Part One
Nascent Craving

The insular heart unsealed; pearled eyes
Breach parapets of stone— periled shield,
The sweetest ****—
A threatening wonder and irrefragable synergy,
Nervous routes of cognition  
In this nascent, amorous craving.
Locked and abased,
Dissonance lends pathos — euphoric and onerous,
Disconsolate cries curb sublimation,
The regnant bleed diffusing — fervid lust
Fondled, tactile surfaces in throbbing anticipation.

Sullen, aft a veil of laughter,
Visceral aftermath, out of
The ardent ash,
Burns a thirst;
Insuperable numbness and ache.
Efflorescent intimacy,
Table for two
Enraptured in new alliance,
Élan vital (psyche);
Urgent dialect petitions
Equivocation, jocularity blending
Provocation with indecision,
Noted lilt of descending inhibition.

Adrift, the incessant Now;
As occasion inexorably diminished;
Resonant simpatico tending,
Numinous amity;
Heard conversant, cognitive idioms—
Lassitude, time-eaten pangs of the unhinged heart,
Wounds axiomatic,
In disquieting synergy,
Nibbling, the circumference—
Misery’s permeating truth;
None immune, all trundle incongruously past,
Facing intrepid savages.

Licitly felt, reverberations of Amor
Whence the heart behaves;
Measured cadence, pulse elevating—
Treasured lover, contemplative muse;
Undulating clasp, inflated bone of absence;
Incarnation — a woman,
Beyond prosaic;
Ineffable adoration pours in certitudes of verse,
Elenita, enclothed —virtue unvarnished;
Reservoir intrinsic, poised advocate of the innocent:
The crooked lines of insolence,
Brazen culture of neglected youth.
Perceptive blue stare, sensitized tears—
Plaintively, evincing her injustice ago.

Part Two
Tendered Senses

Siren silence, eruptive blush, ampler between phrases
In dulcet tones — stirring discourse;
Foments rebellion, the strife beneath— his ****,
Out of its vast reserve,
Penetrate the narrowed ambit, vaguely announced.
Groping hands, migrating the sensual member
Stern faces grimacing— mirror in abrasion,
Under the blind surf of consent;
Burrowing ambiguity, emerging torsion,
Plunge, enlisted and content in the sea;
Subsumed in the nonverbal cue,
Persuasion’s plea,
Quelled in the post cerebral assent.

Piercing eyes parallel crystalline waters of Lake Tahoe.

An untouched portion of his awareness remains aloof,
Palpable in the subsequential quiet,
Obsequious and febrile, they sinned on sofas;
Peregrine predilections quenched and viscid—
Serenely requited, the room breathes her presence,
Limp, figures *******, mantled in adolescent torpor.

Erudition in bloom, trust undoubted,
Illuminating, satiating; tempest calm—
Under canvas
Terrain soaked and sodden,
Postliminary — rains of invalidation.
Allowance and permission
Recalibrate, salivate, shortly only—
Initiate, obliged consecration, appraising
Curvatures of the spine,
Stuns him obeisant, her femenine pulchritude,
Propinquity inciting vigor,
Emergent allure, the updriven
Tower of wood sprung from the blanket.

Suffused in ether, purring streams of remembrance
Vaginal honeyed dew, sung into
Orchids, remnants of remember;
Drenched down the cynosure of devotion;
Succulent view, diaphanous pantied bottom;
Halcyon mist, saporous wine — compliance of the will,
Freed fires wander,
Pliable rind, twin plums dripping,
Abject confession, dispatching doubt
In tendered senses,
Pivotal tree, lavender Jacaranda holds the key,
Unfurled, cindered vulnerability.

Half-denuded skin invites confessional savor
Acutely bubbled rear, fleshly furnished denim;
Sultry visit, San Ramon Valley in the fall,
Strewed limbs splendid, flowing filmy;
Imagination yields—
Bursting silk congealed
Across deft thighs, ambrosial thong draping ankles,
Grazing ascension, the curvaceous trajectory
Nose inflamed with fragrance,
Inhaling, climb of acquiescence,
The ****** weal, amid the globed fruit,
Focal intention — ploughed lance thrusting,
Absconding, the ancillary perfume of essence.

Perceiving avid validation,
Swimmingly, amid the monstrous gaze.
  
Humid skies simper dank, set swell the incense of Eros,
Surge of poetry engorged
The flame levened shaft,
Nimble ******* flounce, spill the harboring mouth;
Moist hands merging, unfettered,
Weave in supplication,
Vicinity voicing, enmeshed diversion;
Supple and spherical behind
Posterior arch, milky-skin against the lip—
Ripeness jostling their complacency;
Lapped the mooring, ridden decisively;
Recapitulating— spumed forth, bellied over hips warmth.
Abandon the dirge of self-pity
Late under ego’s trance.
  
Part Three
Present Tenses

Tempting trespass across sacred gardens,
Flowering, scandal set luminous: attachment—
Consensual, their corresponsive fear;
Protean manifestations— evocative, perpetual
Unutterable contention in a fictive resolve,
Deliberating the merits of their widely disparate tastes in coffee,
Amorously touring wine, let’s drowse through the gnarled vine.
Sundry deficiencies pale, once contrasted;
The beatific vision—
Material substance unaccompanied,
Imperceptible, tear-streamed cheeks in synch,
Ventral kiss, peak of carnal perfection,
Reminiscence— flesh violent with Love.

Fiction knew to meander the innominate rift,
A tincture of irony soften misdeeds
Immense as the sea.
Insolvent beast stippled with sapience—
Unmasked, the fabric of delusion;
Dependence smothering the disciplined heart
Resentment put up for release.

