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What I Hide...I've come to be a silly fool
who somehow, still belives in fate-
Logically, I know it's wrong,
and fairytales are overrated,
Still I place significance in
actions that I doubt have any.
And though I still believe there's One,
Already I have loved too many.
But here, again, I reach to you,
with another piece of heart in hand,
Hoping I won't lose it to
another clumsy, careless man.
The truth is, I can barely stand
to be near you, but I cannot leave,
I only hope for some reprieve from
unrequietedness. I'm still naive.
I still believe there's hope for me,
for now, I place that faith in you,
the steel blue stare I cannot bear,
I cannot bare my love for you.
I only hope that you will find
something in me no other's seen
And save me from this viscious cycle,
of wanting what will never be.
A Bad HabitYou are the smoke that fills my lungs,
the nicotine that speeds my heart,
and calms me when I am frazzled.
One day, I was dazzled by
the blue in your eyes,
like the tip of a lit cigarette,
burning you to my memory,
and the addiction began.
Now, I crave you,
I am enslaved by you,
and, without a clue, you
drift away, like smoke.
Writing on the WallMost days, there is only you, and I,
and the wall that separates us.
I'd like to tear it down,
to pull you in, and fill Our space with
There were days, before the freeze
that I found warmth in your arms,
and we spoke with ease
but they have passed, and now
there is mostly silence
or small talk to pass the time.
You brought me into your world once.
I felt like I belonged,
like your songs were mine and
I already knew their words.
Days later, I sang them for you,
but you didn't seem to recognize the tunes.
I see myself in you-
but I fear you'll never see yourself
If there is "meant to be,"
I thought this is what it would feel like:
A name that leapt from a page
and etched itself to memory-
An unknown face, familiar as my own.
A heartbeat that now seems to never still.
And still, there is the wall
once filled with you- now empty
as the girl who loves you silently,
just on the other side.
I Forget MyselfIt's too easy to forget I am not desirable
when men smile at me and tell me I'm
pretty and funny and smart.
When they look me in my eyes, I lose my heart,
and feel as that maybe, just this once,
they saw something else. Something besides.
But I know that those are lies, and I'm a fool
for not minding my heart a little better,
wearing it a little closer to the vest.
And that's how I get myself into these messes,
where I am all tears and longing and
wanting and knowing that I should've known better.
But somewhere, beneath these layers of flesh,
hope still flutters up into my chest,
and sometimes, makes its way out, and I believe,
just for a moment, that there is someone
who can love me in spite of it all.
Then it's gone, and I am the quivering blob again,
afraid to meet their eyes for fear that
they will see and laugh in pity.
At what point does hope die?
At what point does one become hardened enough
to realize that people are what they are
and beauty isn't in the eye of the beholder, af
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 truth about growing up
1. It's easier when you don't think.
1. It starts early,
on a cloudy day when you recall
the 'childhood memories' of
two summers ago,
that's when you start your backslide into
2. On the bright side
you won't notice this until you're
good and ripe in age,
so maybe it doesn't matter
3. That tightness in your chest?
The feeling that you're not ready
to take on the rest of your life; it
4. It stews in the pit of your stomach
makes you doubt,
but there will be days when you look back
on the mountains you climbed -
the raging rivers you crossed -
and you'll have a sneaking suspicion you were
more prepared than you thought.
5. There's nothing like your own bed.
6. Laundry will never smell right
without mom's sweat and tears.
But you still have to separate lights from darks,
keep the zippers pulled tight
and the buttons unhooked.
7. There is comfort in your parents' presence.
8. Things change
the future gnaws and rips
Stranger's funeralUnder the clouds
Under the rain
Staring at the coffin
At a stranger's funeral
We're all alone
Feeling the storm
But not the pain
For he's but a stranger
And the graves around us
Are just there
Keeping us company
During this empty moment
LullabyHush, my baby,
Be still, don't cry.
Lay with me
A little while.
Close your eyes,
Slow your breath.
Hear your heart
Inside your chest?
Your heart is strong,
It guides you well.
Be sure to listen
To what it tells.
I hear him now,
Outside the room.
It won't be long,
He'll find us soon.
Now close your eyes,
Slow your breath,
And rest your head
Upon my chest.
Southern modernizationBlack comedy market economy, banana peel political humour, cards with the cartels, the solution free room service and credit the union. Bolivar twist, ding dong dollar under control, valley of the coin desert with no value. Gangsta paradise, the victims are the people. Big mac and cold conflict interference a part of it all. In little Mexico you’d need a high horse to jump the great border wall that boasts its peak.
Viracocha melts waters unlike those it rose from, making waves of out of metal oceans to overtake the current south, re-steel, re-take, tech-mechs the entire south into neo-Machu Picchu, cyberpunk music moulding, reshaping old society into an new age, iron dynasty, fresh coat for an old, ancient look. The coattails of Quetzalcoatl if he were a modern man pull together the merge of future and long passed past..techno temples and the like.
CarolineYou loved the fire
of rogues -
imperfect men who shot up
the endings of the day
and drank down
too much beauty.
And like one of them,
you bellied with rebellion,
felt his tense seed
toil where women
and craved his notoriety.
Poor girl -
his verses won the day
and the call of words
was too fickle a lover
for any constant star.
Don't blame yourself -
are more attractive
and all poets are
Darkest MoonI celebrate my right to live;
To the dismay of some, perhaps
It should be noted
These words I write, however true
Are only portions of the moon
I’ve decide to shine light upon.
But who am I to preach respect?
Who Am I to preach equality?
An advocate for re-personification
Of the female gender
But exhibits cannibalistic characteristics
Within dark spaces.
I am a shadow
Hidden within an Eggshell, painted pink,
Waiting to hatch.
Is the darkness
The night brought upon us.
things to tell you before i leave for collegeto mrs hatcher:
i promise that one day i will write that poem you asked me for
(the only thing you ever asked me for)
and i will finally tell you that you deserve
so much more.
to mr. walker:
i promise that i will not pity you.
i promise that i will not envy you.
i promise that you will always be part of my forget-me-nots and marigolds.
i promise to always be grateful.
i promise to be careful.
i promise to be crazy.
i promise that i will remember what it feels like to be needed
and what it feels like to let someone who needs you down.
i promise that i will never resent you for asking for help
and that i will always be there when you do.
i promise that even sixty years from now,
i will not be surprised to find a letter from you in my mailbox.
i promise to always remember what it felt like to be young and crazy with you,
how scared and lonely we were.
i will remember that we both survived it,
and that we'll survive this, too.
You Were Born Missing SomethingYour skin is glazed with crystals of frost
and your heart's valves are close to
freezing shut tight
from being devoid of something
Though I am torrents of hail, whirling storms,
warm tears streaking,and tornadoes of rage
that flow uncontrollably through my veins
and out of my mouth,
every breath near you is warm
because your words are so cold
I am a natural disaster at its finest
with bones twisted in painful angles
and a crooked spine
you were born spineless
The child is grownHair parted in the middle,
The pigtails fell lose
Some time ago.
Can't say I'm sorry
To have traded the jumper
For a pair of fading jeans.
Some things I miss, though:
My mother's careful hands
working through the tangled
mess of curls,
clothes neatly pressed and starched
skillful fingers making perfect bows
of the ked laces.
Some mornings the only thing that keeps me going
is that one instruction:
"Make a loop, over and through."
The hair I've left to its own devices,
clothes haven't seen an iron in years.
I don't always sit with my legs together
or keep my elbows off the table
but one thing I got right:
Lose ends always need tying.
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