"tiptoeing" poems
When I was little my mother put me in several ballet classes in hopes to bring some grace to my stumbling gait.
I grew up walking on eggshells, wobbling to keep my balance on a tightrope that never really ended.
My instructor pinched my thighs and shook her bony finger at me every tuesday and thursday for three and a half years.
4 am, I'm still tiptoeing around the creaks in the stairs as if anyone would notice an empty bed.
This Christmas I came across the broken reminents of the ballerina ornaments my younger sister used to play with.
I never did master the delicate posture I was expected to adopt. My feet fell a bit too heavy, I suppose, on the ice tonight.
I'm not cold anymore, just exhausted from attempting to balance the wrong things for too long.
My life is flashing before my eyes, but all I see is a younger version of myself practicing Grand Battements on thin ice while everyone slept.
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 3:18 PM UTC
65 years from now when my grandchild looks me and asks me
"Grandma do your cheeks look like they are falling and why does your backbone rise higher than the rest of you?"
I will answer:
Baby girl what they don't teach you in school is that the older you get the more gravity pulls at you.
Keeping your feet planted and your mind out of the clouds.
Life moves down instead of forward.
Bones grow frail and muscles shrivel up and weaken just like your ability to dream.
Dream of what you’re going to be,
"when you grow up" because,
darling this is it. I'm all grown up.
I am all I was ever meant to be.
My clay has hardened,
no longer able to bend and curve with the wind.
Too weak to keep walking forward.
That is why baby run while you still can,
discover the world.
Leave footprints in every corner of existence,
because when you're as old as me your feet will be sore
and won't be able to venture deeper into the pockets of the universe.
Roots now bind me to this little house where I will keep moving down.
Gravity is too strong for me now dear. My skin has already given up. Succumbing to the mighty force. Falling away from my bones that lie hollow inside my cheeks engraved,with the memories too valuable lose after lifetime.
So that when this world had
changed,
beyond recognition,
I will still hold inside of me the days that I spent in the sun .
As for my back.
Honey, the best thing you can have is a backbone ,
because when everything in this world in pulling you down,
you're going to need something
to keep holding you up.
My backbone,
a tribute to the years
I spent tiptoeing across
the coal beds of this life’s mighty fire. But one day it will turn into a white flag of surrender.
That is when you know that gravity has won.
I will sink back into the earth
and maybe start again…
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 2:59 PM UTC
I pop a pomegranate seed.
It bleeds,
Delicate fuchsia delight,
Mineral scented, warm, bright,
Full of nectar and promise
(now wasted)
I pop another one,
In a soft cove on my arm-
A slight dip between two veins -
And watch the blushing drop
Edge closer to my elbow. Stop.
A third time,
With the fury of fear
Tiptoeing listlessly in my mind,
Like raindrops on a rooftop.
It is sweet, and ******
A waste of time but an act of god
Nonetheless.
I crave the sound and texture of it,
So a fourth time comes around.
By now, the citrus is overpowering
But I keep going,
For the sake of purity,
For the sake of the shock of vibrance
On deathly pale skin.
When my arm is covered in juice,
I give up.
There's no sense in envying the wasted.
Scarlet sticks.
