"toos" poems
I can fall in love with your words,
Without ever meeting the person behind them.
I could be infatuated by what you have to say,
Without ever hearing a moments speech from your lips,
Feel touched without the need for physical embrace,
Because every emotion shared is a kind of kiss.
It's certainly not romantical (although it offers no barriers to such),
No, this is something far more real,
Transcending the animal need for the flesh to intertwine,
So much more than the roundabout hellos and goodbyes,
Beating even the are you OKs and I feel that way toos.
It's the simple "I am here. This is me."
So glorious in its simplicity that it could break a heart,
Or mend it, depending on the reciever,
Although I suppose the point is there is no reciever,
Like the triumphant cry of the lone mountaineer,
Or the screams of a mother who's lost her child,
Only far more composed in their release.
I sometimes feel like I'm reading words not meant for my eyes,
(And, in a sense, I suppose they're not).
They are far more beautiful than words that need to be read,
These are words that were meant to be written.
I find myself hating humanity to its very core,
Although each individual has traits I love endearingly-
Every last one- (even ****** created works of beauty),
But you, who have encapsulated a piece of divinity,
Within such common things as words - I love you more.
Dec 24, 2015
Dec 24, 2015 at 11:21 PM UTC
He screamed
From what he couldn't see
He screamed
Through the in betweens
And screamed
Of all the things
He never had
Never chanced
For more
Never stood
For more
Than he could afford
A man it is
A mantis
Atlantis in a war
Of sees
Sinking
Quietly
To piece
es
Predictable
Board
Fishing
For
The rewards
Of discord
His apple rotten
To the core
Crying
For
A *****
Amidst the horror
In the store
Of euphoria
In delirium
In the serum
That nearly killed him
Magnificent
Is the malignants
Of his presence
When rejected
From the projections
Of nervous lessons
lessening
The blemishes
Of the beautiful
Reluctant
And dutiful
He paints the faces
With razorblades
And shame
Carving plates
From skin
The sin
Is only in the flesh
Cut the cancer
Win the contest
Of contested
Blessings
Bleeding
From the lips
Of kids
Victim
To the blips
From beyond
The calling
Of calmly talking toos
Three cubes
To clueless
He knew this
As a dream
Within a dream
And construed it
Through another stream
Beaming
The misleading
Lights astray
He was dead
And seething
Perpetually
Grieving
But he likes
To play
I boxed him up
But
I will show you
Someday
Maybe sunday
Okay
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 11:39 PM UTC
It is too late to ask me why,
It is too late to say I lied,
It is too late for me to run,
It is too late to blame my mum.
It is too early to say goodbye,
It is too early for me to die,
It is too early in the day,
It is too early for me to say.
It is too hard to explain,
It is too hard to take the blame,
It is too hard for me to cry,
It is too hard for me to try.
It is too easy to run away,
It is too easy for you to stay,
It is too easy to point at me,
It is too easy for me to see.
It is too late,
It is too early,
It is too hard,
It is too easy.
Two toos are two not four,
Four toos are four not eight,
You see, it’s not easy,
It’s just too late.
Sep 16, 2019
Sep 16, 2019 at 1:42 PM UTC
picked up the phone after one too many years
after "i'll do it later," and never "now."
missed hellos, goodbyes, how are yous,
i love yous and me toos.
wished i got another chance to dial your tone
to tell you everything i always meant to.
Jan 15, 2019
Jan 15, 2019 at 6:39 PM UTC
can you imagine the airwaves
skeleton wires
ghosts that say hello
say goodbye
can you imagine the tree branches
spider legs
bees that buzz about
buzz inside
can you imagine the grief
you lose your muse
get blues
lose your i-love-you-toos
if they’re gone.
can you imagine what that would mean.
the words whispered
through telephone lines
can you imagine the airwaves
skeleton wires
ghosts that don’t say much
anymore
at all?
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 1:16 PM UTC
Everywhere is quiet.
Family is in bed,
But I can't sleep.
1 in the morning
Alone with my thoughts.
Thats when the demons come.
I dont sit in the quiet anymore.
Sound is my solitude.
Music, videogames, movies, and Youtubers.
White noise and talking to my animals.
My life isn't living.
Its a routine that I do.
I have no emotion in any of my actions.
Needs, and have toos I do.
Desires have long since departed.
Thoughts are not to be thought
but pushed deep into my forgotten memories.
Thinking is too realise
And realization is to spiral down
Down into somewhere that is hard to come back from.
My life is
Hell on Earth.
If i die, my hell will be this world.
If i die, this world will be my karma.
If i die will i even realise it?
Jun 24, 2020
Jun 24, 2020 at 1:48 AM UTC