"verbalize" poems
You’re so beautiful to me
No matter what it is you see
Imaginary flaws and scars all too real
Make you cry and cut to try and feel
Nothing makes the pain go
And everything seems to make it grow
Left alone when you needed a friend
You tried to make your whole life end
They found you there upon death’s door
Laying, bleeding, on the floor
Then flashing lights and sirens’ wail
Told the world your dreary tale
You’re forced to verbalize, to tell
To speak about your private hell
Been taking the hard path all along
I know it’s hard but you’re so strong
But I can hold you; let you cry
‘Til every single tear is dry
And on that day is when you’ll see
That you’re beautiful not just to me
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 11:43 PM UTC
My mother tongue got cut off
I’ve been bleeding in my mouth ever since
But I learned to cope with the pain
Because no one with my mothers tongue has been able to
Show me how to grow it back.
Hair grows back easily though.
It keeps my head warm
So my thoughts can sit comfortably
While trying to process what the **** everyone’s saying,
Without burdening the translator who just wants to listen.
I try but can’t listen or speak
It turns into a silent loud noise
This language barrier pulls my hair
My thoughts release with no refuge
It’s cold out here I try and tell them
But no one can hear me.
So I try to improvise and improvise
I wana say I love you. I’ll try and show you how.
I can’t verbalize my humor
It makes me cry.
Now they wont get to know me as deeply
As I dig for them and they dig for me.
Then they ask me how could you not learn your language
As if I hate it
I ask them do you know my story
I did not choose this.
It’s not their fault
It’s not my fault
Idk what was conspiring against me or with me
To make this happen.
So as I try and learn to grow back my mothers tongue
I pray that this is a gift
And its curse like symptoms is only a mask
I pray this is a gift
And its curse like symptoms is only a mask
I pray this is a gift
And its curse like symptoms is only a mask
Amen
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 3:42 AM UTC
Staring at my wall while feeling my pillow becoming a puddle of all the feelings i can't verbalize. They are always there, tearing me down from the inside and out
- as a reflection I leave the scars from my heart on my surface.
It's a cry for help.
I am worthless.
I am nothing.
They pretend to care, they don't think i know, but I do. Because every day I am pretending to smile.
Making it seem like I want this life.
But i know that it's only a matter of time, before my inner demons takes over my body to make this unbearable pain end
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 4:02 AM UTC
By the time,
I finish staring.
and take time to
visualize,
what you are wearing.
I internalize with my eyes,
your body language vocalize.
I focus, as I, verbalize, by
saying something nice
and polite -- on the outside.
But,
on the inside. . .
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 11:43 AM UTC
The sun shines on us all, as well as the rain
Torrential downpours of pain, we lose and we gain
We veer into cliched territory to verbalize our response to more tragedies that a lost world continues to offer
The signs of the times the Holy Text forewarned becomes ever more visible...except to the blind and the Scoffer
Why does the blood of the innocent and unknowing continue to shed for the next man’s awakening of his own imminent flatline?
At times I, picture myself in someone else’s fate, how would I have handled myself in that same place?
How would I have responded with bullets suddenly flying around me as potential dead bodies surround me, in that unexpected moment of truth...which characteristic would have ultimately found me? cowardice...or courage?
I find myself at times discouraged by my struggle with self-assurance in knowing that my demonstrating answer would have been in the latter rather than the former
How many times have we entered into a school, mall, concert venue only to have a passing or pressing thought enter into our conscience only to ask “what if I’m not supposed to make it back out alive”?
I often wonder if Rachel Scott struggled with these internal inquiries in the years, months, days, hours, final seconds before she stepped foot on that columbine soil destined to receive her call to became a maytr for the Gospel she lived...and died for.
What exactly are we dying for? Are we dying to self? Or because of it?
Whether our final earthly breath is due to a natural cause or one unsuspecting...what are we dying for?
Many people will not be able to answer that question…until it is forever too late...