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 3:53 PM UTC
Some are born balanced
On a precipice and remain
Tethered for the rest of their days
Overlooking barely there
Mental images
Fragments of a lucid dream
Of a conjured up past life
Once etched on skin
But no longer there
They speak of
Violent reinvention
And escape
While the hollow speaks
And catapults into spaces
Better left unknown
Psyches wrapped in denial
Running the gamut of habitual sins
Perpetuating legacies of pain
With hands that carry
The burdens of forefathers
Tiptoeing
In the twilight of dreams
Willing for the heavens
To send a spring that blooms
Hearts whose pounding
Reverberates endlessly
inside of ears
Eyes that get darker as they close
Meet with ours
A look
A sigh
Ascertaining a mutual recognition
Of the familiar
Shadows that plague.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 1:39 PM UTC
superhero holding friendship
I admire, I spectate , I watch and learn and notes I take
On a thunderous beauty, on this breath taking sight
Quivering breath at a mountains height
Those close around I fear they might drown
Terrified of what’s making change
Terror stricken, I flip through pages
that would never be re-written, never changed
I’m waiting for struggle, for flailing arm
for loneliness , peoples pulling up guards
Fences that we build and view as our shields
Just a horrible thing ,that wont let me in
Misunderstanding transforming
Now it’s a black mask of confusion, dooming
I panic at thought spinning around
Head is to full ,I feel for the ground
Darkness threatening my light life
I gasp for friendship and understanding
Then you flew in with a quiet landing
Tiptoeing around you lift me off the damp dirt
Wiping the darkness of my clean world
A new view of refuge, I need and needed you
Just a boy with good intention
Transformed into a superhero holding friendship.
Together walking side by side
we sort through what’s wrong and right
We plan a way to save the drowning
Climb fences and break through walls
Tear down others guards
I walk a walk , no longer alone in the dark.
I have you.thank all that is good
We stand were I stood
I love you
Feb 3, 2012
Feb 3, 2012 at 5:36 PM UTC
I want to write you a trilogy on the stages
in which our relationship formed.
The first book would be solely based on the day
that I stopped treating your text messages
like active landmines. Stopped tiptoeing.
No longer being afraid of what your affection
would do to me once I submit to it.
It would be based on the first step I took to
stop being so **** afraid. From that very day
you've helped me in ways I'll never be able to fully explain.
Helped me let go of fear and trepidation, and open
my heart to the greatest thing in the world; your love.
The second would revolve around the first time you kissed me.
I don't know if you noticed, but my knees buckled
like seatbelts and I shook like glass window panes in torrential rain.
That day you awoke something inside me that I didn't know existed
but I'm so glad you found it. Like a stray kitten I was lost
and you brought me back home without questioning where I'd been,
and I'll never fully understand why, but I guess it doesn't matter.
You've taught me not to overthink things, to just revel in the moment.
The third would be set in here and now. Every forehead kiss
and stolen glance sums up to another page, every loving gesture
is another chapter. We are creating something people wish they
could create for themselves. A love that belongs in museums
to teach the world what it really means to give yourself to someone,
with no fear, and not a single ounce of regret. To say that you changed
my life is an understatement. You altered my way of thinking.
Took a broken thing and made it new again. Made me, new again.
And with every word that slips from your lips I am reborn.
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 11:25 PM UTC
Excuse me Miss, the test results are back.
We’ve spoken to your family, and we are
Sad to say that you are numb.
You will start your treatment tomorrow.
I’m
So
Sorry
I’ve been numb for some weeks now
It started at my toes
It nibbled on my legs
It flirted with my head
Slowly but surely tiptoeing in
Numbness is a silent killer
It plays nice and deceives you
Creeping through my body
Then it took my heart
For numbness is a backstabber
It is not what it seems
It uses other emotions to find you
It is covered by fear, for they are good friends
It hides under sadness’s billowing cloak.
And it is smuggled through the heart’s border by anger
But now it’s in my heart
For the soldiers have come out of the Trojan horse
They pillage and take
For numbness is greedy
They start at interests and the hobbies
It makes them seem boring and not worth while
See numbness is tactful, precise, and deadly
It plays with your mind, and slowly eats away at your heart
Hallowing it out, emptying you
Numbness is always hungry
And now I don’t know what I have left that it could take.
