Writing poetry is a lonely thing
It looks you square in the eyes, smiling
It asks you to write alone
Even in company
When writing poetry
You are alone

And even lonelier still
It asks you
To go inside of yourself
There are things there you must find

There is a man inside my body
A boy
And they look just like me
They each hold letters
I do not know what they say
I must find them

Poetry is love you want
Is someone you want to be in love with
Poetry is a child tugging at the pant-leg of someone
You want to be in love with

Poetry is the coffee stain on long sleeve shirts
Right over the wrist
Your mother called them chocolate stains
Never blood

Poetry is my drunk fingertip stumble
My white-boy wasted
My way of loving less awkward

Poetry is someone telling you they love your poetry
Poetry is loving someone for loving your poetry
Poetry is also kissing that person

There is a man
In mirrors he might be me
We have a letter we want to give to you
But they read like a feeling

We spend hours in solitude
Finding ways to step into the daylight

Poetry is convincing you
You need a reason to step into the daylight

There are words etched into your teeth
All white
No bling
The letters change with the shape of your mouth

Smile more often
Even when you don’t want to

Poetry is trying to teach you to speak peace
with the words in your smile
To people you don’t want to speak peace to

Poetry is an angry father
Is neck bruises from belt loops
Is rug-burn from being dragged across the floor

Poetry does not love you
It simply asks you
To find space inside of yourself
And then it wants you to give it to someone else

There are people inside of you
With stories

Writing poetry is a lonely thing
Giving it away
Until no one can be a thief to your soul

That too
Is poetry

Carved in glaze and wicked grin
It stands in front of you
Behold beauty and darkness divine
Reflects you like a shining light
Who is this i may say
Proud, drinking wine, champagne
I'm great i've achieved it!
Knowing the lies inside
Grieving sorrow and revenge
Lacking all my friends
But all i am looking at is beauty!
My face so pure
So kind... so rich..
But lurking in tunnels of misery!
The devil had said that i had done the right
So i left the word there without a Fight
Doubting somewhere in my soul....
And my love had seen where i had been
Too far than too close.

Busy with my self
Shining eyes, sparkling glaze
Satisfied me and then haunted
Now here i was sad
To realize that its too bad
Too loose all the other things i had ever wanted.

To begin with is the love and heart
Which already had been apart
The day that the devil came to me
And on second thoughts
I almost forgot
What me myself was meant to be
And now i got the second chance
With all the will in my bare hands
I broke the face of misery...
It broke with a shatter
And then i had gathered
What happiness meant to be.

Promise me, Maiden. Promise me you care
Promise me his Hand is Well-Strung and Fed
Promise that Dad's Serving Letter is there
And I Promise that my Fealty is set
If these Turning Events will make me Strong
And become the Hunchback allied to you
The Borgia Venom melts; It won't be long
For Sorrow to accept the Better Truth
Riddles apart I am Serious in Theme
About your Magic Craft I can't Compete
Hearts cry with laughter; His Smile justly seen
With Shifting Paradigms he is Complete.
Secrets Unshared, it is better as known
For a Child like me to know if he's grown.

Which of your Favourites you take to Trust
And hoping One of them will fill your Void
So Alone, though in Many you Adjust
Though their trifle pertinence you carry
Those Nerds ahead just consider you Strange
Yet Groupies counteract with their own Praise
Now who is Correct? They sit at the Lounge
Then settle to offer your own Fresh Space
That around your College are Ideals formed
When Some in Prayer may publish their Book
Took you as a Model; And Critics scorned
See their Used Lives in a Better Outlook.
You just have to Smile; And Happy you did
Fan their Frustrations of that Love you hid.

The heart is a machine.
It has valves and pumps, little tubes and wires.
It pushes life roughly through my veins, scraping by along my insides,
too full of something barely contained.
And I feel it yelling at me constantly, a day to day screech in my chest.
"You must carry on! You must feed me oxygen and suffer while I beat the life into you!"
What cruel joke is this?
This machine betrays me so.
It betrayed me to you.
It sold me out, all my secrets and desires barefaced in your hands.
And all for a smile. And then a laugh. And then a kiss.
That kiss was the end of me.
I dared it to go, I told it
"Once you go down that road, don't you dare come back."
It never did.
I've been without my machine for quite sometime now.
It ran headlong into your arms and I have no thought of how to coax it back.
Every day I struggle with these invisible strings,
tugging as I walk to my classes,
tugging as I stumble up stairs
and say hello to people I know.
I'm fighting you. I'm tired of fighting you.
I just want my turn.
Let me fall in your arms.
Let me have you.

The smile that sparks my soul
My checks burning red with my heart beating out of my chest
The feeling starts to subside
When fear starts to tear me down
Does your heart skip a beat every time we meet
Or do your feelings stop at the whites of your teeth
Technology makes me want to sing to you at every minute
But every text doesn't sound like the right tone
I hold back with the thought of smothering
This old soul knows better then to clip an angels wings
So instead I sit
Wondering if we may ever be in love
I know this could be true
And I know I could love you
But even in my souls age
The thought of a lady saying no is still my biggest fear

Too many voices in my head
too much noise when things are said
and I struggle from word to word,
to string together all I've heard
but they're relentless, these thoughts of mine
have no reason to subside
and so they scream, and mutter, and breathe
their putrid venom into me,
seeping down like angel dust,
into my soul and veins and thus
wanting me to give in, or rise,
how am I to know
when my mind is in flight?
from rage to silence,
from passion to death
I am seeing, and feeling
the mirage is to burst
and in a million little pieces
I have been blown apart,
in a million little places
i have been set to blast

if only, if only I knew
how to make this stop.

