"reducing" poems
Mythical Bird, show me your secret
Hatch forth from your shell
Plumage of orange and scarlet
Emerge glorious from whence you dwell
Fiery Bird, you must reveal
Your astounding, magical ways
Where from these lives you steal
Forever reincarnating well into your days
Aflamed Bird, you must teach
How you reinvent yourself anew
With no help within reach
Without aid, effortlessly you flew
Majestic Bird, take me in
Blanket me with your wing
Listen and acknowledge my sins
With all your wisdom and heart could bring
Magical Bird, will you impart?
What knowledge you keep
Only then, I may start
To make my way out from the deep
Enchanted Bird, you have to help
I'm desperate to rise like you
**** your head and hear my yelps
Of all the things I'm trying to undo
Celestial Bird, if only you could know
Intricate workings of this unfounded fixation
Why I seem to always wallow
An eternal target of sorrow's attention
Imaginary Bird, will you demonstrate
Your amazing fantastical flight
Dipping, gliding, in the air you gyrate
Aggressive dance with gravity you fight
Mystical Bird, won't you display
For unworthy eyes, would you give?
Seemingly easy, aloft you stay
Even when you know you'd die before you'd live
Wondrous Bird, oh how perfect you are
I am in awe, I am swooning
How you become one with the stars
Making the best of the short time you're living
Secretive Bird, is it time?
Reducing yourself down to ashes
Ready to absolve your stint of crimes
Reborn perfect, free from previous gashes
Ensorcelled Bird, please don't retreat
Back into your familiar cocoon
I'm uncertain if again we'd meet
Just afraid I might be gone too soon
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 8:50 AM UTC
I bite my lips,
to build a fortified dam,
that prevents my true feelings,
from flowing forth,
like a catastrophic flood
and drowning you.
But my cheeks betray me,
and as a forest fire,
a deep blush blazes across my features,
reducing all my defenses,
by allowing you too see,
exactly how you affect me.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 11:18 AM UTC
A Jersey girl came along
and I started to think about angles of yaw
needed to take flight,
how the force of a kick skirts
the delicate line between winning and losing.
I’ve seen it all before, but not like this. Besides, seeing
has nothing to do with believing.
Corneas can't capture the vibrations of molecules or excitations
of electrons. Champions defy biology,
overcome gravity and I believe what goes up
does not always come down.
I want to know the point where focus takes control
of epinephrine, who’s cascade is initiated by the roar of a crowd,
but negatively regulated by doubt,
when to take a long shot or build up slowly.
I want to live the difference between accuracy and precision,
taste the dirt, become painted with bruises and scorch my heart.
A flag is heaviest when you carry it,
lightest when it’s raised,
worn as a cape and allowed to wave in the wind.
Countries aren't build, they're created created
denying muscles oxygen but allowing them to taste gold.
It's ability to conduct electricity astounds me.
It’s not about alchemy
but transforming sweat into tears,
fixing nitrogen, reducing triglycerides.
Not all reactions need light, some create it.
It’s only over when there’s not enough energy for activation.
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 8:35 PM UTC
This generation is the selfie nation,
Taking pictures of the dying, digitization,
This generation is the generic nation,
Cancelling history and subjects, Salvation,
This generation is the death nation,
Being overweight is healthy, becoming purgation,
This generation is the stronger nation,
Deeming everything offensive, becoming manipulation,
This generation is the hateful nation,
Hating the own agnations,
This gerenation is the end nation,
Pushing and pushing, damnation,
This generation is the promoting nation,
Gender Swap, *** paedophilia, pushing all these, Arbitration.
This genernation is the activism nation,
Save the Earth, making change that still damages the Earth, ruination.
This generation is the we won't do this nation,
Won't go to war to fight for others, pure negation,
This generation is the nation,
The eldery generation regrets fighting for their foundation,
This generation is the Anti-Homosexuality nation,
That still disowns there child for there sexuaility, Affirmation,
This generation who is fighting LGBTQ Rights Nation,
Hating those who refuse to date the same *** hating religion, so **** condamnation.
This generation scream Black Lives Matter Nation,
Reducing Police Brutality, improving lot more crimes, congratulation,
This generation fighting for women right nation,
Taking away male rights, instead of alterations and collaborations.
This generation is the older nation,
Bullying, lies and caring nation, Allocation,
This generation is the end nation,
Death filtration of the world's creation.
This generation buid this nation,
They have to learn to live with the cermation.