Do not worry, for this illness you have, this plague, it is not deadly
And while the treatment we have prepared for you will not change you back
Because once numbness steals, It does not give back easily
It taints your mind, and like wine on a white tablecloth
It does not fade easily
Numbness scars the mind
It leaves its signature with a heart
You will not be who you used to be
You will be faded version of yourself
And a talkative young girl like your self should not be worried
For those who come into our hospital as vibrant and colorful as you
Don’t fade as much as the quieter ones
See you were stronger than them
Your mind did not give up as easily as theirs
But we are treating you early
And you will be fixed, not to worry
Our results of this treatment are stellar
See you will not be fully put back together
Just a little shattered
Not as broken
Mar 14, 2011
Mar 14, 2011 at 9:03 PM UTC
The animal small and frail
The fur fiery ******
The flames lap my skin
The burn me
The eyes bright and curious
They match the norther lights
Flash of green and blue
Rapid blinking
The tail tipped in snow
White and soft
It doesn't melt against the flame
Paws small and white
Tiptoeing across the ground
The fire sparks and blurs
I'm finally home again
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 6:34 PM UTC
Violating a placid spirit
Memories transgress
desecrating the sacred.
Memories are
the dark side
of a full moon.
Memories are unsatiated desires
couched on sorrow
entangled in time
a perennial wrinkle on the soul.
Memories are trespassers
possessing neural atrium
wading saline sockets
slithering in to throbbing veins
tiptoeing to hollow spaces
burying all under their eerie weight,
Memories are an inescapable affliction.
In fragmented mindscape
Memories are violent winds
littering the past.
Lurking behind aches
in ethereal garbs,
Memories are assassins.
Or sema
of a swirling dervish.
Hurtling within, Memories
is an avalanche
pounding the abyss
choking the void
one gasp at a time.
Memories are
nameless apparitions
fused as shadows
to the very being.
Memories are an assault
on identity and belonging.
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 6:23 AM UTC
The orb of night is pulchritudinous tonight,
And not a breath of life in this house seems to notice.
My eyes on you, Your eyes on me,
Viciously music trapped between the bed and windows;
Innocents tiptoeing along the hall,
And us.
While walking towards your car,
I suppose inferring that:
The orb is pulchritudinous tonight,
But what I decry is meant for self-revelation or not at all.
You look at me and smile.
I will always admire the way you glow is so generous to,
Those unaware of the way she fills my eyes.
A delicate modesty.
You open my door,
And I am thankful;
But can’t help wishing to be with someone who notices that,
The Orb is Pulchritudinous tonight.
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 6:23 PM UTC
Loving yourself
Doesn't mean be self absorbed
Doesn't mean be a total ****
Because you need to love yourself
Loving yourself
Is recognizing you're human
And that you make mistakes
And that it's okay to make mistakes
Loving yourself
Is when you mess up really bad
When you say the wrong things
But you go back to try and fix them to validate you're not a piece of ****
Loving yourself
Means that when you go back and try to fix things
And you aren't able to fix things
You lift yourself up anyway because you know you tried to fix it
Loving yourself
Doesn't mean tiptoeing
Around what bothers you
It means you face your fears and realize it's not the end of the world to fail
Loving yourself
Is realizing that the first step to success
Is failure
That falling is good because you try again until you get it right, not give up
Loving yourself
Is having persistence
To prove them all wrong
And not get upset when you can't because sometimes you can't
Loving yourself
Is admiring your trying
Because you should be proud that you try to make things right and you try to make things better
Not only for me, but for yourself, because it bothers you too, to be so mean
Loving yourself
Doesn't mean you look down on others
It means you accept everybody, even your enemies, those that hurt you
You just don't look down on yourself
Loving yourself
Is when someone tells you you're horrible
But you know better than what they say because you know you try and you try so hard
You stand tall but
Loving yourself
Doesn't mean you're better
Because everyone is human and you make mistakes too
You don't hate on the bullies because they hurt just like you and you won't make the mistakes they do
Loving yourself
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 4:37 PM UTC
*standing on the threshold of change, I await a fresh-line
but the universe may be unready
if not, I may take to choppy-waters
all by myself*
1.