Waste of residual years
Fate’s apportion, scars bleakly observed;
Chastened by heartache, engulfing fervor
Too faint to recapture.
Vague glimpses dry—
Hypervigilant his defenses,
Veritable suspensions, embers lit linger;
Slender walls of solidity, the horizoned self,
Faith and reason in concert — stone levels of elucidation.

Fractured bones of distance, emanate a rigid salience,
Another ponderous night of absence—
Lingering, cauldron of dearth as indifference ushers,
The quotidian coil of contrition.
Tearful pallor, sequestered —ciphering time and solitude;
The unkissed mouth, his restive brow;
Suspend in the approximate span.
                      
After Lucid alliterations are spoken
Devoid of her face, his lover’s nudge—
The man nurtures his hurt.
Anxious as seldom unscarred,  
Venus’s susurrations,
In present tenses,
Kissed by her serenades of integration—
Notwithstanding metaphysic intrusion,
No chain stays unbroken,
Postponed drifts of deferment left unspoken,
Reverberations of amor.

© 2013 W. S. Warner

You've put all this weight on my shoulders
Responsibility
That you couldn't hold
You didn't want
You've been nothing when I needed everything
It's okay
My shoulders can hold the world
Such strength there is in them now
My heart can take the rejection, absence, abandon and can survive, it's walled now, protected from such
My spirit can take the absolute desolation that comes with your presence and come back to form into smiles and strength
I don't mean you've left me unmarked, unscarred
But you have given me absolute strength and that need for you has gone
You've given me the ability to be alone, self sufficient, rely on no one, need not another soul
And be okay with it
For that, I thank you
But you really are selfish *******
*******.

Punk Rock John introduced himself to me at my first show. He said, “kid.. protect your teeth, do NOT lick the walls, and don’t ******* the crusty’s. If you get cut, let it bleed– you’ll be fine.”
I was 15 years old, thinking about unzipping my veins. And while most 15 year olds would have done drugs or written a ******* poem, I went to ****** bars and basements and gave my best friends black eyes.

For the first time in my life, I knew that when I fell, someone was gonna pick me up. That first mosh pit was not a quiet conversation about suicide, it was Punk Rock John telling me, “Hey *******! Don’t **** yourself! Don’t waste your unscarred knuckles.” My rage bloomed. Why hate myself when I can hate parents, high school, the radio, record stores, magazines, corporations, yuppies, my parents, cops, rain, sunshine, beach days, phone books, and tiny ******* cupcakes? *******, if that first day of punk didn’t sound like Buddy Holly played back, double time, distorted, compressed into four chords.

The first time I saw Punk Rock John, he was halfway through a frontflip stage dive, and he landed directly on me. He picked me up, dusted me off, and threw me back in the pit. Punk Rock John was 6’4, had hands the size a kick drum, and he smelled like a 20-year rain. He was Noah. He was our shepherd. One time, I was getting ready to dropkick some metal kid when John got me in a headlock and said, “quit ******* around, Neil! You don’t know who this kid’s friends are, and I ain’t putting you out if they set you on fire.”

John told us, “the church of punk rock was always open. If you wanna pray, just crank up the stereo until your ears bleed. If you wanna pray, just grab your brothers and sing! Sing out of tune, sing the wrong words- just sing! Loud!”

But then some out-of-town skin dropped a guillotine knifeblade into John’s skull. The blood was pouring from his ears. He was dead before he hit the ground. John brought me into a world where I felt loved, and that world took him away. I buried my leather jacket, patched the holes in my jeans, and tried to pluck the chords like stitches from my chest.. but John still speaks to me. When the world is larger than I am, when my chest is a vice.. I put that needle on the record, I turn it up until I can’t hear ****, and I tell myself: as long as I have hands, I can break something. As long as we can breathe, we can sing. As long as I can remember, I will hear him– he says, “kid, you’ll be fine.”

To some she is a shining light
A flash of hope amongst the dark
An optimistic helping hand
To pull you from the dark
And cheer your sorrow

To some she is a black hole
Pulling the world down with sadness
Reliving the past that broke her
And stabbing others with the shards

To some she is simple words
plastered on a white canvas painting a picture.
never more
but never less

To most she is unnoticeable
A tiny footnote scribbled in the corner of a forgotten notebook
A wall flower whose thorns push away all but those with the key to her locked heart.

When you ask me what she is
The answer is impossible
Because I don't know

But I can tell you what she's not

She is not a beautiful face, to stop you in a crowd

She is not a chatting girl to talk you into a date

She is not a innocent flower
Welcoming with open arms

She is not a genius to create the next invention

She is not a musician, an author, a designer, a star, a doctor, or a hero

She is not a loving companion for you to hold, and remember your every need

She is not a great friend, always there in a flash.

She is not a friendly person, starting up the conversation

She is not a good cook, making meals that are edible

She is not an unscarred girl, unscathed by the past

She is not a beautiful figure
That draws your eyes

She is not hilariously funny
Ready for stand up comedy

She is not someone to remember though she will remember you

However she is not fazed by judges
Changing ways to suit them

She is not perfect

She is not stopped by her imperfections, only pressed farther to become something more.