Nov 4, 2020
Nov 4, 2020 at 10:11 AM UTC
This is the colour of my anger:
A white hot searing fever
Tearing through my veins like amphetamine;
A surreal dream that keeps replaying in my brain
Over and over again...
Life is pain enough
Without other people
Making it tough. Guess I ran out of luck:
Top of the class and surrounded by dumb *****
Whose only qualification is knowing how to trigger
The ticking bomb I've strapped on
In my anger.
This is the colour
This is the colour
This is the ************* colour
This is the colour of my anger:
This weird red mist with its fingers
Coiled around my brain,
Blurring my vision as I allow it
To make my decisions
For me. Again, it hands me the gun, then runs,
Leaving me to get the
Damage done. Well, aint this fun?
Three, two, one, and it’s time to take cover
I won’t get any sleep
Until I’ve shown you the colour
Of my anger.
This is the colour
This is the colour
This is the ************* colour
This is the colour of my anger:
A smouldering orange lava
That laughs at the wrath of the sun,
And I feel like the risen Son
As it pours out of me, heavenly,
Reducing everything in its path to the
Sum of zero
But this is just a fraction of what it’s capable of.
Hot and full of hell is my fury. Shit's getting gory.
It's time to remove the canker.
No more bluffing, I’m all in -
Let the games begin
With my anger.
This is the colour
This is the colour
This is the ************* colour
This is the colour of my anger:
The cloudless blue of my eyes
As I admire my workmanship,
Reflecting upon the new ********
That I have just ripped for you.
My smile spreads from ear to ear, like a slit throat,
Beatific in my ecstasy as this anger drains out of me.
The adrenaline that pumped so furiously
Now dumps its load in me, bringing me to my knees.
Enough, I say, as I see how small you stand there;
Let's call it a day, now be on your way,
Just remember the colour of my anger.
Don’t ever
****
With me
Again
Jun 25, 2012
Jun 25, 2012 at 10:40 PM UTC
Crushed flowers are beautiful,
dried, pressed
not useful but certainly nice to look at
My sister affectionately called me a 'delicate little flower' one of the many times you made me break down, crushed from false accusation
until i eventually dried up
pressed myself until the pain no longer hurt.
I wondered why i had become such a fragile thing
shouldn't heartbreak build you up, a learning experience rather than reducing you to a few petals and a stem.
i feel more like a tree
green and great during the warm summer months
unaware of the freezing winter winds that will blow away all my protective leaves. barren. cold.
i hope someday i will become evergreen
beautiful, tall, luscious and full- pine or cedar or spruce
staying fragrant all year round
but for now i remain a daisy
nothing special
dried, pressed and crushed between these pages, within these words.
Nov 13, 2017
Nov 13, 2017 at 2:55 PM UTC
Mind is a super computer they say.
It can think of millions of stuff in a matter of day.
From the bombings in Iraq,
to the hurt in my best friends heart.
From the moment its up,
It never stops,
To stop. Blink or breathe.
It keeps running at night.
The subconscious consumes power.
Often leaving the mind tired at the break of dawn.
When it meets people,
it reads the signs at many levels.
Subject of talk,
Body language.
Positivity of the vibes,
The way the person jives.
A handshake.
A wink.
A hug.
A swiftly made jug*
It notices everything.
In all this processing.
It accumulates a lot of clutter!
And the mind with all the confusing thoughts,
becomes like hot butter!
Sparks fly like an electronic of fire!
And it needs something to distract it.
What works best is a bit of exercise.
A bit of chattering,
Or writing it all out.
Some find solace in Games or Movies.
Why do they work?
Because they engage all senses,
And make the mind groovy.
Smoking and doping do great too.
But reducing the processors of our mind to grade two!
Hallucinating and dreaming 80% of it.
The mind thinks its being more productive that most of it.
But illusions destroy us further.
Making the mind believe it’s just another wonder.
Wonder though it is.
Using only 10% of it we create,
Science, History, Mystery,
But this wonder has a lot on bate.
If it goes in the wrong direction.
Even thinking too much is an addiction!
Original thoughts are like endorphins to the mind.
Making it jump and do cartwheels inside.
Stimulating discussions are named that way,
Because engaging in one makes us jumpy all day.
It satisfies the mind that,
I have done something constrictive besides,
Whiling my days in sorrow,
and waiting for the morrow.
Mind is like a baby that need attention,
if not given that it runs in all directions.
