relationship. Always hanging over trust's shoulder, whispering worst-case scenarios in his ear.
In mine, it takes trust's confidence and gently, throws it into the nearest garbage can.
Trust is powerful.
But fear cuts deep.
When trust, faith, in someone is broken...
Well...we've all been there at some point.
When trust is broken, he half-heartedly stumbles to his bed, and stays there. Not asleep. Just, broken.
At this point fear doesn't have to do a thing.
Anytime you look inside yourself, since trust is gone, the only thing left is fear, just...sitting there.
Normally trust...gets up and brushes himself off to try again, especially with the help of friends.
But, in a few of us...
In a few of us, trust falls asleep, and disappears.
Hope, the half-sibling tries and tries to wake him up, to no avail.
Trust is gone.
Fear just sits there. Doing nothing, but doing everything.
Hope is a stubborn one, and pushes, and pushes, and pushes.
Sometimes it works.
Sometimes, it doesn't.
Fear. Trust.
They walk, hand in hand.
Toe, to toe.
I am,
The fearful.
I am,
The untrusting.
Hope, through valiant effort, keeps on trying.
Her energy is not limitless.
At times like these...
Hope, is not enough.
Trust has died.
The only way, to restore the balance,
Is for another's heart to come forth, and share their trust.
It's not fair, asking your trust to keep my fear in check, as well as yours, It just isn't.
At times like these,
I need the trust of someone,
Who is willing to share,
With one, who trusts no one.
Nov 3, 2018
Nov 3, 2018 at 8:44 PM UTC
Was it an illusion?
Words that trigger an attraction
A reply that lays a connection
Was it an illusion?
A look that exposes a sensation
A whisper that defines an emotion
Was it an illusion?
A touch that pushes a button
A kiss that captures a moment
Is it an illusion?
To transform words into reality
To turn moments into eternity
It is an illusion
When words are lost in silence
When affection is met with fear
When All is subsumed in memories
Whilst memories may fade
The illusion remains
We hope for those moments again
Poets love the illusion
Though Cynics judge us weak
We shall silence their mocking speak
Thank goodness for poets
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 7:09 AM UTC
Religion is like wrestling when it was kayfabed
The kind of immersive storytelling that is A grade
We became trapped
In the Walls of Jericho
Separated on the map
From the fields of marigolds
Shinier things catch our eye
Like Goldust in the ring
Not of Mankind
But McMahon's kind
We start to see behind the Big Show
Until they introduce the Boogeyman
Manipulating until progress is slowed
All according to plan
Jake the Snake offers the apple to Eve
And into calamity we are cleaved
This was something I never agreed
But Christian pushes me to Edge
No room in discourse to hedge
Swanton bombs fall in cities
The Million Dollar Man cracks a smile
Unable to feel pity
The billions of bodies start to pile
And I haven't seen the Hart Foundation in a while
These ideas pin us down
And we can't kick out
We end up indifferently submitting
To the Big Boss Man
A legacy we're cementing
Like the Ku Klux ****
I'm from Kentucky
Where biology is taught in the context
Of where it fits in with Christianity's teachings
I wonder how many people this knowledge is reaching
When we're trapped in Wrestlemania
We cheer for the Undertaker's victory
Because we're constantly wrestling with demons
Transcendence is only something we can dream of
Aug 25, 2017
Aug 25, 2017 at 6:17 AM UTC
What a sight to see
Your perfection shining through my flaws
A reflection so pure the universe comes to a stop
Pauses in applause
She declaws the frightened dog that learned to act one with the wolves
It pulls me
Yet pushes me greater
For my soul it is the knower of all
The wisest translator
The pen
And paper
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 9:38 AM UTC
Picture the scene...
Emo punk kid, on a paper round.
Picture the scene, Emo punk kid is suicidal.
Picture the scene, creepy customer.
Weeks pass.
Picture the scene, it goes too far.
Emo punk kid pushes it and tells someone.
Picture the scene, police involved.
Picture the scene, emo punk kid attempts suicide.
Picture the scene emo punk kid has exams.
Emo punk kid falls asleep in his geography exam.
Emo punk kid has results day.
Geography teacher is there.
When emo punk kid gets told he should have done better, his world dies.
When he is told he should have gotten over it before the exams he gets angry.
When he gets told to move on he grabs a rope.
When emo punk kid's girlfriend left him, the rope made a noose.
When emo punk kid was told today that it doesn't matter that he was the victim of ****** abuse
Picture the scene, geography tomorrow morning, a rope and a stuck up fool.
Picture the scene, no more geography teacher. No more emo punk kid. No more girlfriend.
Picture the scene, now swap with emo punk kid and end it how you would.
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 8:48 AM UTC
These oceans are named Between.
Yes, I know them all.
They've separated me before
By water's solid wall.
*But I imagine when I
Jump and make a splash
At my local Brighton beach
That ripple travels
To your shore so
You're never out of reach!*
And at these rugged shores
That ripple reaches land.
As good as any letter penned,
A wave; an outstretched hand.
*Like a message in a bottle
I hope it reaches you
Every nuance of my love and care
Dripped in oceans blue*
Much more comfort in that
Bottle, than the one before
Me now. Its insides shared
With me; still I am emptier
...somehow.
*Well you can't run on empty
So let me fill your cup
With seashells whispers
Wisdom pearls
And jellied joy to
Fill you up*
A whispered wish
An uttered prayer.
That space that pushes
Here from there to
Disappear; give room for
Place to share as lair,
There's places everywhere...
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 3:48 PM UTC