I don't believe you,
when you say,
those three words,
the three magic sylables,
each sylable with its own emotion,
forming a sentence of commotion.

A powerful sentence,
yet you say it careless.
The words glide out of your mouth,
over your dry lips,
as they dance in the air,
without a care,
they end up in my ear,
as they find comfort here.

One natural response,
and my heart is racing,
Not knowing the consequences,
it will be facing.

My brain holds back,
trying to keep my heart on track,
trying to restrain,
but still reminding it of the pain,

The fake smile changed in a frown,
as soon as I looked down.

My mascara blends out,
as my tears take a route.
The scars that are left behind,
leave an impression on my mind
and an engraving in my heart,

People stared at me,
wondering who I could be,
avoiding my biggest fears,
and covering up my tears,
make-up was a mask,
and it was my new task,
I changed my role,
to protect my soul.
-a.s

I've been pacing back and fourth, a pendulum of force on my floor
Trying to decide, is it me or the wine that's uncorked

Every sylable, resonates my throat when I speak
Your name is like a bomb, ready aimed and armed in my cheeks

I think I liked you better, when we were strangers

This for the little brothers
And the widowed mothers
To the Sunday morning snoozers
And the gamenight losers
To the wimps in the schoolyard
And even the bullies just down the boulevard
Shake the dust.

This is for the shopfront greeters,
The youth group worship leaders,
For the early morning joggers and the late night bike riders,
And for the boy who's crush loves someone else
For milk crate ball players,
And for the wallflower haters
Plant the forests.

To the sleepers and the dreamers,
And to the bed-wetters,
As well as the lonely love letters
To the broken hearts who write poems
And the broken souls that stole them
To men who work for a family they never see
And girls who want a lover but they'll never be
Split the seas.

For the heavens you have lived and the hells you felt you have gone through,
For the demons who have overcame and the ones yet to be overcome
For the ones who have stuck with the Lord all the same
And the ones who don't yet know His name
For the fair-weather friends the friends 'til the end
The overnighters and the stories told at campfires
Move the mountains.

This is to the poet, and lovers who don't yet know it
To the writers but it's just a hobby,
The Debbie Downers who can't stop me
This is for the authors whose books is left unread on dusty shelves
And the girls who hate the look of themselves
To the ones, that when it rains, they choose to sing
And the winter you must endure to reach the spring
Shake the dust.

This is to all of you,
and I will say it again: shake the dust.
Because from the dust you were made,
and to the dust you will return.
So let this poem not be mere words that barely flow,
may this poet not just be another kid,
too quixotic to change the world.
But might my poetry be the notes
which your words are carried by.
Let them swing and sway,
a piece to our battlecry,
some sylable in your life story.
Because from the dust you will rise,
so carry the dirt with you
and take the world by storm,
for the ground you scrape from your palms
is the story you form.

Let me eat up you soft smile
And drink down your tears,
Let me thirst for your kisses
And feast on your fears.

Let me taste of your longing
And nibble your need,
Let me savour the flavour
Of your wanton greed.

Let me sip from your sorrow
And quaff of your pain,
Let me gorge on your lusting
Again and again.

Let me sup of your anger
And choke on your hate,
Let me chew slow your numbness
And fast for our fate.

Let me starve your attention
And crave of your touch,
Please ration your passion
too littles too much.

I hunger your presence
To digest of your words,
regurgitate freely
Those sweetest of verbs.

Peel me a metaphor
Slice me a noun,
Pour me a sylable
To help wash it down.

So pen me your promise
As I pen you mine,
I am yours and no others
Till the end of the line.

I know, i cant write that well,
But iwrite what comes from my heart, my hell, MY heaven.
I dont care how it sounds,
As long as it comes from my heart.
It doesnt really hae to be from my heart, but from my soul.
The home is where the heart is?
No its not. The home is where ur comfortable and confident in what you do.
So why am i here? Im uncomfortable in my own head,
And im not very confident yet i get up here again and again.
How does this pass from one challenge to the next?
It doesnt really matter i suppose,
As ling as i know where its from for me personally.
It doesnt really seem as though u see what i am doing to u.
Im hypnotizing u with every word, and every sylable.
And i still cant seem to tell whether its workin or not.
But i guess that just happens sometimes.
U have a dream and it gets lost in the swirling torment we put ouselves in.
Yet still we try to escape ourselves.
But we should all know that we have limited time to grab this offer.
To finally push it all away.
Invincible for at least a moment,
And ten it slips away as we crawl to our corner of the board.
And still we dont notice,
We are pawns, we cant push past our own rules to fight the queens and kings.
But we try. So at least we know now that we are strong enough to hold our own against the winds of change.
So now we have the knowledge, or power, to finally grasp our hearts, and tear them out,
We can hold it for all to see as we tell them,
'Guess what? I AM heartless NOW!'

I understand that it's a destructive process, I understand that you don't want to be wrong.
At every avenue I offered you a counter.
What exactly is it youd want me to do?
I'll remember every single sylable
of sentences said while sleeping soundly

only if its be able to remind you
We're on this earth with a counter
every second sand is seeping southward