Mind is a super computer that needs,
the dedication of a programmer.
Be that programmer and feed your mind the right numbers,
And see it become the eighth wonder!
*Jug- short for juggle.
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 2:51 PM UTC
I haven’t weighed myself in weeks. I have this incessant itch inside of me longing to know what numbers I ring up to be. But everyday I hear another gnawing voice say,
“You are not a number, you are a person. A number does not define you. What defines you is your kindness, your efforts, the way you live your life.”
But what happens when the way I’ve been living my life for the past year and a half has been nothing BUT numbers and scales and nutrition labels and dysmorphia. What happens when my efforts have only been reduced to reducing myself? What happens when kindness overflows towards others, but I cannot even look in the mirror and say “I love you.” What happens when you are completely consumed by something that refuses to let you consume?
-Does the tunnel end soon?
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 4:14 PM UTC
I am standing in liquid
It is burning my feet
This space is crowded
But there is still some space to breath
The heat is rising
Creating a forever-thickening wall
My body is shaking
It is burning
My stomach’s hurting
Splitting open like a flower
Reducing me to a lifeless
Cloud-formed corpse
With the simple sound of summer rain
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 4:44 AM UTC
When money dictates morals
Politicians try to pacify poverty
By keeping the poor passive
When money dictates morals
Politicians try to pacify the rich
By reducing politics to a puppet theatre
Oct 29, 2015
Oct 29, 2015 at 9:08 AM UTC
Pretty (adj):
1. pleasing or attractive to the eye, as by delicacy or gracefulness;
"Pretty" is a word that's been spewed at you since the day you were born,
A social standard set upon you that you had yet to even hear, but it was being used to describe you instantly;
A "pretty little girl", a "pretty face", "pretty eyes", "pretty smile", "pretty outfit",
Did anyone ever stop to wonder if you'd have a pretty soul?
What about the way you could be brought to tears at the thought of shaming homeless people or victims of abuse, how your heart felt like it was ripping out of your chest when you heard about someone who was struggling,
They didn't seem to care that you tested highest in compassion, they just wanted to know where you got your dress from.
As you grew older the adjective turned from an innocent compliment to what seemed like a snide remark,
The word "pretty" began to eat you from the inside out every time it was said
like you should measure your worth in how delicate others find you;
You stopped accepting "pretty" as a compliment when it turned into an adjective that was only associated with girls that were more than average but less than beautiful,
You stopped accepting "pretty" as a compliment when it became an antonym of strong,
like "pretty" girls were things that would break if you talked too loud, as if loving a "pretty" thing could never be synonymous with loving a durable or sturdy or resilient thing.
D.A. Sharp once said
"You weren't meant to be pretty; you were meant to burn down the earth and graffiti the sky. Don't let anyone ever simplify you to just "pretty"."
And so when someone kindly placed the word in a sentence referring to you you learned to automatically put it into quotations because they were just trying to be nice,
They didn't know they were reducing you to outer beauty, that "pretty" seemed less like a compliment the more it was said, like people couldn't figure out another way to describe you,
As if God hadn't already intricately woven the threads of your DNA, as if he hadn't perfectly tinted every hair on your head to be its crisp burnt color or hand painted the irises of your eyes,
No, "pretty" could no longer cut it.
Because you had been made for bigger and better things,
Those "pretty" eyes of yours will one day see things that God hadn't originally intended anyone to have to see, and those "pretty" hands of yours will have to pick up the pieces of a heartache that God had never wanted you to know and put them back together, and those "pretty" lips of yours are the same lips that will stand in front of sin and tell it that you have chosen Jesus.
