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I Can Give You LessI am a tragedy, really.
I love with all my being,
and there’s so much of it.
The laws of gravity indicate that
large objects have a pull-
things should gravitate toward me.
But I defy those laws,
you (and all of them) are repelled by me.
Somehow, being the largest thing
in the room makes me
easy to miss, easy to dismiss.
I am not fit for you,
or anyone. I am an earth
with no sun.
I am not enough for you
Too much for you,
and in all my longing,
I am just a joke to you.
I spoke to you with my eyes,
but you were busy
orbiting some stardust,
meanwhile, I am just
Lackluster. I trust you
can't have missed me:
But if you could see me,
You never let me know.
I would give my all for you,
I must confess,
But if, my dear, it pleases you,
I will try to give you less.
Look not with thine eyesI have never loved with my eyes,
my sight has failed me one too many times,
And I declare, the day we met, they did not
see yet how I would come to love you.
It took the sound of your laughter,
the freckled constellation I could count forever after,
dancing gently on the ripple of your arms,
muscled though they're not.
(but enough to send me shivering, with want.)
It took me by surprise to see your hundred smiles,
and realize what some part of me already knew-
I was destined to take leave of all my senses the moment
I laid eyes on you, and smiled and said "Not this time."
These eyes have lied again, They're not designed to
control a heart or make up a mind. And now that I am thus resigned
I can only hope that your eyes, my dear, are just as blind.
KirigamiThose were more than paper dolls.
Their shapes were like shadows,
and I could feel every scissor slash.
I watched you with her, later.
There were shreds of paper beneath my feet,
and I wanted only to cut myself away.
I don't belong there, I well know.
Though lately, I've wanted to,
It's clear that I must go.
They say that I am crafty,
But judging by your laughter,
I'd say it's her hands you are putty in.
And I am just some starving artist
Cutting out a paper heart,
and then ripping it apart again.
You see only "Her" as art,
and you will covet that,
as I do- from afar.
But being artless, I confess
that you're far too near to suit me,
The Death BedIt's a curious thing- a memory foam bed.
Will it still remember me when I am dead?
Will my shape haunt this mattress-
the arch of my back become the curve
that you caress when you miss me most?
Will my ghost tangle itself in bed sheets,
and instead of roaming restlessly,
remember only where it sleeps,
And if you weep, would it feel the tears?
Would it recall the years we spent here?
If I could, I'd offer you my feather pillow,
And wrap you up in blankets
if you promised not to cry
as you remember how we shared our nights:
Turning off the lights and kissing our days away.
If bodily I cannot stay,
Then let me rest in our duvet,
And pray for you to feel me there,
or smell my perfume in the air,
Though I were gone, I'd still be near
and fondly should recall this bed
bought the day before we wed
Where you lay me, and our heads now lie-
if I should lay me down to die.
Blue Eyed BoysThere are blue eyes again-
They always are- the ones that
tear into me, leaving scars
in places I cannot show:
Kissed by burning flames of desire.
I dare not dream that
fire is meant for me, but
some foolish part of me fans
a tiny ember of hope.
My heart has bigger plans than
it will ever realize,
and your eyes are just the kind
to keep that notion alive.
The feel of hot skin
against mine, and normally,
I am inclined to shrink away-
pretend it means nothing,
But I must say,
I could not tear myself
from the warmth
of you pressed into me-
Is it meant to be?
That's no mystery to me-
A great beauty (I'm sure you see) I am not.
I shouldn't give a second thought to
you with me, but then I see
those eyes, those painfully blue eyes.
The Cruellest MonthApril, it has been said, is the cruelest month.
Though there is little denying the beauty
of spring blooms, and sunshine,
looming big and bright over blue skies,
there are also nights as dark as death,
and on the breeze, the cold breath of those we've lost:
Who've drowned in seas of April showers,
And though we offer wilted flowers,
their memories are haunting ours,
offering the direst form of warning we have ever heard:
This year, they say, has been a storm.
I am reminded of other Aprils:
more than a century hence,
A boy born to become
the embodiment of evil:
Lord of many millions,
murderer of millions more.
Whose hatred brought the world to war,
Thank God some other April bore
him to the hell he so deserved.
But memories of him preserved to serve
another evil man whose plans brought down
a building and a hundred sixty more,
Another cruel April morning.
Two schoolboys took their guns to
class, another April, came to pass,
and its wake left more disaster.
And now, an April morning run
EnlightenmentShe lit the offered cigarette, not knowing why.
with no idea what to do with it,
she held it against her lips and
kissed the filter,
careful not to breathe in.
There was no taste yet, save for paper,
but the stench of it ungulfed her,
and she felt like coughing anyway.
She dared not.
The cool kids never coughed:
They often held court in this courtyard,
filling their lungs with
mentholated smoke screens,
Blowing rings and looking
bored with things as they
acted out the ritual:
They bummed smokes from one another,
shared lighters and gossip,
pulling hot sips of nicotine
into their chests, exhaling
the sultry smoke,
then bathing in the afterglow.
She knows this could take her youth,
her money, maybe her life,
as she holds the smoking gun to her lips.
This is not enough to make her not want to try.
Just once. She can quit any time.
VowI suspect now that I will never marry.
I have warily bared my emotions to
so many men who did not care,
they're fairly well translucent now:
more nuisance these days than
And every man I've met pales in comparison
to the "One I Never Did."
I have yet to forget, and suspect I may never
rid myself of that ghost
Whose spectre shows itself at the most inconvenient times
(My every waking hour)
That spirit chose me for its
tether, and I do not doubt
you will find it and I, still together when
the rest of me falls apart.