if we are all stuck in the jam of time
perhaps, if we spread it out real thin
some of us could actually lift off
and catch a ride.. out
free some hostage from the twisting temporal-joints
and the wool-gatherers mind their business
and footsore beggars dine on exotic-things
deep in the heart of the jungle
where Nebuchadnezzar parked his dreams of old
by saving your surprise for a weekday jaunt
we limp on in the vacant-dust of paradox
yet get unavoidably detained by the present
undo the ribbons and the package may unfold its.. things
espy the tick-tock riding the margin of fright
common sense of morn lies delightfully unfinished
and the wrong side of a bold idea gets squashed
the brain-weary ingest their lot and plough on through thickets of tricky-fate
while tiptoeing silent on the farthest-blades of brimstone
holding subtly aloft.. the frankness of aiding-spectres
2.
balloon of green, balloon of blue
hold out your hand and pray you get no inequalities of flame
easy catch of the sound of science scoffing in the parlour
when we try to do something different; take a chance
uncivilised-humour will argue the rings off your punctured-lobes
any germ of new plan must needs be nurtured
let any frenemy go; intolerant-ilk do better by their vacuous selves
remarkably convenient
there's almost enough water in the well
to soak up the ivory-rays and let them fly
and there's a breeze lifting the needle off the ancient-groove
spinning reels on the bay
*no, you will never convince me
that the time-keeper holds all keys
'cos I snuck out furtive.. late one night
and sawed through.. for a whole decade
and well, guess what I have here..*
:)
S T - 24 Jan 2014
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 8:24 AM UTC
It was the summer my
feet tanned like a gladiator,
my coliseum was more a
city piled on dirt, dust, trash
and under that; sand. It was
a desert summer though pollution
and global warming stole the
'dry heat' notion, burned it
up between layers of humidity and
buried it under the city-
down to sand that touched jewels
and biblical lust.
sometimes I ate pigeons and
sometimes I ate McDonald's.
sometimes I was in love and
sometimes I cried myself to sleep.
my eyes were brown, my skin was dark
and my accent was convincing.
I could have been anybody
tiptoeing between past-dead
hatchbacks and stray cats-
any lonely girl with sleep in her eyes
and fogged up sunglasses,
so why did I stay me?
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 10:33 PM UTC
Once I read this quote
about how quiet people
have the loudest minds.
Now,
and only now
do I know what was meant by this.
I sit there while you talk.
Just sit and listen.
A little nod, a silent sound
of consent.
That's all you'll see from me.
Because I'm not a talker.
I'm the one who listens.
Attentively. Tireless.
An open ear
for everyone's problems
musings, thoughts.
And I don't complain
or give advice
I don't argue
or deny
I will just sit there
subtly smiling,
gathering my thoughts
inside my mind
And you are grateful
for that someone
who listens and cares
without judging
But ask me once
on my view, my experience
I will start slowly,
trying to hold back
on all the things unsaid.
tiptoeing around
so as not to drown you
And finally it will overthrow
my discipline
and words, letters, stories
start flowing out my mouth
passing the barriers that
have so long retained them.
And I'm afraid it might easily
crush you
because there's so much within me
that wants to be said
and so very few people ever taken the time
to listen.
Oct 15, 2012
Oct 15, 2012 at 4:26 PM UTC
You make the first move
and I rise to meet you
The destruction we agree
is mutually assured
If this love is war
we're going nuclear
I refuse to sign the peace
treaty, to surrender my
lands to a man who's history
rides nations in his eyes
You cannot coax me
out of my shell only
to crush me when I am
most vulnerable
I will not be an
innocent bystander
to your horrors
I will not allow you
to make my pain beautiful
*It is not your canvas
to experiment on.*
(You'll only throw
red at it anyway)
I'm tired of tiptoeing
around the subject
like it is a minefield
Eventually I will
bleed your intentions dry
bandage them with a kiss
and revel in their cries
I will tear apart the lies
deftly with nimble fingers
and your tongue will always
defy you, spitting fire
and carefully lodged bullets
Once your secrets flare
there will be no rescue party
to salvage what we had
Only our ashes shall remain
embers of a past unspoken.
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 8:13 AM UTC
black skirt climbing up her shining thighs…
she pulls it down and the excitement dies
from the men around her: **** she’s fine!”
looking up from her phone- she’s next in line.