Because "pretty" is fine,
but you have been fearfully and wonderfully made, a masterpiece of the Creator.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 7:26 PM UTC
I hate it when people think suffering is wrong. Learn to pick up your **** suffering, and bear it! Try to be a good person so you don't make it worse! I know you have a lot of reasons to be resentful about school, heck, even your existence! We know it's going to involve a lot of pain, and lots of it is going to be unfair! But acting out everything you're complaining about will only make things infinitely worse, try it. That's why we have the saying that hell is a bottomless pit, because some stupid son of a ***** could figure out a way to make it a lot worse. Learn to accept it! This is what the real world looks like, full of suffering. What can you do about it? Try reducing it! Start with yourself! Get your **** together solidly so that people can rely on you! Square up with what's wrong with you, you know it if you'll admit it. You know that there are a few things you can polish up a bit, deal with it and maybe you can start managing your present insufficient condition. Don't be a **** victim. Shine yourself up a bit so your eyes will be a little bit more open, shine it some more and maybe you might be able to bring your family together instead of having to be that spiteful, neurotic room mate that you're doomed to spend the whole semester with. Be humble about your deficiencies. Figure out how you can make peace with your siblings. You'll get there somehow, and when your life starts functioning you'll find out, "Well, that kind of relieved a little bit of suffering," at least that reduced the opportunities for spiteful revenge. When you little by little start to get your **** together, you'll get acquainted with it because you're doing something difficult. You're wiser, so maybe you could point out a tentative finger out there beyond your family and try to change some little thing without wrecking it. We students are so conditioned to think that we can just fix anything, even something as complex as our society. Well, try to fix a military helicopter and see how far you get with it. You can't just whack it with a wrench and be like "Oh look, it's better!" NO! Life is complicated and to fix things are hard! We overcome suffering by being a better person, that's how you do it! It's hard because it takes responsibility. If you want a meaningful life everything you do matters! Unless you don't want meaning and not take responsibility, because who the **** cares? You can wander through life doing whatever your want! Gratifying your short term impulses for who knows how short it's going to be. Ask yourself if you want to get stuck in meaninglessness, but no responsibility. You'd quickly realize how the majority of your being are pursuing meaningless things. Because the fact is, pursuing meaningful things means taking on suffering. You have to put yourself together in the face of that, and that's hard! When you really get to the bottom of things, you'll realize that you need to make the choice to put yourself together. Transcend your suffering and see if you can be some kind of hero. Be that person who'll make the suffering in the world less. That's the way forward.
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 12:37 PM UTC
I hate you when you catcall her
I feel the anger rise, tightly coiled in my stomach
Clench my fists and feel my blood pound,
Because I know what you do to her,
Reducing her to her body, just for your pleasure.
To you she is only a body, just another opportunity to prove
your manliness, your superiority.
Just another girl to humiliate.
I know this and my rage roars, a dragon, untamable
ready to tear into you the second you try it with me.
But then as I walk pass, the voices are silent.
No calls, no whistles,
I don't exist.
The dragon within me becomes confused,
am I really so ugly, so unwanted, so plain,
that the **** on the streets, the ******** who harass girls as they walk,
won't even look at me?
What's wrong with me?
The dragon fades and a new type of hate arises.
I hate myself, my stupid hair, my ******* up jaw, my plain appearance.
I should feel lucky for the blessed silence, the peaceful walk,
but instead I feel a nauseating sense of shame and hate for myself,
As I tuck my head down like a good girl and hurry home,
Trying not to cry.
Society has turned being harassed as a goal to reach for.
Keep telling us "it's a compliment"
And sooner or later we'll start to believe it.
But that doesn't make it true.
So I sit sharping my nails, not sure whose throat to rip out,
Yours? Or mine?
Because you've told me,
It's not ladylike for me to hate anyone,
Except myself.
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 12:32 AM UTC
I'd never cared for flowers
Symbols of affection that wilt
And forget memories
And fall apart in kitchens and bedrooms and strew their pieces on the floors
Dried and broken after only days of being lovely
Flowers with their alternating patterns of
Unreliable determinations
Claiming every other petal as an opposite declaration
Of a determination
Of love
And I never liked removing thorns from roses
Because they added something truthful and
Poetic
But when you gave me flowers
I held them to my heart and let my eyes dance across the kaleidoscope that they created in a glass vase
I let them live for longer than they did
Because they were still pretty even when no one else seemed to think so
And when they hang dried on a wall
Still colorful but slightly brittle
Maybe they'll stay like that if I just don't touch them
When you gave me flowers
I plucked off every other petal
Into a bouquet of He-Loves-Me
Because for once there was no doubt
For once I believed the sentiment in the flowers and the words from your lips as you handed them over
The lack of nots in the petals
Pulling apart the knots in my stomach
He loves me
He loves me
Truer than the dirt that holds
Wilting symbols of affection
Sweeter than the honey
Of their pollinators
He loves me
He loves me
A garden of something new and beautiful
Perennial and built on symbolism after all
Until you let me know that dead flowers were just dead flowers
That they were past their worth
And metaphors aren't worth the dirt they were grown in
That perennials can't return
When you've salted the soil
And brittle flowers on the wall should always be removed
But I always lived in metaphors anyway
And I had a new appreciation for flowers that I didn't want to lose
I was no longer a rose
But a thorn
I always thought smooth stems were so boring
Not to mention dishonest
But I didn't want to make you bleed
So painfully I dug an olive branch from my rib cage
Then realizing that a ****** token may not be so well received
I decorated it with a bouquet of blue Forget-Me-Nots
But you plucked off every other petal
And handed back an array of He-Loves-Me-Nots
He loves me not
And there was no doubt in the sentiment
The sentience of metaphors dying all around me
When all I know is metaphors
And flowers were never just flowers
And words were never just words
But both are found on gravestones and poems and apologies
And parallels have fallen into nice and even spacing
Reducing flowers to clichés
Of alternating promises
Of He loves me and
He loves me not
Of broken promises
He loves me
Not
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 6:04 PM UTC
With a quill over paper
For muse, we are excavators
We pour out our hearts
So joy, love, peace to impart
To hold a torch over emotional darkness
To fill each others hollowness
Its for the love we write
When we write
We are called poets
A name fitting and right
But your theft just says you are mentally poor
Reducing you further to a mere thief
And nothing close to a P
Not to talk of a poet.