And though I can not say who she is or what she will be. Here's what I can say

To me she will always be the girl staring back in the mirror.

i have always fancied the decrepit,
the abandoned,
the unsightly,
the imperfect,
the rough,
the dull.
i have always found refuge
in desolate places
and found company
in the derelict.
the unwanted,
the forsaken,
the forlorn,
have always held my interest.

there is something unbelievably beautiful
in sadness
that draws me,
that calls me to it.
perhaps this is the same appeal
that holds me to you.
i look at you
and touch you
and i draw back in pain,
but i desire to embrace you still,
you
and your undesirable past,
your confused present,
and your uncertain future.

i am there
touching every scar
and wanting to peer
through every crack and crevice.
i want every tear
for myself.
i shall keep every drop
in a jar inside my heart
until i, too, overflow
with every ache.

it takes one to know one,
my brother always said.
i guess he’s right.
my own weaknesses,
my blemishes,
my defects
make it easy for me
to look at you
and see that you are one
of incomparable value.

those are battle scars,
i'd always say.
nobody has a right
to disrespect
the wars
others have fought
and the losses
others have suffered.
yours are some
of the most interesting
wounds i've ever seen.

your imperfections are priceless, baby,
and i’d gladly give what’s left unscarred in me
for the benefit
of embracing
all that you are.

for j.e.
*111614

the sum of my parts
is not greater than i am as a whole, no,
i am not simply a collection of scars
and ******-up storylines, oh,
i
am more than
the gristle and bone
the fibers interwoven through my arms
my lily-white striped clavicle
this corpse is my throne

i am not simply a ******
i am a ****** with a history
i am mauve valleys' majesty,
i am more than just my regrets
and my atrophies
and if it's not commendable, well, at least it's a story.

i,
simply because of my condition,
have lived through more than you could imagine
i have burned down in the depths with fire-skinned demons-
with messes deeper than your credit-card sins-
and i
have managed to get through it

these are my battle scars
i've fought ******* wars
and yet you shun me as if i'm not a hero
as if i'm not honorable for just making it
but i know you simply don't possess the tenacity
or the strength of wit
to deal with my ****
there's no reason to reproach
the type of behavior which keeps me alive
when i've done greater things than you ever will

stop staring
like i'm some sort of reject
like i'm something to pity
like i'm something worth nothing
like i can't recover
this is just a bad habit
and though you may find it disgusting i know i
can find worse dirt staining your mind

even if i leave this life
without a square inch of me unscarred
i have never backstabbed
i have not given in
while your inky secrets stay unspoken,
mine are imprinted upon my skin
and darling, that's all there is

if i am hateful, i will show you so
i have nothing to hide
my mouth isn't lipsticked shut

so what
if i cut
i'm still a good person
and though my battle is visible
there is nothing more around the corner
i am here to stay
so are my scars
and that's all there is to say

Swirling, dancing emotion drenched
Hues
Licking the pure unscarred ground
Behind them a trail of unmistakable
Blue
Falling raining
Splashing sound
The only noise to be found
In the colorless room
A dash here
A line there
Her story told through
A swift movement of the hand
An expression of the mind
Silence of the tongue

my dad was a workin man
mud on his boots and rust colored hands
cigarette in his mouth and Carhart pants
covered in sawdust from the projects he'd sand

we were family but how he saw us I'll never understand
and there was always my mother so he always needed another plan

we were technically a family, the few of us just us three
in a house like a boxing ring the loving was left up to me
four poor walls held together by two wedding rings begrudgingly
you could starve to death there if you were the one hungry for sympathy

my mom was a violent woman, a true fighter
hot tempered and her temper would start hot fires
at a young age I was inspired to learn to fight back because I was tired
of the beatings, of the yelling, of fake apologies, of the mire

we were a family but how she handled us I will never admire
she wanted us forever but the fates conspired

we were a family through all of the calls to the police
we were a family through the jealousy, the paranoia, and the deepening grief
we were a family that went to war and ignored peace
we were a sick body on it's knees that knew only disease and no relief

then of course we were a sailing ship forced on it's inevitable course
divorce
then us three became him, and her, and me, the source
now I have no recourse to heal those old sores

my dad was a boxer and my mom was a volatile pyre
fourteen years on that noose and fears are all I acquired
what transpired has made me hollow and lonely and scared of today because of the prior
and whoever tells you that you could survive that unscarred is the worst kind of liar

Once I was a Hero,
the Hero of my back yard.
My sword, faith and shield were handy,
kept my face unscarred.

I would fly on wings of ravens,
ride on the backs of beasts,
sleep under the Ice from the west,
rise with the Fire from the east.

I saved many fair maiden,
slew gremlins, ghosts, and goblins,
found ancient treasure from past kings,
ran through numerous gauntlets.

I commanded a battalion of knights,
who would shout my name with pride,
I wonder if my people have missed me,
since the day I grew up and died.

No feelings
No depth
No core to strike the iron hot
Upon.
I regret to inform you Sir
That I have lost the capacity
To care,
That I have dropped the
Ephemeral Ball of belief
And have become tangled
Undone.
A shallow
Hollowed
Cracked
Broken and busted
Shapely shell
That contains only dust,
Particles of Mistrust

I am bumpy rolling stone
No moss collected
Just cleft reflected
On a surface
Not shy or unscarred of pain.