“may i see your id?” asks the giant,
she shows it to him- acting compliant.
female, black hair, brown eyes, twenty-one.
everything checks out- “stay safe, have fun.”
once she steps through those guarded doors,
she puts her pvc plastic back inside her michael kors.
no ‘x’ on her hand, but an ex on her mind-
she steps onto the dance floor and begins to grind.
many men manage to embrace her swaying hips,
bite her beautiful neck, and kiss her thirsty lips.
from their mouths flows a river of lies,
while hands below swim up sweating thighs.
she’s feeling ecstatic, but he wants more,
her “friends” watch as he carries her out the door.
to say “yes,” she’s in no position,
so he advances without a proposition.
the next morning when she wakes,
in funny places her body aches.
next to her he’s fast asleep,
her phone rings: bleep, bleep!
texts from her “friends” fill her screen-
things they typed, they did not mean.
“we’re worried… where are you? text me the address!”
she gathers her things and pulls down her black dress.
tiptoeing through his apartment, she quietly closes the door.
she’s quiet in the car still, afraid of being called a *****
when they asked her to come out that night, she said: “i don’t like partying anymore.”
Jan 12, 2018
Jan 12, 2018 at 3:36 PM UTC
The casket was coming up, swaying and wobbling
Like a novice skater’s layover spin,
The workings proceeding apace,
The stillness of the August heat
Punctuated by disinterested growl of the backhoe,
The occasional out-of-place jocularity by the excavators
The creaky jingle of the chains holding the muddied box
As it proceeded skyward in its clumsy poor-man’s Resurrection.
The affair was being observed by an elderly couple,
Old enough to be of no particular age.
Their car had Carolina plates,
But their inflections, their casually-tossed idioms
They noted that ruefully The grass needs mowed)
Marked them as natives.
They’d returned (Last time, most likely,
The wife uttered mournfully)
To take their son with them; he’d drowned when was five? six?
(The years will do that to a body, apparently)
In Kinzua Creek some half-century ago,
Back when little boys weren’t under a mandate
To be safe from themselves, as it were.
He was our boy! We’ve never forgotten him!
The old man said, the words snapping off
In a manner that spoke of something else altogether,
How the whistle at the Montmorenci
Went off at three and eleven for second shift,
And your *** had better be there,
As those were good jobs that didn’t wait for bereavement leave,
Because there was always someone
Just itching to take your spot on the line,
And anyway life went on,
At least in the sense that television screens went all to snow
And tires went flat and fuses blew
And eventually a dead child
Is not always in the forefront of your thoughts,
Only tiptoeing in when the Press ran a picture
Of the Montmorenci Area Class of whenever,
Or there was an item about some other family
Who opened their front door
To a grim sheriff’s deputy with his hat in his hand.
Eventually, after some time
And in defiance of both the odds and gravity,
The casket was settled into the back
Of the undertaker’s huge old black Caddy,
And the couple cane-toddled back to their car,
Following out the through the old spider-like gates
And onto the main road.
The brief procession fading from sight,
Until there was nothing left to see
Save the hillsides covered in old growth pine.
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 11:00 AM UTC
with skin of ivory
that blushes at the sight of sun
even when the clouds are out,
i turn into a silly shade of pink
with a heart that drops
falls down, down, down
into a rabbit hole
at the sight of anything
remotely shattering,
gasping at little cracks on the sidewalk
carefully tiptoeing around bumblebees
with lungs that fill with cotton
in fear of a hansel and gretel gingerbread house;
lead me to the witch
where i will cry and wonder,
“how did i get here?”