The moon is not a thing you can steal
Trust me its pure folly
That's a dumb idea to conceive
Posting others' poems
Posting like a poet?
Like seriously
How does that sound to 'your' hearing?
DUMB
Even so, to even dare, you must be too dumb to realize its dumb
To acknowledge is not so hard
Its just adding one more line on your pad
I want to deceive myself that you are not too dumb to know that
If you didn't know, now you do.
PS: You could post my poem
That does not make you a poet
It just makes you a thief
Suffice it to say, the worst kind
Without robbing me of the fact that I'm a POET
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 5:31 PM UTC
I grow sicker
Day by day
As I realize:
Where I once saw a monster
I now see a man.
("See?
I'm just like you.")
It grows more apparent
Each day I'm by your side
Close enough to see into the soul
I didn't think you had.
("I'm not so bad
After all.")
Don't get me wrong
There's not much there.
While my insides wither
I can see that yours
Are already cold and dead.
Empty.
("Come on, my dear.
Make me feel alive.")
Even when you hurt me
I find myself searching
Seeing right through you.
You break me down
While you're in shambles
Reducing both of us to ruins.
("No!
Don't you dare cry!")
But it's all too clear
In those rare moments
Of misplaced tenderness
That, maybe once
You might have known how to love.
("Hey, angel
Where's your halo?")
Sometimes
In the dead of night
When you're still and serene
I try holding you
Lightly tracing all the lines of your face
Wondering who made you this way.
("Shhh...")
Sometimes
I even wonder
If, because of the way things are going now
I might turn out like you one day.
("Don't look so scared.
You know you're okay.")
So I listen to you breathe
And I watch you dream
And sometimes I swear I hear a sob
And my insides cave in when I realize it's not mine.
("Oh, angel...")
I just wish someone loved you
Before you met me
So that maybe --
Just maybe --
We could both be alright
Maybe even meet
Under much better circumstances.
("Shhh...
Angel...")
And, even when you destroy me
I wish that
Somehow
I could love you.
("Please
Don't cry.")
It makes me sicker
Day by day
That I fall back into the arms
Time and time again
Of a monster
Who was once
A man.
("You know you're safe with me
Right?")
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 11:35 PM UTC
isn't she golden,
shining in the light?
she fits comfortably into
the golden ration,
reducing the apples of her cheeks
and the width of her hips
and the length of her fingers
to meaningless numbers,
crunched into a calculator, checking
if she still looked golden.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 8:58 PM UTC
A synthetic thunderstorm envelops me
and I forget where my life is.
I forget about you and your fluent tongue
of disinterest, puppetry, and misinformation.
I forget the speakers and soundscapes;
wires and ties and strings attached,
the way I struggle to sleep alone,
but cannot share my life with anyone.
I forget the next payday, the next lay;
the need to borrow words and feelings
just to make sense of my own.
Distraction and hunger for nicotine
become near-echoes of a past life-
an umbilical bond to old decades
of habit and mistrust for the sober mind.
I forget the ash and ends I have left behind.
The ocean is close but occupies no space,
only the airwaves with a rhythmic breath
to still my own, reducing my identity
to fractals of self-interest and oneness.