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 4:12 AM UTC
Get me on my stomach and rub your stubble-like brambles against my cheek
breathe your humid heated desires on the backs of my ears
and into my coal
entangle your feet in mine
verbalize but don’t make much more than senseless noise, drag it out
sloooow
Grind that ribcage into me
As you make sweet, sweet silent passion into me
Dont get too comfortable so long as you're entwined just as me
Reel me a little further
Pull me back
don’t play too hard
you should know well
it's who we are
I'm more useful when I'm not besot by the torment
of not getting to feel the things that make me fall
Tangibles of your love, the winnings
of our games
I want to be enslaved by your grip
touched by your eyes
With tenderness to my viability
and my liability
I want to be the object of your affection
never the only one
That makes your sensible mind up and slip
Legs and bones tousled
Our heat displaced in-between
warm flesh slipping in and out
we move like one majestic animal
I'll make you move like a victim in my web
of endless sensualities
yowl like a hidden cat
in the dark
if you pounce my softness with your depths and integrity
to the moment
to what we besot
with our foolish tendencies
I'll be like talons
in your shoulders as I kiss your collar, gingerly
open me up, open me up wide
much like you, cringing by your side
let your inhibitions fall,
and your heart, next to me
your vulnerability is my sentimental call
let your head spiral
down my silhouette, hungrily
lay bare your tenderness
so I can sip, you can maul
untilll we fall
to primitive tendency
lap my primordial waters with your lulled tongue
lolling up in the cosmos
like our heroic sun
we know that we’re one
braid your fingers up into me
as we
as we
as we
loose ourselves in faceless time
loose ourselves, lovingly
I won’t own you, I don’t dare possess you outside of this bed
just give me this,
this one meaningful thing
to me in it’s stead
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 7:10 AM UTC
Death showed me how to dress.
it says "not that one, these shoes rather, somewhat less dynamic and somewhat more meek, more
modesty, less certainty."
Death showed me not to wear hoodies, to keep my head revealed, to wear light hues
rather than dull in light of the fact that I am sufficiently dim as of now
to purchase a belt for some jeans I possess, even better, to not wear pants,
death showed me how to do my hair, it says "less curl, more typical, straighter, longer,
more slender," it consumes my scalp and gives me a brush and says "isn't it decent to run your
fingers through it now,"
Death showed me who to like, what music to tune in to, how to keep individuals agreeable,
instructions to walk; "don't limp, straight shoulders, however remain littler than them,"
it showed me my vocabulary, the majority of the enormous words that gain me honors, for example, 'verbalize,'
'dislike whatever remains of them,' 'a great one,'
Death is continually instructing me to be less, less American, more African , an appreciated expansion, a
token, to reveal myself and strip myself of any weapons, any dangers
Death is a x-beam machine, and says in the event that I do anything incorrectly, it will come
as though I'm not kicking the bucket to myself as of now
Death says "what an opportunity to be alive."
since in this nation, Black is imperceptible
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 12:56 PM UTC
Vacancy. Vacancy. Vacancy. Vacancy. Vacancy. Vacancy. Vacancy. Vacancy. Vacancy. Vacancy.
Vacancy. Vacancy. Vacancy. Vacancy. Vacancy. Vacancy. Vacancy. Vacancy. Vacancy.
Vagrancy. Vagrancy. Vagrancy. Vagrancy. Vagrancy. Vagrancy. Vagrancy. Vagrancy.
Vagrancy. Vagrancy. Vagrancy. Vagrancy. Vagrancy. Vagrancy. Vagrancy. Vagrancy.
Aimlessly. Aimlessly. Aimlessly. Aimlessly. Aimlessly. Aimlessly. Aimlessly. Aimlessly. Aimlessly. Aimlessly. Aimlessly. Aimlessly. Aimlessly. Aimlessly. Aimlessly.
Rambling rambling
trying to
say….
…what.