I store my spare parts these days in a concrete box:
I fitted it with fifty locks
my 24th October, once I realized the
dalliance was truly over.
I look in once a year for fear
another may find a way in,
or God forbid, him again.
So far, it remains as untouched as I-
I keep it hidden just as well, far outside this
hollow shell, with battle scars
that may well tell, to any who may wish to see
that wedding bells are hollow dreams.
(At least, they seem to be, for
Between the LinesI will never be Goldilox,
though I've knocked on a hundred doors,
looking for a taste of porridge that was just right.
I will never spend a night, sleeping tight in a bed
which feels that it was made up just for me.
I was neither the Big Bad Wolf nor Red Riding Hood,
I was only a villager who stood beside a straw hut
or a peasant out collecting wood while
stories unfurled all around me.
No wicked witch has ever found me,
nor handsome prince's lips implored
a kiss from mine- I do not mind-
I'm nestled here between the lines.
My lot in life is not to find
a happy ending, but to remind
in every "Once upon a time"
the prince must leave someone behind
while Cinderella's at the ball.
The slipper cannot fit us all.
The Boy Who Wouldnt EatIf you can flutter
I have failed you,
for you were not forged
to be so insubstantial as that
You were writ
to be an epic fable
of endings ignored,
of outlasting your body
through the sheer will
of a writers starving heart
through a broken, bowed
but bravely abiding body
that fights the soul
to comprehend Beauty.
BeautyI'd rather wear flowers in my hair,
forming a delicate chain
Than diamonds around my neck,
covering my tender blue veins
For with every precious petal
and every lucent leaf
I'm a living lesson
teaching beauty can not be bought
But rather it grows and flourishes
with every living thought
................written in a frenzy and run-on
and exclamation points
used in rapid succession
words all blurred
so bare bones it's bloody
strung out and on display
in a frightening combination
of paragraphs and stanzas
punctuation gone mad
ellipses my new black
used and abused
then spit out
in gratuitous repetition
there is no word count here
no hearts dotting the i's
just a string of letters
done up in cursive
but not very pretty at all
Fearing MeI'm not afraid to cry
and I do it
a lot more than you would guess.
It isn't always sadness,
I just feel like I need to,
feel everything so strongly
that it's the only way
to let go for a moment
because if I hold on for too long,
if my grip gets too tight
I'll break myself,
I will break you like glass
and we will both
I am a good guy
who hasn't yet found a way
to show it,
I am a good guy
who still identifies with the villains,
hides everything important
anything to throw you
off of my trail....
and I don't know why,
but I am trying.
Maybe I think
that if you could see me,
the real me,
you wouldn't want to look anymore,
want to be anywhere near me,
and the idea
that I can't add up
to be enough for you,
to be enough for me,
is so fucking heart breaking
I can hardly fathom it.
I can't say that it doesn't hurt
because it does,
it hurts a whole hell of a lot,
I've come to depend on pain,
to befriend misery
you're just a question marki met you so long ago
but back then our bodies were made of metal
and nowadays they’re made of the blades of
grass and dirt settling
underneath my fingernails.
my fingers are having a hard time
reaching the keys and
my organs are shaking mostly because i haven’t
eaten in two days but also
because i’m worried about the things you're doing to yourself.
we didn’t meet very long ago at all but it feels like forever ago
and you say you don’t know me
that you don’t know anyone
but baby you're turning into a skeleton and i’m peeling back my skin
to try and reach my bones, just like you.
i hope you're happy,
i’m covering the hard wood floors now
the bits and pieces splattered.
they are calling it a suicide but i’m calling it
a way to see my brain and
just how dark it has become, and honestly
i don’t want you to try and see about your’s.
i’m mourning the loss of my heart and wish you weren’t either -
Sound PoemIthrumden, ithrumden delsum
nith mul thruss elmrissull.
Eth rut mundelliss
Curmiette dessel renrin
irme trell ithrumden.
The partyFlashing lights
Smoke all around
About to pass out
My head starts to hurt
I can't take this anymore
So without saying anything
I find the exit
And escape that place
"How can someone have fun in there?"
as love for summer fades.late morning-
there's the tease of
snow in the clouds,
in the air, and the trees
have finally lost their
the sunlight is damp.
alters the room
as it graces my skin,
and for once
i don't wake up right away.
instead i lay
between my memory bitten
sheets, and i think
about all the times he said
that he hated winter.
i don't remember
when i began to love it,
and i don't care.
nothing can shatter that.
Coming HomeComing down the ramp I spotted you in the crowd
Your tenderloin skin always stands out
Your aura was particularly bright that day
Whirling dervish colors in the pale sun
You wore a chauffeurs cap and held a sign that said “Anyone”
I knew that I wasn’t anyone, so I walked away
“Strange days,” someone said, and I agreed
I hate crowds and old garbled memories
Arriving home, my wife and cat didn’t recognize me
I looked in the mirror and noticed that I was someone else
Still carrying my old baggage, I turned away
I should have taken your limo
Bottled UpThere is so much to consider
When pouring a glass of wine:
The meniscal kiss
Curving into the bowl:
promise of lips stained
with a blush that is
anything but bashful.
The size of the glass,
length of the stem,
and how will he hold his drink?
Will he have the lasting power of
The first sip have
a dry or sweet finish?
Will the evening bubble
Or conversation wane,
fermenting past its prime
into a vinegar of stained carpet
or the clang of a broken glass
on a hardwood floor?
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More