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Want Love?Want love?
Is what you said to me out of the blue one day
I will fulfill and be your every fantasy, my poet
That is what you said to me making my heart race
Write me love poems you said, tell me of your passions
Like a foolish school boy with a crush I spilled desire
Dark erotic passions, sexual desires, holding back my true needs
You mean like free love of the hippie days I asked?
Yes, you answered with a giggle of sensual delight
heart racing I bent time and space to make it happen
That is what you asked me that day, not I of you
Still because I did not talk to you right away I lost
I lost a fantasy that was in all truth a game you play
My answer will be yes with the added clause
I want love, but I don't trust love like I once did
I want love, but I can not trust people as I once did
Woman the FlowersStopping in a wood basking in a warm spring day
I saw her dancing in the sun light surrounded by flowers
Struck with shyness I crouched behind a large, old, tree
The chatter of a angry squirrel distracted her for a moment
I hushed him with a stern look hoping that she had not seen me
There in a field of flowers, sun sparkling off her golden hair
I spoke softly to the angry little squirrel that she must be a princess
The little man was thankfully quietly eating a nut as he too was watching
As she took handfuls of blossoms from a blossoming tree blowing
The petals scattering in the air as if they were winter’s return
Then a gasp followed by a concerned look as she saw us watching her
My face flushing red as I froze in place behind the trunk of the old tree
As she started to approach speaking softly with a tint of fear
All I heard was her soft “hello. Please don’t run away.”
As I ran faster through the woods from the woman in the flowers
She broke youDo you know the pain you caused?
Walking away from a friendship you bragged about
Telling me you loved me like I was always family
Always wanting to just be around me
Only to walk away because someone else broke you
You blamed me because I backed off when she asked
She broke you!
Strangers kindness scares meA innocently given warm smile
A firm handshake with a quick, "hello"
My heart races, shoulders tense, look for escape
A warm firm hug with a pat on the back
A smile showing me I am welcome
Heart races, shoulders tense, look for escape
Confused looks at my non return of the hug
Confused shrug at my quiet reply of no thanks
heart races, shoulders tense, look for escape
I sit alone in my dirty room I sit alone in my dirty room
No one visits me here anymore
No one comes knocking on my door
I sit alone in my dirty room
I sit at a old Dell typing in search engines
Looking for a escape from the hell I live in
I sit alone in my dirty room
I watch people walk by laughing, holding hands
While I sit alone on my dirty couch and cry
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
Expensive LiesI sit and stare at the toilet bowl.
A guy I know is bulimic.
When we compliment him
I see the twist of agony in his eyes
as his brain reprograms it
to sound like an expensive lie
that costs him another tear
in his tattered dignity.
Friends hurry to him,
to reassure him, to love him.
They tell him how beautiful he is.
We didn't know him before,
but he's definitely not fat now.
We whisper things in concern like;
body dysmorphic disorder.
'I know you'll never believe me
but you are so gorgeous -
not just on the inside.' Not just.
And they're right, I join in,
because they are right to say it
because it happens to be true -
he is stunning. Not just on the outside.
And we want him to see himself
the way we see him, beautiful.
And I join in because
I've felt that strangle of pain
in my stomach, bowels and belly,
when someone used to tell me lies.
So I know how he feels.
Only, he is beautiful on the outside
and I'm not.
He's not seeing reality in the mirror
and I am.
And people rush to correc
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 -
Black hole BulimicThe Composition:
I birth poems — not amaranths
in graveyards — not gardens.
sows seeds of doubt
into skeleton weeds.
A farmer plucks the bones
from Apollo's hyacinth; his
I binge on broken
cracked collectors of rocks,
of pebbles kidnapped
from barren beaches:
where crooked kings
buried in books whose
pages creak to crickets
in an abandoned abyss
of an attic—caskets on
an antiquated shelf. I
choke on the dust and
twitch in recoil.
The bickering sky
A cloud coughs—
The clock's scythe hand
swivels to the beckoning
twelve. Spastic ticking—
each bleak stroke
of a midnight heart.
The sundials do not work
now. The vampires know
I kill poems—
obligation steam machineas always
grinding the cankerous
of your cognition
until the lack of compassion
leaves you unlubricated
seized frozen bound stuck
only then the machine of
your fears will burst to steam
squealing to suckle
at the genius of my
the unsung soiled hero
of middle-class ferocity
savior of the undeserving
winding slowly deftly dying
martyr to the self-justified cause
Sound PoemIthrumden, ithrumden delsum
nith mul thruss elmrissull.
Eth rut mundelliss
Curmiette dessel renrin
irme trell ithrumden.
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.
AerosolIt has been a day and a half since the crash, and I have found a cabin. In some ways, this is a relief. I don’t know if I could face another night on the mountain without shelter. Outside, a fire does no good: the heat simply travels upwards. However, this place also raises some difficult questions. I estimate that I’ve put eight miles between myself and the crash site. I don’t know if this will be enough. It Saving...
occurs to me that I don’t really know anything.
The survival manual recommends staying with the plane. It explains that this affords the best chance of rescue. It explains that the wreckage offers warmth and shade. It explains that seventy percent of pilots who stay are located within three days, while seventy percent of those who leave are
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