What is…what is…this world…but a tiny little thing.
A speechless infant. A cowslip in spring.
A girl. Who I am…? A…
Thing. A thing. Imagine! If I can…
When everything is vast. No words, no way.
No truth, no words. No way.
No truth, no words. No way.
No truth, no words. No way.
To say…
I’m a girl wandering in April. I’m a girl wandering in April. I’m a girl wandering in April. I am a girl wandering in April.
I’m a woman wandering in April. I’m a woman wandering in April.
I’m 70 and I’m wandering in April. I’m 70.
Who…a cowslip
An IV drip.
Me, wandering with no words.
Then, brain
working down
the whole machine
no, just the mouth
to verbalize and verify
and analyze and clarify
and organize and ratify
and formalize and justify
the vacancy
of vibrations
in my vox box.
complacency
of situations
until one talks.
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 4:01 PM UTC
She will astound.
She will amaze.
Her thought process is more often than not unique and profound.
We have been in near-constant contact for hundreds of days.
One email; complementing an author for writing a truly wonderful work of fiction.
Has become so much more. I certainly didn’t foresee. I doubt anyone could have, well not without assistance, perhaps a psychic prediction.
I find it immensely difficult to verbalize, even now.
And I feel that I must...Just….Hmmm…How?
We have talked for hours on end, about any and all things.
Who knew?
But what I write is true.
An unbreakable bond we have. With the clicking of a Send button, that is how I say it begins.
Her voice at times, is the only thing that allows me to regain or maintain my focus.
No amount of medication, therapy or any other kumbaya related hokus pokus.
She is always reminding me that I have, and can find inner strength and powers.
Countless times, she has been the reason for me not to yield.
She has saved me in my darkest of hours.
She is my shield.
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 8:14 AM UTC
why does it seem as if everyone has left me?
my hands quiver as i verbalize these thoughts
and the sweat from my palms dampens the page --
my vulnerability has become difficult to manage,
despite my mind's intent to remain good-willed
and my heart's discontent with the language misunderstood
friendship does not require ideological consistency,
and to believe otherwise is a detriment to the love
we are fortunate enough to experience in this life;
intellectual supremacy equates to the patronizing rhetoric
embedded within the elitism of the morally superior --
your grim clouds turn our progressivism dull
i will say what i need to retain a friend,
but the judgment within is a grudge untouched,
a ghastly bruise that never seems to mend --
you do not get to determine the language i speak,
the words i weep, or the healing i seek
when a bond so potent is forgotten so easily
to question my morality is to question my identity,
and those who know are the ones to see me grow
as i flourish from the bounds of these restrictions
and inch my way upright, stronger than before,
disallowing my words to be misconstrued,
a prohibition of the trauma i continue to elude
a Leo is loyal like the lioness of a pride,
gnawing at the flesh of the ones who betray --
grudges maintained in the chill of the winter,
a midnight breeze toppled an unchanged core --
it is not a star, this dim light retreating above,
merely the fading memory of our platonic love.
Oct 12, 2023
Oct 12, 2023 at 2:12 PM UTC
When lifes cares threaten to drown me and there is no one around me
I pick up my pen and write because Writing Is My Therapy
When things are going well and my heart seems to swell with happiness, and I can not seem to verbalize all the happiness I feel ; I write it down because Writing Is My Therapy
When I have had a bad day and feel like I have lost my way, I remind myself I will be Ok because Writing Is My Therapy
When my emotions seem to fight and my words don’t seem to come out right, I write them down anyway because Writing Is My Therapy
When I sit in a chair at my counselors office I stare at the clock and think to myself; I wonder if she knows what helps me through life’s woes Writing Is My Therapy
and it is far cheaper too, and I am grateful for it.