and forget about
all the gumdrops in my stomach
with poise that only lasts seconds
in the face of spiders,
they crawl into my mouth
kept there until given the chance to spit
them back into your face
i will hold my breath
and picture fields of lavender
where a tanned girl spins carelessly
until my tissue-paper limbs
learn how to hold me up
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 11:29 AM UTC
*You arrived suddenly in my tangerine bliss
with my heart clinched in your fist
you touched me... and the dance started
with a gape of spontaneous combustion
you swirled me around the dance floor
dancing cheek to cheek....*
we skipped the light fandango
fox trotting and waltzing to the beat of tango
the big band broke into a swing
while the love light shone as a crystal disco ball
jitterbug jive and a reet beet
dance macabre and so light on our feet
*You lead me by the hand bodies musing
all the while... you lead me out by my hand
and made way into the galaxy for our feet
as we danced like fine wine...becoming intoxicated
by its beauty~ you danced me into Shangri-La
with my eyes wide and full of imagination
we danced through tangled forests of light*
like Fred and Ginger
tiptoeing upon the backs of stars
dipping into galaxies and twirling on quasars
i hold your hand as you pirouette
upon the moons of a mystic world
as our romantic lambada is unfurled
forbidden planets and forbidden dance
the secrets of whirlwind romance
*we were like Phoenix that had risen
dancing into the morning dew and nectarine
and I kissed you as the tangerines fell
from the sky~ dazed with a trial of stars
and then oh yes then.... I pronounced myself
as yours....as we escaped to paradise
dancing all the while.....cheek to cheek
as you gave me the Tangerine Kiss.....*
tangerine kisses, tangerine dreams
sipped of the nectar of the gods
the fruit of creation in the form of love
a blessing from goddess, earth and above
we dance the steps of swoon and lean
and sweet nuances of tangerine
with every blessing in between
*I felt a kiss upon my frozen cheeks
a clear promise of all our tomorrows
as I sleep with love within our hearts
your sweet tangerine kisses and dreams
are part of our creation... straight from above
My heart is dancing and dreaming
with you always a blessing from God.*
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 1:00 PM UTC
The Belle Rang His Bell
night sweets for knight tiptoeing into her suite
his horse's beat, turning her hoarse red as a beet
please my boughs, she pleas then bows
he rode the road, horse's rose to red rows
as waves mete, cries of more amore for their meet
Logan Robertson
5/18/17
May 18, 2017
May 18, 2017 at 5:10 PM UTC
She approached me
Tiptoeing from across the room,
Although no one was asleep around us to wake;
I watched her lower lip bleed
From biting too much,
As she deciphers the DNA codes on her hair
With her fingertips,
Stroking the life out of it
Up and down-
And up and down again.
She said don’t get me wrong
But I found myself;
I found myself lurking underneath the light of your words
Bending with your o’s and standing straight with your I’s,
Because I
Got lost;
I got lost in the stories you wrote
About the girls who broke
And they felt just like me-
Dazed
By the love poems you cried down for her,
And I wondered how beautiful she must be.
I got flustered
In the blank spaces
That you chose not to write in,
And it felt like I should cut parts of myself
And add them in the vacancies
But I just don’t know what to add.
For every time I rest my soul
On the tip of a pen
I feel like I’ve said too much,
And every time I scratch my words
Throw away my being
Behind
Unread books and dusty light stands
I believe I haven’t said enough
For I could give more,
Be more,
If only I could start over,
And you
You seem to know me more than I know myself;
You have built bridges
Out of my paper shreds,
Tunnels out of my unexpressed thoughts-
You have created your haven inside my brains
And settled down in my heart.
You’ve managed to make me chew your words
Like breakfast
Was a poetic meal to be served
At all times of the day;
You’re an image,
I re-create you in my mind
Before I sleep
After asleep
And even during I sleep-
The thoughts of you never quit my head
Like a gamer would never quit
A game of Warcraft
In the midst of hunting season”
She took off her glasses,
And I could see the marks of them
Being there for too long.
She closes her eyes
As if she was about to take a leap of faith,
But instead she leaped two steps into my arms
And that was when
I got to ask her
What her name was.
And that was when I realized
It didn’t even matter.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 4:43 PM UTC
One day, you'll awaken,
with blood shot eyes,
scratching at a five o'clock shadow,
even though it's seven o'clock
in the morning, and
wonder where it all went wrong. Where she all went wrong.
