"violist" poems
Sing to me in the dark
with your harmonies of touch,
the symphonies of sense you create.
sing with all the scratches and marks,
melodies lined by your lips,
and the constant rhythm of the beat of your heart in my ear.
sing me lullabies of goosebumps with kisses goodnight,
threading my skin through your teeth
like a bow to the string
I can feel it,
the crescendo
ringing from me
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 1:02 AM UTC
There was a little
sixteen year old boy
who had a little insecurity
So decided it best
to just go and run away
So he went on to make
and lose a fortune
travelled the world
went to thailand
pulled a violist in Chicago
Got some jobs and
a carrier too
And got drunk again
and again
And again
Learnt to meditate
found a Indian Guru
Worshipped Jesus
even slipped in a drug or two
before he bought a house
And got a degree
Then one day it took just
a teenage girl or two
In a field in Hampshire
To show him
That he in twenty years
he had gone no where
Was right where he first started
That he was
still that little sixteen
year old boy
who could not look
naked in the mirror
without
crying...
because he could not like
what he was seeing...
Now that boy inside of me
realizes there is no magic wand
no one to save him
and a thousand shields
won't protect him from
who he really is.
But i do someday hope
that i can raise my chin
to look in the mirror
without my stomach turning,
curdling and my mind holding
back my crying...
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 12:20 AM UTC
she was more than a mother
from all the cigarettes she lit
made herself smother
hopelessly, brokenness aside
she became a violist
that she love playing sad songs
the strings were her wrist
crossing the blade through her skin
lastly she wanted the worlds beyond it
so she swam through her tears and blood
thought that they would never meet
across the street, love made her grow
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 11:39 AM UTC