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
They claimed to have heard a voice in the sky
A voice that promised a civilization to safety and salvation
But maybe I was too deaf to realize
Or even hear that such a voice could be heard from thousands of miles up high
Maybe I was too ignorant and followed my own instincts and lies
But who are you to blame me, I was a young child
Eyes that have not yet been opened
Arms kept clean to the years to come, and counting
Skin left to reflect the admiration the moon has for its lover
And a smile kept genuine, that served as a curtain for the crooked teeth behind it
I was a young child at 9
Years passed and the moon still had a lover
The sun emanated its guidance and love for her
Yet the people still worshipped the voice above them
I heard they started building statues and churches, to which I turned the other ear
Because the only thing I believed was that they were soon to crumble
And become the origin of which is rubble,
A combination of corpses, offerings and slavery on top of one another
I refused to believe that such a voice could lead a civilization to destruction
Yet people were so deceived, their heads remained high,
Exposing their necks to a god that I called a murderer
But who are you to blame me, I was an ‘ignorant’ girl
My eyes were coated with the truth
I had stopped counting the years I was clean
And began to enumerate and name the scars I hid beneath my sleeves
Yet my skin remained warm from the radiance of two lovers I believed
The sun guided me and the moon sang me to sleep
I was an ‘ignorant’ girl at 17
The year when my genuine smile, disappeared
Now I am left with nothing else but to question
And in return receive an answer not worth my time nor the oppression,
That I experienced throughout this lifetime I chose to not believe in them
The 'them' who claimed to have heard the voice in the sky
And the 'I' that chose to turn deaf enough to realize
That there is no such thing as a perfect civilization of safety and salvation
I was not ignorant because I had my facts laid out in front of me and them
But they never believed a word I tried to verbalize,
How ironic for a nation of people to believe a non-existent voice from the sky
To which they turned their backs to the sun that kept them warm and to the moon of dimmed brightness and light
But now, I am left with nothing
So I went back to where it all started, the origin, and held my head up high
Revealed my neck to the god I believed was a lie
And for a split second, I thought my neck would cut open and blood would start coursing down my chest instead of my throat
I believed I thought I would die
n.j.
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 5:28 AM UTC
The loneliness permeate down into the toes, walking along the sidewalk
The streets seem empty, vacant faces, hurried bodies avoiding the solace of a simple hello, their trifling stares stabbing at their incompleteness
Write pain only because the voice cannot verbalize it. We don't understand it. We don't want to
Trifling affairs taking us up, consuming us, completing us, then draining us
Walking life avoiding others, their daring greetings, their trifling
They, too, walk along the sidewalks and the gutters, getting tripped up on their own despairs Listen not to Dante's doom, that abandonment is futile
Futile fallacies, our trifling forays, our misfortunes
Street along, you masses, you unforgettable, delving into yourselves, forgetting
You cannot understand it, those trifling friendships
How do they compare to the miseries you trudge through, swamped in that which hold you back, slows you down, drowns you, chokes you
Your only connect is the carelessness of your incompleteness, contagious of complaints
That cracked sidewalk, tripping you up in its unevenness
Your shoes have rubbed out their souls, toes slamming their unending pressures
You feel defeated and oppressed. Yet you walk on
Why do you not just stop and rest? The lonely road does not end, it continues on and on unceasingly, its seasons one big blur
Year in and year out your days numbered as nothing but trifling affairs, your greetings to fellow walkers rare as encouragement from within. You have become swollen in refusing refuge from those that share that uncaring sidewalk
You balk at accepting a hand to take that lonely walk with you, it is just another pair of loneliness who seeks companionship, who only seeks to cease their own trifling affairs
Lend not your own complaints, but console and be consoled in the greeting of a walk together
Feb 2, 2012
Feb 2, 2012 at 10:37 PM UTC
I looked at you
And I saw stars in your eyes.
The kind of stars
You see in a winter night
Hanging in front
Of a deep blue backdrop.
And every color of the galaxy
Was imprisoned in your irises.
The more I looked,
I found that your heart
Was more unique than your eyes.
It lacked four chambers
And arteries
And veins.