You
Are untamed
Reckless blood and wit intertwined
A twisted, brazen
 mind.

Your mind
Is so clearly different
It leaps and soars, so acrobatic
And your thoughts appear to me so hazy and enigmatic
Your mind is simply not pragmatic
Yet your perception knows no bounds.
You have thoughts that come close to insanity
That sometimes flow in the form of profanity.
  
Your spirit
Is either very high or very low
Up and down, to and fro
There is no in between for you
Some say you are stupidly crazy
The dull ones say that, the ones too lazy
To see beyond the rugged surface.
The subdued and vapid ones
Will never understand the magnetism
Of your sweet, exquisite devilry.

On your face you often wear
A fierce and restless stare
A wan, discontented expression
As though you're always awaiting
Something bigger,
Something better.

You
Are fluid, swaying fire
And I will never tire
Of watching you burn
I can see you brain boil and churn
As it reels into into areas of
 madness and chaos.

Your psyche
Is an endless field of dark reverie,
Of fear and vagary.

I know your night terrors
Your savage dreams of death
Screams and bated breath
Unutterable visions
The grotesque world of horror thats spins itself out
And dribbles into your drawings
All those creatures, skeletons gnashing and clawing...

You
Are gentle and thoughtful
Yet you are terrified
Of this dark thing that sleeps within you.

Your eyes - they’re stunning
They’re tempestuous,
Wild, like some fierce animal peering out of a rusted cage
Oh, your eyes
They are something beautiful, but annihilating
Like Autumn crocus flowers, innocently poisonous
Lids splaying delicately like its violet leaves.

You are tall and strong
And uncontrollable,
And your smile
Is the biggest paradox I've ever encountered
Childlike
And fatal.

You are not
A creature of the commonplace
You are not a slave of the ordinary
You are not a mindless drudge of the mundane
You are free.
Or bewitched, what's the difference

i simply cannot fathom
going out every single
saturday night
the world is cold and vicious enough as it is,
and we all know
that nighttime is different universe,
alcoholics covering up their scars with the slogans like
"i'm young and i'm allowed to have fun" or
"YOLO!"
bars full to the brim with
**** yous and what's your numbers and i'm-in-the-mood-to-start-a-fight-bro
don't  get me wrong, it is fun
to go out sometimes
but after a while it gets old
because the world is cold and vicious enough as it is
i much prefer sleeping or
curling up with a book and a blanket and a hot mug of tea
cuddling with solitude while listening
to Sufjan or Regina or Elliott or Joni
or watching a disney movie,
where i feel safe,
clinging to a place
where the world won't ruin me.

"Say, whus tha good wurd, Mista Mornin Bird?"
"Ahh, ya know just chillin here singin these here tunes waitin fah Mista Worm."
"Ahh dat Mista Worm - he alwayz be runnin late."
"True dat!”
”Yo! peep this...
Last night he took his ol girl out on a date."
''A date? Really? Mistah Worm?”
"Yup.
But it getz betta tho.
It wuz dare anniversary. Ol fool went to tha chapel an got married."
"MARRIED!!??"
"mmhmm."
"Where dey get married?"
"At dare special spot in tha apple orchard.
Mistah worm told me he and hiz girl are movin to the Big Apple.”
“Big Apple? Fah what?”
“He gunna work fah tha East New York Farms.  I guess hiz uncle Jim
got him in.”
“…Mista Worm…”

"Say, howz Mista Skunk doin?  He evah get clean?"
"I dont see much of him theez dayz.  Heard heez down on his luck. Evah since tha paper mill closed he aint been tha same.  Heez so stressed out he got mo white hairz than a polar bear.”
“Dammmnnn!!!”
”Sumone told me that heez a nasty lil ol drunk wit a funky attitude and a quick tempa!
No wunda hiz wife leftem.
My understandin iz he still outta work - rummigin through peoples junk - collectin cans, tryin to make a buck.
Itz a **** shame, aint it?"
"Uh huh."

"Howz Mista Rabbit?"
"Miiiista Rabbit! Oohh dat Mista Rabbit he dunn got himself a nasty habbit."
"Whys dat?"
"He be stealin outta Mizz Jonsens garden again.
Otha day Mizz Jonsen shooed him away chasin him down tha block wit a pair of ol rusty scissors in her hand."
"Scissors!!??"
"Yup. She told him next time he wont be so lucky wit out hiz foot."
"WHUT!!??  Whus dat suppose da mean?"
"I dunno.”
"Dat Mizz Jonsen gone crazy!!
She dunn lost her mind in her ol age.
She crazier than a ******* rat!
Man, when Mista Rabbit gunna learn?”
"I guess when he haz no foot."

"Say, you talk to Mista Squirrel at all?"
“Itz been sum time.”
“How wuz he doin?”
"Man, you know Mistah Squirrel.  He wuz all ova da place, or at least he wuz.  He alwayz be jumpin from one tree to tha next, alllllwayz tryin to get a nut or two.  Last I heard he got deported and now lives in anotha county.”
“Why iz dat?”
“He dunn got locked up fah breakin in a few too many attics. They finally caught him....Stoopid fool."
''****…”

"Nuff about tha neighbahood.  How you been?  Havent seen you inna while."
"Im still doin my thang, ya know.
Roamin from town ta town, chasin down tail."
"Yous still chillin in dem alleys too?"
"Fa sho!"
"Man, aint a **** thang changed wit chu.
Yous alwayz been a cool cat...”