I forget who I am amongst the writing desk,
The Book Of Longing, the cooling tea;
the stagnant water. I forget flesh desire,
violent *** and apologetic *******
I forget, for once, the need to live,
amongst all of this living.
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 12:52 PM UTC
*blistering day shuns a walk
all flock to recycled air-con of malls
few venture out* . . .
1.
walk along a mountain path
dislike snakes
wear heavy ankle-boots
rough route
craggy stones
grow tired
2.
head on stone
fall into drowsy slumber
baking brains gathering aches
3.
huge mountain appears
espy a cut opening along the side
a welcoming slit
enter slowly
step by step
seems to brook entry to no more
wonder what calls inside
4.
distant drumming
not afraid
joy fills supreme
reducing epicenter
gentle hands touch and pull in
negating every fear
melting away bleak thoughts
sink deeper into the earth
down . . . down . . . down
into cavities unknown
follow secret canal away from here
5.
sweetest eyes greet and kiss
fall into soft furrows
carried along canal of warmth
close the eyes
fall in heart with glowing ambience
subtle humming felt beneath the soles
sweetest honey-lake
deeper . . . deeper . . . deeper
sublime cocoon - always dreamt of
what supreme bliss
falls in lap of bearer
6.
all cares washed away
known memories seem to float off
as a dinghy to a waterfall
lost over that lip
free fall
free fall
conscience takes a bobbing nap
on waves which lull the senses
into drifting buoy
as conscious dips
utter serenity
spirit moves freely
totally unencumbered
/ /
[awareness - jolted - sudden - open
as corporeal fetters take hold once more
teeter into rude awakening
rub eyes to verify
faculties catapulting in greedy succession
/ /
find a hessian bag on rock
half-afraid to check inside
seemingly empty
lift the edge and peer inside
/ /
the most silent rainbow of inner dreams
long-forgotten wishes flow
into being
as rains come down]
/ /
*no more fear.. again
no more tension
no answering to
no deprivation
no derision
two pure doves hover
quite high
a pale-blue
buoy ~
the only signs of hope
blistering judgment dissolves
beautiful buoy floating
a way.... to marve cut of pure crystal
away...
on an endless ocean of calm*
S T, 20 August 2013
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 11:54 AM UTC
There once was light where I stand;
Now I'm unable to even see my hand.
A time of darkness has dawned upon us;
Just makes me want to scream and cuss.
Loadshedding is what they call it;
Unable to see I sometimes trip.
It happens at times when we are hard at work;
Or at home while making dessert.
It's something that's beyond control;
Or at least that's what we are told.
The energy grids struggle to take on the pressure;
Thus reducing our times of leisure.
It's something that drives us insane;
Yet there is nobody we can blame.
How long long will this dampen our spirit?
Even they don't know it.
What are we to do in this dire straights?
Well nothing, just sit and wait.
Feb 12, 2019
Feb 12, 2019 at 1:30 PM UTC
Fall has left its mark cold on my heart,
touching life with deadly fingers, reducing all to brown and gray.
Love has faded into gray along with the coming of snow,
wiping out all warmth and memory of it’s short stays.
For love comes and goes without so much as a word,
hibernating far from my warm bed and hiding despite my prayers.
Loneliness has marked it’s territory
And love leaves me alone.
Aug 26, 2012
Aug 26, 2012 at 11:56 AM UTC
And I was falling,
So fast
Reducing constantly
To become nothing
And I was barely breathing
A heart forced to beat
Eyes bloodshot
But you could not see
And you were blinded
From the self-despair and pity
A heart
Torn and stomped all over
And you were shaking
From the tremors
only You could feel
But I could not steady your hands
I was waiting for you to save me,
I forgot magic only happens when you least expect it
You were waiting for me to notice
You forgot I was too caught up fighting my own battles
You were bitter
Over the times I had let you go
You forgot
I loved you w every ounce of my being
I was broken
Over the times you did not care enough
I forgot
You are a human with your own limits
And so we fell apart
In the most common ways
We forgot what we had
Because we were too busy grieving what the other person lacked
And now that the end is near
I see where we went wrong
I loved you and you loved me
But love
is almost never enough
And I got my wish
With my last breath I took your name
The earth shook,the sky turned black,
This is my last farewell
I'll never see you again
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 6:49 AM UTC
Mercury is retrograde,
reducing me to idioms:
life is the Cobra Kai dojo,
and we are the Pilates kids.
So **** you, messenger boy.
i can still communicate,
if i need to.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 12:10 PM UTC