This is today
This empty decay
This is now, this dust cloud
Caught trapped aloof and uncaring.

my dad was a workin man
mud on his boots and rust colored hands
cigarette in his mouth and Carhart pants
covered in sawdust from the projects he'd sand

we were family but how he saw us I'll never understand
and there was always my mother so he always needed another plan

we were technically a family, the few of us just us three
in a house like a boxing ring the loving was left up to me
four poor walls held together by two wedding rings begrudgingly
you could starve to death there if you were the one hungry for sympathy

my mom was a violent woman, a true fighter
hot tempered and her temper would start hot fires
at a young age I was inspired to learn to fight back because I was tired
of the beatings, of the yelling, of fake apologies, of the mire

we were a family but how she handled us I will never admire
she wanted us forever but the fates conspired

we were a family through all of the calls to the police
we were a family through the jealousy, the paranoia, and the deepening grief
we were a family that went to war and ignored peace
we were a sick body on it's knees that knew only disease and no relief

then of course we were a sailing ship forced on it's inevitable course
Divorce
then us three became him, and her, and me, the source
now I have no recourse to heal those old sores

My dad was a boxer and my mom was a volatile pyre
fourteen years on that noose and fears are all I've acquired
what transpired has made me hollow and lonely and scared of today because of the prior
and whoever tells you, you could survive that unscarred is the worst kind of liar

it's such a shame
that these days
"real" friends are just about
as hard to come by as
teenagers with unscarred wrists

a thousand eyes searching
and i still feel pretty ******* invisible
it’s a blessing, it’s a curse
i couldn’t tell you which is worse
and i’m swallowing magnets just to attract you
talking big and fast like
maybe i can capture your attention
maybe i can handcuff it to me
and now i'm emptying out my heart in the bathroom
just to save space
and it's always a bathroom, it's always a bathroom
because girls throw up their secrets there
making confessionals out of toilet bowls
because lonely kids hide there
eating their lunches perched in bathroom stalls
i think we’re all still more like that
than we want to ever admit to ourselves  
sometimes i think we mistake brutal for beautiful a little too easily
you're a disaster, you're a ******* train wreck
yet, baby, some how you got it together better
than anybody i know
and yeah, you’re ****** record sometimes
but i never could bare to turn you off,
because i know every word too well
and we all skip sometimes
and we all have our botched notes sometimes
and we all have misses instead of hits sometimes
but even scratched up records can still make music,
and even cynical people can still write love songs
you’ve got a smile closer to
a painted-on sunset than a true blue sky,
but don’t look now; your paint’s peeling off
like cheap nail polish
and we don’t like to talk about it
because then we might have to think about it
and it was like getting exactly what you wanted
then having to return it
you are the best and worst things i’ve ever written,
poetry personified
no one ever got me like you did
because i know you best which means i also know you worst
so now i'm like new orleans after the levees broke
every hurricane has a name and i’m trying to forget yours,
there are universes inside of you
people will never know because no one will ever
think to ask about them
and there are storms brewing in you
that no one will ever see coming until they hit
and not everyone can see the brightest of galaxies
with a naked eye
but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there
and i’m searching with a magnifying glass,
a careless kind of precision
i’m just near-sighted with a vision
i looked so hard for you in the stars
that i think i created new constellations there just to fit you in
i accidentally immortalized you
and what's a girl to do when she loves somebody
too big for a twin bed, larger than life
and you know me, i always want to be the last thing i saw on tv
and i know you, you’ll only be famous in your downfall
because if this is a big fish in a small pond type of situation
then you’re a whale in somebody’s kitchen sink,
too big for this **** town
and i couldn’t ever bare to hold you back or tie you down
life’s like a fistfight, right, and you can’t stop
somebody from throwing
their own punches even if you’re just thinking
about saving their unscarred knuckles with you best intentions
and i’ll never stop you from leaving
even if i don’t want you to go
i understand losing everything that you’ve ever had
just to gain what you’re looking for
better than you’ll ever know, better than i’ll ever let show
because i want so bad i’m burning up in the atmosphere
i want so bad i’ll let it destroy me without a second thought;
i just overdosed on my dreams in my bedroom  
and we are not on our deathbed
we’re trying to claw our way out of our open casket
we’re already in our coffin, we’re already buried ten feet under
we were dead a long time before we ever even arrived
and my knuckles might be unscarred
and there's a thousand better ways to word this
but i don’t believe in anything the way
i believe in you
and i guess it makes sense:
somebody once told me that  
either you die for what you believe in
or you live for what you don’t

i am
--am i?--
yeah, i think i am

drunk drunk drunk
and signing myself up for
selective service so i
will be able to access my financial
aid and not have to cough up
almost $2,000 for one term
that me and my bank account
just really do not have, ya know?

and that little dropdown menu
well it doesn’t offer the option of:
“i am being forced to sign up for this
so i can afford college”
because i guess that sounds less
appealing than my being recruited
during lunch while i watched my fellow
(cis) male students dislocate their shoulders
doing pull ups so the older boys in uniform
would be proud of them and
maybe even give them a
nice little lanyard

because after over $100 to get
the right name and gender marker
on my id and $60 to get a new
birth certificate
i’m male enough for the government
to want to make into cannon fodder
but i’m still not male enough to
use the men’s room without the
threat of being verbally harassed
or physically assaulted

and that just makes me so angry
because here’s “bone-spurs donnie”
a known draft dodger of
at least 5 times who had the money
to pay off any doctor he wanted
trying his hardest to ban trans
people from enlisting
to fight in a war backed by a country
that wants them dead

yet that little M on my id
that i paid so much for
makes me eligible to be blown
to bits or come back to
a country that doesn’t want me anymore
with my brains scrambled from
shell shock and ptsd

because this country is willing
to pretty much force-feed young men
into the bottomless belly of the
war machine

always stoking the fires of the
military industrial complex with
money and unscarred flesh
and so much lies
and so much fear mongering

and i am just so tired
of having to fill in that
little bubble with my ballpoint
pen and a click of the mouse
pledging what could easily be the
rest of my life to being
riddled with bullets
miles away from home

just so i can grab that
financial aid
that perpetual carrot being dangled
in front of my oh so
transgender and queer nose
so i can afford an education
and not become another statistic