It was not like every other heart.
It took the shape
Of a crescent moon
That seemed to shine brighter
Than the sun.
And I was envious.
I was just another robot,
With a pulse
But no purpose.
But your captivating beauty
Was merely a test.
And seeing that my lips
Can no longer verbalize
Of anything other than your eyes,
I clearly have failed.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 1:02 AM UTC
a shredded bath mat, a Dead Sea salted bath, and a cold root beer
you want vino veritas vignettes,
color commentary, stray dog thoughts
time lapsed into a ****** single poem wood,
ha ha ha you can't handle the falsified lies
that constitute a sad man's disfigured truths
nobody cares that failure contretemps
inhabit every other thought,
his own sounds of silence sung repetitiously,
every severed second a new verse
coughed up and cursed,
emptying your verbal purse,
snorting with disgust
at your own claptrap vetted pomposity,
who gives a ****
what I got is the ability
if you can call it that,
to cerebralize verbalize
every eye picture, inputted impulse,
knowing in the fullness of the unwell
that hash for breakfast ain't
suitable for mass consumption
a shredded bath mat,
a Dead Sea salted bath,
and a cold root beer
begat a poem of knowing nowing
a pretend poet meowing what he seen,
what he got temple pounding
Fogelberg sings Auld Lang Syne,
swig down the root beer,
thinking that is one freaking good song,
a life reviewed on the HP stage,
his lyrics modified
with only a tune he can hear
no one will like this,
as it should be,
don't like it me neither,
double negatives for rule busting emphasis,
the only point, ending circumscribed,
curcumsized by children who don't love,
an ex wife hateful ***** man-enslaver,
this close || to losing your job,
*** is the new ***
ain't it pc
to singalong
standing on a shredded bath mat,
fresh from a Dead Sea salted bath,
and having drunk a cold root beer,
Crosby Stills & Nash chiming in
*teach the children well
their father's hell
will slowly go bye*
and this is a poem
that I didn't write,
just reported the here and the there,
and the nothing in between
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 7:47 AM UTC
I remember Mondays in Coach Mac's class. How I loathed yet loved this occurrence. During the period of poetry, each student was asked to write one of their own and read them aloud in class. To write your feelings, your thoughts, onto lined paper and stand in class constructed spot light, asked to peel the skin off of your body to display.
Others mastered the art of avoidance. Of detachment. They often wrote about how fall was coming or an ode to another classmate. But I was never good at running. So I wrote. Not of happiness because he is a stranger to me. I wrote of what I've known for the past five years of my life.
They told me I had talent. And each Monday they anticipated the moment that I would stand up and read.
They wanted to hear my words. They wanted to know the hopelessness of depression and the consuming sadness that I have only known. They hung on to every syllable of my heartbreak and every stroke of ink of my depression. They wanted to know. They wanted to hear. They held on because I wrote words that discomforts, subjects tucked under the rug. I wrote about the raw experiences they themselves could not verbalize. Yet they were familiar.
They wanted the words from someone else's mouth.
They fell in love with my depression but they never wanted to help.
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 12:29 AM UTC
Dear my love, we've come a long way with our lives together
We've shared almost everything, rainy days and summer
Can't compare to anything all the moments that we have
And it's worth treasuring all the memories with you my love
I started to look over the year we are together
How we made it and making it last till forever
How we were to each other and what we are now
How we change for the better as we make eternal a vow
A song will never be enough to sing how happy and greatful I am
A line from a movie will never give life to days that we shared
And I just can't get a love quotes from someone and dedicate it to thee
For the words will never verbalize the exact feelings you've given me
You will always be the reason of my smile in everyday
Of how I keep on going and striving for better in every way
Of what I decided and what I chose it's always because of you
I won't do any way of hurting the heart of my unending truth
I am sorry for I haven't given you the best
Sed tu iure optimo dare spondes
As long there is tomorrow I'll wake up knowing how I love you
You are intrinsic to me, and my heart always beats for you
Always remember that I have found love in you, and I'll always will
Even if the sun refuse to shine for tomorrow, I'll be loving you still
Like a rainbow in Niagara it has no ending
May we filled our lives with colors of faithful feelings
I may not be the best boyfriend, may not be the best in this world
But I will do anything to make 'forever' not just a word
I promise you again that I won't let go and always hold your hand
May we always find and fall in love to each other, foreverly yours, Gian
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 11:48 AM UTC
I remember two
A.m. darkness, when you would
play my heartstrings
As you'd strum across
My ribcage, tuning out the
World around us- we
Could only hear
Heart beats against chests and
The sound of deep breaths
Before lips would meet
And create a song of the things
We physically could
Not verbalize; some
Songs are only felt, not sung.