When the arches of her feet stopped
tiptoeing across the room
to kiss you good morning.
When the parallels of her calves
started making diagonals
when laying on the bed.
When the crook of her elbows
no longer wrapped around you
like the beautiful ribbon on the present you gave to her last Christmas.
Do you even know where that present is?
It's there,
up there on the shelf collecting dust
along with all the "I love yous"
and other promises that you stash away for cold winters nights,
when you crave her warmth,
and long to feel the chill of her sapphire-painted fingernails.
But somewhere between the cicadas of summer and the apples of autumn, you lost her along the way.
You lost the way her hair finds its way onto every surface of your house.
You can't find the way her nose wrinkles when she laughs,
even if you turn over all the couch cushions,
and look under the rug.
You check your file cabinets for the way her chest heaves when she sleeps,
and check in the pantry for the memories of her propped up on her elbows,
looking out the window sill at the rain,
But all that's left are phantoms of her amber scent,
and ghost-smiles that have all but gone stale.
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 3:06 AM UTC
Honesty is the best policy,
One we've chosen to abstain.
Honestly I'd rather you be honest with me;
Walking on eggshells we could refrain.
Tiptoeing around so we don't step upon the cracks in our floors,
Holding our breath tight so we don't breath in the thick truth-
God forbid we just speak honestly anymore,
God forbid we let all of the unsaid thoughts loose.
Honestly I can't say I know you like I once did,
And that's absolute fact.
All because we have absolutely forbid
Ourselves from a backtrack-
Backtracking to when we could actually talk without thinking before speaking
Or worrying about what we have said.
No worries of the truth leaking
From our honest hearts and heads.
I don't want your meaningless quips,
Your aimless remarks.
I prefered the small notes on slips,
Our conversations in the dark.
Honesty is the best policy,
A policy we tried and found true-
A policy we have declined to upkeep,
A policy we once knew.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
Be afraid of the bohém, they may write you a silly little poém to make you love 'em.
Or even worse, in reverse, with their verse, coerce your mind and soul to converse.
And even if their ascent is traverse and the obstacles adverse, routes to them are diverse.
They refine their craft to give you a raft, don't be daft, they rehearse for the terse,
tiptoeing over the perverse, not wanting to averse. They wanna choke the horses of your hearse.
They have no need to beg and plead. Just a wish to slap your *** your steed.
They just wanna make fear disperse for it they accurse, knowing well it's a curse.
No need to look for your purse. Your courage will theirs reimburse
and your smile their swollen fingers nurse.
See, the reaper wants the tails of coins thus places them on eyes faced reverse.
The bohém kick groins and leave traces but from coins take a print of the obverse.
Why? Cause they want not heads, but what's in them. They want your head to stay ahead.
Cause when a head is spiked by tails and filled with flashy tales, it is as good as dead.
They want to help you stay afloat - forget about the raft, think bigger, think of a boat.
Like evergreen crickets they ask you to disburse your fears and reverse your tears.
They ask not for a penny, just a thought or two, not many.
Like the ***** eyed and slightly sane miss Moneypenny.
Some call it a gift, many a curse. A curse the bohém can inverse
cause they submerse spirit in a lyrical sea and lower the stars for you to see.
Remember and beware, if you reward them with something as simple a stare,
you could be blinded by a hearty glare. Now you've been reminded, all's fair and square.
So why not just stay there? It's just your spirit they may ensnare like a hare,
only to mend it's wounded knee so that it can again hop away and be free.
Art is the heart of the bohém and their heart is their art.
So if you ever want to, thank them not with money but with a snack,
sprinkle a piece of your heart with honey. They'll bite it and give you two back.
Eat one too and make like a dove to flee to the place you really want to be.
Ride the waves like Nikolai's bumblebee and fulfill your uncharted destiny.
Dec 7, 2011
Dec 7, 2011 at 4:44 PM UTC