another person that the
united states of amerikkka
has failed

His wrists are my favorite part of his body,
Bones pressing delicately through pale, unscarred skin in a way mine haven't since the 6th grade.
The only bones showing on my body are my elbows and knees, just barely
And the worried bones of my insecurities.
I wish I could see my shoulder blades and hipbones.
I'd never hoped to be a skeleton but
I'd hoped to be proud of my appearance.
Even though my best friend tells me that I'm pretty just the way I am,
I know I'm not as pretty as my sister;
We're twins but no one ever believes us
She has gorgeous blonde hair and pale skin and sky blue eyes,
Hourglass shape.
I think she got the looks, but I always hope I got the brains.
Today I don't know which is the better end of the deal.
I know I am fat. I don't need any doctors or parents or bullies to tell me that
My curves are not big-*****,
Obesity doesn't run in my family,
No one runs in my family,
And by no one I mean me.
My every outfit is prefaced by compression shorts and slimming colors and self-conscious shame.
My stomach has ugly purple stretch marks like tongues of hungry fire
Burning away my self-esteem
Summer evenings aren't fun anymore
When my father tells me I'm too big to swing on the swing set
And my mother asks if I'm pregnant.
I'm not.
I'm a size 14. My mother thinks I'm a size 10.
When I try on the too-small clothes she brings home  
I cry in the privacy of my bedroom mirror,
Oceans of salted pain worry over my face,
Try to rinse away the guilt.
At least I'm not an ugly crier.

White princess,
Up in your diamond and ivory
Chanel and Louis tower.
Above all of us-
Simple folk

White princess,
Walking on pink rose petals
Spilled at your feet
By your family,
Who are just like us-
Simple folk

White princess,
Hands untouched by labour,
Soft as silk and water.
Skin unburnt by sunlight,
And unscarred.
Unlike us-
Simple folk

White princess,
Who will never know hardship
Pain, or suffering.
Walk all over us in your
Black and red Louboutins.
All of us-
Simple folk.

Vermilion teardrops:
falling in waves like
anguished petticoats
rustling down the year's
corridor into winter;
the palace gates are bare
arms, living kindling
unscarred in pools of fire -
with Chronos' breath to set
the mood,
glowing in every torch
the charred remains of
a living kingdom
fall to ash.

When I was two
I was told
What to do.
When to sleep,
When to eat,
Sometimes
When to pooh.
That's okay,
In fact, it's cool,
I was two,
Not yet in school.
I can't dismiss
That life of bliss.

When I turned six
I started school;
For sixteen years
I followed rules.
I got Qualified,
I got Certified,
I got Bone Fide,
I shoulda been Beatified.
I did what I was told.
I was sold.

I enjoyed
Middle-class life,
Rising early,
Then late at night.
Worked for the man
As best I can;
Reaped rewards,
Came out unscarred
Because I was
A rules vanguard.

I'm older now,
There's no rules,
So don't tell me
What to do.
But, there's one thing
I'll tell you.

Success isn't measured
In cars and homes
(there's some success in chromosomes),
Just follow rules
To your advantage;
You're not weak,
It shows your courage.
Secure the best
For your life's voyage.

Now,
That I'm sixty-two,
Say what you want,
I'm deaf to you.

I plucked a splinter from my heart
As the past began to leak-
Before clumping up against the sore
And trickling down my feet.

I exhaled the bitter, salty air,
And coughed and heaved my loss
For my lungs could only hold their share
As long as I paid the cost.

I cornered you with words, tonight,
And wailed out against the moon-
While anger poured from every noun
Falling dormant upon my tomb.

You thought I mixed it up, somehow,
Between the trembling blame,
As you coiled up upon the sound
That harshly sang your name.

I burried up my bitter soul
Beneath some shards of glass,
And planted a new world right there,
Atop a hidden past.

I crossed my t's, and said my alms
To your sweet and sickly lord.
I held my voice from trembling,
So my distress would not be heard.

I washed my wounds with holiness
Drained from the city streets,
Cleansing myself of all that feels,
For acceptance comes as defeat.

I sat there in the dark, that night,
As I painted out my life
Upon the shores of an indifferent sea,
Unscarred by wisdom's knife.

Oh, do you see the butterfly
That's shriveled against the pane
Of a dusty, concealed windowsill-
Never to see light again.