In between the sheets,
I could feel every
Note you spoke in the way
You kissed me to sleep.
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 10:30 PM UTC
It is for the reason we think and think and think,
That the finishing line seems to shrink and shrink and shrink.
Their trophies and our consolation prizes, we always link
To the faces of where it matters not if we stink.
We ***** and ***** but never look;
Only offer our eyes to reference books,
Pay our lives to learn how they sit and smile and dress and cook,
When we could carve out crafts of our own on hippocampus walls to hook.
Charts and charts of sound waves go farther than needed into the ear,
But in this statistic, there are more of those which we are deaf to hear.
Then we wonder, perhaps they will listen if we talk our fear through beer.
What we cannot, we must preach, so in the morning it’ll all be clear.
Putting on several mouths, sincerity seldomly salivates in our tongues.
And all we ever scream about, we let clump and clog in our lungs.
Our voices, we swallow, then verbalize universal dung.
Is that easier than to allow our singularity be hung?
To possess such delicate bones under thick coats of flesh and skin,
One little sting, we crumble as if our framework isn't as fortified as tin.
But sometimes when too stung, we rigidify and our cutis turns lean.
Our pores, too open, that even what doesn't exist, we welcome in.
And so, we stick to our lifelong work of homemade bibles,
And add commandments every time we build stables,
Along with valuables from the places in people’s fables.
Only us can decide to make room for new tables.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 11:58 PM UTC
In a kingdom full of inclemencies my hubris does not fail me
Profuse and Fierce, Some may call me arrogant
'Hubris!' chuckled I, 'Yes Hubris!'
It's a recording of my failings.
'It's that amorality,' I muttered.
My hubris is my substratum towards my nescience.
It is that aspect that will lean me towards drowning in the sea of my own incoherent imbecility.
It's a deep program in my faulty code, a nightmare towards monks.
It's the ink on my arms, tattooed to my soul.
'Hubris!' chuckled I, 'Yes Hubris!'
It does not fail to show in my wording.
It's the ferry to sea, the net in the ocean.
It is limber as it is inventive, with every exception.
It has no ingenuousness, it is unlike modesty and threatens to surmount me.
It's a sandwich in which has caught every hitch of breath, it leaves me bewitched, no certain pitch that I can tell afore it chokes me.
It leaves no correspondence with those around me, too caught up in my own fantasies that I can no longer celebrate or verbalize felicitously.
Many times I wished that I preserved my receipt so that I could trade in my Hubris for something a little less mucusless for it is something akin to Judas, and I cannot utilize it for anything utilizable.
If I could somehow find a way that would lead me to a resilient recuperation. I would judge that to be more utilizable then this Hubris that encumbers me. No matter how many times I beat it down, it war's like a lion and a bunch of tourists on a safari.
If only this grotesque lion-like hubris was shot by the doter of a hubris poacher. Every generation would be gratified and they would find that it is much more facile to coerce without that unpleasant Hubris.
Of course, I suppose in a way hubris could be utilizable in some situations that required it. If I somehow found a way to trade my hubris for something like modestly and found that I missed my hubris quite dearly. I would laugh at my incoherent imbecility and perceive myself to be remotely mad!