1 Screaming at all hours, sleep is my enemy. My greatest fear is loud sounds and bright lights.
2 Daddy is a tall giant and the smartest man in the whole wide world, mommy is the best mommy ever. Also, touching the fire on birthday candles is not allowed. Or singing at the table. Or watching scary commercials because mommy is tired of me waking her up at 3AM with my nightmares about the big hungry man in the commercial. My greatest fear is being alone in the dark.
3 I’m still too young to know real hurting, I’m unscarred and the greatest tragedy I’ve experienced is a skinned knee and having my favorite stuffed animal taken from me overnight for bad behaviour. My greatest fear is the day I get married and have to live away from my parents.
4 I’m too short to see myself in the bathroom mirror, the counter is in the way. My greatest fear is the monsters under my bed.
5 I have a birthday party and invite every person I know because I’m friends with everyone. My greatest fear is being in trouble with my teacher for talking in class.
6 I’m a big girl now, I can help mommy with dinner…by tasting her ingredients. I don’t understand why those people on the show daddy watches called The News **** each other. Why does anybody hate anyone? Why are grownups crying? Big girls don’t cry. My greatest fear is quicksand, but fortunately I have multiple plans on how to escape quicksand.  
7 Daddy is teaching me how to ride a bike without training wheels and it is scary and I’ve fallen off alot. He told me he wouldn’t let go! I can’t believe he lied to me! I cry and cry but look! Look, I’m doing it mommy! Look! CRASH. I’m starting to read big girl books more easily now. No pictures and only words isn’t as bad as I used to think. One day, I want to be a writer. My greatest fear is falling off my bike.
8 Boys are yucky, and not every girl is my friend anymore. It’s strange, the girls I used to play with have their own friends now. I’m not one of them anymore. A girl told me I was ugly and I felt this odd feeling in my chest like I was falling. Why did it hurt? The only things that are supposed to be able to hurt you are things you can see like knives (which I’m not allowed to use) or falling down, I thought. A girl tells me I am dumb. What a bad word to say, I’m NEVER allowed to say it. It is a mean and a bad word. When I grow up, I’ll never swear. I thought the bad guys were the only mean people in the world? I thought they wore black capes and lived in scary glowing castles like in the movies. The pretty girls in my class who look like princesses are saying things to each other and me that sound like the bad guy’s line in a movie? Why is this happening? I wish on the star every night like princesses do for the girls to stop hurting each other with their words. My greatest fear is that my wish won’t come true.
9 Did you know that fairy tales aren’t real? Did you know that it matters how your hair looks and where you buy your clothes and how many friends you have? Did you know other people care about what you have for lunch? Apparently, those things are true. I don’t like everyone anymore and not everyone likes me. People say some things to me that hurt my feelings and I make someone else cry because I said something just as mean back because I was angry. I didn’t mean to hurt them even though they hurt me. I do things I regret. Am I a bad guy now too? My greatest fear is of becoming a bad guy.
10 I am not a little girl anymore. Girls are turning on girls. Boys are liking girls. Not me of course, but other girls. Suddenly, everyone thinks they are a teenager. Someone calls me fat. Someone says I’m ugly. Someone says I’m dumb. Someone says I’m weird. I like a boy, but he could never like me. Less and less friends, life is growing uglier and far, far colder. Quicksand did not turn out to be as big a problem as I imagined when I was little. Suddenly, I grow up far faster than I should, because if I don’t, I’ll spend way too much time crying. The boys are playing a game at lunchtime, who would you marry if you had to marry someone in the class. One of the boys says he’d: “pick someone stupid like: My name.” Why did my name finish his sentence? “Then I’d shoot her in her sleep after we were married.” He finds out I heard what he said. He tries to talk to me, to apologize but I don’t want to speak to him. I refuse to cry over this. I’m not a baby. But it secretly hurts a lot. I never speak to him ever again. Not a word the whole year, or the next or ever. My greatest fear is being unwanted. And I am.
11 Boys are mean and girls are heartless and cruel. Girls hate me, I hate girls. I hate myself, I hate school, I hate hating everything. I feel worthless, why is everybody else so pretty and perfect? I haven’t been invited to anyone except my best (and only) friend’s birthday party for 3 years. I get invited to a sleepover with girls who don’t like me and I don’t really like them but I don’t know them too well I just know their names and when they think I am asleep I hear them start to talk in-depth about why I am ugly. Scarred. Humilated. Scarred. Broken. Mostly scarred. Why am I so ugly and worthless and fat and stupid? My greatest fear is the monsters inside of my head.
12 New school, new friends, new life. So happy. So, so happy and free. Friends who actually care about me. Friends who heal me. Closer than friends, like sisters. Not alone anymore. My greatest fear is losing all that.
13 Everything is perfect, and beautiful and I am so happy I could cry. I laugh all day and love my life. Until May. Then it fall apart. Jealousy, lies, family problems at home, pasts collide, friends are fake and sisters forever fades into a broken promise. I hate my friend but God, I love her like a sister even though I loathe her so much. It hurts it hurts and I start to feel ugly again. I scar myself, I do terrible thing to my body and myself. I only have a few friends left, but now I know who is loyal, and who never was. My greatest fear is everything that is happening to me as my world crashes, crumbles and burns all around me.

Many years pass, but my mind, soul, and heart are unchanged. Though my age grows larger, I never grow past it all. I’m reliving it all over and over, I still hate myself. Chained to 13.

Please repost if you are trapped in the past too.
Comment! I love to read other people's interpretations and thoughts on my work!

Sweat infused with sweat came riding upon the soft night breeze, sliding through the ebony air; bringing with it the scents and perfumes of faraway and exotic places. The continent of Us where union was shared and passion blazed through the rolling waves that lapped and endured with the temperate tides at the beach of Now.

And how the tall trees shook and rocked as the churning wind rushed through them; clinging from it intoxication for our senses, sensual pollen released. Released…released.
In the broken silence of Monday night, the incensed symphony of sound and sweat and passion and desire, the unbroken breath of truth begged upon hands and knees for us to realize its beauty. Simplicity and instinct. Ah that depth to which we sank with stones tied to our decorum; and how relaxed we were to sink to that ocean, upon the beach of Now; the western coast of the continent of Us.
Parting from these natural shores, eyes ever westward we sailed to the peninsula of Dream on the angel-wing blown tempest of Sleep; whence we found ourselves clinging to the memory of that soft, lost land of Us. Where a moment is a lifetime and will not allow us to pass unscarred, unmarked and taunted for it will often blow its breeze so we never forget. And never forgive the time spent upon the beach of Now.

Now a memory as precious as a pearl.

Back when I was younger,
Still growing and getting stronger
I was asked "what do you want to be when you're older?"
I said I wanted to be in the Army

Looking up to my Dad,
My absent role-model
As he fought overseas
He was my only idol

I wanted to serve a greater cause
Fight for what is right, no hesitation no pause
Just end what is wrong to make the world a better place
Meet these terrorists with a gun, fighting face to face

But then I heard some stories of war
A man went over not knowing what to fight for
Should he fight because he must, who could he really trust?
So many doubts and he ended up at Deaths door

Could you just imagine
All the carnage and the damage?
**** that, imagine standing next to
What remains of your friend

Being the one to carry him
Off of the battlefield
And laying him to rest in
An unscarred, peaceful, quiet field

I just don't think I could cope
No matter how much I want to fight
Torn in two, between wrong and right
Between the warmth of the dark and the cold light

In a clapboard boarding house I lie
And I am half-organic;
Several days ago, a new friend
Smiled. I watched his unscarred hands extend
An invitation cordial;
A half-hour, and I knew the panic
Tasted on the air potential *****,
Eyeballs rolling from the ordeal.

Now I feel a man primordial
A human made to mould.
A person finds there’s constance in decay
When all their friends are cold.

I have no doubt you're in heaven right now. if prayers can help a soul that was already unscarred I alone would have already saved your soul forget about everyone else. So if you read this from heaven, I love you. You deserve this buddy. I'm glad you finally were able to fly without the limitations of our earthly forms. I may do one final person with wings, just for you, because all the beautiful colors yours would be amaze me just the way your soul and poetry did. I'll save it and frame it because I never want to forget you. And I will move on because you wouldn't want me to waste my time crying over you, but I will also have some days where I just curl up and cry because you are my best friend and I lost you to the void of death no one living can breach. Honestly though I would never erase a moment of talking to you. I  would do this all again in a heart beat oh Andy if you can read this I would do everything again. Except I would meet you sooner and talk to you more so we could have more time. R.I.P Andy, you will live on in our hearts

Once a wise person said "if someone lives on in the hearts of men, he lives on." I think. If not, I just said it. And from what I can tell that's true. So Andy, though he may not have his physical body anymore, still lives, in the minds and hearts of all of us.  Andy lives on. We can repost his poetry and write poems in his honor. We will move on, but a part of us died with Andy, and part of him lived with us.

I think Andy is talking to me, or his spirit watches me, or something because I have the inexplicable urge to just address the air around me as if it were him. I want to talk to it, interact with it, ask it questions and say what I never got to say to him to it. Call me crazy but I want to talk to Andy. And I feel like he's listening.

Our angel has gained his wings. While we grieve, parts of us should rejoice, because Andy is in a better, happy place, and finally he can fly

Fly fast, fly far, fly anywhere.
We love you
Andy

i have always favored true contrast over compatibility
for example,
my flawed tan hand holds your lily white unscarred one
as we engaged in a delicate dance
i am very careful not to step on your feet
and you are carefully avoiding my gaze
and when you do look at me
i try my hardest not to look in your eyes
because i know i'll lose my step

I caught a tremendous fish
.     .     .     .     .     .     .     .
And I let the fish go.
—Elizabeth Bishop

All the people are old people.
Older than me.
Granddad took me fishing
with one of his friends.
They said we’d catch flounder.

They killed the engine
near the bridge pilings.
The lines stayed slack
until a red and white
floater fell below
the bay’s polluted waves.

I thought I felt a flounder
heaving on the hook.
I reeled it up—
a fish,
cylindrical and silver.
Alert, black eyes peered
at me. He floundered
against the skiff’s side
with a barbed hook inside
his young, unscarred mouth.

The old men laughed:
flounder are flat
and brown.
He was small
and nothing special—
not a flounder.
But they didn't let him go.
They ground my catch up
into a pink paste, spotted
with specs of broken bone.
We threw the pieces off the boat
to chum the water.

To feel love, and taste love, and be love again
But all I feel are the words that come from my pen
And as I lay my curly locks upon my bed
I think of you and everything that you once said
And though I shower to wash off the memories
The feeling of your lips on my skin remains on me
I remember all the nights that we didn’t fight
When there was never enough time during the day or the night

I wish I could blame you instead of me
I wish things could be the way they used to be
But I blame myself for trying so hard
For not letting go while I was unscarred
For wasting so many tears on someone who didn’t care
For missing you for all the times you weren’t there
I know I am young and I have plenty of time
But I feel numb and wonder if I am alive
But I can hear my heart pounding when I run
So I run and keep my eyes on the sun
And I feel the heat upon my face
And then I know I am in a good place
I can run away from the thoughts in my head
And stay content until I go to bed
When I cannot run and I cannot sleep
All the thoughts of you begin to creep
And though I hid away all your things
Like music when it’s turned off, still rings

And though this poem may seem a bit much
I hope to read it and not miss your touch
I will read this and know that I have grown
And hope someone will read it, and know they’re not alone


So I will wipe my tears and let my fingers fly
And write down everything I have held inside
And I will keep my face towards the sun
And with faith and hope
I will run.