These ravings of my hubris I'm quite sure because I found it so consequential to indite a poem of stark preposterousness. In a contingency like this, I suppose my hubris is getting quite polished, so sharply able to strike down any sense of modesty.
I conjecture this is the terminus of this arrangement, please omit my hubris for a moment. I suppose I should give you some tea afore I dose myself in a salubrious dose of radiation.
Apr 20, 2019
Apr 20, 2019 at 11:01 PM UTC
I'm sure one day you'll see me.
One day you'll appreciate that I stuck around.
One day you'll realize that this is give and take,
And that I've given more than my fair share,
(But I'm okay with that.)
One day you'll understand that I can't read minds,
And one day you'll articulate that you care,
And one day you'll verbalize how much I mean to you.
One day you'll hear me,
Without words.
And one day you'll see me
With your heart.
But until then,
I'll keep guessing and hoping
That maybe I am enough for you.
And maybe there are just words you haven't said,
Maybe there are actions left to be done.
One day I'll be healthy.
One day I'll be better.
One day I'll be what you subconsciously want me to be,
Because maybe that's the problem.
But until that day,
I sit here with misty eyes,
Choking on whimpers and sobs.
I just want you to show that you care.
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 10:28 PM UTC
I strive to meet...
The person whom lies within
I desire to know what drives your every thought
Ecstatic and enthusiastic happiness you verbalize
it brings me joy to see your eyes Glistening like a constellation with warmth inside so bright
But as I listen
I inquire to myself "is that really you? Or just a Facade?"
When I peer deep within those Eyes
I glimpse great sorrow you Disguise...
May 3, 2021
May 3, 2021 at 8:22 AM UTC
Remember the innocence in the way we once fell upon the playground?
Scraped knees and ****** hands,
we held starlight in the center of our palms.
Somewhere along the way our bodies
grew long and lanky, we fall too awkward.
We have turned this graceful display of youth
into a grotesque scene of blood splatter.
We do not tumble with out damage,
the kind that scars your bones, reaches to the very core of you.
I wonder often, if we may ever get back to the simple things,
things like hot summer cement,
things like melting ice cream,
and beating the height of the sun on swing sets?
I wonder if there is a dream wave to ride back to childhood
To school girl crushes
and crayons that taste like the best candy I have ever consumed.
Some days I wish that I could verbalize this feeling,
to the people that I love.
When I watch them fall from skyscrapers
I want to meet them at the ground
with a dream catcher to save them.
And when I caught them, I would whisper slowly
of the days when we used to believe in these things.
When we would make birthday wishes about being able to fly,
and we did not have such heavy bricks holding down our imaginations.
I want to take them by the hand, to this place in my heart
Deep down, past all of the crushing things,
Where the moon leaks moonshine
and we drink until our baby bellies are full.
Where the grass tastes like laffy taffy
and the sun's rays caress your back as I once believed it did.
I want to show them this place inside of me,
and make them understand that it belongs inside of them too.
Cotton Candy vendors on the street
Happy thoughts, and graceful falls.
Some where inside us.
Oct 31, 2010
Oct 31, 2010 at 9:49 PM UTC
I wish you could see through me
So you know my intensions with you
I wish you could read my mind
The less I have to verbalize the less you question what is true
I wish you would let your guard down
Allow your heart to be free
I wish you would stop combating
What is undeniably meant to be
I wish the words I articulate
Could teach the morals I value
I wish you were open to understand
Not everyone is out to hurt you
I wish the past hadn’t happened
But if that were so, would you still be you?
I wish you could understand what true love is
Detach the vines you allow to trap you
I wish you could find yourself
Without losing parts of you
I wish I could tell you it is easy
Without having that be a lie to you
I wish my unsaid wishes would someday come true, but they won’t.
Decision set in stone, No one ever again shall become close to you.
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 5:56 PM UTC