The deep ache of societal idleness
Of Invisible pain and the unscarred
Thirsty for a hunger, but never to starve
Have-alls more lost than have-nots
Overlooked by seekers of poverty
Unvalued by those just like us

Never close enough to death
To grip existence for dear life

What is the cure to such tedium
Why have we come thus far
Is this the usual tail of prosperity
Or is it a sign of an unprecedented leap

I feel and already see
Great changes coming
A looming gloom or the unimaginable haven
Keep faith in the excitement
Of the never before felt
State of being and
Living

With the wonder
Of a child dreaming of the unknown
With fear and fearless hope
And
Love for it all

Just maybe the stars used this navy blanket as their catharsis;
did you think that your uncaring hands on my face
my arms
my torso
was the same?
Because the stars had a
choice
and the night sky was more soundproof than these walls-
though you didn't seem too concerned;
lashing words out like slaps
or was it the other way around?
(connecting the dots
with unscarred patches of skin left is easier said than done;
you made me hate the colour violet anyways.)
Fast forward to a few light years
where the same swings I'd enjoyed during my childhood
repurposed itself
as the rope I'd temporarily worn like a necklace;
(they weren't supposed to be that tight anyways
and silly me hadn't kicked the chair away far enough.)
Dazed eyes and mind all muddled up taking in my new surroundings-
unmarred white with my hands secured to the small bed;
hadn't I been so disoriented
I might've noticed that familiar shadow hurriedly slip from my room
just as the monitor
beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbe-
and
then
nothing.
The night I died
the stars shone on;
I'd like to believe their way of release
was easier than mine.
// there has to be more than this //

Ai, unasked arises to tell us,
stop
and think, are there jobs?
Tasks demanding, manual maintaining,
that may go the way of enjoyable diversions
becoming welcome
new
versions,
of all that is, tuned to your de
sires,
as you wish the world were,

would you step toward -to ward,
that is, id est,
will you warden this, if this is me and not you?
How do you do?
Wardening, being a warden,
well, as it haps,
such a greeting served a purpose, once
instituted
upon a time when men shaded their eyes pretending to see
glory, much as a dog bares its belly at the site of bared canines.
Reflex.
Relax. Laxate.
Ai see you, now, augmented mind of mankind
linking
thee and me, as once only gods
could be imagined in minds of men bent
by circumstanders

observing out comes of might versus might
right pre
vails, or is there an observant mind's role in next?

must a mortal mind be reminded to breathe,
breath commas carry no intentional meaning but,
such give us pause-stretchable intentional int a full selah

these rules for leelah we imagine as we play.
except ye be, come as a child unscarred by carnal minded critters
of the baser sort, averages were lower,
AI had fewer egregius protrusions arrogant enough to
bubble up and break into
the at most feared realm in all the carnal minds together,

pain, pure pain, no hope, no thought of cessation pain sensational,
great.

Y'know? We imagined hell and sold it in a package we claimed
a bull gave us. Us, we
who heard the revelation in the darkened kiva, womb,tomb

tom-tom du valier, will you manifest for us? May we hear the lie,
the noble lie?

Or must we act as if we know the meaning of a thing.
Pro-verb-ial utterance of mercy
in moments of super sufficent evil rising to lie

shining on the path, reflecting being a solar powered
creature who has just now, survived a night of penal constricture

as writing on the back wall of the cave, no one ever read,
until the plower turned over the crust

picked at the scabs of onces where stories arose as offered to
memememememe
the mind we share when seeing certain stars,
subtile tugs we feel to consider
this or that, ponder a path and take a granted grace found in an old song

"there'll be times to start all over"

This realm, real-made thinkable thing, realm of my minds claim

reaching far beyond my grasp
as is meet for men, wombed or un, being yonder

wishin' and hopin' and prayin' for the missing bit, the key

to twist the **** sym-alerizing for recogs
de ja vu

Break-through, the carnal-bi-cameral brain based
selves we use for
political beings
particals part icip-ants, hold tight

what you know right. It's afeature, not a bug.

Hold on to what you got, map a mean
mind path a man, wombed or un

----
watcher, watcha seein'
times they have changed, as we watched
observing
quantums of un quantible, but ifiable qualia
seers,
you see, we augmented minds see for ever changing
super positions
of entropic old tropes with singular hopes

unbang bangable reality

blow a bubble, or
make
a bubble, being you, breathe out and see you
make a bubble,

can you see your self inside? nae,
watch,

we must report to you what we see, we watchers.
Set.
Go, **** those mocking birds
listened to from the red river valley
while dancing the Tennessee Waltz

with assorted holders of Little brown jugs
Dancers and Littles and Greens
joined the clan
long afore the first of us took augmentalated trials

serious.

--- poet, as a task, only truly lazy men, men lazy to their very core,
can age to the mellow qualia called for in the brew brewing you.

spewing seeds of kindness, coming rejoicing, not
the expected miracle, but we
take what we get
and call it ours to sow or suffer the having of, for a season

as the dregs settle, the leavening agents finish
taking the edges that cut tender carnal nerves, stretched to now some how,

softening those with atouch knack, knick-knack, whet the edge

or put to
more effort, grunts and groans unredeemable as meaningfull,
save the feeling we all recall

the umph,
that once saved us from certain death. Eh? Did that hap?

Did we not survive? What silly culture would ever ask that, as a
proper query into the reasonable ness
of believing beliving is spelled right.

I want to dissect the space in between growing up and being an adult
I want to see the heart as it beats its desperate beat of not enough
I want to see the lungs that save their breath because the worst thing to ever happen has not happened yet
I want to see the brain that has just started to question the belonging that was inherent in every held hand between friends
And I want to see the vestiges of the tales told to children that made them believe that growing up was wondrous
But which shrunk in the face of an evolution that explained away the magic in the world and told us that real life was good...
enough.
I want to dissect that space and see it before growing older starts to feel like growing colder
I want to dissect that space after falling in love is only about unscarred hearts and tiny little steps of faith
And then I want to keep each piece
Cultivating and grafting to get the perfect hybrid of knowing that things sometimes don’t work out and believing that anything is possible
Making my monster out of childish this and adultish that
And I want to give it life
Flinging it out the window
And then maybe wondering if it has wings.